#claire's calling them comrades in arms ....

[re4make]

She is an employee of TerraSave, an NGO that provides relief for victims of bio-terrorism and drugs. Her brother Chris taught her self-defense skills, and after escaping from Raccoon City, she acquired various combat techniques. She has the same headstrong personality as her older brother, but she has a kind heart and is devoted to the weak. Claire and Leon have fought together against bio-terrorism and are comrades-in-arms.

-- Claire Redfield Character Bio, Biohazard: Death Island

On his first day of assignment to the Raccoon City Police Department, he was caught up in a biohazard outbreak and bravely did his best to rescue the survivors. He was later recruited as a government agent and joined the DSO, an organization under the direct control of the President of the United States, where he is engaged in daily top-secret missions. He is an excellent survivor and possesses both high physical ability and good judgment. He has earned the President's trust through his successful rescue of President Graham's daughter, Ashley, who was kidnapped in the past.

-- Leon S. Kennedy Character Bio, Biohazard: Death Island

[eviltothecore13]

DEATH ISLAND NEWS

Set in 2015, a year after Vendetta.

Chris is in it voiced by Kevin Dorman (Umbrella Chronicles and Vendetta VA). His character bio has no new info, but I do like this description "He is an ace with excellent observation and insight skills as well as outstanding combat and survival skills. As he has aged, he has lost some of his former hot-bloodedness, but still retains a strong sense of justice. He has strong feelings for his comrades, and as a living legend of the BSAA, he is held in awe and adored by many of his subordinates." Just for emphasising a few underrated aspects of his character as well as how his character has developed and changed over the years.

Leon voiced by Matt Mercer (interesting when they had Nick for RE4make but I guess they wanted an older-sounding guy for this?). His character bio really isn't much, just mentions the events of RE2 and RE4 and says he's a skilled survivor and good in combat (also says "good judgement" which I feel like only applies to surviving zombie outbreaks and not to any of his life choices but OK).

Jill = Nicole. Her bio has the most interesting info as it fills in some gaps. Apparently after RE5, the side-effects of the virus continued to affect her, preventing her from aging (and possibly other physical effects, it's unclear), but she was also seriously traumatised and only returned to the BSAA after "a long period of observation and rehabilitation".

Claire = Stephanie. She's still working for TerraSave providing relief for bioterror victims, she has combat training of course (and has done extra training beyond the self-defence Chris initially taught her) but it's not her focus. "She has the same headstrong personality as her older brother, but she has a kind heart and is devoted to the weak." Also confirms her and Leon are still "comrades-in-arms": the description of them being good friends who trust each other in the RE6 files already meant they had to repair their friendship after Infinite Darkness but it's good to have that confirmed. (I've seen an odd number of Leon fans who are apparently so desperate for their fav to be the biggest victim ever that they insist Claire cruelly abandoned him, refused to ever see him again, and left him alone in the world with no friends after ID.)

Rebecca = Erin Cahill (Vendetta VA). She's an advisor to the BSAA and a university professor. "She has a gutsy personality that is not easily swayed by the slightest thing, and has the ability to take action and make decisions", so she's matured quite a bit since RE1, which is nice to see.

María Gómez, one of the secondary villains from Vendetta, returns! Vendetta implied she was going to try and avenge her father's death, nice to see them actually following up on that. She's working with a new bad guy, a former USS operative called Dylan who was in Raccoon City.

[chika-the-terrible]

Shepherd

Leon rested his face in his hands. He was too tired to even try meeting Adam’s eyes. It was nice to be out of danger, but it was just as likely to be an entirely different danger, now that he and Sherry had been picked up by what could only be forces from the US Government. And the guy in charge, Adam Bedford, Leon didn’t know what to make of him yet. He certainly didn’t have a good opinion at the moment, since he had been separated from Sherry.

He had promised her and Claire that he would protect them, and then she had left in search of her brother. Maybe it was for the best that she wasn’t here, otherwise Claire would be stuck in this same predicament. Leon hoped she was having better luck than he was.

“Mr. Kennedy, I know you’re not at one hundred percent after what you’ve been through, but the sooner you answer my questions, the sooner you get to rest.” said Adam. Leon lifted his head to glare.

“What about Sherry? I haven’t seen her since you separated us.”

“Just standard procedure. Making sure she’s not infected.”

“Of course she’s not.” Leon growled, “She got cured of the virus, she’s got antibodies to defend her from it now.”

“That’s good.” Adam nodded, “But you know that it’s still procedure we have to go through. I dislike separating the two of you as well. You’ve both been through a lot and you can only find comfort in each other. I get that. But I also have to follow policy.”

“Like making sure I can’t talk about Raccoon, right?”

“That’s correct, Mr. Kennedy. It’s best nobody learns the truth because that would cause widespread panic, among other things. Think about it: A small Midwestern city, suddenly struck down by a zombie virus. And that’s before mentioning that we had to do a containment procedure to make sure it didn’t spread.” I.e. nuking Raccoon City.

“It’s not like people would believe me, anyway. What have I got to lose?”

“Well,” Adam sat back in his chair, “If we let you go, you would never see Sherry Birkin again.” That got his attention. Leon’s eyes snapped to Adam’s.

“Why?” He bit out.

“Her parents were both involved with Umbrella. It may not exist anymore after this but it caused a lot of damage. And, as you said, she has antibodies against the G-Virus. If more outbreaks occur, those antibodies would help thousands of people. I’m sorry, Mr. Kennedy, but Sherry has to stay with the government. You can either choose to work with us in exchange to see her, or you can try to live a normal life without her in it. It’s your choice.” If he had any fur on his body it would’ve bristled at the terrible decision. He was damned either way. Somewhat childishly, Leon turned his head away, thinking it over. But then he heard something. His hearing was pretty sharp, even after all the loud gunfire he’d done recently, and though the walls were thick, he could hear a cry. He was almost certain it was Sherry. Was she okay? What were they doing to her? He stood up, the chair behind him falling back from the sudden movement.

“Mr. Kennedy?”

“Sherry, where is she?” He had lost all patience for more questions. Sherry could be in trouble and he needed to make sure she was okay.

“Please sit down-”

“Where is she?” Leon didn’t care if his other side was beginning to show, he needed to know why she cried out, if she was injured because he wasn’t there for her, if he decided to trust the wrong people blindly. When he saw that Adam wasn’t going to give him any answers, Leon decided to just make his way there himself. The door to the interrogation room yielded to his shoulder and he ignored the shouting behind him. There! Sherry had called out again. Leon followed her voice, going on all fours to get more speed. If he was shot at he didn’t notice. His focus only turned when he finally came to the room where Sherry was, a small treatment room not unlike the one he’d been cooped up in before they started questioning him.

“Leon!” He could see her on the other side of the room, between them several scientists. Leon growled. To their credit, they stepped aside. He was only impeded when someone grabbed his arm but he made quick work of that by throwing them into a wall. Nothing would stand in his way.

“Hey, I’m here.” Leon picked her up, as if she was five instead of twelve, “You okay?”

“Y-yeah.” She nodded. Her head rested against his shoulder and Leon finally felt like calming down.

“Mr. Kennedy?” With his back to the door, something he usually wouldn’t have allowed, Leon threw an annoyed glance over his shoulder. It was Adam again, now joined by an entire team of security officers. One was helping his comrade stand after Leon had thrown him. The scientists had cleared out quickly, leaving just them. Keeping Sherry in front of him, Leon growled again.

“What?” he snapped.

“I hate to bring you in for more questioning, but I’m pretty certain our tests showed you weren’t a B.O.W. So what, pray tell, is all this?” Adam gestured at Leon. Leon, who was standing on the balls of his feet with ease even in shoes, had honey-gold eyes instead of icy blue, and claws on gentle hands that hadn’t been there before. Not to mention the running he’d just done. He was an IDIOT. Instead of giving an answer, Leon stayed silent. He put Sherry down and kept her behind himself as he turned to face the other man.

“I know you don’t trust me.” Adam said after a long moment, “That’s obvious. Hell, I wouldn’t trust myself. It goes with the business. But I promise that I’m not trying to manipulate you or anything. In this line of work, it’s not good to have honest men, yet there’s me. All I want to know is what’s going on. We’re not gonna shoot you.” Leon was pretty sure some of the men gave Adam looks for that. He weighed his options. He was in an even worse situation than when he started. Out of the frying pan and all that. But looking down, seeing Sherry’s scared look, he knew what he had to do.

“I want a couple of promises. If you’re an honest man, as you say you are, then I’ll see about lowering my walls. Just promise not to hurt Sherry. Or do things with her she doesn’t want. She’s not a weapon.” She’s just a kid, she’s got a better chance at life than I ever did.

“I promise.” Adam nodded. The smile he gave was the most genuine thing Leon had seen from any of these guys since he and Sherry had been taken in. Maybe, just maybe, Adam really was a good guy underneath that goon skin.

“As for my part of the bargain...” He shook his head at himself, “It’s a long story.”

“Alright.” Adam waved a hand, “You guys can go. I don’t think he’ll say a thing with a lot of people in here.” While there was hesitancy, the security officers did clear out. When the door shut, all that was left were Adam, Leon, and Sherry. It definitely made Leon feel tons better for sure. Enough that he was sure he was going back to normal.

“Leon?” Sherry was looking up at him nervously. She and Claire hadn’t been told the full story either.

“C’mon.” He took her hand and led them over to some guest chairs, “It’s okay.”

“You said that last time.”

“Hey, how was I supposed to know he’d come back and munch on the train?” Leon’s eyes trailed over to Adam, who was waiting patiently for an explanation, “Just trust me on this.”

He will say this, though: Adam Bedford was a master at talking down angry people. Especially angry werewolves.

----------------------------------------------------

Note: There’s actually another 3-part drabble set between this and Greyhound but since I finished this one first, here you go.

[good-beans]

I was looking at fe echoes quotes and long story short I was intrigued by the characters’ selection quotes when they reach half-health. Specifically for the RGB trio, they seem very positive for being at half their health. I ended up writing a super quick scene for Forsyth, Lukas, and Python regarding their middle level quotes, trying to envision a situation/emotion that would cause them to say it.

They’re kinda just hurt and no comfort so uh... have fun...  adshfsakj

There’s mention of violence and blood, but nothing graphic or gory.

Forsyth:

Forsyth sprinted across the open field, his adrenaline driving him forward into the wind. An enemy soldier appeared in his path. Through his helmet, Forsyth could see that his eyes were wild with malice, a cruel smirk hung on his lips. Forsyth had encountered expressions like it many times in the Rigelian army. In each and every instance, it made his blood boil.

How could someone who calls themself a knight look upon others with such heartlessness? How could someone take such pleasure in bloodshed? A knight’s first and foremost responsibility was to protect, not strike down. 

Seeing that face on his enemy added strength to Forsyth’s swing as he brought his lance forward. The other man’s weapon clashed with it in midair. 

This soldier may have been lacking in virtue, but it was clear he lacked nothing in skill. By the time Forsyth finally felled his enemy, his own side and left arm dripped with blood from his wounds. 

The knight began to head towards the rest of the Deliverance, but sucked in a quick breath as his movement agitated the injury. He clutched at his side.

With the thundering of hooves, Clive rode up beside him on his horse.

“Sir Clive! What is it?” He asked eagerly.

The man pointed behind him, “they are in dire need of help by the river.” Over his shoulder, Forsyth could see a dangerous amount of Rigelian archers closing in on the weary Ram villagers by the water. “You’re looking a little worse for wear, but would you be able to aid them?”

Forsyth tested his cut arm with a few flexes. He twisted his torso, biting back the pain. He was a knight, for goodness sake -- he could certainly walk off a few injuries to help those in need.

He gave a shaky smile to the other man. “All right, sure!”

Clive gave only a grateful nod before riding on to get the others. Forsyth headed to the river. His energy picked up again as he felt the wind in his hair and his lance sturdy in his grasp. His doubt melted away as he got caught up in the rush of battle.

Lukas:

With a cry of warning, Lukas tried to protect Forsyth from the cantor’s miasma spell. He was a few steps too late, however, and both were engulfed in the thick purple blast. The pair collapsed in a heap just before Mathilda came to their rescue. After slaying the enemy, her horse went thundering away; there were too many foes for her to check on the fallen knights. 

Lukas hardly saw her go. Dark magic was unpleasant, to say the least. The poisonous spell had torn through his body, filling each sense with searing and stinging pain. It lingered in his lungs and in his limbs. He found himself sucking in sputtering breaths. Every muscle felt sore and weak.

He struggled to his feet, though it felt impossible to take a proper breath. Lukas grit his teeth upon seeing his friend in a similar state. Forsyth had sat up, but was coughing and trembling. Lukas grabbed his lance off the ground. His efforts had done nothing to protect his comrade; in fact, he’d only made the situation worse. 

He placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Forsyth…”

“I’m alright!” he wheezed back, clearly far from it. He gave a shaking thumbs-up. “Thank you, friend.”

Lukas’s expression darked further. “I did nothing. Do you need a healer?”

“I… I believe so. I don’t think I can stand at the moment. You should get patched up yourself, too.” His eyes narrowed in concern, but Lukas was too busy scanning the rest of the shrine. He spotted Tobin calling for help across the cavern. As soon as he took a step in that direction, his leg threatened to give out. 

Forsyth grabbed his arm. “What are you doing? You’re in no shape to continue fighting!”

Lukas yanked his arm away. His even voice hardened as he replied, “I can handle it.” 

With his friend protesting through coughs, he charged back into battle.

Python:

There was a loud clatter as Python went tumbling from his horse onto the fortress’s stone ground. He landed on his back, gasping as the wind was knocked out of him. 

“Damn…” he muttered when he finally regained his breath. He figured he’d lie there for a moment to recover, breathe steady, and be sure he didn’t have a concussion or the like. Unfortunately, his enemy returned much quicker than anticipated. The soldier appeared above him, having dismounted his own horse, and brandished the lance he’d just used to force python to the ground.

Eyes widening, Python rolled out of the way just as the blade came down. He scrambled to his feet. Narrowly dodging another strike, he unsheathed the dagger from his thigh. 

“That’s how you wanna play, huh?” he said, stepping back. Although his training had heavily focused on the bow, he was decent enough with the small blade to get in close and get his enemy to the ground. Before he could even celebrate his victory, the soldier he’d pinned down gave a grim smile. The archer was thrown to the side by a powerful blow with a shield. 

This attack was almost worse than being thrown off his horse. The metal had connected with his arm, sending pain shooting through his shoulders and neck. He landed on the rough brick headfirst, earning a gash to the forehead. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Python still didn’t understand why the Rigelians enjoyed ganging up on him more than the others. He was constantly finding himself outnumbered or surrounded, and he was sick of it. He thought wistfully of the nap he had planned for today, wishing for the hundredth time he was there instead of fighting two trained knights with a small dagger. 

To his great relief, Alm and Clair came charging onto the battlement. The two were able to easily dispose of the soldiers while Python ran to grab his weapon. It was perfect: the two of them had everything under control here, so he could run over to Silque, get that stinging cut healed up real nice, maybe hang back with her until the rest of the battle wrapped up…

“Oh, Python! Glad we could make it in time!”

“Heh, me too!”

“Listen, there’s still a lot of trouble down below. There’s too many witches for them to handle on their own, so we’ll need your bow to take care of them. Follow me!”

The man’s face fell into a pout. He stretched his sore shoulders. With a heavy sigh, he responded. “Aye, cap’n.” He reluctantly mounted his horse, and thought once more of how much he missed his bed...

[carlosjillgivemelife]

Memorial Day Weekend.

You know what Memorial Day Weekend means: It means paying respects and remembering the fallen soldiers that fight for your freedom, and country. Also means Barry is throwing a barbecue! So, here’s my headcanon for something fluffy and silly, since I did post some angsty shit a few days ago. 

Barry: He is the man of the hour! He has been preparing his house for a barbecue weekend! I’d like to imagine Barry being that sort of fatherly/uncle figure that has a nice house, pool, front and backyard that has soft grass. Ultimate picturesque American Norman Rockwell. 

While it’s not specific, and you’re not required to bring anything. Barry won’t turn away any side dishes, or general food item that someone may bring. 

Leon and Claire are first to show up at Barry’s. They bring a fruit salad, and some brownies. Leon is trying to show utmost respect for Barry, and still exuding that sense of professional rookie. Claire on the meantime is ready to have a drink, and laugh! 

Sherry is with Leon and Claire when they go. And my god... that kid wouldn’t shut up about swimming. She’s been wearing her swimsuit under her clothes for hours, and all she wants to do is jump in that pool. It’s almost impossible controlling that child the moment they get to Barry’s house. Claire has to remind her to put sunscreen on, and it nearly causes a fight when she stops Sherry and is greasing up her face! 

Rebecca shows up and she has a vegetable tray, and modest healthy food. She’s also partially prepared to deal with bloody noses, scrapes, bruises, things that come from big large people rough housing. (Because Chris and Carlos will be in the same area. It’s bound to happen.) She takes over kitchen duty helping out Barry. She’s seeing to drinks, making sure that there is plenty of water, cups, napkins, plates etc. Barry is outside, so why not be inside greeting everyone! 

Chris shows up. He’s trying his best to get out of “work mode”. But, it’s proving harder than he thought. He’s friendly, he’s cordiale. But our man Chris also has a lot of internal anxieties. I feel people forget that Chris is dealing similar trauma that Jill has endured. He was there in the Arklay Mountains as well with the mansion. He saw and dealt with similar events. Now, he has the knowledge and fear that his own little sister dealt with similar as he did. Something that no big brother wants to know about. Let alone that he wasn’t there to protect her. 

So Chris is apprehensive. He’s a bit rigid, and he’s keeping an eye on all doors, windows, any point of entry when he’s inside. When he’s outside, he’s at an area where he can keep an eye on both the gates into the backyard, the pool, and doors that lead into the house. 

It’s emotional when Chris and Claire get to see each other. While they have seen each other after the events of Raccoon City, it doesn’t stop the tears and sniffing from seeing the other is still alive. There is laughing, there is hugging, there is also the shit given back and forth to the other. 

So, for Jill. She’s nervous about attending the barbecue. Crowds, even if friends are always anxiety ridden. She’s worried people will look at her like she’s some kind of monster. She doesn’t want to have anyone’s pity, or sympathies. If she could be invisible and not noticed she’d much rather have that. 

Carlos however, is adamant that they have to go. Granted, his anxieties are towards Jill’s former comrades, and friends reception of him. But, he knows that Jill HAS TO interact and be with those that care about her. Closing herself off from her friends will not help in any improvement mentally, or emotionally for her. While he’s anxious about how she’ll react, and how he’ll be received, he takes them to the barbecue. 

Carlos also is the one that makes some of his favorite dishes from his country. Carlos can cook! Man will put some meat on your bones. His love language is also with his cooking. So, you best expect what he brings is FUCKING DELICIOUS! 

Jill’s rigid, and similar to Chris, she’s anxious. She has a small tight smile, she’s reserved, she’s trying to pretend to be normal. 

Claire’s squeal makes Jill jump! As does the partially liqured up red-head’s adamant surprise hug attack! 

Barry jokes, and he hugs Jill. He’s the first to really notice that she’s dealing with some shit. That’s where he gives her a rum and coke. Little stronger than some beer, something to loosen her nerves. He tells her too that he understands. Take some time. It’s safe. Nothing is going to happen. They are all there with her. 

Chris and Jill have an awkward moment reunion. They’ve been through so much together as well, just as Jill has with Carlos. They do have a silent moment where the emotions are palpable. They end up embracing, and there are silent tears. 

Carlos is trying not to feel awkward, but he does. He’s not so much “threatened” by Chris. But hey both have high tensions around the other. Carlos being former Umbrella, and Chris having the same distaste to Umbrella that Jill has. Naturally Chris doesn’t trust Carlos. Carlos just wants him to mind his own business! But for this... he can’t try to enforce that. 

After that moment of tense interaction, and silent emotions expressed between Chris and Jill. Things begin to lighten up, and dare say it... people start having fun! 

Leon is pushed into the pool. 

There is an arm wrestling contest. Barry beats Leon. Granted, Leon did come close. But! Old man strength prevails. 

Carlos and Chris are in a stalemate that Rebecca breaks up. 

There is a game of capture the flag. 

Claire and Jill get giggly with each other when they keep drinking. 

Everyone eats hotdogs, grilled chicken, burgers- tasty all around food that you’d expect to have at a barbecue. It’s not till they try what Carlos brought that everyone’s minds are blown! 

Carlos is oddly sheepish, and blushes at the praise he gets... Chris even compliments him. Those two have an awkward nod off. 

Barry gets the firepit going, and people start to gather around it, sitting and talking, joking, telling stories etc. 

