Woo! Another Nivanfield. :D

Wanted to use this short multi-chap as a way to really delve into the humanity of the characters and their interactions. But I dunno, maybe it'll turn into something more later on. You guys decide. c:

I disclaim everything. D: So hush little Capcom~

oOo

The reek of rain slithered in through open window clefts.

A sibilant hiss that bit the air with vicious fangs.

The smell of water sickens him, her perfume no longer able to mask the guilt that's slowly snaking in.

"Chris.."

It hurt to breathe.

It'd only been so long since.. everything.

Since Chinese waters had felt his skin, clung to his clothes, festered down deep into the bone 'till he swore that there could be nothing left of him anymore. As he watched the rippled waves, calm wherein their arrant exteriors, as his skin had burned and his heart had rammed from within his chest, temples breaking, muscles stretching sickly.. Inside that pod, within the brace of safety, without the person who'd deserved it most.

The rain outside tore against the ceiling, a hellish sleet against each and every wall.

His hips are moving without him knowing now, but Jill doesn't seem to notice this at all.

She moans quietly. Her lips lie full and parted, eyes like beryl glass, her palm falling against Chris' cheek as he stares down towards nothing, a null void in his dark blue eyes. Her legs tighten around his waist, pleasure peaking forth with a soft, muffled cry she reluctantly lets out. She whispers something in his ear, but Chris doesn't hear it. The room is too dark and the guilt is too loud.

There's a clasp of thunder that shakes the entire room before Jill shouts Chris' name. She breathes loudly, caressing the sodden skin of his back, catching her breath whilst Chris allows her to kiss along the tract of his neck. Soon, her eyes begin to open towards Chris again, her legs falling back towards the bed, but Chris isn't looking back.

Chris isn't even really there.

"Chris.. you haven't-" she whispers, hand reaching for his face, but Chris is already pulling away.

"It's fine."

He sits up, hand rubbing hard at the side of his temples. He's stiff and his skin is now cold. She can tell. The stress that must've been written all over his face traced the awful silence of the room, and she almost knows that there's nothing she can do.

Jill's brow knits into worry as she sits up with the sheets of the bed loosely wrapped around her, head resting against the broad plain of Chris' back. Her fingers fall into a light pattern against one of the tatted flowers decorating the back of his shoulder-blade. She kisses it, tells him to tell her what's on his mind, that she wants to help, that she's there for him. But Chris still says nothing. It's always the same each time he gets this way.

She waits, however. She cares. She caresses the knotted sinew of his muscles, coaxing him with a short story of the past. Her efforts pay, he nearly smiles, but then the smile is gone as soon as the story comes to an end.

Another clasp of thunder befalls them and Chris' hand falls to his knee, cold and frigid. There is a weight on his shoulders that never dissipates, there is rain outside that never goes away.

Jill wonders for just a second if, perhaps, Chris is afraid of the storm.

"Wanna go out tonight? We only have so much time to ourselves before-"

"Sick," he says. "Can't do it."

Jill's expression immediately tightens. She almost feels stupid.

"Right."

Even a girl this smitten can get the message.

A grim nick at the end of her lips cracks as she pulls her hands away from him, scooting away, lending him space.

Chris merely watches her as she gets up from the bed, naked and bare before his eyes as she begins to get dressed; she's beautiful and lovely and soft, but there is no traction in his being to make him want to make her stop. Not with the smog of guilt rotting him, not with the recurring shame of the past.

She reaches for her keys, and for a very brief second, she stops.

"You've got 'til Tuesday to report in." The softness in her voice is gone now. She's stern. She clears her throat before taking a breath, exuding nothing but her rank and authority. "Alpha's got a meeting coming up, in case you didn't know." She slips into her coat, popping a stick of gum into her mouth, "Please show up, Chris. We need you."

Chris looks up towards her, to say something, to apologize, anything, but Jill's already gone.

The front door of the apartment slams shut, and Chris cannot find the gall to blame her for having left without a goodbye.

oOo

Training wasn't as easy as before.

Piers traced the outline of his right arm before a mirror, fingertips gently riding against the scars that matted against it; deep, stitched, and forever visible.

Holding his favored rifle for too long didn't go without having to deal with the uncomfortable strain that came with it all. Reloading the thing was even more painful, as he had to adjust the entirety of its weight on his shoulder for more than a few seconds, pressing hard onto damaged nerves and ever-healing muscle.

