Title: Mud on the Tires
Author: Brickbatz
Pairing: Chris/Wesker

Summary: A young and feisty Chris Redfield can't keep himself out of trouble. But he's about to meet Albert Wesker, the one man who thinks he can change that.

A/N - I am not going to post every chapter this quick, I'm just trying to spark a little interest!

- 2 -

Something about Chris that he couldn't quite come to terms with was very 'citizen soldier'. He often felt the need to do a little justice when none was being served and Thursday, January 28th 1993 was one of those days. It wasn't a particularly extraordinary day; he'd simply had the feeling all day that he was ready for anything. Someone could try and shoot the President of the United States today (not that he foresaw the President passing through the quiet mountain town of Raccoon) and he'd take the bullet. As it were, nothing quite that dramatic happened.

He'd gotten up, feeling ready for anything. He'd showered, put on his work uniform, and grabbed a coffee from the take away place near his apartment, running too late for breakfast. By lunchtime, shedding his waiter's apron, Chris was starving. Life was still good, though. A lot had happened since he'd almost lost his license six months prior – especially in the form of a job that required one, making deliveries. It wasn't glamorous, but he'd saved enough money to get an apartment of his own in Raccoon, finally moving out of the Burton's place after almost a year. He still saw Claire every weekend, which was easier for her and good for him, and Chris felt like he was moving up in the world. The dodgy delivery job had become a less-dodgy waiter deal in a restaurant near-by to where he lived with double the pay and he could even afford to treat himself every few weeks. The best part was the lack of authority. Nobody told him what to do at the restaurant; he just got on with it. Sure, sometimes he missed flying, but Chris just had to accept that the air force hadn't been for him and he was much better suited to meandering through life, having a reasonably good time. Some people were.

He'd given up the hope of applying for STARS after the speeding incident, when he learnt from Barry that the Captain he'd actually been looking for was not the man with the moustache, but instead the blonde jerk. Chris didn't want to prove himself that much.

But today was special. He just wasn't sure how.

The brunette sat eating his lunch by the riverbank, looking over at industrial Raccoon on the east side. Voices caught his attention; shouting from behind him. He glanced through the park to see someone running and a crowd forming. A siren rang out in the distance.

The person running wasn't just running. He was sprinting. He looked terrified and he was being chased. The man in pursuit had a gun. It was all a little 'out there' for downtown Raccoon. The brunette watched in horrified fascination.

The crack of a bullet rang out like thunder through the quiet park. The sprinter dropped like a puppet without strings and the gunner skidded and turned, as if realizing what he'd done. Chris' feet moved faster than his mind and he vaguely registered the police arriving, the sound of boots on tarmac pounding in his mind as they ran to the victim.

The gunner was fast. Chris was faster. Chris had won the 400m sprint for four years in school. Chris had beaten every speed record the air force had for running. He still kept it up every morning. These things flashed through his mind, pointlessly, as he caught up to the criminal with no idea what to do next. The gunner knew his chances were wearing thin, and he spun on his heel, aiming a shot at Chris haphazardly and firing off target, into the river.

Oh god, he thought. Oh god, he was going to get shot.

But then Chris was upon him, still not knowing what to do next, but today was a ready-for-anything day and his feet guided him, taking the gunners knees out with a kick that made something crack. He had the man on the ground, face in the dirt, and disarmed, before the police even caught up with them.

The officers surrounded them, guns drawn and aimed at the assailant. They were shouting, and asking questions, and lifting him off the gunner, taking him away.

"What is your involvement in this sir?"

"Can we get your name, sir?"

"Are you hurt in any way?"

Sat on the same bench where he was eating his lunch not half an hour before, Chris aimlessly picked at the blanket they'd wrapped him in to help 'calm the shock of the traumatic event'. He'd never understood how this was supposed to help.

An unmistakable black jeep pulled up on the roadside by the rest of the police vehicles. He'd been watching it distantly, wondering whether his boss would believe him when he was caught up in a police incident on his lunch break. He wasn't sure being a hero had achieved much today, except for preventing him from returning to work, but it had given him something – an exhilaration, a rush from the adrenaline that he hadn't felt in a long time. Chris stared at the cops, almost jealous. If he was one of them, they might have rewarded him for what he'd just done. As it was, he'd gotten nothing but warnings not to be so reckless next time and to leave it up to the forces. He was still unsure whether the victim had died, or what was going on in the first place. Maybe the gunner was in the right and he'd made a big mistake, letting him get taken in to custody. He found he didn't really care, and wondered if Barry was here instead, and trying to calm his grumbling stomach, mourning his unfinished lunch.

"Can someone explain to me what's happened today?" Wesker's low, demanding voice caught the attention of several officers who were fussing over formalities.

"Yes sir," One of them jittered, looking to the others for approval to continue.

"Well?"

"Graham Gilbert was shot, sir. Ernest Gilbert's son; you know, the businessman?"

"I am aware of who Mr. Gilbert is, yes." Wesker scowled, glancing over his sunglasses. "I am more interested in why this occurred."

"We're not sure, Captain… From what we could gather from the assailant before he was taken to the station, someone was taken away from him. The result of an affair, perhaps?"

Wesker wasn't impressed. He adjusted his sunglasses and turned away from the officers, disappointed again with the civilians he protected. This had elevated from a vehicle pursuit to a shooting and for what? A woman? It was a weak link of humanity he was sure could be its downfall.

"I dun' think there's much we're needed fer here, sir."

Wesker turned at the sound of his sub-ordinates voice. "Well Mr. Speyer, you know how it is – the police like us to waste our time showing our faces to the crowds. See if you can get any witness accounts worth detailing."

"Actually, there's a witness tha' was involved sittin' over there sir." Forest averted Wesker's attention to the brunette sitting by the riverbank.

Wesker quirked an eyebrow. Not that he was interested particularly, but he recognized that young man; the same one who'd almost outrun him on a motorcycle the previous year. "Involved how, exactly?"

"John said he took out the assailant sir. Didn' waste no time, jus' sprung on him. More trouble than it was worth." Forest said, motioning to one of the officers behind them.

"Bring him in." Wesker said after a moment of hesitation. "We'll… need his account."

"Yessir." Forest shot him a lop-sided smile and gave a haphazard salute as he headed over to the brunette.

"Hey buddy,"

Chris looked up at the approaching man, a skeptic look on his face. The man carried a rifle, and wore a bulletproof vest, but tattooed, with long hair and a common, thick southern accent, he didn't strike Chris as the RPD type.

"…Hi," He replied, equally as sceptically.

"Forest Speyer, STARS." The man offered his hand. "I'm sure yer dyin' to leave but I'm afraid we gotta ask ya to come back to the station, answer some questions an' the like."

The brunette frowned, shrugging slightly and shaking Forest's hand. "Chris. Look, I wasn't involved…"

"Either way, yer the eye witness the Captain wants. Best yer come quietly, Chris."

Chris followed, as skeptic as he'd been when Forest approached. He didn't like the idea that the blonde had asked him to be fetched, still feeling like he was going to get charged for the speeding incident.