Sherry has swam to her heart’s content, but now she’s tired and wrapped in a towel and in Leon’s lap, mumbling how she’s tired. All while Dad-Leon has frizzy hair, and damp clothes from being pushed in the pool. 

Claire and Jill are drunk, and starting to show they are done. 

It’s around 10:30-11pm that they call it a successful barbecue. 

In the end, everyone had absolute blast, and they all left with high spirits. Chris and Carlos managed to get along, and Barry waves them off. 

Leon has to carry Sherry to the car, and Chris helps get his sister into the jeep. She is muttering, and arguing with her brother all the while! She’s a tough badass woman, she doesn’t need his help. He counters back she’s drunk, and she needs to get some sleep... this goes on for awhile. 

Jill can’t walk. She doesn’t trust her knees with how drunk she is. She’s too tired emotionally and mentally from the anxiety of just going to the barbecue. So, Carlos has to carry her out to their car. 

Barry watches from his porch, smiling so proud to watch his “kids” leave to go home. 

[alit0my]

if you're still taking prompts: while in exile Booker dies some death that fucks his brain a bit and makes him lose his memories in a weird way. The team steps in to take care of him in order to prevent the secret from coming out and just care for him bc they still love him. And Booker doesn't remember them but still has FEELINGS from before. And one day he tells them all "I don't remember who any of you are, but I do know that I love you all SO MUCH" and the team is stunned and like "OH GOD"

im always taking prompts anon ;-) i hope you like this!

~

Andy’s cell phone rang in the middle of the night, waking the others as the ringtone blared through the small sleeping quarters. Quickly, she picked up the phone and murmured her apology to the team. 

“Copley? It’s four am, what’s going on?” Andy spoke, knowing the man was on the other end. He was the only person who had the number after all.

“Andy. I’m sorry, but this couldn’t wait until morning. It’s Booker,” Copley said with an urgent tone. “He’s been injured.” 

Andy sat up a bit straighter in her bed, resting against the headboard. “He’s not healing?” 

The others became more awake at her words, glancing at each other in alarm. Booker was still young, there was no way he wasn’t healing.

“Somewhat. I sent him on a simple job to get intel and it went to shit,” Copley sighed. “It’s his memories, they seem to not have returned to him when he woke, and I’m worried that will cause unwanted trouble.” 

Andy’s breath hitched in her throat, her grip on the burner phone tightening. “How far back does he recall?” 

“He thinks he’s back in Marseille, 1800’s. Unsure of the exact year I’m afraid” 

“He’s looking for his family,” Andy cursed quietly, nodding at the others to get ready to leave. “Where is he now? Do you have an address?” 

“I’ll send it through. I’m also not sure if he remembers you, so I’d be weary about busting the door down and putting him on the defensive foot straight away.” 

Andy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Alright, thanks Copley.” 

“What’s happened?” Nicky asked, zipping up his duffel bag. Andy stood and swung her own duffel bag over her shoulder, grabbing the car keys off the bedside table. 

“I’ll explain on the way.”

~

Sebastien stood in front of the land that once held his family home. Finding it an empty field of tall grass made him furrow his brows in confusion. Where was Claire? Louis? Michel? Jean-Pierre? Had they moved and not told him? Surely he hadn’t been away for too long to have the house pulled down and grass to grow. 

He watched as groups of people walked past him, not paying him any mind. Frowning, he tried to find something he could identify in his surroundings, but came up short. 

“Excuse me, can you tell me what happened to my home?” He asked a group that walked by, earning him strange looks. 

“Sir, that has been a vacant block for as long as I can remember. There hasn’t been a property there for years,” One of them replied, smiling even though they were confused. Their answer only made Sebastien just as bewildered. 

“What do you mean? What is the date today?” 

“Um,” the stranger pulled a flat object out of their pocket and then put it back just as quickly. “27th of October, 2036.” 

“20- No, that’s not-” 

Something buzzed in his pocket which cut him off. He reached in, pulling out a contraption that looked familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was called. He gave the stranger his thanks as they walked off, and the thing still buzzed in his hand, so he flipped it open and brought it to his ear. It seemed like the right thing to do with the object. 

“Booker?” A man’s voice came through, shocking Sebastien. How was this possible? 

“Who are you? Who is Booker?” He spoke in French. “Where is my family?” 

He waited impatiently before the other man replied in shaky but understandable French. “Sebastien, my apologies. I understand you might be feeling lost, but I have people on the way to help you.” 

“Who? I don’t want help! I want my wife and children!” He shouted, throwing his hands in the air. 

“I understand, but right now you need to get to the address I’m going to send you. Can you manage that?” 

Sebastien pulled the phone away from his ear as the object buzzed once more. The address that appeared on the screen wasn’t too far from where he was. 

“Sebastien?” 

Bringing the phone to his ear once more, he nodded. “I-I will be there.” 

~

Sebastien walked up to the door of the address the man had sent him, finding the key under the course mat outside. Walking into the house, he was greeted with four strangers. Halting at the entrance, fingers still gripping the doorknob tightly, he chuckled awkwardly. 

“I think- I might be in the wrong place,” he stammered, the French slurring together as he rushed the words. “So sorry.” 

“Nonsense,” the older woman spoke in perfect French. “Come in. We are here to help you.” 

Sebastien hesitantly closed the door behind him as he stared at the group. The two men sat together on the couch, a little too close for what was normal with their knees touching. The younger woman had dark skin and tight braids falling over her shoulders, and the other woman had short hair, like his own. Sebastien blinked and shoved his shaky hands into his pockets. These people seemed familiar to him, but he didn’t know how. 

“You can’t help me unless you know what happened to my family,” he whispered and cast his eyes to the floor, missing the knowing looks shared between the strangers. 

“Book- Sebastien, your family is standing right in front of you.”

He looked up and scoffed. “Non, unless I gained two daughters and my wife cheated on me with darker men, you are not my family.” 

He saw the man with curly hair clench his fists and the young woman clench her jaw. He had hit a nerve, but he was unaware of why. 

“Okay, let’s start with our names, no? I’m Andromache,” the fair woman spoke again, gaining his attention once more. “Everyone calls me Andy.” 

“Nile,” the dark woman said.

“Nicolo,” he said with a strong Italian accent.

“Yusuf,” was said with a curt nod. 

None of the names brought Sebastien any closer to figuring out what the hell was happening. At his blank face, Andromache spoke once more. 

“Can I ask what year you think it is?” 

“1807,” he replied, and he gauged their reactions. 

“Alright,” Andromache nodded, chewing at her bottom lip. “Well, we’re here to help you remember. But I think we should start with dinner?” 

’Remember what?’ Sebastien thought, but nodded, which set everything into motion. 

~

He had learned that they called him Booker. He was unsure as to why, and they refused to tell him, so he paid it no mind. They shared stories of their time together, leaving out his betrayal all those years ago, but Sebastien couldn’t remember any of it, and nothing was flashing in his mind as a reminder. 

Months passed and Winter settled over France, sending chills through Sebastien’s bones even when he was seated in front of the woodfire with a woolen jumper wrapped around him. His fingers shook as he flipped the pages of the novel he was reading and he grunted in frustration, placing the book down by his side and sticking his hands out in front of him, closer to the fire to warm them. 

Sebastien frowned as he absently stared at his hands in front of the flames. He remembered that he loved the cold, playing in the snow and building snowmen with his siblings, all of them returning home with noses and ears flushed red, so he couldn’t understand why he felt so cold now. 

Yusuf -Joe- sat down next to him and silently offered to share the blanket that was wrapped around his shoulders. Only hesitating for a moment, Sebastien scooted closer to Joe and leant into the warmth that radiated off him, feeling the blanket wrap around his shoulders and Joe’s hand squeeze his arm. 

It felt familiar, friendly, loving. 

“Did we ever tell you about Russia?” Joe asked quietly, keeping his eyes on the flames. At the shake of Booker’s head, he continued. “It’s where you first died in 1812, fighting for Napoleon.” 

Booker closed his eyes and tried to remember, but nothing came to mind. He felt frustrated, surely memories would have started to seep through back into his mind, but nothing ever did. Instead, he rested his head on Joe’s shoulder and snuggled closer to him. 

“You.. You were hung for desertion, and you hung for three days before the Grande Armee left camp. We didn’t find you until you were nearly back to France,” Joe spoke softly, and Sebastien could listen to his voice forever. “A Russian winter can be so utterly cruel, and your immortality made you suffer over and over while your comrades succumbed to death. It is why you feel the phantom cold as you are, and a few years ago we discovered that they stop when you are cuddling with one of us as we are now.” 

Sebastien thought over the new information. Fighting for Napoleon in Russia? Surely not.

He didn’t mind the cuddles though. 

“I’m sorry I don’t remember any of you,” Sebastien spoke, voice breaking through it’s lack of use. He found himself not speaking much, preferring to listen to the stories his friends told him and asking questions when he got lost. 

“Nonsense, Bastien.” Joe ran his hand through Sebastien’s hair softly. “We’re here to help you remember, no matter how long it takes.” 

~

The pair had moved to the couch by the time the others had returned home from their shopping, Nile being adamant about having a big dinner for Christmas in a few days. Sebastien was curled into Joe’s side with the blanket still wrapped around them both, and he felt himself flush at the looks they got from the others. 

Nicolo -Nicky, now, remember?- smiled and walked over, kissing both Joe and Sebastien on the cheek in greeting, before crouching down in front of them. “How are you doing, Bas?” 

“Better. Joe is rather warm,” Sebastien replied, curling further into said man’s warmth. 

“He is, isn’t he,” Nicky chuckled softly, grabbing Sebastien’s hands and rubbing his thumbs over the cool palms. “Nile is cooking dinner tonight. Don’t tell her, but I don’t have much faith in her.” 

Sebastien laughed loudly before burying his face in Joe’s neck as Nile rounded the corner with a faux annoyed look on her face. “Hey! I’m a good cook!” 

Nicky moved to sit on Sebastien’s other side, and rolled his eyes playfully. “I’m sure you are, Nile. That soup you made a few weeks ago was seriously under seasoned.” 

“How dare you! Never in my life would I have imagined a white man telling me I’ve under seasoned my food!” Nile scoffed, but it had become their thing to tease the other about their dinners, so Sebastien didn’t intervene. He had each and every dynamic sorted out by now, and he knew this was playful. 

He felt warmth blossom from his chest as he watched them interact, playfully jabbing at the use of spices and ingredients in Nile’s failed soup attempt, and a grin spread across his lips. Sebastien truly felt at home with these people, they made him feel safe and happy and were always there for him.

He didn’t let himself think that maybe it was because of his memories no longer being with him. He didn’t want to tarnish the few months they’ve had together by believing they didn’t want to be around him. 

He was brought out of his thoughts by a dishtowel hitting him flush in the face. “Hey!” 

“Sorry Book! I was aiming for Nicky!” Nile laughed as the towel fell short when he threw it back to her. Andy had joined them in the room, opting to sit on the armrest of the single recliner with a glass of water in her hands. Sebastien didn’t know what it was about the woman that drew these deep feelings out of him, but he didn’t shy away from them. He didn’t shy away from anything he was feeling towards this little group he found himself in. 

“You good?” Andy asked across the room, making eye contact with the Frenchman. Sebastien thought for a moment, going back to how he fit into this little family, and he nodded, smiling as Nile entered the room with a tray of biscuits. 

“I may not remember who any of you are, but I do know that I love you all, so very much.” 

~ 

Weeks passed and Sebastien -non, Booker- still remembered the looks on his family’s faces as he told them he loves them. The amount of tears spilled that night would have filled the Seine, and he wouldn’t change it for the world. They had ended up in a dogpile on the couch, holding each other close and whispering words of affirmation to each other, promises were made and love was shared. 

Waking up the next morning with a stiff neck but surrounded by the four most important people in his life was worth it. 

Booker woke with a jolt, breathing heavy as he orientated himself. Still surrounded by four bodies, all still and silent, he closed his eyes again and took a few deep breaths. His dream was strange to say the least, with all five of them shooting their way out of an extremely white building, with flashes of being strapped to a plinth in a lab fighting to stay in Booker’s recollection. What on earth had happened?

“Book? Are you okay?” Nicky whispered as he shifted by his side. “Hey, you’re safe.” 

“I know, I know, I just.. I had a weird dream,” Booker whispered back, shimmying a hand out from the blanket that was still wrapped around himself and Joe, to rub at his face. 

“Tell me?” 

Booker paused. “We were fighting in a building. It was really white and there were a lot of corridors, and so many bodies. I’m getting flashes of us strapped down to tables also,” he stopped as he gauged Nicky’s face, which had turned sour. “W-What did I do?” 

He heard a soft curse from his other side which drew his attention to Andy. “Of course the one thing you remember is the worst possible,” she mumbled and sat up. 

“What did I do?” Booker repeated. If he had caused them pain, then that changed everything. 

“Something that you have already paid for,” Nicky grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “It was a painful yet brief moment in our lives, but you need not worry about it anymore.” 

Booker frowned but nodded. He didn’t want to argue so he kept his mouth shut, but that didn’t stop him from searching his brain for answers. 

~

The team had taken up a job from Copley, who Booker discovered was the man who had called him that day in Marseille, and were infiltrating a small terrorist hideout. It was meant to be easy; a stakeout had meant that no resistance should have been present when they attacked, but alas, nothing is ever that easy.

Upon extraction, they had been ambushed by a few terrorists who had returned, and all hell broke loose. Bullets flew through the air and swords hacked away at bodies, and they almost made it out without a casualty. 

Almost.

Booker was shot in the chest and went down. He felt the warmth spread under his clothes and he dropped to his knees, feeling dizzy and the world went black. 

Joe cursed and pulled Booker’s body into an alcove, hiding them from the gunfire. Joe had his gun in his hands, half watching Booker and half looking for any threats coming their way. Andy had reached their location and stood guard as Nile and Nicky joined them, guns still raised in case they had to use them. 

Joe grabbed Booker’s hand and squeezed it, praying silently for his friend’s return to life. He waited anxiously and glanced at Nicky, who had the same look of despair on his face. Joe counted the minutes, praying harder as it went over five. 

“C’mon, Booker,” Andy whispered, nudging the man’s arm with her boot gently. “You’re still in this game with me, remember?” 

A moment passes, and with a gasp the Frenchman sucked in a breath and opened his eyes, frantically searching for his family. Not needing to look far, he immediately calmed at the sight of them altogether. 

“Hey,” he grinned, looking at them all. “Hey Boss.” 

Andy let out a strangled sound and knelt down beside him, encasing him in the tightest hug he thinks he’s ever received from her. 

“You asshole. It’s not your fault but you’re an asshole,” she mumbled as they pulled away. “Is everything back? Do you remember everything?” 

Booker nodded as he quickly ran through his brain, picking out key moments in his life that shaped him for the better and for the worse. “I’m all here, Boss.” 

Booker had the breath knocked out of him as Joe hugged him tight, and he laughed softly, returning it in earnest. 

“If all you had to do was die to get your memories back I would have shot you myself!” Joe huffed as he pulled away, smiling as he picked up his gun that was dropped by his feet. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Nile interrupted. “But we’re in the middle of a terrorist camp. Can we have a happy reunion when we are, I don’t know, safe?”

Booker laughed and stood with the help of Joe and Nicky and he raised his rifle, fighting with the team seamlessly as they escaped the compound. 

Back at the safehouse, they showered each other in tight hugs and shared memories and alcohol, toasting to their love for one another as they drank the night away.

~

Available on AO3 also: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26527225 

[rainythefox]

Nightfall (Ch.13)

Synopsis: Pre-Resident Evil 1, slight-AU/Canon Divergence. Claire Redfield comes home to visit her  brother Chris for the holidays but gets caught up in a dangerous game of  cat and mouse with Albert Wesker, the Captain of STARS, after stumbling  upon dark secrets. She can’t call the law; Wesker is the law, and she  can’t tell Chris. She is trapped…Claire/Wesker & Slight  Chris/Jill. Rated M for eventual smut, language, violence, adult content.

AO3 Link

Chapter 13: I Know You

(Warning: This chapter contains Smut!)

Claire realized she had stared down the barrel of a gun more times in this past week than she did in her entire life. She didn't really appreciate that and gave Lowery an insulted glare as he came a bit closer. Despite her perilous situation, her Redfield temper got the best of her.

"You always point a gun at students? Not exactly welcoming."

"Not typically," Lowery answered warily. "But then again, you aren't a RCU student, are you? And it never was your intention tonight, was it?"

It seemed as though William's brush off of this paranoid, quiet professor of little relevance was poorly advised. What Claire had forgotten was that William was in a position where everyone was inferior and of no threat to him, not only because of his infamy and prowess, but apparently from who he also had as a guard dog.

Either way, Claire now had a serious problem on her hands. And Wesker wasn't on the other side for help.

"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about," Claire replied coolly.

"Really? So, you don't have my missing file from the lab? The one my business partner said you dropped right in front of him?" Lowery inquired skeptically. "It's a good thing he showed up, otherwise I don't think I would've been able to catch up with you."

Claire kept calm, her eyes flicking back and forth from his steely face to the gun trained at her chest. All she had on her was her knife. She couldn't slip up now, otherwise she would be arriving back home in a body bag. "You must have me mistaken for someone else."

"Oh, it's you. I was tipped off that someone would try to steal our plans tonight. I had no idea it would be someone like you though. Hand them over or I will shoot you."

"Are you crazy? Shooting someone over some documents?"

He stepped closer, getting impatient. "I have no problem killing for them."

Claire couldn't hand it over. She had to protect Chris. The file was a requirement needed for her freedom. Besides, she was more afraid of Wesker than she was of this incompetent prick.

The file was hidden in her coat under her arm. Claire slightly raised her hands, even away from the knife in her pocket, mind plotting. "Come search me yourself. I don't have it!"

Lowery closed the short distance between them, guarded but also anxious to get this over with. As soon as he got close enough, Claire snatched the arm with the gun and pushed it away from her, kicking him hard in the groin and then slamming him into the bus behind her. He yelped in surprise, but in her attempt to disarm him, he recovered faster than she thought he would. He shoved her, attempting to grab her and they both slipped in the snow and tumbled to the ground. The file flew from the safety of her parka, landing in the snow just beside them.

The middle-aged professor pinned Claire face down, icy snow burning her face as she inhaled some up her nose.

"You stupid bitch, who sent you? Who're you working for?!"

Claire was able to pull out her knife. She blindly stabbed it up and behind her. The blade went deep in somewhere, his thigh, she guessed. He screamed in pain, rolling off and Claire sprang to freedom. Her initial instinct was to stomp his face in, but that gun came up to her face as he bled in the snow. Time seemed to slow as he pulled the trigger. She was done for.

Lowery's hand popped like a balloon, barely within the blink of an eye, bright and red. He cried out in shock and agony again, the gun flinging from his hand, blood spraying across the snow like spilled paint. Claire immediately snatched up the weapon and aimed it right back at him, not really understanding what had happened but not taking any chances. That's when she noticed the sleek, short dagger sticking out from his hand, the tip of the blade having gone completely through his palm.

Before it could completely register, a tall, muscular form stepped out of the shadows from between the buses and stalked over to the injured professor. Claire directed the gun at the stranger, but soon recognized the silver-haired man that Wesker had talked to beneath the streets of Raccoon City. Nikolai Zinoviev.

Despite the situation, the Russian mercenary had a playful grin on his scruffy face. "Looks like you picked fight with wrong girl, comrade! She's a feisty one, eh?"

Lowery hissed and groaned between gnashed teeth, glaring up at the snickering newcomer. "Nikolai? What the hell? You tipped Aaron and me off about her, why are you doing this?"

"Oh, sorry, friend. Our agreement expired because my new employer bought out yours and doubled price for his own. How is it you Americans say? Ah, right…money talks."

His hands may have been up in submission, but there was no mistaking the spite on Lowery's face. "I'll double his price…right now. Just give me my file and give me the girl."

"Just try it," Claire warned, pointing Lowery's own gun at him.

Nikolai chuckled. "She's just not that into you, comrade. Besides, she is under strict protection of my employer. If she gets just a scratch, it's my head. You understand, yes?"

Holding his bleeding hand, the college professor's defiant stare cracked, replaced with fear. "You gonna kill me?"

The younger Redfield did not like the sleazy grin on the silver-haired Russian's face. She refused to give Lowery what he wanted, but she didn't think he deserved to die. However, she got a more concerning feeling in her gut by Nikolai's smug look and shallow shrug. "Welllllll, that's where it gets interesting. I was supposed to kill anyone that got wind of our scheme here. But that little detail on agreement was outbid by his partner, without my employer's knowledge, of course! He wishes to speak with you, Dr. Lowery. You have time to chat, hmm friend?"