But Piers didn't care, scarcely felt it. His resolve had always been a solid constant.

He gazed blankly at the reflection that he hardly ever took the time to admire. Last time he'd taken a good look at himself was somewhere back before China. Before joining the BSAA. Before everything. Hell, he'd completely forgotten what color his eyes were. He lent towards the mirror, deciding on brown. Then green. Then hazel. And then on some weird hybrid mix between all three.

He ran a hand through his hair, inwardly sighing before closing the door to his designated locker. He was the only one there that night, and the night before. Evenings were often spent in this manner; the incessant sting in his arm always a perpetual reminder to work thrice as hard, if not harder. And with that sting, came the memories. Thoughts, so many of them, painful ones, images that were still so very clear.

Chris, inside that pod, bursting away as he watched from far beneath. The.. thing, that almost killed him. Both of them.

But what mattered most had always been Chris.

Piers frowned at his reflection, looking away from the locker as he slipped on his jacket.

All he could see was Chris' face from the other side of the glass – the desperation in his dark blue eyes as he begged him not to stay behind, the sheer amount of panic that had been knit into his brow, the screaming.. the noise of metal breaking loose in the background.

Piers had only really seen Chris at least twice since he'd re-enrolled into duty immediately after getting out of the hospital, nearly six months ago.

The first time was all clumsy emotion with an awkward hug at the end, the second time was just hell.

Chris wouldn't even lend him a full sentence. Wouldn't look at him. It was frustrating, ate at Piers' nerves. There was so much to be said, so much to make clear, yet.. It was almost as if Chris just wouldn't let him. Didn't want him to, refused to even listen.

Now, he was stationed here, somewhere in Northern California, awaiting further orders, not even knowing if Chris was stationed near the same area or not, if or when he'd see him again, or even ever. Piers' brow furrowed tightly in a rising frustration, throwing on his scarf before he stormed out towards the exit.

No, Piers couldn't stop thinking about Chris Redfield. Not for the life of him.

oOo

It had stopped raining, but the streets were still caked with fog.

Chris looked away from the window before shuffling towards his closet, hand limply tugging out some random shirt and the only jacket he bothered to keep with him aside from his uniform.

It was somewhere late in the afternoon. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. The fact that he'd practically told Jill to fuck off earlier after having sex with her when she only meant well kept him in a perpetual, drunken stupor of self-hatred. He wasn't any good for her like this.

Hell, he wasn't any good to anyone like this.

Chris' teeth clenched, all anger and ire at only himself, before the dent he'd punched in the wall caused the top shelf to unhinge and fall loudly to the ground, shattering several which nick-knacks Jill had placed there somewhere along the week. Thinking only made him angry, thinking only made the guilt come back.

It was his fault Piers did what he did; his fault he couldn't be a better leader, a better captain, a better man.

The entirety of his teams, each and every one, wiped out, dead and dying over and over again in his head every single night. How he'd pathetically failed to protect any of them – Marco, Finn, and all the others; all so fucking young. Shit, he'd almost lost Jill, too. And to have nearly lost Piers, always so faithful and always so loyal during even the most hopeless and fucked-up moments, the mere thought of how he'd treated him, how he wouldn't listen.. How ungrateful he'd been the entire time–

"SHIT!"

Chris punched mindlessly at the wall again, hole after hole, kicking at nothing before angrily throwing anything he could get his hands on against the opposite window, effectively shattering the glass. The clamor of noise soon caused an uproar from the room upstairs, but it was only when Chris felt the rims of his eyes begin to dampen in which he finally stopped and took a breath, cursing under the quell of his rage. He clenched his eyes shut, willing it all away with his face towards the ceiling.

Fuck crying.

He learned from the day he watched Claire sob for days on end over their dead parents that tears wouldn't change shit. There wasn't anything more pitiful than being just another sob story to the world; nothing that could be more shameful. Nothing.

Taking the last swig of his last bottle of whiskey, Chris grabbed his wallet and went out the door, not bothering to lock it. The air outside was wet, puddles of the downpour flooding all along the streets. Chris stood dumbly in front of the apartment complex for a long moment, not knowing why the hell he went out in the first place, or what the hell he was even thinking on doing. He had about ten bucks in his wallet with absolutely no desire to take the ridiculous flight of stairs back to his room again just for the sake of his keys.