"W-Who?"

"You will know when we get there. Stay positive! Perhaps you two can make deal. Then we can put whole thing behind us!"

Nikolai stepped over to Lowery, holding out his hand, offering to help the wounded man to his feet. There was an underlying threat to his tone that Lowery had no choice but to come along. Claire felt his powerlessness as he glanced around, apprehensive. He raised his uninjured hand to take Nikolai's, but in the blink of an eye, the mercenary grabbed the professor and knocked him out cold.

"What the hell?!" Claire spat.

Nikolai pulled the knife from Lowery's hand and bandaged him up. He wiped the knife on his pants and inserted it into a cylindrical tube. It clicked in Claire's mind that the knife had been shot out of that when it struck Lowery. A ballistic knife. The Russian mercenary pocketed his weapon and started dragging the younger man through the snow. Claire watched, aghast, and then stomped after him.

"What do you think you're doing?!"

"The white SUV just over there," Nikolai nodded with his head. "That is our ride."

"You are my ride?"

"Ms. Wong received new orders. So now you and I get to spend some quality time together, printsessa."

She knew well enough that whatever he had called her was some kind of pet name and that rolled off her skin like cold sludge. "Fuck that. I'll walk."

He wasn't fazed by her attitude, in fact, she was sure he was fed by it. That same sleazy grin appeared as he seemed to drag the man with little effort, way stronger than he looked. "In this weather? You catch cold easily. Besides, it is my responsibility to return you to Wesker."

"Sounds like a personal problem."

Nikolai snorted as he loaded the unconscious professor into the backseat of the vehicle . "Does it? You know what else is personal? Your brother, Chris, yeah?"

Claire froze, having only taken three defiant steps away from this situation once Nikolai reached the SUV. She turned around, glaring. She aimed Lowery's gun at him, angry, protective, cornered.

"What do you know about my brother?"

He raised his hands in mock surrender, the same wily grin still in place, careful steps moving towards her and away from the SUV where Lowery was now locked away. "Oh, little of everything, I suppose. Address, schedule, hobbies..."

There was an underlying threat there. Her gut clenched, rolled like a dying animal. And all Claire could come to understand was that this dangerous mercenary knew this information with the sole purpose of killing her big brother.

In a split second the scarred mercenary disarmed her, flipping the gun around on her. Claire froze, breath hitching, and Nikolai playfully chortled.

"Ohhhh, too slow, little Claire!"

He was a complete blur, she could barely register what just happened. This man was dangerous. Very dangerous.

She kept his gaze with the dirtiest look she could muster, hiding her worry, exposing her anger. After all, if Nikolai spoke the truth about Wesker having her under his protection, what was there to fear? Especially of him?

"You're going to kill my brother?" Claire hissed.

"Only if you do not do as you're told. It's simply collateral, printsessa."

"Wesker fucking hired you to do this?"

Nikolai chuckled. "You're surprised? Comrade Wesker doesn't get his hands dirty unless he has to. Why would he when he has pawns or even paid professionals like myself?"

Claire wasn't surprised. But she was still livid. Feeding off of her anger, Nikolai continued to spite her.

"Don't worry, I'm only having little fun." He slipped the gun inside his coat and opened the front passenger door of the SUV for her. "Come along, printsessa. I take you back to where you belong. It is in my best interest that I return you in perfect condition."

Offended, she snapped, "I belong at home with my brother!"

Nikolai half-shrugged. God, she wanted to shoot that smug grin off his face. "That is not what comrade Wesker thinks."

"I don't give a damn what he thinks!"

The younger Redfield didn't have much of a choice. If she didn't go with Nikolai, he would kill her brother under orders from Wesker. But going with him also meant going into the open arms of the enemy.

Biting her tongue, fists clenched, she got inside the vehicle and her pompous companion closed the door and went around and got in the driver's seat. Claire looked back at the unconscious Lowery. Nikolai had tied his arms to the backseat in case he woke up.

"You are in interesting position," Nikolai stated after driving for a bit. "Both blessing and curse to have Wesker's protection. But even more interesting is how obsessed he seems with you."

"I'm just trying to get back to my normal life, whatever it takes."

Nikolai's hollow laugh filled the cab. "He's not going to let you go...not by what I saw."

Claire didn't say anything, both mad and upset that he was probably right. She stared out the window. Raccoon City life went on, even after dark. Busy, bustling, oblivious, day and night.

"He had girl like you awhile back...five, six years ago. Pretty little thing, not much older than you, red hair too. Emigrated here working for Umbrella, eastern Europe, I think."

"What happened to her?" Claire asked, suddenly interested.

Nikolai shrugged apathetically. "No one knows for sure. Most rumors revolve around her fleeing for some reason. Going into hiding. Personally, I think Wesker just got bored of her and ran her off. I guess we'll never really know."

Claire grew quiet, although more questions burned within her about this mysterious woman. Maybe it was best to leave well enough alone; but it did make her more curious about Wesker and the seemingly endless secrets he had. Just a while ago, she would have thought it impossible that Wesker would care about anyone but himself.

Her inner pondering got her the mercenary's sarcastic quip in return. "Oh, don't worry, Claire! She's long gone. Wesker has his eyes on you and you alone. He's all yours! Ahh, you don't know how many females would kill to be in your place right now."

Nikolai's creepy chortle unsettled her. She focused on the passing scenery outside her window. But perhaps it wasn't the mercenary's vile laugh that really unsettled her, but the way her pulse rocketed in tune with an excited warmth in her groin...

Claire began to wonder how they would get the unconscious Lowery out of the car and down into NEST when Nikolai parked the SUV in the alleyway behind an Umbrella pharmacy. Her inner questions were soon answered when a few men in black mercenary suits came outside. Nikolai barked orders at them in Russian as they yanked the professor out without an ounce of sympathy.

She had a real bad feeling when Nikolai motioned her to follow them. The pharmacy was closed, dark, but they went into the back where a security door was. A pharmacist was there waiting, dressed in her appropriate attire and swiped a keycard to allow them entry. She didn't look like she was being coerced or intimidated. In fact, she looked more annoyed than anything, as though letting these thugs through her business put a huge damper on her beauty sleep.

By the time they took a large elevator down into the sewers, Lowery started coming to. But the two hefty men carrying him under the arm pits would have no problem keeping him under control. They followed along the marked passageways that would take them to NEST.

"Oh God, no! Please, no!" Lowery cried, recognizing their surroundings. He fought with the men who carried him, pleaded even. "Just kill me now! Don't hand me over to that devil!"

But his cries went ignored. Claire felt bad for the man, even after he had tried to kill her. She didn't blame him for his futile fighting and begging. Wesker would surely condemn this man to a horrible death and write it off as some sort of accident, never to be questioned.

Even as they trekked through the clean, bright hallways of NEST, Lowery's cries for help and mercy went unanswered. Some Umbrella workers simply turned a blind eye while others paused to enjoy watching the man's misfortune.

They stopped at an intersection of hallways. Although Lowery had exhausted himself struggling with his captors, he still quietly sobbed for his life. He stared puffy-eyed at Claire and it hurt her to the bone. She was responsible for his fate. If only he hadn't followed her. If only he had let her go.

"You don't know who you're working for," he said to her. "He's a monster! The absolute worst!'

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want any of this to happen," Claire replied, feeling guilty. She wasn't sure he would believe her. "Wesker blackmailed me. I'm just trying to protect my brother."

Lowery's face scrunched up, and strangely he laughed. A snorty, "fuck-it-all" laugh that was more creepy than anything. "I wasn't talking about Wesker."

The college student was caught off guard, just assuming the professor was talking about her own captor. But it didn't take her long to realize who he was really talking about.

"Consider yourself lucky." His last words were muttered, bitter.

Nikolai nodded to his men, and they started dragging him off down one long, blindingly white hallway. Lowery had given up fighting, his eyes haunted, searing into hers as he was hauled off, probably never to be seen again.

"Come along, printsessa. Wesker awaits your return."

Claire hesitated, perturbed, telling herself that Lowery was a bad man and deserved what he got, and that she had to do what she did to save Chris. She joined Nikolai as they took a different route, her steps without as much pep as his, thinking.

"Ah, cheer up, Claire! You looked out for most important person. Yourself! This saves precious brother in end!"

She would've been insulted by his words if she hadn't been so damn confused on why Lowery was more afraid of William than he was of Wesker.

"What is William going to do to that man? Why was he more afraid of him than Wesker?"

Nikolai half-glanced at her, the corners of his lips tugging upward. "They're two different monsters, printsessa. There are fates worse than death if you haven't figured that out already."

Annette had said those very same words to her before. And although she had understood the concept, fearing that her blackmailing and enslavement to Wesker would go on forever, there was something about the way that Nikolai had said it that disturbed her on a deeper level.

"Who do you think has more empathy?"

Claire looked at him, confused. "William. Obviously."

Nikolai chuckled. "Then you do not know Birkin very well!" When she stayed quiet, he continued. "Wesker has more empathy, even if it's indirect most of time."

Claire scoffed at that. "Yeah, right."

"It's true! Take Dr. Lowery for example. Comrade Wesker would've just saved us all the trouble and put a bullet between his eyes. But Birkin has to have something more...exciting. Lowery would've preferred that bullet. Therefore, in such instance, Wesker has more empathy. And, well, there's you, isn't there? Most people would've died in your situation, but Wesker spared you...even if it was for nefarious motives. And the fact that he has given you his protection is quite telling!"

"What is William going to do?"

Nikolai shrugged. "Not for me to say. Unless, of course, you wish to purchase such secrets from me."

She glared at the greedy son of a bitch. "Not in your life."

Again, the Russian mercenary was amused and not at all insulted. "As you wish. But here is free advice, printsessa. Take it or leave it. The thing about Wesker and Birkin is that they do not have the capacity to care for anyone outside of their private circle. Wesker only cares for Birkin and his unbearingly cute daughter - besides himself, of course. And that care doesn't even extend to his own best friend's wife. But...there are some pretty convincing rumors that he cared about the last redhead that came before you. Birkin rarely cares for anyone outside his family and Wesker. Though from what I heard he's fond of you for some reason!"

Claire rolled her eyes, but unfortunately, he wasn't finished.

"Mark my words, printsessa. If one falls, the other will. Especially Birkin. Wesker will probably recover, perhaps be driven more by his hatred without Birkin to keep it at bay. But Birkin...he'll absolutely lose it. I give him two weeks before he's falling apart, showing the monster he really is, and I wouldn't doubt he'll eat his own family alive if that happens."

"You make it sound like that's going to happen soon."

"Nah...just eventually. Everybody makes mistakes, even comrade Wesker. One day they may have to reap what they have sown. And if comrade Sergei gets his wish, we will see these two partners in crime turn on each other like dogs when push comes to shove, common goals be damned. Ultimately, they're only out for themselves. Their symbiosis will come to an end one day, that's inevitable."

A large laboratory-like room came upon their left, long windows allowing Claire and Nikolai to peer inside as they made their way to the automatic door further down. Claire noticed right away that the Birkins were bickering over something near a large computer screen. Wesker was on the opposite side of the room on the phone, fingers on his other ear as if to tune his coworkers out. He was facing the window and so noticed them right away. Claire could tell by how his naked eyes caught them and he smirked.

But a surprise addition she wasn't expecting was Sherry. The little girl held up a piece of paper, trying to get her parents' attention. She went unnoticed…

When the automatic door slid open to let Claire and Nikolai into the room, Sherry was the only Birkin to notice. She looked over her shoulder with startled eyes. She barely looked at them, Claire didn't even have time to wave at her, before she spun and raced across the room. And just like the younger Redfield saw before, the child took refuge behind the monster that had Claire by a tight leash.

The first thing Claire thought was that it was sad that a young girl felt she had to retreat across a large room to take cover behind her godfather when she had been right beside her parents…Worst yet, her parents continued on, unaffected that their child ditched them to hide behind someone else and barely noticed the arrival of company.

Wesker held up a finger to tell them he would be with them momentarily. Sherry peeked her head out from behind him and instantly brightened when she recognized Claire. She came out of her "safe zone" and over to Claire, careful to avoid getting near Nikolai or looking at him.

"Hi, Claire!"

Claire greeted her with a bright, positive smile. "Hello, Sherry!"

The young girl barely allowed her to finish before hugging her tightly around the waist. Taken aback at first, the college student returned the hug and rubbed Sherry's head.

"You look so cute today! I love that outfit."

Sherry grinned. "Thanks. Look what I drew!" And held up the same paper she had presented to her parents.

Claire was expecting a random doodle kids Sherry's age often produced, with their colorful imagination. She gasped at what she was shown. It was really good. Like really good. Probably better than Claire could ever draw. It was a cat dozing on a tree limb, all sketched in pencil and shaded.

"Wow, Sherry! This is really good!"

"You think?" Birkin's little girl wondered with a blush, nervously rocking back and forth on her heels.

"Seriously, I need to take some pointers from you. Did you have a picture to look at or something?"

Sherry shook her head. "No, just saw a cat doing that on my way to school this morning and drew it from memory."

This girl had a photogenic memory apparently. That didn't surprise Claire, the young girl already acted like she was quite intelligent for her age. She looked and acted like her father a lot, and must have gotten both of her parents' gifted smarts.

"That's incredible, Sherry. I love it."

Sherry blushed even deeper, but didn't have time to say anything before Nikolai butted in shamelessly, bending down, hands on his knees to get to her level, his toothy grin making the young girl nervous.

"Ah, aren't you a clever and talented little devushka! Taking right after mama and papa! Such a bright future ahead of you!"

Claire glared at the asshole and was about to give him a piece of her mind, protecting Sherry, when a dark, tall figure stepped directly in between Nikolai and Sherry. Sherry instantly looked relieved, and clinged to her familiar wall. Nikolai slowly stood up straight, unfazed by the glare that would have incinerated most men.

Wesker didn't even have to say anything. Nikolai put up his hands in fake submission, and Claire was sure this man wasn't afraid of anything since he didn't even bat an eye to the scariest person in the room.

"Oh, forgive me, comrade. I have overstepped boundaries. I meant no harm."

"Yes, you did, you fucking asshole," Claire snapped.

Nikolai chuckled, but kept his attention on his employer. "Your lyubovnik is bold. I can see why you like her so much, comrade. Should've seen how she handled 'ol Lowery when he attacked her."

The Birkins had stopped bickering and came over to get in on the conversation at hand. And even with them being nearby, Sherry remained behind her "uncle".

Wesker's lip barely curled at Nikolai's gibe. "And where is Dr. Lowery now? Was he...taken care of?"

Claire was sure he said that in such a way just for the sake of Sherry, and that surprised her.

"Forgive me, but your...request was outbid by best friend."

Wesker glared William's way, but the eccentric researcher just fist pumped like an excited kid. "Yes!"

Nikolai chuckled. "After all, no one knows the value of human life quite like Dr. Birkin."

"Of course they don't! I mean I am a doctor, after all!" William snorted and ruffled Sherry's hair, getting her to giggle. "Relax, Al! I'll take good care of our guest! Thanks, Nikky!"

"I'm sure you will," Wesker stated as William left the laboratory, on a mission. Under William's delighted smile and hums as he left, Claire fleetingly noticed tiny traces of something dark, something ruthless. And she understood Lowery would never be seen again.

Wesker turned to Nikolai and Annette after his partner had gone. "Nikolai, I'll escort you out. We have much to discuss. Anne, dear, please keep Miss Redfield comfortable until I return."

Annette sighed. "What am I now, your babysitter? Come on, Albert...I have enough to do as it is, I'm behind schedule even without having to take care of your…," She gave Claire an unreadable glance, "...guest."

Sherry's mother turned and went back to her project at one corner of the room, where she and William had been bickering earlier, busying herself with whatever was displayed on the computer's monitor. Claire glared at her back. This woman was something else! When first meeting with Claire she seemed curious, albeit a little skeptical, and gave Claire advice on Wesker. Now this. Then again, Annette was always absorbed in her work to barely be concerned with her own child.

"Come along, comrade," Wesker mocked, motioning for the Russian mercenary to follow him.

But before he left, Nikolai had one last piece of advice to give Claire. "Remember printsessa...If you are going to dwell among wolves...you should howl like one."

He winked at her and left with that eerie grin on his face. Once it was just Claire, Sherry, and Annette, the tension in the room nearly dissipated completely. Sherry snatched Claire's hand and tried dragging her away from the exit.

"I don't see that man too often, but he's scary. C'mon, let's go sit in the break room, I have more drawings to show you!"

The college student hesitated at first, still confused over Nikolai's final advice. She shook it from her thoughts and allowed the young girl to guide her past her mother and into the little break room attached to the laboratory.

"Momma, me and Claire are gonna go draw in the break room, you should join us!"

"That's nice, sweetie," Annette mumbled while looking into a microscope.

Claire tightened the grip around Sherry's hand and stopped, glaring at Annette, but Sherry tugged on her. "It's okay, she's busy. Come on!"

It took all of her willpower to bite her tongue, only doing so because of Sherry. They went to the table and sat down. Sherry showed off her drawings in a sketchbook that was falling apart. Nearly all the pages were filled with her artwork, many loose and sticking out all over the place. The girl exuberantly showed off her illustrations. Claire was just as excited to see them all, and found joy that the young Birkin was out of her shell now.

"They're all so good. Sherry, you should become a professional artist when you grow up!"

Sherry beamed. "Really? Daddy says I'm gonna be a doctor like him some day. I want to do both. I want to help people like they do."

Claire smiled, hiding the worry from such a statement. "You are so smart and talented, you can do whatever you want to. I know it."

"Thank you, Claire!" The girl blushed with a sweet smile. Claire couldn't believe such a cute, sweet little girl could come from such horrible parents that let a psychopath raise her half the time. "I wish my parents showed as much interest in me as you. I mean, they do, just...I don't know. Sometimes they're just so absorbed in their work, that's all they know." Sherry frowned. "...or care about."

"Well, they aren't focusing on what's important then. I hope one day that they do."

Sherry nervously played with the crinkled corner of one of her artworks. "What are your parents like, Claire?"

The pain that ripped through her heart wasn't expected. Claire took a deep breath and smiled at the girl. "Well, I lost them when I was around your age. But...I remember my mom being...fearless. She wasn't afraid of anything, it seemed. She loved motorcycles. I got my love of motorcycles from her. My dad...he was patient and so much fun. He played guitar. He was teaching me before…"

Sherry was quiet for a long moment, and she grabbed Claire's hand and squeezed. "What...happened to them?"

"Car accident. It's weird...they were both special forces in the Air Force. Seemed invincible to me as a kid. And they were gone in a split second...just like that."

"Oh no! That's terrible! Were you all alone?"

"No...no. I have an older brother. He's a cop...he works with Wesker. He raised me with the help from some old family friends. We lost everything from our old home though."

"What, why? So you don't have anything from your parents?"

"My uncle...distant uncle, my mom's brother. He lives in Stone Ville. He got the house and all the belongings because my brother wasn't an adult at the time. And he never liked our father or us very much. So he took it away from us. Blamed our father for the accident."

Sherry's hands clamped over her mouth and nose in an instant, shocked by the heartlessness of Claire's uncle. "That's awful!" she mumbled from behind dainty fingers.

Claire half-shrugged, swallowing the resentment she still had for that family member. "Chris and I have come to terms with it. Most of it meant nothing to us anyway. He sold the house and most of the stuff a long time ago, but he keeps a few important things in storage. Some things we hope to get one day."

Sherry bit her lip. "Like what?"

"Pictures, mostly. My dad's guitar. My brother really wants their military medals. Me...there's just one picture I really want. It's my parents on my mom's red motorcycle, dressed in their military attire, before they had us. I remember adoring it as a kid. They looked like superheroes to me. But…"

"But what?"

Claire swallowed, ignoring the burn in her eyes. "I'm afraid I'm gonna forget what they look like one day. That picture gets more and more fuzzy as the years go by."

Sherry gasped and looked horrified, sad for her, staring up at her with big blue eyes. Claire cleared her throat, putting on a big smile. She got so caught up in her reminiscing that she made the girl just as sad she was. "Sorry. Hey, don't worry about it! It will all work out in the end. I know it!"

Sherry leaned in and hugged her close. "I hope so! Or else we can send Nikolai to scare him," the blond girl joked slyly, face crushed against her.

That tickled a snorted laugh out of the young Redfield. "Yeah, he better not tempt me! One more thing though...could you keep this between us?"

The last thing she needed was something else for Wesker to have over her head.

She pulled back with a small smile. "I promise! I sure would like to meet your brother one day. He must be strong and brave if he works with Uncle Albert!"

Claire wished she could understand the closeness she felt to this little girl after knowing her for such a short period. Maybe a little sister she never had, or a daughter perhaps that Claire would want one day.

"He is. He's the best."

Light knocking startled them both, and Claire's heart spun when she saw Wesker in the doorway of the breakroom. There was no door separating the rooms, and so she could only hope he hadn't been there long and overheard their conversation.

"Hi, Uncle Albert! Claire just told me that her brother works with you!"

The STARS Captain moved inside, a small smirk forming. He no longer sported the lab coat from earlier, but was still dressed exquisitely. "Yes, he does. He's one of my best men, actually."

"Oh, neat, are you guys friends?!"

"Best of friends," Wesker chuckled, although his ambiguous tone and smile was directed towards Claire.

"Even more than Daddy?" Sherry gasped.

Wesker's smile towards Sherry was a lot less menacing and he held out his arm. "Of course not, darling."

Sherry took his arm and squeaked in delight as he picked her up effortlessly out of the chair and let her dangle for a moment like a doll before setting her down on her feet.

"I see you were providing Claire with some pleasant company. Thank you, Sherry."

Wesker offered his hand with a sly smile, but Claire refused it. She stood up on her own with a defiant look that only made her captor's smirk grow.

"Of course, Uncle Albert! I just love having Claire come by to visit. Can't you bring her around more often? Please, pretty please?!"

"I'm sure we could work on that."

"Yay!" Sherry exclaimed, hugging Claire real quick before going over to the table to gather up her art supplies and sketchbook.

"Are you ready, dear heart?"

Claire hated that he said that pet name right in front of Sherry. As if she needed any more reasons to fantasize about them hooking up. "Ready for what?"

"We're leaving."

"W-Where?" she inwardly panicked.

"My personal quarters here in the facility. We have much to discuss."

Somewhere behind them, Sherry giggled into her hand and quickly hid her face behind her sketchbook to avoid being reprimanded for butting into their business. Wesker let it slide - for now.

Claire shook her head. "No, we can do that tomorrow. I have to get home to Chris. He'll be worried."

"He'll be fine," Wesker countered. "He's at the bar with friends, most notably Jill, which means he won't be home until late, or until nature takes its course between them. We wouldn't want to disrupt that now, would we?" He leered gleefully at her.

She glared at him, ignoring his comment about the possibility of any...lewd content...between her brother and Jill, even if she was very aware of the attraction between the two. But now was not the time nor place to be concerned over that.

"The sooner we get our "business" out of the way, the sooner you can go home."

It wasn't like she had a choice, no matter how much she fought him. Claire reluctantly agreed, for the sake of doing this quickly and getting it over with. But deep down, some strange, new instinct had awoken. She wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. She was certain going to Wesker's quarters with him alone would prove to be dangerous, bad, very bad. But this new instinct was okay with that, and it made her nerves tingle like she was high on drugs.

Wesker's private quarters within the NEST facility looked like a richy hotel room, only without a grand view of a beach or cityscape. The lights automatically kicked on when they entered. It was either hardly used or strictly kept up by a housekeeper. Immaculate. Expensive. There was a lounge area with leather sofas and a cherry wood table between them. The kitchen had expensive countertops and appliances, and even a bar. And from where she stood, Claire could see the open door that led into a large, dark bedroom.

"You should see William's quarters," Wesker stated after noticing her admiring the room. "It's nicer than his actual house. But he and Anne do practically live down here."

He took her parka from her and hung it up near the door. "Drink?" he offered, heading towards the bar. "I know I need one."

"Yeah," she mumbled, distracted, and then realized what she agreed to and glared at his back. "Only if I watch you pour it!"

"So suspicious," Wesker chuckled as he retrieved a couple of glasses and pulled out a bottle of wine from a fancy wine rack, checking the bottle over before pouring. "Trust me, if I do end up having to eliminate you, it will be a little more...exciting."

"Gee, thanks. That's totally increasing my trust in you."

He huffed a laugh and held out the glass full of a dark red liquid to her, clearly not fazed by her sarcastic comment in the least. Claire slowly took it from him and they sat down across from one another on the sofas. She gave in fast and took a sip. The redhead had been thirsty for quite a while. And a little peckish too, if she was being honest...espionage obviously made her hungry. You learn something new every day, she scoffed at herself silently. The wine was a rich merlot and it warmed her tongue and made her stomach fizzle.

"You do know you're contributing to a minor with this, right?"

"Well, I am an officer of the law. I'm quite aware of that."

"Are you sure you're an officer of the law?"

He shrugged, unimpressed, his steely grey eyes seemingly putting Claire more on edge than when he had his sunglasses on. "I have sundry jobs, if only you knew half of them. Then again, I would have to kill you if you did." Wesker smirked, unashamed.

Claire took a big gulp of her wine, either trying to settle her empty stomach or pacify her flurried nerves. "But mostly you're a corrupt cop by day and mad scientist by night. Got it."

His lips quirked in amusement. "You have me all figured out, apparently. And what about you, my dear?" There he went staking claim to her again. "Not so much a "good girl" yourself, hmm? The wine, for instance. If you're so offended by me serving you any, you could've just declined. I'm sure you're like any other college girl and drink plenty when big brother isn't watching."

Touché. She did go drinking and partying with her friends a lot. Without Chris knowing, of course.

"Yeah, so?" she challenged, and then balked, squeaking, "Please don't tell Chris!"

"Your secret is safe with me, dear heart."

Her heart did a weird flip that made her stomach feel warmer than the wine, and then she discerned it was time to get this meeting over with and get home as soon as possible.

"So, what is it you have to discuss with me, exactly? I'm sure it's too much to hope that you're finally setting me free?"

"It is. But do not fret yourself, my dear, you are making headway in our...agreement. I applaud you for your accomplishment tonight. No one else could have done it quite like you. I'm almost tempted to say...you're a natural."

"Thanks," Claire said dryly. "So, what about that doctor and other professor? What happens to them? Why hack into the hard drives of the university's research center?"

"Such questions are dangerous, Miss Redfield. You wish to get yourself deeper into this conspiracy? Best to leave it alone if you want to return to your normal life…"

She didn't say anything to that. He had a point, although it didn't make her feel any better about what kind of situation she had put these men in, whether they deserved it or not. Her being complicit in their (most probably) unpleasant fate somehow made her uneasy. Claire tried not to imagine what would await them now that their futures were at Wesker and Birkin's mercy...and would most likely be cut short.

"...unless you don't want to return to "normal"?" he smirked, a little too sanguine in his insinuation.

Claire avoided answering that, still upset over the fates of the two professors and the doctor. "Are those men bad like you?"

Wesker eyed her, sloshing around the little remains of wine in his glass. He stood, drinking the rest and then placing the glass on the table. He approached her, making her heart leap like a startled cat, and when he sat down beside her, she knew she was trapped.

"They make me look like a saint," he replied, placing his hand over his heart - or at least where it was supposed to be - in a gesture of mock sincerity. But she didn't believe him. "Trust me. They deserve whatever's coming to them."

"Yeah, right," she scoffed, and wanted to scoot away from him, but some kind of pull kept her frozen in place.

"Perhaps you should look in the mirror, dear heart. It's obvious by tonight's events that your "good girl" demeanor is merely a front to a more adventurous and daring version of yourself...the true Claire. The Claire your brother never sees or even suspects because he lives in his little bubble of self-righteousness. He would never guess that the real Claire hides from the world, afraid of judgement. His judgement. Afraid of being judged for who she really is and what she really wants. The Claire that I see when I look at you…"

He wasn't talking about her defiant and rebellious nature that everyone knew, and often associated as typical Redfield traits, but something darker. She immediately refuted it, glaring at him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Although her defensive denial only made him smirk.

He's playing mind games with you. Ada and William warned you about this. Keep it together!

"I think you do," Wesker insisted. "I saw it the first time I laid eyes on you. You enjoyed being complicit tonight, the adrenaline rush, the danger, yes? The fact that you got away with it and, in a way, set up three cruel men to the fates they deserve. Satisfying, isn't it?"

His words hit too close to home. Claire could barely breathe, but stayed solid. Her heart pounded in her ear, she clenched her fingers on her thighs to where her knuckles turned white. Still, she glared at him, defying, but it was hard to keep his intense gaze.

"I didn't enjoy anything I did tonight. I did what I had to because you blackmailed me!"

Her instincts were all over the place. Some of them told her to get out of there. To move away from him, but the others told her to stay, to continue challenging him. But there was no winning either way. He was manipulating her and despite her best efforts it was working, but, in a way, she also knew he was telling the truth.

"Irrelevant," Wesker dismissed her protest. "You still went through with it. You can deny it all you want, but I see right through it. You take pleasure walking the line of morality. And lying to yourself is both pointless and a waste of time. I know you better than you think. I can read you like a book, Claire...although admittedly a riveting one."

She hated how pragmatic he was, but mostly abhorred how right he was.

Okay, so what if she did have a little fun tonight? So what if slinking around, danger at every corner, was a little thrilling to her? Was that so bad? It certainly contributed to her rebellious nature, but that didn't make her bad. That didn't make them alike, no matter what he seemed to think he knew of her.

Don't do it. Don't give him what he wants.

"Even if you were right...which you aren't," Claire retorted, and then inwardly facepalmed, because that wasn't blatantly obvious that she fell for his trap. "What exactly are you trying to get out of me?"

"Nothing much...except that I want you to stop fooling yourself. You might as well be on the same side as me. You, Claire, are a thrill seeker. You love the adrenaline of doing forbidden things, feeding off those thrills and any power or advantage you gain from them. Not all that different from me. Your excuses for not going after what you really want in life are threadbare at best…You have the potential to take whatever you want if you would just let go of your fruitless morals."

Her conscience came through in Wesker's spell of smoke and mirrors, and she shot to her feet. So fast, her head spun for a moment, the light burn of the wine she had drank sizzling in her gut.

"You know nothing about what I want. This conversation is over," Claire ordered. "We're done here."

Wesker sighed, pushing himself out of his seat, seemingly unaffected that she desperately tried to flee his influence. "If you insist. But you won't be able to run from the truth forever. Sooner or later, you'll see that I'm right."

Claire chewed on her lip, this strange mix of dread and excitement making her woozy. She wanted it to go away, but she had a feeling it was about to get a lot worse.

The STARS leader returned to her with her parka in hand, holding it as she slipped into it. He leaned in close as she got dressed, murmuring into her ear, "But I think you're wrong...I think I do have a pretty good idea of what you want, Claire...you're merely postponing the inevitable."

His hands held her shoulders as Claire stood there with her back to him, petrified at being called out. No, he's lying. He's setting you up, don't listen to him!

Okay, maybe he did have a pretty good reading on her, she finally had to admit to herself. But she wasn't about to admit it to him. No! Never!

The narcissistic asshole rubbed his hand down her spine, smoothing out the wrinkles of her parka. The electric spark that ignited every fiber of her body made Claire spin around and face him directly.

The younger Redfield was aware of what would happen if she wasn't careful. He had done exactly what she had been warned about, using her defiance and denial against her to seduce her. She felt so exposed to how easily he had read her, when she couldn't even admit it herself.

Wesker opened the door for her, but there was an underlying challenge there in his show of chivalry. "After you, dear heart."

Claire told herself there were two choices here. If she walked out that door, nothing would happen. She would be returned home to her brother. But maybe she would only be "postponing the inevitable", like he said…

But her own bravado wouldn't let her walk out that door. Wesker led her right into a standoff of power he knew she wouldn't back down to.

It was one thing to dwell among this vicious pack of wolves and howl with them like Nikolai had advised. It was another to mess around with the Alpha.

Her heart may have been beating on her ribs, but she wasn't about to give into him lying down. She had one last act of defiance up her sleeve that she hoped would wipe that smirk off his face, since her obvious hesitation told him he had her right where he wanted her.

How much worse can it get anyway? Fuck it!

The redhead pushed herself onto her tip toes and kissed him. She was so determined to spite him and gain some kind of control, she didn't care what kind of fire she had just started. And what did they say? If you play with fire, you're going to get burned.

When her brother's corrupt boss slammed that door shut after returning her reckless kiss, Claire knew she would get burned tonight. But if the smoldering in her chest and thighs were any indication, she wasn't at all concerned. Even her initial irritation at him for not being taken off guard by her initiation - had he been expecting this after all?! - was soon forgotten.

What Claire quickly learned was that he was a great kisser. The taste of the merlot was on their lips, fuel for their fervent kissing. Her hands squeezed his shirt, tugging him closer.

Just as she was cursing his height, one strong arm wrapped around her lower back and picked her up. Effortlessly. Like she was a pillow. She squeaked in surprise, having never been picked up like that before. Her legs, through no control of her own, instantly wrapped around his waist.

He walked somewhere, but Claire couldn't determine where while they smacked lips. She felt drunk, but she hadn't ingested that much wine. Eager to taste more of it on him, she pushed for entry into his mouth with her tongue.

Wesker did allow her entry for a few precious seconds before he dropped her on something soft. A quick glance as her fingers found their way under his shirt determined it was the back of one of the leather sofas, which allowed her to be closer to his height sitting down while he remained standing.

"For someone so determined to stay in denial, you sure are eager," Wesker teased.

"Shut up!"

His smirk infuriated her as he dipped lower to suck on her neck. Claire tried pushing him away but it was like trying to move a brick wall. "No marks where Chris can see!"

He seized her ponytail and tugged hard, and Claire figured he was about to reprimand her. She hissed, but soon her hair fell down all around her face. He kissed her throat, and although his hands explored, he kept her steady on the furniture.

He kissed her ear, and Claire was certain he would tell her that it wasn't his problem if he left marks on her.

"Don't worry, dear heart. It's our little secret." Wow. She was surprised he was being considerate of her wishes. Or maybe he just liked being clandestine. "No promises for next time though." Never mind.

"There won't be a next time," she claimed.

The STARS Captain didn't reply to that, although his lips quirked upward, blatantly cocky. Instead, he claimed her lips again, giving her a tongue lashing of a different kind.

Claire kept her legs clamped around his waist, helping her keep balance as they kissed and sucked and explored. She soon became quite aware of the growing bulge pinching into her thigh.

He pushed on her, as if instinct told him to pin her down onto the nonexistent floor. If she leaned any further back, she'd fall onto the cushions.

Wesker quickly grew tired of bothersome clothes. He ripped her shirt off and tossed it aside. Claire had already long discarded her stuffy parka.

When she tugged on his nice, black shirt to be tossed, he obliged without hesitation. Claire stared, her hands eagerly roaming over his muscular torso and arms. He was ripped! He made the few college guys she messed around with look like weaklings, and they were jocks.

"Like what you see?"

The part time spy could only nod, throat suddenly dry. She expected him to come back with a highly conceited reply, but he spared her once more.

"Good. So do I."

About that time, an experienced flick of his hand popped her bra strap. Her bra fell to the floor. Claire removed her hands from exploring Wesker's chiseled chest in the midst of a deep kiss to cover herself. Her wrists were snatched before she could do so.

"No more hiding...no more games," he ordered.

His hands stroked up and down her sides, over the peaks of her breasts and fondling them. His rough kisses skimmed from her lips, down her throat to her nipples, driving her mad. The younger Redfield's chest felt like her ribs would shatter any second from her heart. Heat pooled between her legs, her nerves sparked at every ending.

Wesker claimed one perky breast in his mouth, one muscular arm curled around her back, arched from the swirls and patterns from his tongue. Claire grazed a hand through his gelled hair, pushing her crotch into the hardened mass cradled in her thigh. It was so big she didn't understand how he could stand it still being confined.

A few grinds against his at attention member with her groin and he half growled, half groaned and released her breast from his teeth.

"You're awfully bold. Just remember it isn't a good idea to start what you cannot finish."

Another challenge. He knew just how to push her buttons. And that was exactly how she got into this situation, giving him exactly what he wanted.

"It's not my first time. Now, you gonna get this show on the road or what?" Claire hoped he didn't see through her false bravado and thinly veiled attempt at glossing over her nerves.

Besides, it may not have been her first time having sex, she'd done it a few times with college guys she knew, but Wesker was a whole different level than them. She was intimidated, but did all in her power to hide it.

"As you wish," he snickered. Yep, he saw right through her defense.

He leaned in, kissing her a few times on the lips, and just as Claire was relaxing, he bent and bit the side of one breast. She gasped, eyes shooting open and next thing she knew he pulled her off the couch to stand.

"Undress. Now." The authority in his voice both irked and aroused her.

She obeyed...stubbornly. Claire took her time sliding out of her pants and panties after kicking off her boots. It was hard to do with his eyes on her, head slightly cocking as he enjoyed every second of it. Why did he have to have such daunting and beautiful eyes?

Quietly, he admired her curves and athletic body. He must have sensed her incoming sarcastic comment on his silence because just as she opened her mouth, he kissed it right off her lips. One hand closed dangerously around her throat just before he shoved one knee in between her legs. He hoisted her right back up on top of the sofa, like she weighed nothing again.

It did little to interrupt their make out session. Wesker's hands were a strange mix of rough and smooth, and petting over her silky skin, it roused every little inch in goosebumps. She could feel the power in those hands, strong enough to kill her without much effort if he wanted to.

The fact that Wesker was so dangerous only fed Claire's libido. Besides it all being wrong and forbidden on so many levels, he was a very attractive man, megalomania aside. The college guys, or boys she might as well admit, she could've beaten to a pulp if she wanted to. Her brother's boss was the ultimate dominant male with a killer twist.

His hands retracted from her body, disappointing her until she heard the clinking of his belt buckle. Her pulse quickened at that and then skyrocketed when she heard his pants unzip.

Wesker slid her hindquarters out from the couch, balancing her on the back of the couch to the curve of her back. Her legs had retained their hold on his waist, but she held onto the cushions for dear life when he began kissing her breasts and stomach, slowly heading south. His hands caressed around her hips and squeezed her buttocks.

"Not to worry, Claire, I won't be dropping my prize anytime soon."

She wasn't worried about being dropped though. Strangely enough, she was used to his mocking tone by now that she knew it was his very own, if somewhat odd, way of reassuring her, even if he was bragging in the process.

He pulled out of her legs just far enough so he could kiss her pelvis and thighs. One hand spread her legs open a bit more, the touch as electrifying as a lightning storm. She was plenty wet now, could feel it lubricating her inner canal and vulva, preparing for an invasion.

Wesker tested with one finger, rubbing her clit in a soft circle before entering it inside her. He smiled into her abdomen as he sucked below her belly button. The second finger insertion caused her to groan louder than she cared to admit.

"How many partners have you had?" he asked. He sounded generally curious, and not at all mocking as he usually was.

Why did he care?

"T-Two." It was hard to concentrate with his sharp kisses in between her legs. "Why does it matter?"

He chuckled. "It won't after tonight."

What the hell does he mean by that?

The younger Redfield had no time to come up with a remark before his mouth took her pussy. She gasped, death gripping the couch cushions, letting the stimulating euphoria from her core spread through her body like a wildfire.

Her captor kissed and sucked on her clit, tongue rolling and sliding in marvelous patterns. Her previous partners never did this, only concerned with getting off themselves. Pressure continuously built as he lathered her with his tongue. Breathing became labored, her heartbeat was incredibly loud in her ears. Her legs wringed under him and she whined his name just as it became too much, on the verge of losing it.

But he stopped then, denying her right at the brink and she cursed under her breath, the high crashing from her brain and flustering her.

"Oh, did I stop too soon, Claire?" he teased. To provoke her further he rubbed his thumb over her wet opening and up over her clit and she involuntarily bucked from both anticipation and frustration.

"Sadistic asshole," she growled.

He didn't deny her insult, and probably would have agreed with her if he hadn't pushed himself over her and forcefully took her lips again. Her aggravation was soon forgotten as their kissing quickly became feverish and fierce. She let go of the sofa and let her hands explore his toned build. Her juices swapped between their lips and, really, that wasn't as bad as she thought it was going to be.

Claire slipped her hands down his exposed briefs to get her hands full. And she really did get a handful. He was way bigger than the last two. His rock hard member was at full attention in her hands, and Wesker softly groaned while kissing her jugular.

He must have sensed her trepidation though because he rose slightly, whispering into her ear. "Don't tell me you're losing your nerve just when it's getting interesting."

"N-No!" she snapped, his words perfectly rejumpstarting her resolution.

He kissed her jaw. "Then how about you finally admit to me what you really want? What I know you want…?"

A breath hitched in her throat. Claire couldn't admit it. She refused to! His mind games continued to torture her, but deep down she realized there was no hiding it. The secret was out...

"You…"

Wesker smirked. "Good girl."

Claire freed his cock from the confines of his pants. It was thick and long with a bulbous tip. The blood-filled flesh solid and ready. Quite ready.