He stared blankly at his truck.

Fuck the truck.

He urged his body to move. As to where, he had no clue.

oOo

It didn't take too long before the rumble of a new storm roared somewhere in the black sky.

Chris could feel himself getting angry again at the plain smell of it. Not even an hour had passed. He took a left down a crosswalk, eyes set on a small cafe just right down the opposite block.

The place was desolate, if not for a young couple giggling with each other somewhere in the backmost corner. Chris grimaced. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd taken a girl on a date. Couldn't remember the last time he'd actually sat down at a public place within civilian perimeters without BOWs tearing everyone in sight into shreds.

"Good evening, sir. And welcome to Stella's."

Chris looked to his left. A young girl who couldn't have been in her twenties yet greeted him with a smile. Her hair lied cut short and blond. She immediately reminded him of Sherry Birkin. The thought of his own appearance soon bit at him, as he hadn't bothered with even his hair before he'd mindlessly left the apartment earlier that day.

"May I seat you down for tonight, sir?"

Chris looked back towards her, a little disoriented from the booze that still fogged his mind. He nodded. He wasn't hungry nor thirsty, but hell, he'd already gone inside. He was led through a small hallway and into a lightly-lit partition of the cafe – all soft music and candles. That's when he noticed just how.. fancy, the place was.

Chris felt his face begin to light up, feeling a little fucking embarrassed at himself, to say the least.

Alone, drunk, and looking like shit in a place like this? Just what had become of him?

He sat down, already feeling awkward as hell.

"Thanks.."

The girl wouldn't leave, just stood there, all smiles and rainbows. Chris took that as a cue to order something ASAP. He looked towards the menu and blurted out some name of a coffee he'd never heard of, flinching at the sound of his own voice. Thankfully, the girl was gone in a flash, leaving Chris to his woes at his empty table.

He looked around, noting the impressive set-up of the place. There were leafy vines that hugged at the walls in intricate patterns, incense that drew thin lines of smoke from the indented ridges in the walls, the romantic lighting..

He thought of Jill, and then he thought of how much she would freak if he'd taken her to a place like this. He'd see her smile, see her happy, something he'd been failing miserably at doing now for a very long time. He frowned, glaring at the green sheen of the table.

Yeah, she'd be much better off without him as a tumor in her life.

"Here you go sir." Startled, Chris blinked before giving the girl a pathetic excuse for a smile. She must've thought it was really fucking endearing or something, because she chuckled, her cheeks reddening. "Anything else I can do for you, sir?"

Chris sputtered to himself for a moment before shaking his head. His mouth didn't seem to want to cooperate with his brain apparently, or maybe he was just too damn drunk, anyway. The girl nodded without noticing Chris' dilemma, smiling sweetly before turning on her heel to leave.

Well, that was that.

Chris stared down at his steaming drink. It looked like some sort of mocha, or shake, he couldn't decide.

Taking a breath, he brought it to his lips, the taste of sugar at his tongue.

oOo

Piers had made it a habit to go out for coffee every evening after training ever since he'd gone so long without it during his lengthy stay at the hospital.

He knew the menu of Stella's like the back of his hand, he even had a favorite table, but what Piers didn't have was the notion of seeing a very familiar figure slumped in his seat at his favorite table.

His eyes widened. He froze where he stood as did his heart, hand reaching forward as he approached the man he thought couldn't be any other than Chris Redfield.

"Captain?"

His voice was soft, laced with bubbling hope, and when the man turned around, Piers could see only what he'd hoped he would see again since almost three months ago.

"Piers..?"

A surge of happiness began to well up in Piers' chest, the sheer shock of it all nearly causing him to want to wrap his arms around the other without the pretense of needing to let go.

Chris blinked several times as he watched Piers take the seat in front of him, wondering still if it was all in his head. This wouldn't be the first time he'd be seeing things..

"Captain, what are you doing here?"

Chris furrowed his brow in confusion, staring hard at the unmistakable face of his most recent partner, the one he considered to be dead for longer than he would've liked, the guilt of having thought that, the shame of not having been able to save him. Chris' head quickly began to throb in a sharp pain, flashbacks and voices already beginning to flood at every corner of his mind. Maybe he hadn't realized just how abominably drunk he was –

"Captain? Are you alright?"