Wesker grabbed her wrists and moved them away, sliding her legs out from the couch just a bit further. Claire gripped the couch again, her legs snaking around his waist, pulse palpitating in anticipation of what was about to happen.

Her lower back dug into the top of the couch when he bent over her again, but she didn't care. She wondered how it would feel with his whole weight on top of her. His kiss was potent, dizzying, like a shot of strong liquor.

The redhead's proverbial fiery attitude and impatient nature got the better of her, and she huffed, "I'm waiting," as she shivered, feeling his tip at her entrance.

"Good things come to those who wait," came his smug reply, his amusement apparent in his teasing undertone.

He penetrated her in one strong push, stretching and filling her all at once. Claire hissed at the pain at first, but it soon ebbed. Wesker gave her a moment to get used to him before he started rocking her. Slowly and steadily at first.

Claire's arms snaked around his back, stabilizing herself as her body see-sawed over the couch in each of his thrusts. He had a near death-grip on her hips; he wouldn't drop her.

She groaned into his claiming lips, each kiss seemingly getting more and more possessive and zealous, in league with each buck of his hips that grew stronger and faster. His dick glided in and out, covered in her juices and his pre-cum. Each time their pelvises connected, the tip of his cock rammed her cervix.

Claire moaned, the sweet, itchy pressure returning from within her canal, building at each of Wesker's powerful strokes. She squeezed her thighs around him tighter, fingers clenching into his muscular back. He returned her mewling and restlessness underneath him with a low groan, lifting her hips slightly for deeper access.

"I want to hear my name when you cum," he growled.

Several hard, deep thrusts later and the pressure blew, igniting her nerves, a drug-like high overcoming her senses as her body wracked and wringed in pure bliss. He kept pounding into her, even as she howled his name in drunk rapture. Her nails cut deep into his back as her whole body pulsated. She didn't have time to inhale precious air from her loud moans before Wesker silenced her completely with another dominating kiss.

His next few thrusts were erratic but even more penetrating, stretching her, preparing her body for his hazmat. Hot jets of Wesker's cum disgorged into her, coating her walls, filling her to the brim, almost sending her over the edge with another climax.

His slowing thrusts finally came to a stop, and all that could be heard was Claire's panting and Wesker's satisfied huff that warmed her throat. They stayed where they were for a moment, coming down off their ecstasy. Wesker still held Claire up, which was good because her limbs were useless now.

Wesker slowly, and dare she think reluctantly, pulled out of her. He picked her up off the couch and sat her on her own two feet, holding her steady. It gave her an odd, warm, fuzzy feeling to realize that he was waiting for her legs to be working properly again before he let go of her, preventing her from embarrassing herself by faceplanting right before his eyes after he turned her legs into overcooked spaghetti by the grace of his magic tongue and dick.

Huh. It's almost like he cares. Oh, who am I kidding...

He left her side long enough to get them some towels from the nearby kitchen. Claire took one gratefully and wiped up the mess between her legs. Wesker cleaned himself off and rebuckled his pants and slipped his shirt back on, watching Claire slowly and wobbly get dressed. There was no telling where her hair tie went. Her red-brown tresses would have to remain down for now.

Coming down off the high from the erotic encounter, Claire almost felt in shock of what exactly happened. She had just had sex with her brother's boss, the corrupt Captain of STARS, one of Raccoon City's most prominent men.

The younger Redfield was firstly ashamed of giving into him, letting him manipulate her right where he wanted her. She felt guilty doing that to Chris, especially in the middle of trying to protect him.

But at the same time...she was strangely intoxicated and satisfied with it. Sex with Wesker was a completely different experience than her previous, inexperienced partners. Addicting and alluring, and by far more gratifying. The thrill and danger from such an immoral coupling only confirmed that Wesker had been right about what she hid away.

That still didn't make her a bad person...right? Not like Wesker, anyway. Not like the rest of the wolves.

Her inner turmoil was only interrupted when Wesker picked up her parka and dusted it off, not that it got dirty laying on the super clean floor. He didn't offer it to her just yet, the two of them staring at each other in silence. Claire felt that Wesker was waiting for something, but she had no clue on what.

"And here I thought you would have something obstinate to say," he finally said with a smirk that was a bit less satirical than usual. "Trying to defend your recent questionable lapse in judgement, I'm sure. Strange, I only get silence."

She glared at him. "This," she motioned between them, "makes me nothing like you. And don't even think for a second it will make me help you hurt or kill innocent people. You might be a little right about the thrill-seeking, but that's it."

"It's liberating when you're honest with yourself, isn't it? More so, it's sensible," he countered. "In contrast to what you might believe, I don't purposely seek out people to hurt or kill, and they're rarely ever innocent. I only do so when they're in my way, it's convenient, or if I need to make a point." He stepped behind her and put her coat on for her. "The three men you helped me gain control over this evening, however, do, very much so. Do not worry yourself over their fates. They're well deserved, I assure you. Believe it or not, I am the lesser of two evils...this time. Now, any other self-justifying proclamations you wish to share?"

This guy was a real piece of work. She bit her tongue. "No."

He sighed, checking his watch. "Well, dear heart, I should get you home. It is getting late. Big brother will be back soon. Pity. Follow me."

He wrapped his arm around her lower back, urging her along towards the door. Her stomach flipped, the nerves in her back shivering delightfully. And she gulped on the inside, realizing her body would now naturally respond to him. She had unwittingly put herself in a much more dangerous situation because of her own stubbornness.

She only prayed Chris would never find out.

[between-two-fandoms]

Let Lying Trollhunters Lie

A/N: I give Jim Lake Jr. the good night’s sleep he so painfully deserves. Also on ao3.

Merlin had fallen, the Arcane Order destroyed, no new threats as far as they were able to tell. They were safe… so why was it so hard for Jim to fall asleep? Nursing his cup of coffee he leaned against the wall in his family room, watching his friends soundlessly sleep in a pile on the floor. After they wrapped everything up his mom offered the whole group their house until Douxie was able to travel again. “Master Jim, what are you still doing awake?” Startling at the voice, Jim grabbed the nearest weapon he could find, a mop, and wielded it, ready to fight the intruder.

“Stay back!” He shouted into the dark, Jim took care not to step on Douxie, who’s legs were strewn across the floor in front of him. The troll who spoke stepped forward, revealing himself to be Blinky. Jim dropped his makeshift weapon on the floor. The broomstick clattered at his feet, exhausted he slumped forward. Blinky caught him before he hit the ground,

“Woah Master Jim! Don’t go getting a concussion, I fear the wrath of Barbara already.” JIm let his mentor guide him to the empty spot next to Claire. Still finding himself unable to fall asleep he shoved the quilt off of him and sat up. Blinky lowered himself into the rocking chair Jim dragged up from the basement. It creaked under the troll’s weight, but the old antique was surprisingly strong.

“Master Jim, why aren’t you sleeping?” Blinky asked lightly. “It was under my impression humans need eight hours of rest in order to function properly.” Jim nodded with a tired sigh,

“You’re right. For some reason I’m just not… tired for some reason.” two of Blinky’s eyes rolled.

“I highly doubt that Master Jim. Your comrades fell asleep the second they allowed themselves to relax. Perhaps if you lay down you will sleep.” Taking Blinky’s advice Jim laid back down at Claire’s side, she wrapped her limbs around him like an octopus. A small smile curved at the corner of her lips as she pressed her head against Jim’s chest. Raising a hand he ran his fingers through her hair, the repetitive motion helped soothe his anxieties.

“That story you were telling me when I was stuck in the chrysalis… can you finish it?” Jim asked, staring at the ceiling. Jim heard Blinky shift in the rocking chair,

“You could hear me?” His mentor asked, surprised. Jim nodded,

“Yeah. Dragons and vikings right? It sounded interesting…” he trailed off, unsure of what else to say. Blinky sighed,

“It is so much more than a story Master Jim. Legends passed through centuries of history, older than Camelot and Merlin himself. But yes, if it will help you sleep I shall tell you the rest of the story.” Jim nodded, then glanced at Douxie, who was curled up on the other side of Claire. The young master wizard knew so much pain, Jim wouldn’t know what he would do if he lost Blinky.

“Thanks Blinky,” Jim said.

“For what?” Blinky wondered, Jim sighed as he listened to Claire’s calm breathing. Explaining he said,

“For being there. I don’t want to know what I’d have to do if I lost you. You’re a good mentor Blinky, a good dad.” Jim choked on the word, eyes watering and threatening to spill tears. Blinky leaned forward and patted Jim on the head with his stone hand.

“That really means a lot Master Jim. Now, where were we?” Jim let Blinky’s warm voice wash over him as his eyelids continued to grow heavier. He still wasn’t quite asleep, but he was getting there. Jim hummed, finally finding himself content. Curling up with Claire and Douxie he listened as Blinky continued on about a viking chief named Hiccup, and his Night Fury.

“Hmm… and then what happened?” Jim asked, exhausted. He closed his eyes, just to rest them. He had to be ready in just case if someone attacked them. Claire shifted, releasing her hold and curling up into a ball between Jim and Douxie. Jim stretched a protective arm around her, Douxie flipped so he was stretched against her stomach. Blinky chuckled,

“Well Master Jim, when Chief Hiccup defeated the evil dragon hunter, he and his chieftess wound their souls together in what you humans call a wedding ceremony. Rest Master Jim, the world will be here when you wake.” Jim nodded then peeled his eyes open to look at his boyfriend and girlfriend sleeping soundlessly.

“I think I’m going to marry these two,” Jim muttered to himself, pulling his significant others close to him. The sound of Blinky’s rocking chair lulled him into a deep sleep. And, if Jim dreamed of weddings and dragons flying through the sky, no one would have to know.

[evelyne-mercier]

Vixen

1st January, 2021

8:00 AM

"We weren't sure who to call." The distressed look on Cecelia Hathaway's face matched the tone of her voice over the phone when she had called half an hour ago. The fact she was here so early in the new year instead of being with her family caused Évelyne to further worry what exactly happened in the four hours since she left Vixen.

In the midst of the chaos that plagued London in the new year -- from the power outage to the poisoning to the multiple explosions -- Vixen had been a safe haven, almost detached from what was occurring outside its walls from the way the people inside it drank and partied and celebrated. The scene was a far cry from last year, when an attack from the Rutherfords and their Russian comrades almost cost the French their Head and actually lose one of their leaders, Fran St. Clair.

And while Évelyne had spent the rest of the party concerned as to whether or not there would be an immediate retaliation from the Russians, she was glad that everyone had a good night however overdue. That her worries had been for naught.

Perhaps Évelyne had been too optimistic.

"It's no trouble. What happened?" Évelyne inquired again after Cecelia had been hesitant to share and instead insisted the second came as soon as she could

"We had our guys come in to clean up after last night," Cecelia began explaining as she led Évelyne to the side street leading to thr back of Vixen. "One of them went to take out the trash and..." Cecelia paused both her words and in step, her hands fidgeting.

While the London morning was still freezing, Évelyne doubted it was from the cold. She had feared the worst, and the blonde businesswoman's next words only affirmed them.

"He found a dead woman."

In her head, Évelyne was already going through every woman she knew attended the New Year's Eve party at Vixen and trying to recall their whereabouts since then. "Do you know who it is?" she asked, her voice steady despite her mind running laps.

Cecilia looked on the ground, as if ashamed of her answer. "I was afraid to look."

Évelyne placed her hand on the other woman's arm, as if to reassure her that it was going to be alright, as twisted as it might seem given the circumstances. Without the same hesitation, the brunette approached the dumpster and found a nearby crate to boost her up.

She wasn't sure if it was the anxiety or the stench that made her hold her breath.

Lifting the cover, Évelyne did not need to look hard to find the body, stark pale amid the black bags of trash surrounding her. She was almost glowing, save for the dried up rust that seemed to have gushed from her wounds. What cruelty did they do to her? It took another moment for her to realize who it was -- how did it took her so long? -- and with a deep sigh, she closed the top.

As if defeated, Évelyne returned to face Cecilia, who had grown increasingly curious and concerned just exactly who the woman was that was found dead in her establishment. "Do you recognize her?" There was a sick, almost despicable hope that maybe it was a stranger, that it wasn't one of her girls, that it wasn't one of the French who frequented her establishment.

That hope quickly dissipated as the Hathaway looked at the woman in front of her, whose shoulders heavy as if they carried a burden from what she had seen.

"It's Madeleine Chevalier."

[takemeawaytocamelot]

At the End of All Things - 1

Happy (very late) Christmas, @mybeautifuldecay!!! I was thrilled when @moghraidhjamie said I got you to write for! It took me a bit of time to settle on a story idea and general arc, but I’m really pleased with this one. This is chapter 1 of 3, so stay tuned. Oh, and thanks to the help of @diversemediums, it’ll be plenty angsty! I hope you like it!

Claire offered a smile to the man who gave her the tray of rations for her evening meal. She sat down with a pleased sigh, thankful to be off her feet for a few minutes. Between training a handful of young nurses and doing the rounds with the patients in the medical tent, she was exhausted. A few moments to herself was all she needed. Looking down at the unappealing mass, she picked up her utensils and began eating. The sound of approaching boots made her look up, only to roll her eyes.

Before she could object, he slid into the seat across from her. Doing her best to ignore him, she ate quietly. They’d had a few run-ins over the last several days. He treated her the same way most other men on the base treated her, which irritated her. When he’d brought one of his men into the medical tent for treatment, he’d pointedly asked where the doctor was. She should be used to it by now, but she wasn’t.

Fraser took a few large bites before setting down his utensils to greet her properly.

“Nurse Beauchamp,” said the tall Scot.

“Captain Fraser,” she replied, returning her attention to her food.

“How is Corporal Mackenzie? Has the doctor been by to look in yet?”

Claire carefully set her cup down.

“No, not yet.”

“Ah,” Fraser replied, fingers tapping on the rim of his own mug. “I’m concerned about infection.”

Claire immediately bristled and fixed him with a cold stare.

“I stitched him up myself, Captain.”

“Aye,” he said, taking a long drink of water. “I ken that. I was there holdin’ him down.”

“Then I’m not sure why you’re asking if the doctor has seen to him. Unless you don’t find my work sufficient.”

Rather than let him speak, Claire stood and took her tray to the wash bucket.

“I didna mean to run ye off, Nurse Beauchamp,” Fraser called to her.

She tossed a sour smile over her shoulder before returning to the medical tent.

***

“Nurse Beauchamp!”

Claire looked up from the nightly inventory list to the officer running up to her.

“Yes?”

“There’s been an attack at another base. They need help.”

Instinct took over even as her heart rate leapt. This wasn’t her first emergency situation, but the surge of adrenaline still made her hands shake.

“Of course.”

Grabbing a medical bag, she followed the young officer to the waiting vehicle. Three people were already loaded and waiting. Two men she recognized but wasn’t sure of their names. The third was Captain Fraser. No matter her feelings for the man, she had a job to do.

As she got into the empty seat, she could feel his eyes on her. He watched her quietly and looked like he was on the verge of saying something, but chose not to.

All the better, she thought. The last thing she needed was another verbal sparring match while they rushed off to aid their comrades. If the other base needed medical help, why was Captain Fraser coming?

“Do we know what happened?” Claire called over the roar of the engine.

The driver, Private Grady, kept a tight grip on the wheel as they sped down the dirt road.

“Not sure,” he yelled back. “We got a message about a massive influx of casualties. Don’t know more than that.”

“Do you-”

She never got to finish her question. The dark night around them exploded into sudden brilliance as the Jeep was thrown off the road. When she opened her eyes, she was crouching in a ditch, dirt gritted in her teeth. A steady ringing in her ears made it nearly impossible to hear anything around her, except the screaming.

Somewhere nearby, a man was in agony. Instinct had her trying to scramble to her feet, desperate to help. A large, strong hand gripped her left shoulder and pushed her down. The heat of it surprised her, making her realize how cold her own hands had become.

“Dinna move,” whispered a voice behind her. “It isne safe.”

The hand released her and she turned her head to see Captain Fraser crouched beside her. He was strung tight as a bowstring, ready to snap at a moments notice. As far as she could tell in the poor light, he wasn’t outwardly injured and he didn’t seem to move with any restriction. But her head throbbed and she leaned back against the side of the ditch, closing her eyes.

“Stay with me, Beauchamp,” Fraser said gruffly. “Dinna go to sleep just yet.”

“It’s just… just for… a moment…”

He grabbed her again and shook her a little. Pain shot through her right side and she slapped a hand over her mouth to mute her cry. Fraser’s eyes went wide with awareness, his hands turning her to face him fully. That was when she noticed the small chunk of metal stuck out of her right shoulder.

“Oh God,” she said, feeling strangely faint as black spots danced in front of her eyes.

“Hold it together, Beauchamp. Ye’ve seen worse, no?”

Eyes locked on the shrapnel, she nodded slowly. Yes, she’d seen worse as well as what had happened after such injuries.

A searchlight moved overhead and she bit down any sound that might attract attention. Fraser looked around them, blue eyes calculating. German shouts were interrupted by the staccato sounds of gunfire. The screaming across the road suddenly stopped. The silence was nearly painful and Claire felt bile rise in the back of her throat. Fraser pulled her to him, tucking her further into the ditch and blocking her with his body.

“Ye couldne help him,” Fraser whispered, mouth brushing her ear. “Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Aye, that’s it.”

Claire balled her fists, willing herself to keep from shaking. The searchlights fanned the field beyond their hiding place and she could see Fraser’s pulse pounding in his throat. She was the nurse, dammit, she should be tending to him!

“Are…” she took a deep breath. “Are you alright? Any injuries?”

Fraser shook his head.

“I’m fine. Dinna fash.”

Hours dragged by, marked by the increased throbbing in her shoulder. Neither wanted to risk the mess and noise by removing the shrapnel. Forcing her mind to work through the haze of pain, she recalled they were missing the last man from their Jeep.

“What happened to…” squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to remember the other man’s name.

Fraser’s eyes were bright in the darkness as he met her gaze.

“Dinna ken.”

“Don’t treat me like a child,” she snapped as quietly as she could.

Fraser licked his lips and took a breath.

“Dead.”

“So… it’s just us?”

“Aye. Now stay quiet. We’re no’ safe yet.”

Safe. That word had no place here. There was no way to be safe on a battlefield or in the middle of the war that consumed the world.

When Fraser shrugged out of his coat, she frowned at him.

“What are you-”

“You’re shivering, Beauchamp. Just stay awake and stay quiet.”

With his thick coat draped around her, she set her mind to blocking out as much of the pain as she could. Focusing on one sense at a time, she constructed a wall around the near blinding pain. The air around her was thick with smoke from the burning Jeep. Beside her, Fraser’s breathing was slow and steady. Her mouth tasted of dirt, salt, and soot. The ground beneath her was cool and damp, almost soft to the touch. Opening her eyes, she focused on the curling ends of Fraser’s auburn hair. He was due for a military trim soon or he’d be in violation of the dress code.

“Beauchamp,” rasped a Scottish voice several hours later, breaking her from her dazed thoughts. “It’s time to move.”

For a moment, she forgot about her injured shoulder and tried to push herself up. Her cry of pain was silenced by Fraser’s large, warm hand covering her mouth.

“We need to take that out,” he said quietly.

“But it’s stopping the bleeding,” she answered him, trying not to look at the metal fragment.

Fraser looked around quickly.

“We can tie it off, but it needs to come out now.”

Swallowing hard, she nodded and struggled to sit up. After untying her tie, she handed it to him and began to unbutton her uniform. He would need access to her shoulder to pull the metal fragment out. A sharp intake of breath froze her in place, fear prickling down her spine. But when she looked at Fraser, she frowned in confusion. Captain Fraser was studiously avoiding looking at her, his gaze fixed on the ground between them.

“I imagine it’ll be difficult to remove the shrapnel if you won’t look at me.”

The image of the self-assured captain vanished as he met her eyes for a moment.

“Ah… Aye.”

“Whatever’s the matter?” she asked, pulling her good arm out of her sleeve. She began working the buttons on her uniform shirt and shrugged out of it as well.

Fraser shifted where he sat, growing visibly uncomfortable.

“Captain? It’ll be easier for you with my uniform out of the way.”

“Aye… I’m sure…”

Squinting, she wished she could see his face more clearly.

“Are you… My God, are you blushing?!”

Fraser huffed and glared at her for a moment.

“I’m no’ in the business of ogling my peers, Beauchamp,” he replied gruffly, breaking eye contact.

“Oh, ogling is it?” she teased, enjoying how the tips of his ears had turned pink. “Most of the men I’ve met at our station wouldn’t think twice if…”

Fraser’s eyes snapped to hers, the look in them stopping her remark in its tracks.

“I am not most men,” he said shortly.

Claire swallowed, her own cheeks burning red.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, looking away. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

He exhaled slowly, then nodded, giving her a tired half smile.

“Forgiven, lass,” he said. “We should get on wi’ this, though. I dinna ken when we’ll have another chance. Are ye ready?”

“Jes suis prest,” Claire sighed, shifting into a more comfortable position.

Fraser froze in place for a moment, his eyes going wide. Claire opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but he shook his head.

He crouched down beside her, gently settling the weight of his knees on her thighs to keep her lower half immobile. His arm wrapped around her back, hand reaching to press her elbow snugly against her side to keep it steady. Once more, his eyes met hers.

“I’ll need to cut ye a bit to get it out easier.”

A small knife emerged from his pocket and Claire gritted her teeth as he made two quick cuts, widening the wound.

“Ready?”

Claire nodded shortly.

“Yes.”

“Three deep breaths. On the third exhale, I go, aye?”

One. She thought of her uncle Lamb taking her to Egypt to explore a tomb. Two. The scent of blood and bile from her first triage as an army nurse. Three. The solid feel of Fraser as he settled into position.

The air rushed from her lungs along with the cry she muffled in Fraser’s shoulder as he grasped the visible end of the shrapnel and pulled. The world was spinning, the rush of blood in her ears mingling with her labored breathing and the pounding of Fraser’s heart under her ear. As if from a distance, she heard him mumbling as he pressed her necktie to the wound to staunch the flow of blood. His other hand left her elbow, moving gently to her back. He was so warm against her cold skin and she shuddered.

The sound of his voice drew her attention, but she had no idea what he was saying. Whatever it was, she found it soothing, along with his hand caressing her back as he gave her time to get a hold of herself. Embarrassed, she pulled away from him and avoided his eye, instead turning to her wound for inspection.

“Nicely done, Fraser,” she said after clearing her throat. “I’m afraid I’ll need some stitches.”

“We dinna have the time or the supplies. And it won’t be safe here for long. We need to get moving.”

Using his own necktie, he secured her makeshift bandage in place and helped her back into her shirt. She decided not to point out that he’d grazed the side of one breast as he’d aided her. He was doing his best to help her and she didn’t want to cause him further embarrassment.

Properly dressed once more, she took a long breath. Fraser got to his feet and offered his hand.

“On your feet, soldier.”

[mymelancholiesblues]

Could you do a headcanons one for Ada?

[I posted this earlier, but tumblr wasn’t showing it in the tags search, so I asked for a friend to send in the anonymous question to see if the tracking would work and well, it did. Go figure this fuckin’ site].

So, similarly to what I did with my Leon’s family and background headcanons, I’ll post here my Ada ones too. I’d like to repeat to please keep in mind that these are (obviously) my headcanons for Ada’s background and family and in no way is anyone else under the obligation to accept nor fully agree with them.

I’m glad that Capcom still hasn’t tackled Ada’s personal plot and character background, deciding instead to keep the mystery surrounding her character – and only opening very tiny holes for us to speculate.

My headcanons for Ada are very precious to me since I think that these would be the best way to further add complexity to her character and break down her purposes in the lore while also adding more layers to her relationship with Leon – and the rest of the main characters we saw her interacting with –, as the divisive line that separates Ada to the rest of them would transcend “work motives” and fall into conflicting worldviews, cultural convictions and ideology. I love to think that “as much as I wanted to trust you… I didn’t” line also applies to Ada, considering that her difficulties to trust in people would hold her back from ever explaining what she really believes in and is working towards to Leon, thinking that the prejudices his country always encouraged on the matter wouldn’t allow him to understand or even try to. We, as audience, know that the bond they share goes beyond that and would allow them to overcome these differences, but these characters aren’t aware of it.

Anyway:

– All she knows about her biological family is that her parents were political dissidents who left her behind when she was still a baby to flee China’s Cultural Revolution (let’s remember she was born in 1974);

– Lived in a very impoverished orphanage located in China–Vietnam border area that just barely had the resources to maintain the kids they sheltered. In light of that, she had to learn how to steal at an early age (six years old) so she wouldn’t starve to death;

– One day she tried to steal this Vietnamese man’s wallet, but he noticed what she was doing and of course caught up with her when she tried to escape;

– Realising she was just a hungry kid, he ended up paying something for her to eat, talked to her for a while and told her that if she ever felt hungry like that again she could find him at that plaza by noon. From that day on she would go back every day to that spot and hope to see him again;

– Despite life at the orphanage cultivating her to be a very wary and circumspect kid, she was still a small child, so it wasn’t particularly hard to gain her trust, which the man rapidly did so: talking to her every day and paying for something for her to eat;

– They talked about food, people, work, money… He spoke to her in a kind, friendly and comprehensible way, never in a patronising tone nor meaning to talk down to her just because she was a child;

– She started “working” at like… eight, carrying stuff around or fetching things people asked her to for the sufficient amount of money so she could have something to eat;

– Noticing that the man who helped her would occasionally disappear for an uncertain amount of time before reappearing as if nothing ever happened, she started asking questions. He would always respond to her in a straightforward tone, telling her that he was “working to help their people”;

– At thirteen, more inquiring than ever, she proposed helping him “to help their people” so she could pay back what he did for her;

– This Vietnamese along with two other men (a Chinese and, later, a Russian) were founders of an independent orthodox Marxist party. They helped working-class people that were marginalized by conflicts and man-made tragedies;

– Ever read about Unit 731 in Pingfang? So, here’s what I propose to you: Tao Shangzhi lost a precious part of him there (family, comrades, you decide). Met Thang Nguyên, who lost a son to the south vs north Vietnamese tension that the USA was financing, in a worker’s protest in 1965. Early 1976 they met trotskyan Vitaly Grebenshchikov, ex-KGB who defected the Soviet Union for their dawning participation in biowarfare programs, believing this to be the utmost unforgivable sign of URSS’ continued and escalating distortion of the communist agenda;

– Vitaly had the connections who possessed financial resources to make viable turning their party of three into a structured organization capable of acting;

– It was never clear to Ada if all along they planned in concentrating in particular individuals of oppressed groups specifically with the purpose of recruiting agents for the future, but the fact remains that throughout the years, Vitaly, the Russian, recruited three agents (two females, one Italian and one Romanian, and a German male), Tao recruited three (an Ethiopian female, a Mozambican male and a Cuban male) and Thang recruited two other females, one Korean and one Japanese, as well as Ada;

– Ada was the ninth member to be recruited;

– Having more people at varied age-groups, the party’s main focus was established in working to completely destroy the biological warfare and chemical arms trade industry by undermining it from the inside, as well as to collect information on biological threats to be at the forefront of the vaccination grounds;

– Although settling with twelve “fixed” members, the organization also had what they call “allied operatives”, individuals that weren’t fully recruited to their cause and in virtue of it, weren’t fully aware of their goals and means to achieve them, but could sympathize with part of the causes they did got to be informed of;

– Starting at fourteen years and a half, Ada trained with the rigour to be an Olympic class gymnast (she already had some sort of starting pointing in physical conditioning since she had to be fast to be a thief and strong to carry things around later in childhood);

– She also had thorough classes on history, geography, sociology and philosophy and some essentially basic-level in biology, mathematics, physics and chemistry;

– She can fluently speak in Mandarin, English, Japanese and Korean. Furthermore, she possesses reading and listening fluency in Russian, German, Italian, Spanish, Romanian and Portuguese;

– In her training, the most severe exigences were: knowing how to speak in English without ever giving away that it wasn’t her first language, and to maintain her composure in the most adverse of situations;

– Knows her way around Taekwondo;

– Prepared to be perfectly capable of handling various automatic weapons and firearms;

– She believes in her party’s cause, always did. She doesn’t believe, however, that humankind is worth the trouble since she was sixteen;

– Hates imperialism and was convinced that the North-American population consisted of conceited, self-absorbed and egotistical people (till she fell in love with one, ha)

– Only completed her trainings by twenty years of age, although she was already participating in “gathering intelligence” missions since fifteen;

– I love LOVE to think that even though she was bit more experienced than Leon, she wasn’t that further away from him in terms of “field capability”;

– I don’t think John Clemens was retconned with RE2R, but, rather, Capcom’s choice to suppress mentioning him in this game was just logical and appropriate since the guy died early JUNE of 1998 and it wasn’t even minimally plausible that Ada didn’t know about that (come on, she’s a spy ffs!);

– Anyway, remember Clemens was “transferred to the Arklay Laboratory outside Raccoon City to take over Birkin’s role as chief of research” but “did not have the stomach for Umbrella’s illegal weapons research” and “started to question the motives of the research there and repeatedly questioned the superiors”? Well, at first, Ada’s mission was to get close to John precisely because he could be an “allied associate” and help in exposing and dismantling Umbrella;

– Despite the respect and comradery between the organization’s members, the only member she was really close to was Thang, but he died in a mission. Seung-chae Lee and Shimizu Yuuko (not their birth/real names), Thang’s other recruits, aren’t emotionally close to Ada, but the three of them share a deeper level of mutual reverence and camaraderie in comparison to what they feel to the rest of the organization’s members;

– Also, the two know about Leon. They suggested recruiting him to Ada, but she strongly prohibited them to do so;

– When Leon says things about helping people and putting an end to injustice and inequalities, Ada almost reveals everything there is to be revealed about her to him. Almost;

And… that’s it! Next “headcanons post” will focus on more simple things I have in mind for RE Characters (including Chris, Claire, Jill, Sherry, Helena). Ada and Leon get a bit more because they’re my faves. Hope you guys enjoy.

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, luomuporkkana

April 2- Daisy/Thor, something on the more fluffier side, maybe with 'First Meeting'. No smut or soulmates, for @luomuporkkana 

I chose the prompt: “Is that a challenge?” I hope you like it!

Written by @kathryn-claire-oconnor

Thanos was real – his war, his insanity, his powers, and the terror he could bring. All of it was real. So then, Loki’s worry had been real too. His few, desperate attempts to talk to Thor about what was coming had also been real, even though Thor never believed him, had, in fact, mocked him and called his brother’s warnings more lies. Until he’d seen the truth for himself, once it had been too late to apologize for overlooking Loki’s warnings, for mocking his brother.

And then, in his grief, Thor had mis-stepped even as he killed Thanos.

Should’ve aimed for the head. The thought haunted even his nightmares. 

Friends, comrades, half the universe – simply gone because of his thoughtless, bloodthirsty tactics.

These thoughts, along with the grief that he shared with the rest of the universe for so many people gone – what other word could they use to describe the phenomenon? Were they all dead? No one knew – meant that Thor was not, according to the other Avengers, “coping very well.” As if any of them were doing much better than he.

So, they fought on. They prepared and honed their skills and gathered heroes and powered people into their rapidly growing ranks, using the list of registered beings as something of a guest list into the fight. Thor chose not to get to know many of these people, instead, as Clint informed him, he was “wallowing in it.”

As if Barton, of all people, had the right to say such a thing.

Nevertheless, when the next wave of war and destruction aimed its sights on Midgard, they were ready.

And in the end, they won. The world – the worlds over – were put to rights as much as was possible. The disappeared returned – though those that were truly dead did not – but seeing Barton reunited with his family lifted the weight from Thor’s shoulders in a way that made it easier to forget for a moment about his fallen people. As he stepped into the first of one of Tony Stark’s infamous parties to have occurred in years, the atmosphere was nearly as rowdy and joyful as any of Asgard’s banquet halls. He felt at home, and he smiled as stress seemed to melt from his shoulders.

Steve approached Thor, pressing a tumbler of ale into his hands with a smile. “The special stuff for you and me.”

“And perhaps for your friend, Barnes?”

Steve shook his head. “He’s not comfortable enough to want to dull his senses just yet.” The captain smiled, raising his glass as he continued happily, “More for us, though!”

Thor grinned, tapping Steve’s glass with his own as one in a nearby cluster of women raised her voice as she said, “That was awesome, though! Not even…” she looked around, spotting Thor’s head above most others, and continued, “Thor could’ve done that, Captain!”

Thor and Steve both raised their eyebrows and turned towards the women. Natasha, Carol Danvers, and two Asian woman Thor didn’t recognize.

Natasha alone noticed them watching, and she did little more than smile smugly as Thor asked Steve, “Who are the other two?”

“Coulson’s people,” Steve answered with a small shrug. “Not sure about the older one. The younger woman goes by Quake, but her name’s Daisy Johnson. Why? You interested?”

It was Daisy Johnson who had spoken, and it was to her that Thor spoke once he had abandoned Steve with a dismissive breath regarding the man-captain’s statement. The woman-captain, Carol, stepped aside with a friendly, albeit curious, smile as he joined their circle while asking Daisy Johnson, “What is it you think I’m incapable of, if I may ask?”

Daisy Johnson grinned, already knowing she was right as she replied tartly, “Spewing lava from your hands.”

Thor blinked, but recovered quickly to say in jest, “No, of course not. There must be some trivial thing that each man is incapable of to keep one humble.”

It was a good thing, he thought not a second afterward, that they knew he was joking, if Carol’s snort and Natasha’s incredulous expression were anything to go by.

“Oh,” Daisy rose to the verbal sparring match with ease, her eyes sparkling even as she said nonchalantly, “So then, if the one thing you can’t do is lava, does that mean you can cause earthquakes?”

Then Thor remembered where he had seen her in battle. Peripherally, he had noticed a tiny being toppling over buildings upon some of their enemies. Had that been her? This tiny, fiery woman was capable of that? He was impressed, though he only grinned and did not yet say so. “Is that a challenge?” he asked instead, already thinking that, if asked to do so, he was sure he could manipulate his lightening to break up the ground enough that at least it would count towards something like an earthquake.

Parties like this were clearly useful for unleashing the arrogant, reaching child-prince that he had once been, though now it was only in jest, and it felt good to really joke with comrades in arms again.

Daisy looked at him as if she already knew that he couldn’t really do what he said but answered with the same smirk in place on her pretty face, wide eyes sparkling, “Sure.”

And, just like in days gone by, Thor suddenly realized the flaws in his plan once he’d dug himself in too deep. He hadn’t even properly introduced himself to this woman – just discovered who she was and trusted on his own reputation to give her knowledge of him – before jumping straight into his folly.

But if he didn’t miss his mark, she was enjoying this conversation even more than he was now, so he thought maybe that was alright. Then he decided that if the beautiful and powerful Quake wished to follow him outside, than maybe it was better to seek forgiveness than permission for tearing up Stark’s front yard for the sake of his “earthquake” – for the sake of proving his point and hopefully getting better acquainted with the woman who’d issued the challenge to him.

[airyravenmaid]

Again There Were Four

What’s up, y’all? Guess who decided to write more weird stuff with my Final Fantasy Versus XV crossover AU? I actually do have a handful of snippets from it done and soon-to-be done, but I wanted to get this one up so it’s less confusing going off of my other fic posted on here (due to what certain others thought of the other earlier on in the storyline big sis and I came up with, but I’m sure you can guess that one). So, yeah, this one takes place after that and during Chapter 10 where everything in Noct’s life goes even more to shit, meaning this... isn’t the happiest of parts lmao. Nonetheless, I hope you guys like it, and if possible, I really hope to get more up! Enjoy! 💘

How could things possibly get any worse, Noctis kept wondering to himself on the train taking him and his comrades to the Cartanica Station in Tenebrae of all places following the disaster of a lifetime. It was bad enough he had to deal with Luna dying in the line of duty, but now not only could Ignis no longer see arguably because of him, but the latter incident caused a nasty spat between Noctis and Gladio over what the bigger problem was in their opinions. To say things had taken a turn for the worst would be putting it lightly in the cruelest form of the word.

There he continued to traverse the locomotive cars, idle whenever he heard some passengers speak of the events that befell Accordo’s unfortunate capital city (including word of the older of the Nox Fleuret siblings, who was currently facing punishment for being the blame). He passed his longtime friends in their own seats, but eventually came across a head of rose pink hair he knew only naturally belonged to one person in possibly all of Eos. They hadn’t spoken much since what was supposed to be their peaceful first date, but after their “forbidden” first kiss, things only got more awkward when they did somewhat spot each other before the Hydrean’s wrathful trial. Now was a good time to break the new ice, Noctis figured, since he really had nothing else left to lose in his life.

‘Alright, here goes,’ Noctis started in his thoughts, sitting next to Lightning and waiting until she looked his way to attempt to speak. A lot of words got lost on his tongue from the thick atmosphere and how he could speak again to the girl he liked following disaster after the next. To his luck, he managed to get something out for progress. “...Hi.”

“You’re not holding up so well still, are you?” Lightning wondered a tad too bluntly.

Well, so much for small talk. Being reminded at losing his first love by the second definitely put enough of a damper on Noctis’ already-gloomy mood. “Not even a little,” he confessed, head sagging forward with his arms supported only by his knees.

“As expected from you, really. Something would seriously be wrong if you were suddenly acting fine.”

“What? You gonna call me a mopey coward too? I heard plenty from Gladio in case you forgot.”

“Maybe if you didn’t put words in my mouth and waited for me to talk, then we’d actually be having a good enough conversation.” Lightning’s no-nonsense tone once again prevailed over Noctis’ hard-bitten variant, the man conceding easy defeat. “What I am still gonna tell you though, is that you can’t let yourself get dragged around by one sudden tragedy, whether or not it was out of your control.”

“This isn’t even just one sudden tragedy, Claire. It’s two after another that’s happened since I even left home. I’m not saying I’m ready to throw the towel in, but… is it really that bad I’m not exactly ‘overjoyed’ that people I care about keep having all this crap happen to them because of me?! It’s not exactly the easiest damn thing in the world to swallow.”

“Never said it was easy. Possible, but not easy.” Lightning saw how Noctis didn’t seem the least bit reassured. Bringing hope to nigh-damned souls was something she’d done fine in the past, but apparently pep talk here felt much harder than she thought. “Noct. You have to understand you’re not gonna be ready for— well, anything, actually. But also get you aren’t going through this by yourself.”

“That’s a shock. A lot of people that wanna help me wind up paying the price for it in the end.”

“And everyone who did knew that, too. They wanted to see you keep going, and did whatever it took to make sure it happened. Doesn’t that at least mean something to you?”

“Why would I say it didn’t?! If none of it meant a thing to me, I wouldn’t be feeling like this! How could you even know what it’s in any way like to—?!” Noctis stopped when he realized how angry he was getting and who he was about to say what to. Lightning, as usual, kept a stoic face, but he knew at this point not to mistake that for acceptance of just anything. He sighed, sitting up and looking more dejected than ever. “...Nevermind. I’m not gonna take this out on you. Sorry.”

“Smart choice. But, do you get what I’m saying, or not? At least tell me that part.”

“More or less, yeah. Question is why you’re bothering to tell me this, though.”

“Besides the fact that I and plenty of others care about you, you mean? Well… it’s another reason besides that.”

“What’s the other reason?”

“Noct, don’t you remember?” The hesitant pause in her voice was so short Noctis almost missed it, but what came from her mouth after was far more important. “‘Altissia and back’.”

...Oh. That was right, wasn’t it? Noctis felt his heart sink at the rather ironic reminder, looking right at Lightning almost shocked. He shouldn’t have been in any sense of the word, considering it was him who had initially held the deal to almost philosophy levels from the moment they left Duscae. But, how everything had changed since then. He remembered how the others did warn him on changing his mind about Lightning before their destination, but in no way did he think it’d be like this, or severely come to get back at him once the initial deal had been nonetheless kept and now unequivocally concluded.

Wow. Having to pretend he’d never met Lightning was aching far more than his past self thought it ever would. Noctis looked up with her, seeing a very familiar morose glint in her eyes that he only recognized as being in his own. So much swirled in his cumbersome heart about it, but in the end, it all fell defeated at the unavoidable truth of the matter.

“We did say that,” Noctis sighed, matter-of-factly. “In that case, you’re more than free to go, but I don’t need to tell you that. When are you leaving? Our next stop is near where the next royal tomb is.”

“I won’t be joining you then,” Lightning told him, equally somber. “After this, I’m boarding another train bound for home. A promise is a promise, and I have every intention of keeping it.”

“And you’re sure you don’t wanna stay a little longer and leave after we get the next arm?”

“Well, as much of an… experience as it’s been here in Eos, you four aren’t the only ones I need to be with. I’m a woman of my word, and this is my decision.” Lightning glanced ahead at the front of the train, her pointer finger hooked over the front of her chin. “In a way, you could say this was sorta my ‘Focus’ that I needed to complete.”

Noctis didn’t at all know what she meant by the word spoken as if it were some object, but assumed it was the same as a goal to keep her motivated. “Then I won’t keep you here longer than you need to be.”