"Yeah.."

There was a silence. Piers watched Chris regain himself, hardly able to remain still as he waited.

Goddamn it felt good to see Chris again.

He hadn't even changed at all. He looked good. Better than Piers could've ever imagined him. If anything, Chris' skin was a bit lighter, but the same look of having the entire weight of the world resting on his shoulders was still very much visible all across his complexion. Piers cleared his throat, eager for conversation.

"You look good, Captain," he smiled, "Same as last time."

Chris sat motionless, eventually looking away from Piers' direction. "Good to see you're okay."

"Same to you, Captain," Piers said, leaning closer towards Chris. "I've been meaning to.. see you again," Piers paused, a nervous tinge in his eyes as he realized what he'd just said. He laughed a little, as if correcting himself, before continuing, "But I never thought it'd be in a place like this."

"Was just getting coffee."

The sound of Chris' voice was almost bitter. Sour to the ear. Piers' brow began to furrow lightly. Chris wasn't even looking at him.

"Yeah, but you never liked-"

"Time changes people."

And then Piers didn't know what else to say.

He leaned back towards his seat, hands crossed on the table as he looked at Chris. There wasn't even a hint of happiness on Chris' face to have seen him after almost three whole months of hearing almost nothing of one another.

Piers didn't get it. Didn't understand.

His jaw began to clench, something in his chest twisting painfully as the silence between them grew tense. Not at all one to give up, however, Piers cleared his throat, adamant towards Chris' downcast eyes. He'd been meaning to say something to Chris for a long while now. Ever since China, maybe even before. Something that didn't let Piers sleep at night, that bit at his conscience during every minute of the day, the reason for how hard he trained, what he had come to realize and embrace.

And he was going to say it now, in this very moment, whether Chris liked it or not, or so help him Piers wouldn't be able to live with himself.

"Captain," he began, a subtle etch of uncertainty in his voice, "I-"

"Just Chris. I insist."

Piers bit his lip, deflating wherein himself. Chris sounded anything but interested in anything he had to say, much less, interested in being around him. Maybe he shouldn't say anything. Maybe it was better this way.

Maybe he was an idiot for thinking what he thought, for wanting what he wanted.

For needing what he needed, so fucking badly.

Piers looked towards his lap, hearing Chris sip quietly into his coffee. The rain outside grew incredibly loud, thunder roaring and lightning flashing. Piers fumbled with his fingers on the table, waiting for the courage to even open his mouth again. He was beginning to feel flat-out unwelcomed.

Disregarded. Ignored.

"Everything that happened," he finally heard himself whisper, "was never your fault, Chris."

That sure struck something, because Chris' eyes began to dwindle up from their downed state.

Chris froze momentarily, swallowing thickly before catching a glimpse of Piers' right hand on the table. It was gloved, unlike the other one. Covered up. Chris didn't even want to imagine what lied beneath. The scars, the permanent reminder of what happened that first of July that Piers had to, and will have to, deal with every morning of his life, all of the despicable amount of pain he endured just to save his worthless ass –

No, Chris couldn't do it. Couldn't even look Piers in the eye. Didn't even have the right to.

Just being there was shameful.

"It was nice seeing you again, Piers," Chris slid his drink away, now emptied, before getting up from his seat, "I'm glad you're holding up."

Piers sat speechless, a scoff of disbelief stuck in his throat as he watched Chris just up and go without lending him a second glance. His hands tightened into fists on the table at the sound of the waitresses bidding Chris several flirty goodbyes from somewhere at the cafe's entrance.

It took a lot to piss Piers Nivans off, but Chris had definitely done it that night.

Taking a deep breath as he slowly got up, Piers could smell the distinctive tang of Chris' cologne that had been left behind. The same one Chris had always worn. The same one Piers smelled in the midst of his dreams, when he woke up every morning, within the dead hour of every one of his sleepless nights.

He'd dreamed Chris, he'd wished Chris, and now, he'd finally had him a mere foot away.

So close, so there.

Piers' brow furrowed in a seething frustration.

No, he wasn't going to be a sitting duck again.

Piers still had so much, too much, to say.

Without thinking twice, Piers immediately stormed out of the place, impassioned resolve in his hazel-green eyes.

oOo

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