“Fun while it lasted, at least, but the next stop’s the one. For now… let’s make it last while we can.”

Noctis only nodded his head in agreement, staying put in his new seat next to Lightning. Both were unsure of how exactly to look at each other, at the very least positioning their bodies to be facing their seatmate in case their faces weren’t going to comply. Their hands were resting on the seats not too far from the other’s, Noctis’ wanting only to get close enough and hold Lightning’s for what seemed like the final time. His fingers, however, only got halfway to hers before flattening and only laying near it from a lack of boldness. She didn’t seem to notice either; too lost in wistful thought to notice how much her own love was beginning to hurt at the inevitable.

Cartanica’s arrival came too soon, something Noctis and Lightning both agreed on. The five initially traveling together all got off the train, all of them aware that this was the last time they’d all be a merry quintet. Lightning even looked prepared to depart, her outfit now her more casual open white blouse over a matching shirt tucked into brown capris pants with black open-toe, ankle-strapped low heels in place of her black “Heartstealer” outfit usually donned during her time in Eos. That in itself seemed to upset Noctis even more, taking it as the unforgiving nail sealing the goodbye coffin.

None of them looked particularly happy for this to happen, but they all understood Lightning’s decision to go back home. It was especially so in the fact that she wasn’t enlisted as permanent help, even with staying forever not going against her assigned mission. Everyone had a life to follow, and she knew where hers needed to be despite her tune changing from all that time ago when everything began. Her luggage was loosely gripped in her hands, its owner hesitant at carrying it and herself away from the new friends she’d made in the newer world.

“This appears to be farewell, doesn’t it?” Ignis sighed, no effort made to mask the melancholy in his voice. “I can’t say I’m surprised, but this journey’s gone by far quicker than I thought.”

“Seems like just yesterday, we were all picking you up for the ride,” Prompto brought up, a sad chuckle to match his mood. “Now, here we are…”

“Seein’ ya go for your last one,” Gladio finished for Prompto, arms folded and keeping his composure to mask his own missing of a new friend. “But, mission accomplished, either way.”

“I’ll certainly say,” Lightning agreed, keeping her head up high and showing her rare, mild smile at the boys. “What I can also say is that this last journey of mine’s been strangely worth it. Can’t think of any other way to retire.”

“Good to know we made your last hurrah the best one. You hang in there, got it, Sarge?”

Lightning gave a playful punch to Gladio’s arm, the group’s tallest member letting out just as playful a chuckle in response while also reminded at how strong the girl was by default. “It was an honor fighting with the King’s Shield. Hope to see you in the long run sometime, Gladio.”

“Heh. Don’t get yourself into too much trouble, ya pink menace. You’ve come way too far to get backtracked that easy.”

“I won’t let you down.” Lightning turned to Ignis, though not quite used to his visual scarring, still nonetheless showing a genuine fondness for him too. “I have to say, Ignis. I’m happy at least one other person in the group played the sensible one around here. I’m definitely gonna miss that.”

“T’was a pleasure working with the esteemed Lightning Farron,” Ignis told her, a gentle smile crossing his face while looking in her voice’s direction. “Truly, I’m thankful of all the help you’ve done, but at the same time, a valued, unexpected friend was gained in the process.”

“Likewise. I don’t think I’ll ever meet anyone able to come up with that delicious of ‘recipes’ either.” In midst of imitating Ignis’ trademark pronunciation of his cooking methods, Lightning found herself drooling a little at the scrumptious food she’s partaken in during her time with him and the others. “Especially… such a perfect, juicy behemoth steak— err! Bottom line is, I’m gonna miss you too, Iggy.”

“Your compliments to the chef won’t go unappreciated. Do take care of yourself back home, Light.”

“I promise you’ve also got my word, Sir.” Then, Lightning turned her attention to Prompto, who looked on the verge of losing it as she gave him a kind smile to ease things up a little. “You know. I think I’m gonna miss you most of all, Prompto. You behave for our friends out here, alright?”

That did it. His efforts to smile for her were washed away by the pipes ultimately bursting, the photographer running and hugging Lightning tightly through his incoherently emotional blubbering. “I’m— oh, Pink, don’t go, I’m gonna miss you…!”

“Don’t cry now, Prompto. Who knows? There could be a chance I could find my way back to seeing you again.”

“I’m trying, but they just won’t stop…! You sure you can’t stay just a little longer?”

“Would if I could, but I’ve gotta go back to where I came from at some point.” Not unlike that of a mother consoling her bawling child, Lightning ran her fingers through Prompto’s chocobo-esque spiked locks to console him, the man simmering down into sniffles and hiccups after a little while. “Try to hang in there for me, Prom. I know you can.”

“Don’t… try not to forget me too much where you’re going.” Prompto coughed a bit from sobbing, using his forearm to clean his stained face as he at last flashed a tender smile to Lightning. “‘Cause any photog worth his salt wouldn’t dream of forgetting being around a face like yours.”

“Good thing you fit that bill right on the money, then. Think I’ll be keeping a few of your best shots for keepsake.” Lightning held up the photos Prompto had given her before and waggled them between her index and middle fingers before putting them back for safekeeping.

“Well, why stop there?” Prompto had his camera out already, gesturing for everyone to get together behind it while he held it in the selfie position. “One last group shot! Everybody get in!”

Prompto adjusted his camera once everyone was present and made the pose they desired, snapping the photograph expertly and saving it to his camera. He’d make sure to send the picture to Lightning as soon as humanly possible, but for now, everyone opted for looking at their final shot taken together. With Lightning herself, she said her last regards to the others so she could ensure she caught the next train back home. She noticed the whole time, Noct had been eerily quiet, but showed no signs of resent or defiance to name.

“Ya gonna say something or what?” Gladio demanded to know sternly from Noctis, earning a dirty look from the Lucian prince. “In case you haven’t noticed, Light’s leaving for home.”

“He might just need some time alone with her to say his goodbyes,” Ignis suggested a little less bluntly. “Is that correct, Noct?”

“Mmm-hmm. If that’s alright with you guys,” Noctis uttered, his heart aching the more reality started to sink into him.

“Take all the time you need,” Prompto told him comfortingly, putting a gentle hand on Noctis’ shoulder before going to lead Ignis in the same direction Gladio took off from.

Alright, now it was just him and her. They faced each other eye-to-eye, Noctis shyly stepping closer to Lightning and sealing a reasonable distance between them. All the sincerity bled right through his eyes, the same morose feeling in hers at what had to happen without any foreseeable way around it. It pained her heart just as much, but if there was something Lightning knew like the back of her hand, it was how nauseatingly different ease and duty tended to be.

It also seemed to include the difficulty in leaving behind her actual first love with no certain reason of returning to him again. Both of them had lives to live and get through, and the choice was tough, but no less for the better.

“This… is really it, huh?” Lightning sighed, frowning.

“Guess it is,” Noctis agreed, a hollow desolation evident in his dry voice. “And there’s no backing out of this, is there?”

“Afraid not. Staying here for too long is out of the question.”

“Well, wait. I wouldn’t go and say that.” Noctis’ cheeks burned a modest shade of red, scratching the back of his head to get out what he wanted to without sounding too foolish. “Like I said, I won’t keep you here any longer than you need. But— and though me and the others can handle things just fine, with Ignis’ eyesight having not come back yet… having another person around to still help us all out in the meantime wouldn’t hurt too much. You know?”

Lightning sunk her chin to her chest, her heart growing heavier with Noctis’ earnest pleas to get her to reconsider. There was pressure behind her teal eyes, but she wasn’t going to give into it. Not in front of him. “Temping as it is to stay longer, I know where I need to be now too. Besides, you just said it yourself; you four are capable of handling things without me, with or without Ignis being able to see.” She looked back up at him, her eyes shining and dewed. “Altissia’s over and done with, so— and so are we. That was the deal. Breaking my promise by keeping everyone else waiting because of my feelings would be completely unfair of me.”

“I—”

“My fight’s over, Noct. Now it’s time to let you four continue your own.”

Noctis could feel the rest of his heart breaking into hundreds of pieces at Lightning’s sincere, but very much honest words. The worst part was, she was completely right too. Making her stay behind and selfishly preventing her sister and friends from giving her the warm welcome home they were looking forward to? No. He loved her far too much to do something so awful. Forcing his brain against his heart, Noctis knew what conclusion he had to unfortunately come to.

“...I guess you’re right,” Noctis conceded, offering his hand and shaking it amicably when Lightning met him the remaining way after hesitating. “I’ll see you around, Lightning. Thanks for everything, and take good care of yourself.”

“Pleasure to be a part of the mission,” Lightning replied, releasing Noctis from the handshake and smiling sadly. “You be just as careful out here. I’ve got a feeling you’ll do just fine in the long run. And… as a king.”

“Heh. Here’s to hoping.” Noctis began walking his own way when something in him commanded him to stop, turning back to Lightning before she had the chance to leave just yet. “...Claire, hang on.”

“What is it?” Further use of her real name captured her attention, Lightning facing Noctis once again to see what else was to be said.

“Well, first, I wanna give this to you.” Noctis reached into his pocket and balled the item into his grasp, laying it down on Lightning’s bare palm and letting go. When she opened her hand, sky blue eyes widening to see a studded rose gold scallop shell brooch resting on it. “I got this back in Altissia, but never got enough courage to give it to you. You said Bodhum’s a seaside town, so I thought you’d like something a little closer to your old home.”

“...It’s lovely. Thanks.” Lightning closed her fingers around the brooch, storing it in one of her pockets to keep it intact. “Is that all?”

“No, now I just wanna say something else. You may not be needed here anymore, but…” A wistful smile crossed Noctis’ face, his eyes watering and fighting back letting the tears fall to darken the mood even more, “just know you’ll always be wanted here. With us.”

Lightning was breathless when he’d said that to her, the words a heavy contrast to how they’d have been in the past. Without saying anything, she took long steps forward to Noctis while looking more downwards as if hiding her eyes. Once close enough, she pulled the prince tightly into a heartfelt embrace, her forehead to his shoulder. Noctis’ hesitated for a second at the sudden action, simmering down and wrapping his arms around her just as lovingly.

She released the hug to rest her hands on both of his shoulders to look into those alluring night-blue eyes for one last time. The delicate smile from before never left her face, matching her personal heartbreak to a perfect tee. From behind, the train whistle blared to warn Lightning that her ride home was bound to leave very soon, separating her from Noctis to hurry and run to it and board. Any sort of luggage bag she’d been carrying was stowed away, the owner taking her seat and feeling the train move away from its resting spot in the Cartanica Station. Lightning took the brooch from her pocket, staring it down as her tears finally dripped from her eyes after she’d already traveled further past where Noctis was last.

‘Don’t let him see you cry, Claire,’ Lightning vowed internally, using her sleeve to clean the tears away and clasping her gift brooch protectively in her other grip.

Noctis didn’t at all bother watching the train leave his sight. Before it went too far, he turned his back on it and another beloved he’d never again get to see to walk towards where his remaining friends were. The broken heart beating heavily in his chest started to numb, the pain still existing but hardening in the form of a tiresome gloom. He saw Prompto, assuming Ignis and Gladio’s absence to be justified by the two waiting on them both.

“...You gonna be okay, dude?” Prompto asked, sympathetic.

“Dunno,” Noctis got out, hardly able to even look at his best friend.

“What are you thinking now?”

“I think…” Noctis looked behind him, the tracks now free of Lightning’s train as if it was never there in the first place. “...I just got dumped.”

[shibyn]

in the spring, we are such fools

fe heroes drabble collection Kiran can summon town heroes, thieves, lone survivors, emperors, hero-kings, legends, the god-chosen, and the lost– Kiran realizes that they’re all just people in the end.

alm - timeline

And of course, this all hits Kiran when a newly summoned Alm, wielder of Falchion, son of Emperor Rudolf of Rigel, Saint-King of the One Kingdom Valentia, tells them that he's the newly appointed leader of the Deliverance and he's amazed by all of the things he's seen in the Askran castle so far. 

It's very strange to speak with someone who's unaware that they're a hero-king later in their life. It usually wouldn't be too much trouble since Kiran's really just only met them, but when other people who know them when they're the hero-king meets the one who doesn't know, it gets rocky and very, very complicated. Kiran wishes each hero could be pulled out of a single point in time in the same timeline, instead of Briedablik just pulling random from bag of marbles and chucking whatever it's got right at them. And of course, this all hits Kiran when a newly summoned Alm, wielder of Falchion, son of Emperor Rudolf of Rigel, Saint-King of the One Kingdom Valentia, tells them that he's the newly appointed leader of the Deliverance and he's amazed by all of the things he's seen in the Askran castle so far. It's weird as hell. Kiran gets all of what they know from these heroes straight from history books in the castle's Royal Library, and they really only tell of these heroes when they're already heroes-- and not before that. It's very strange to see Alm, who may or may not have defeated Chancellor Desaix in his timeline (Kiran isn't sure), act very similar to a country bumpkin when it comes to being here. Kiran hates Briedablik sometimes. Really hates it. They're not sure if it's better to pull someone out of their universe in the middle of wartime, or in the middle of peace, or before it's all happened, but god forbid it pulls comrades and companions and enemies from the same point in time. Kiran had to intercept a over-the-moon Tobin, who is from after the Deliverance confronted Jedah for the last time and was about to give Alm the hug of the life time, and Clair, who was ready to congratulate him on his marriage with Celica, from talking to him initially. It's not easy in the slightest to keep certain people to be wary of what they say to their friend, because Kiran has no clue what would happen if Alm is sent back with the knowledge he's Rudolf's son and Celica's soulmate when he hasn't even seen Zofia castle yet. Well. Regardless of that dilemma, it very, very cute to see a doe-eyed Alm meeting different people and seeing different places. "--and Athena thought I cussed at her when I said 'britches,' so I had to awkwardly explain to her that I wasn't trying to say a derogatory word... Y'know, I didn't think I used what people would consider 'country slang,' but I guess I have been living in an isolated village my whole life..." Alm says absently, scratching his cheek sheepishly. Kiran shrugs and grins, stretching out their arms. "Well, that's just kind of an Athena thing! She comes to me every now and then and asks me what some words mean. Some of them are kind of cute mistakes, and then... well, we do have some really loose-lipped people around." Alm grimaces at the thought. "And I thought some villagers were pretty brash... the things some people say around here are... kinda..." "Definitely not for children's ears, and honestly-- we have a few running around!" Kiran leans back, scrubbing their hands over their eyes and whining, "I don't need Nino or Kana running up to me and asking what some heinous word means!" Alm tries to stifle a laugh but doesn't succeed much at all. Kiran points a finger at him threateningly, eyes narrowed. "You can't laugh about this, buddy, you try explaining a word that no one's mother wants to hear to a wide-eyed child or a very threatening lady with a very sharp blade!" He bursts out loud with laughter instead. "Sorry, sorry! I can only imagine it-- Especially with all these people from all over, there's got to be crazy, outlandish curses being thrown around." "Don't remind me," Kiran scrunches their nose, "Barst gave me a whole list of curse words from Archanea, and I felt like a prude right then and there." Alm whistles in amazement. "I'm surprised, that takes a lot." Kiran snorts at him. "Sure... Hey-- are you calling me vulgar? I'm not half as bad as some people around here!" Alm looks away innocently, whistling in a coy manner. Kiran rolls their eyes. "Ah. That's right-- you asked me earlier for a place to practice, right?" "Yeah," Alm sighs exaggeratedly, resting his chin in his palm, "There are just times were I'll hear my grandfather-- Sir Mycen-- scolding me in my head to practice, but sometimes I don't want to bother anyone in sparring with me." He shrugs nonchalantly. "Did you happen to find one?" Kiran looks upon him for a second before speaking. "I have. But-- Tobin wields a sword, right? He wouldn't mind sparring with you, yeah? He even trained with you under Mycen, so it'd be the same training regime." Alm frowns, hunching over ever so slightly. "He does. Well-- it's strange to sword fight with Tobin. The Tobin I know uses a bow rather than a sword-- it's just a little off putting, y'know?" He puts in the effort to grin at this, but it droops at the corners. "And... ah... he seems strangely on guard around me? It's weird to think that he's from a different timeline, however that stuff works, but I didn't think I've done anything to make him like that. He's the same, I guess, snarky and stubborn, but he'll occasionally hold back on things he'll say." It's obviously something he's thought about for a long time, with the way he fidgets and refuses to make eye contact with Kiran, probably due to confusion and nervousness. "Do... Do you know why?" Kiran leans back till their head hits the wall. "Well. In the same way he's not the Tobin from your timeline because he wields a sword rather than a bow, he's different because his time line is... well, further along in the future than yours. Basically, he's already gone through the things you're going to go through in your timeline." Alm's eyebrows raise, but he keeps quiet. "Usually this doesn't matter," Kiran continues, "Like with Lukas-- he's close enough to the time you're from that it doesn't make much difference. But with Tobin and Clair? It's... a huge span of time and events. Huge. I specifically asked them to hold back things they say, because, well-- your adventure's a wild one, and it's kind of a spoiler to learn how things turn out, right?" Kiran grins briefly. "I'm trying to keep the knowledge of what happened in their worlds from returning to yours, worst-case scenario it throws everything off course and causes disaster." Snorting, Alm says, "Surely it can't be that bad to throw everything off?" Shrugging, Kiran says cryptically, "A single change is one heck of a thing. I'm not gonna try my luck and risk your world." To this, Alm nods understandingly. "Alright. That's fair. I, uh, I guess I'll try to keep that in mind when Tobin starts acting a little too old for his age." Kiran scowls at him. "All of you act a little too old for your age, I swear to god. You're what, eighteen? Seventeen? And you're leading a resistance group a couple of months into joining it!" "And you?" Alm counters slyly, "You started leading an army a couple days of popping up all the sudden, if I've heard right." "Yeah? And? I'm not the one with the sharp blade, thank you very much," Kiran folds their arms, "Besides. I'd like to think I wasn't the fastest appointed leader-- Robin was basically put up as tactican the moment Chrom looked him in the eye. Ah, let me show you the practice room before I forget again." Alm grins, to which Kiran thinks, Yep. A seventeen year old! Seventeen! "Yeah, thank you!" Alm says, and asks, "Is it alright if I show Tobin the practice room, too? I think we're both tired of fighting with someone who's learned the same skills." "Have at it," Kiran waves their hand, rising to their feet from the bench the two of them were on, "Just no spoilers, yeah?"

[matronrainbowbrite]

To Bare His Child

Chapter three

Rainbow here again!!

I won’t talk to much this time but to people who have liked the story so far a HUGE thank you!! It makes me so happy and inspires me to keep going!!

And to SorrowoftheHeart, Lemnline7 and the guest or left reviews. THANK YOU SOOOOO MUCH!! I do wish I had thought of using Claire as a crossover, but she was based off my mother’s neighbor. But that’s not gonna stop me from doing it more now!!! We will also have to wait and see how Aerith handles this whole ordeal, maybe she can help Sephy, maybe not. Gonna have to keep reading to find out!!!

This chapter is going to mainly focus on Sephiroth, at least as much as I am able to. So hopefully it’s not to boring. And sorry if it’s not as long, been a very stressful few weeks and it was hard to write this.

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Sephiroth was quick to move from his position near the door and stride across the lab room and in front of the doctor, a cold and calculating stare fixed on the smaller woman. “That’s impossible. You must be mistaken.” He turned his gaze towards the young girl, taking note of how she had one hand rested on her stomach and the other covering her mouth. Her head was bowed and hair fell into her face, but the trail of tears did not go unnoticed by him before he looked back to Claire for an explanation.

Just as Claire was about to speak, the door opened behind them and Hojo walked through once more, cleaned up finally, but still an odd and revolting sight to see. “She is not mistaken, Sephiroth, what she says is true.” Hojo spoke as he moved to his desk, then turned towards the couple and Claire. “Through a series of tests and experiments, I have found a way to...My, how to phrase this so even the girl can understand...” He contemplated as he rubbed his chin, “Hmm...I guess the most simple way would be that I have figured out how to impregnate a woman without the need for intercourse.” He shrugged, leaning against the desk.

“What Professor Hojo has done can help people who are unable to have children, but before we can truly start, we have to test it.” Claire happily agreed, a smile on her face “President Shinra and Professor Hojo brought me along because I specialize in obstetrics and gynecology. And I’m so excited to be a part of this journey and help however I can.”

Hojo grumbled softly, only stopping when President Shinra cleared his throat and glared towards him. “The whole thing will be closely monitored and detailed. You are being included simply because the doctor insisted so...” He took a deep breath, “It’s something that has never been done before, much less with a SOLDIER who has mako running throughout their body.”

President Shinra placed his hands behind him. “And on the insistence of Miss Claire, you two will be living together from now on. We have cleared an entire floor of the building to make it into a home of sorts for you two to stay in.” He looked towards said woman briefly. “So during this time, your main mission, Sephiroth, will be to take care of Miss Aerith. You will only go on small or extreme emergency type of field work during this time. Much to my dismay of course, but if it will help us better in the long run then so be it.”

Sephiroth nodded in agreement. “Understood, sir.” He looked once more to the young girl, who now stared up at him in disbelief, her cheeks and eyes red from crying and a truly defeated look about her. It was a look he had seen before, during missions and even training, but he had long ago learned to not let such things affect him in any way. He looked away and once more went to stand beside the door, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

Claire moved up to Aerith, squatting down and placing a hand on Aerith’s knee. “I know it can be scary, but you will be fine. You’re not alone in this. I will be visiting every week to check up on you, and if you have any questions all you have to do is call. And, here, I’ve got something for you both to see!” She reached into her a pocket and pulled out a small picture. “It’s your very first ultrasound, a picture of what the baby looks like at this point. It’s not much, but it’s proof that there is a living being inside you.” Claire gave the photo to Aerith, motioning for Sephiroth to come and have a look as well. “Because this is such a special case, you will be getting one of those every month. So you will get to see how it changes and grows over time as well.”

Sephiroth moved up behind the chair Aerith was in, placing a hand on it and leaning forward to look at it as well. It was nothing but a blurry blob to him, but he was aware that most women loved this kind of thing for some odd reason. He nodded his head as Claire listed off information and then once more moved back to his post of sorts by the door.

Aerith held the small picture tightly in her hands, unaware that Sephiroth had even moved behind her and then away. She was horrified and amazed all at once, unable to truly take it in that she was indeed carrying a human inside of her. The young flower girl looked up to Claire, fresh tears once again threatening to fall. “So, I’m going to be a mother? I don’t know if I’m ready for something like that.” Her hands were shaking at this point. The swirling mixture of emotions going through her were hard to sort through and figure out. Excitement. Fear. Joy. Anger. And so, so many more mashing together, and for someone who was a normally happy person and tried to always stay calm, she was unsure of how to handle those feelings. While it explained a lot of what she had gone through recently, it felt like her body was being used without her permission once more.

Claire took a deep breath and reached out to Aerith, gently clasping her hands in her own. “If I’m honest, no one is ever truly ready. But you can do this, you will have someone with you whenever you need. It might seem overwhelming now, but in another few weeks you won’t be able to imagine not being pregnant.” She spoke calmly and patted Aerith’s hands. “You’ve got this, don’t worry!” She stood to her feet and sighed softly “But I really do have to get going for now. I have several patients waiting for me back at my own office. President Shinra, Professor Hojo, I will see you in next week’s meeting. Miss Aerith, I will see you next week for our next appointment, and hopefully you as well, General Sephiroth. You should try to be there with her as much as you can. Oh! I also sent some books for you both to read. Information and ideas, what foods to eat and all that boring stuff. Have a good day!” Claire patted Aerith’s shoulder, then walked over to Sephiroth and shook his hand before leaving.

The room stayed silent, Hojo raising his head up to look the ceiling, an odd thing Sephiroth noticed he did often when thinking. “Well, that’s all for today. Sephiroth, you should go on to training. The other two people we spoke of last time will be there waiting on you. You are currently in charge of making sure they don’t kill themselves or something. Your things will be moved into your new living space by someone else. And you, girl, go pack your things so they can show you to your new... Home...” He motioned for them both to leave, sitting down at his desk and starting to write.

Sephiroth looked once more to Aerith, watching as she stood to her feet and returned his gaze, then silently left the room. He didn’t want to waste anymore time in that awful space than he had to. Of everywhere he had been around this world, that lab was one of the few places he truly hated. It took little time for him to make it to the training room. The light on the door indicating that someone was already inside was noticed but also ignored as he went on in. The hologram inside was of a forest, monsters screaming off in the distance and heard stomping through the woods. It had been a while since he had seen this program; he mastered it himself what felt like a lifetime ago now.

It didn’t take long to find the two men, battling against some kind of monsters. Sephiroth stood back and watched, taking note of how they moved and what weapons they wielded. One used a spear; his agility was surprisingly good as he jumped high into the air, avoiding the branches abound and flipping over the monster and piercing its back. The monster screamed out and fell to the ground, twitching a few times before staying still. The man grunted loudly and pulled his weapon free, turning to watch his comrade finish his fight. The other SOLDIER was much more interesting for Sephiroth, mainly the large weapon he held in his hands. It was a buster sword; although its design was slightly different than the one his old colleges Angeal and Zack used, it was unmistakable. He swung it with ease, making short work of his own beast and placing the large sword on his back. It was clear he had unusual strength. Sephiroth placed a hand on the hilt of his own blade, gripping it tightly and deciding on how he would train these two.

“Not too bad, you both show promise.” The General turned the hologram machine off, ready to begin and forget about the unusual events of today until a later time.

Both of the SOLDIERS quickly stood to attention and saluted. “Thank you, sir!” They spoke in unison, awaiting orders.

Sephiroth nodded his head towards them. “At ease. Now, tell me your names, men, I will be training you for the next month and need to know what to call you.”

The spear wielder stuck his weapon into the ground, and took off his helmet. “My name is Kain, sir. Kain Highwind.” His long blonde hair fell over one shoulder, and even without the mako glow his eyes were a pale blue, almost gray, and held a look of determination in them. “It’s been an honor to participate in Project J, and now train with you.”

The other one also removed his helmet, causing Sephiroth to raise a brow at the spiky blonde locks underneath. “My name is Cloud, sir. Cloud Strife. We’ve met once before.”

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Make sure to tell me what you think! Even though this one took to long it was fun to write. But I did realize that Hojo and President Shinra have talked more than then our main characters so far. But that should stop after this chapter!

Thanks for reading and have a great day guys!!!

~Rainbow

[phoenixflames12]

Fathers and Sons

A/N: This takes place a few weeks after It Will Be Enough in my WW2 AU that began with A Endless Night. Thank you a thousand times over to @katnoenau for her help in getting the bare bones of this chapter off the ground!

After coming across a box of his army possessions and attempting to stem unwanted memories, Jamie Fraser receives a telephone call that throws the fragile life that he has regained at Lallybroch into confusion. 

Mid-September 1945

 The phone call comes on a blustery September morning when the first cool hints of Autumn are beginning to linger, the tang of change sharp and sweet in the air.

 Jamie is stripped to his shirt-sleeves in the workshop; the slow, methodical work of shifting through the detritus of six years of neglect soothing to his soul. Through the wall, he can hear the soft hum of Claire and Brianna’s voices as Claire shows their youngest daughter the rudiments of her work and for that he’s glad.

 Glad that Brianna can at last find something to mend the hole that has yawned in her heart since she has left school. Glad beyond measure that he can still hear the comforting rustling rattle of jars being pulled from their shelves, the click of lids being opened, the thud of pestle against mortar, a soft, barrage of swearing from his wife, Brianna’s voice soft in wonder at whatever she’s being shown.

 Anything to get away from his thoughts.

 Anything to keep his mind from wandering deep into the dark places where it liked to linger. Anything to stop the sharp aches of the war that hurt more than any physical wound, the yawning hole dug deep in a dark part of his heart that was filled with an almost animalistic yearning for the comradery of the army, for the life of his brothers, his comrades-at-arms pulsing through him, for the knowledge that he’s needed for something that’s bigger than himself from consuming him altogether.  

 The dust is thick in the small, cramped space as he pulls down the cardboard boxes from the top shelves, rummaging through them for spare tools, desperately trying not to think. It swirls through his lungs, pulling at the weight of his fifth box which tumbles into his arms with a clunk. For a moment, he staggers under its’ weight, bracing his arms back against the corners and shifts it onto the workbench.

 And stops, the breath he is going to take catching painfully, flooding back down his throat.

 The finger that reaches out to brush away the worst of the dust is trembling, eyes blurring suddenly as he reads Claire’s clear, copperplate hand, still visible after five years of neglect.

 Fraser. J. A. M. M.

 Army.

 Captain.

 Service No. 2,845,021

 ‘A Dhia, Sassenach,’ he hears himself whisper as memories thought long forgotten flood back.

 And all at once he is standing in the barracks back at Fort George in an empty billet room in ‘39, just days before he’d been granted compassionate leave from the SM to say his farewells. His meagre possessions are packed carefully away in this cardboard box, the weight of his dog tags pressing close against the throb of his Adam’s apple, metal clinking against the soft, worn wood of his rosary.

 They had been instructed to put aside anything of sentimental, familial or religious value, but being in the army for nearly twelve years had turned the Highland superstition that was part of his blood into something deeper.

 He had held onto his rosary with all the strength that he could muster until the surrender at St- Valery when he had traced the prayers in his sleep. The Hail Mary and act of Contrition had been murmured each night before light’s out, each one finished with a murmured plea to whichever god happened to be listening to see his loved ones safe.

 The dog tags glint up at him amid a sea of past detritus; their worn, cold weight cupped perfectly in his hand, the chill of the beaded metal necklace running through his fingers.

 They were known as milestones of mortality in the army, each one stamped through in shallow punched capitals with the wearer’s army number, initials, blood group if known and religious denomination.

  In that instant, Jamie finds that he cannot bear to look at them.

 Cannot bear to let the memories that they hold come to the surface.

 The memory of Major General Fortune slowly going from man to man with a tin bucket and a small, encouraging word. The clink of metal of metal ringing eerily in a silence had been horrendous, the dreadful knowledge of the surrender and the fear of what awaited them afterwards far, far worse.

 ‘Right lads, dog tags off. We willnae be needing them where we’re going an’ it’s best if the Bosch dinna get ahold of them. If by some miracle we can get oot o’ this shithole alive, they’ll be sent tae your next o’kin. Have faith in that and ye’ll be alright.’

 Pushing the tags firmly down into the heart of the box, he shoves it away and steps back, hands clenched on the smooth, worn wood of the workbench, knuckles pulsing white against his skin, breathing fast and ragged in his chest.

 Enough. The thought is a ragged, sobbing breath in his throat as he squeezes his eyes shut against the onslaught, willing them away.

 Let it be enough.

 Please.

  He doesn’t know how long he stays there, arms braced against the wood, trying to master himself.

 It is only when there is a short, timid knock at the door, does he come back, turning abruptly from the table at the sound of the door creaking open.

 ‘Da?’

 Willie stands in the doorway, framed in the soft, autumnal light, his crown of auburn curls blazing; bright, whisky coloured eyes that were so like Claire’s wide and questioning.

 ‘What is it then, mo mac?’

 ‘There’s a… There’s a man on the telephone for ye, Da. I answered it, but ‘twas a man I didna ken. He was askin’ for ye and so…’

 He trails off, looking at his feet and Jamie nods, closing the gap between them in two strides.

 Da.

 The word sounds so strange on the boy’s lips and yet hearing it come from the son that he thought at times that he’d never live to see makes Jamie’s heart swell with love.

 ‘It’s alright, a bhalaiach,’ he says softly, dropping to his knees and placing a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder, tipping the lad’s chin up, the weight of bone and sinew pulsing through his palm. ‘I’ll get it. Is Faith up? It’s past noon.’

 ‘She’s on night shift. Mam said she could sleep if she wanted,’ his son’s face takes on an expression that makes him look so like his namesake that Jamie feels a shiver pulse down his spine, the ghost of his long-dead brother passing softly through the quiet.

 Every now and then, in the rare moments of complete and perfect stillness granted to him in captivity, he’d think of his brother. Would feel Willie with him, standing by his right shoulder, shielding him from the worst of it as he had done so often in their youth.

 Sometimes his parents and Jenny.

 Frequently Ian.

 More often, Claire and the children.

 ‘Aye,’ he says after a moment, letting his dead go out into the quiet of the early afternoon.

 ‘Aye, fine then. I’ll get the telephone. Go on now,’ slowly he releases his son and pushes him carefully away.

 Willie grins up at him; a small smile that is full of love and hope and he grins back in return, the darkness of past memories fleeing back into the shadows.

 Jamie watches him run off through the kailyard, scattering the hens in a cacophony of speckled browns and golds, their indignant clucking cracking the peaceful quiet.

 Willie’s hair catches in the light, blazing with the lights of a thousand unseen sunsets.

 Jamie watches him until he is out of sight, under the archway, through the kailyard and up into the woods beyond, before turning to the house.

 It wouldn’t do to keep whoever was on the phone waiting.

  ‘Broch Mordha 6524,’ the words feel strange and dry in his mouth as he picks up the receiver, a dull ache pulsing through his chest.

 ‘Fraser!’ The line crackles slightly, but the voice at the other end is unmistakable.

 It is a voice that he remembers speaking with quiet authority from the lectern at morning prayers or at the school’s Sunday service, extolling the gospel to a gathered crowd of ninety boys ranging from the age of eight to thirteen; pale, upturned faces set in various degrees of interest, Willie winking down at him from his cohort of upper middle and senior prefects.

 It is a voice that he remembers softly holding him as he stood in the headmaster’s office on that dreadful March morning with the dawn chorus and the spring blossom bursting into life around him, numb of all feeling apart from the aching desire for the red, Turkish rug to open wide and darkness to swallow him whole.

 ‘Mr Piper?’

 He hopes that the astonishment that he feels doesn’t come across in his voice.

 ‘How are you?’

 Piper’s tone, so conciliatory, so unlike any of the other masters who had brushed off the rage and pain and grief that had swept through him in those first weeks after Willie’s death, is still the same.

 Still holds the hidden rush of unspoken questions that he cannot find adequate answers to; but knows that he has to try.

 How was the war?

 ‘Aye, fine. Thank you, sir.’

 A faint laugh splutters across the line.

 ‘There’s no need to call me, ‘sir’ Fraser. You’re not eight years old anymore. Children all well? How many have you got now?’

 ‘Three. Faith’s eighteen in February, Brianna will be fifteen this October. They’re braw sir, thank you.’

 And bonny and canty and loved. Loved so much.

 ‘You’ve a son as well, do you not? I think I remember it being announced in the school magazine a few years back. How old will he be now?’

 ‘Seven,’ the word falls through Jamie like a stone plummeting down his throat, the feeling that he’s signed his son’s death warrant aching in his heart. Slowly, he draws his free hand back, running it through his hair, trying to think.

 A Dhia, Willie, what am I doing?!

 ‘He’ll be turning eight this January. Claire… My wife and I…’

 He trails off, the worlds that he wants to say, desperately needs to say stopping dead against his lips.

 I hardly know the lad.

 Please.

 Don’t make this harder than it already is!

 But instead of saying those things, he swallows thickly and affirms the unasked question that hovers over the phone.

‘My wife and I were thinking of enrolling him in wi’ next year’s first formers. We’ll come down wi’ the lad and see the school beforehand. Make sure it’s the right place for him, ye ken?’

 ‘Oh, no need to do that, Fraser. If it suited your brother and you, then I’m sure that it’ll suit your son. William, is it?’

 ‘Aye,’ the lie is barely a breath against numb lips.

 Aye and ye ken fine well what it did to my brother. What it cost me to face you afterwards. I willnae have my son go through that.

 ‘Well then,’ the line is crackling; Piper’s voice fading against the buzz of the breaking connection. ‘Goodbye, Fraser. I look forward to hearing from you soon.’

 ‘And you,’ it is all Jamie can do to stop his voice from shaking.

 His hands are trembling as he replaces the receiver, the third and fourth fingers of his maimed hand shaking in a tremulous tattoo against the polished elm of the table, his knuckles standing stark and white against his skin.

 Slowly, he takes a deep breath and holds it, feeling his tattered lungs scream in protest and releases it, silently counting to ten.

 The table digs under his splayed hands, palms pushing back against the wood.

 Sharp pinpricks of light explode before his eyes as he squeezes them shut, willing his heart to stop thundering through his ears. Willing the blood to stop coursing through his lungs, the thought that he’s just sentenced his son to something that’s completely out of his control to leave.

 ‘Da?’

 It takes a moment for him to realise that he isn’t alone.

 Slowly, he pushes away from the table and straightens up.

 Willie is standing in the doorframe, ruddy and golden in the autumnal light, eyes wide and questioning.

 ‘Are ye… Are ye really going tae send me away?’

 The question hangs in the silence for a moment that feels like an eternity before crashing to the floor, the fateful words never to be uttered again.

 Oh, mo mac…

 ‘I heard ye on the phone, just then. I…I ken it was wrong. I ken that I shouldna listen at keyholes, but…’

 The words come out in a tumbled rush and he stumbles to a stop, looking sham faced, the tips of his ears blushing pink with guilt.

 ‘Come here,’ Jamie says quietly, and Willie comes, burying his head into his father’s chest, clinging to him with his all his might.

  ‘Do ye really want me tae go away to school, Da?’

 The sun is barely rising, early tips of incremental pink and grey flooding the sky.

 The air is sharp and cool on their faces, the give of dew-soaked earth soft under their feet as together they descend the path from the house down towards the main loch.

 The rods are slung at Jamie’s back, Willie trotting to keep up with him with the tackle box.

 The water ahead of them is glassy calm, only the faint whistle of the wind sending ripples over the surface. From the cover of the reeds, he sees the soft shadow of a moorhen skitter out, wings pattering in tiny pools as it bolts for cover.

 From somewhere in the distance, he hears a faint ‘franrk, franrk’ call slice the air and then a grey heron rising up from the depths of the bed. Pulling Willie down, he points silently upwards to see the great, beating shadow of the bird rise up and over them towards the safety of the other side, long neck outstretched against the dawn sky.

 The question pulls him short, slicing an icy bolt of pain through his heart.

 Settling further down on his haunches, he tightens his grip on his son’s shoulder, feeling the weight of bone and muscle rising into the warmth of his palm, turning the boy to face him.

 ‘Yes. No. I dinna ken, a bhalaiach,’ he bites his lip until he tastes blood, searching Willie’s face. The amber eyes that hold so much of Claire in them shine back at him, wide in a pale, freckled face that is beginning to lose the chubbiness of babyhood that he remembers so well.

 ‘But I ken what it’s like tae go away,’ he says quietly and the boy nods slowly, eyes narrowing in concentration.

 ‘I remember my first time going away, wi’ my brother, Willie.’

 His son’s eyes prick up that.

 ‘Is that Uncle Willie? The one…’

 He trails off, suddenly uncertain of what he wants to say and Jamie nods, his next words more spoken to himself than to the boy.

 ‘Your Mam would’ve told you about him, when I was away. He died o’ the smallpox, when I was eight. Just a wee bit older than you. He carved the bittie wooden snake that’s in your bedroom. He gave it to me on the train and told me to keep it with me, always.’

 ‘Aunt Jenny says I look like him a bit,’ Willie interjects and Jamie cannot help but smile, considering the lad.

 His memories of Willie in the flesh grow fainter with every passing year, so that he now is more of a spiritual presence than a tangible person. But watching his son crouched beside him on the dew-soft grass, he thinks he can still see something of his brother in the lad.

 ‘Aye, ye do. A bit,’ he murmurs, reaching out a hand to ruffle the crown of auburn curls. Willie jerks back in reflex, but then moves closer, pushing himself under Jamie’s arm.

 ‘I was afraid, when I left that first time,’ he says quietly, gazing out towards the clear darkness of the loch beyond the reed bed and the path beyond that dipped towards the Home Farm.

 ‘But ye’re never afraid. Not even when they captured you. Faith and Brianna said so’, Willie’s eyes are wide with reproach and he has to bite back a chuckle deep in his throat.

 Around them, a cold wind is stirring through the silver birches that surround the loch, sending ripples of white horses over the still, black water.

 ‘I was then. Both times. I was afraid that I’d never see you or your Mam or your sisters again. Afraid that I’d never see my parents or Jenny, or Ian again.’

 ‘But… Willie helped you? I… I mean…’ He stammers to a stop and Jamie nods, pulling the boy closer, pressing a firm kiss deep into the crown of his curls.

‘Aye, he did. And… And when he died, his spirit was there, wi’ me. Guiding me. He guides you too, I think.’

 Willie struggles out of his arms at that last, eyes wide and glowing in the soft, golden light of the sunrise.

 ‘He does?’

 Jamie nods.

 ‘Aye, he does. And I will do too and your Mam. Remember that.’

 A soft smile flickers across his son’s face as he buries himself into Jamie’s lap, lulled into quiet by the soft lap of the water against the rocks and Jamie’s sigh slips into a smile.

 From now on he will remember this moment, remember the soft play of the dawn light shining on the sweet, bold face of his son and for that he is glad beyond all measure.