I was a Landscape in your Dream

[A/N]:Haha, I guess I should explain a few things. One, -- before a statement denotes that its a flashback. Two, it is a bit OOC but just accept it, with the details that have been uncovered about Wesker with Umbrella Chronicles I took some liberties. Think that's about all, please read and enjoy. Thanks.
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Chris Redfield shivered as he stared down at the radar screen of the helicopter. The first of the B.O.W. were appearing on the radar; tiny little blips that got in the way of the circling needle, tiny little blips that betrayed the actual size of the monsters running top speed miles below.

"Hunters." Chris breathed. Behind him, Jill let out a similar gasp. He glanced back at her reassuredly. A small smile was all he got by way of an answer. Jill Valentine was a strong woman, he knew this for a fact. She had not only lived through the mansion nightmare mostly unscathed, but she had also been there when the government planes levelled Raccoon. She had seen her home town--his home town, his mind interjected--blown apart, and still she kept at it, fighting as bravely as the others to bring Umbrella down. Jill, Chris sometimes found himself thinking, was a stronger person than he would ever be.

Their helicopter dipped, approaching the ground at an alarming speed. Through the window glass now Chris could see them, the Hunters, each one large, brimming with muscles barely contained by the green, rippling scales. Their great claws gouged the snow as they ran, throwing up a trail as they blazed their way, screaming, toward the 'copters. The monstrosities met the helicopter guns head on, spraying the window and glistening white snow with a fount of blood. Chris winced, the sight of blood still sat uneasy with him despite all the killing he'd done (been forced to do) over the years. Jill didn't react at all, reminding the brunette once again that the woman was stronger than him. So much stronger. The others in the helicopter with them, nervous looking newbies with large eyes and hands that handled the weapons with inexperience, looked to Chris. They were afraid, all of them. And it was his job to get their heads in the game.

And he had nothing to say.

They would die, he was sure. He had seen so many die. He had watched so many die...Richard, Joseph, Forest (even if he hadn't actually seen it, Forest's death for him was the rawest) Kenneth. Claire had told him about Steve, Jill had told him about Enrico and Brad. Leon had told him about that woman, Ada. The only ones left who knew anything were he, Jill, Barry, Claire and Leon. And Wesker, his mind added. Albert Wesker. Chris stubbornly closed his eyes. He would not think about that man, that man that he hated more than anything else in the entire world. He would not give the blonde the pleasure. And besides, there were more pressing matters at hand. Such as the burning heap of metal and B.O.W.s that had once been the Umbrella Russian testing facility. It was time to go.

"I sure hope this new Bio-Weapon is just a rumour." Jill's quiet voice shook just a little, the only outward sign of her nervousness. Chris could only nod and hope that his knees weren't shaking too bad. He pulled open the helicopter hatch, hands clutching the rope that would repel them down as he did so. Snow fluttered past as the helicopter sped onward, closing in on its destination. The wind caught Jill's dark hair, pushed it out of its a-symmetrical part and into a haphazard pattern across her brow. Chris smiled. He had once thought of trying to get with her but then a man with blonde hair and a sadistic streak had come along with a host of monsters that feasted on the flesh of the living and nixed that idea. Chris saw Jill now with respect and cool friendship. She was a strong woman, nothing more. Nothing he could love.

--"I love you."

The rushing wind took away Chris' thoughts as he hopped from the helicopter. It was cold, arctic kind of cold. Colder than the Midwest winters he was used to in Raccoon City, colder than the time that he'd spent up in Canada with Barry, transferring the gun fanatic's family. He glanced back up toward the 'copter. Jill was right behind him on the rope and he could just make out the blanched faces of the other strike force members. He hadn't taken the time to get to know any of them and for that he felt bad. But he knew, deep down, that'd he'd have felt worse had he gotten to know them. He'd known each of the S.T.A.R.S. too well, and their deaths had hurt him too much. He would not grieve for these men as he had grieved for his old friends. He couldn't afford to.

Chris' boots hit the snow with a crunch and he was off a second after touching down, hands drawing out his automatic pistol as he walked. Jill caught up with him a moment later, her gloved fingers wrapped coolly around her shotgun SA. Her eyes were trained ahead, watching with seriousness the large group of zombies that shuffled mindlessly towards them. Jill shot Chris a small, grim smile, lifted her gun and fired into the group. Chris joined her without a word. So, she too was aware that their probability for success was slim. At least there was no question in either of their minds, Bio-Weapon or no, this was going to be a tough scrape.

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It was tougher than Chris had dared to imagine. He leaned back, relishing in the mechanical hiss of the elevator as it moved down into the heart of the facility. Next to him Jill was slapping a fresh clip into her handgun. Her forehead was bleeding heavily. Neither of them had expected the sheer number of B.O.W. that the facility was crawling with to be so high. There had been a rush of Hunters almost as soon as they'd entered the actual building (Chris didn't even want to think about the ones that he and Jill had shot at on the way in, which, if the death screams he'd heard over the earpiece were any indication, were probably winning) which was the cause of Jill's head injury. She had run out of shotgun ammo and was switching guns when one of the scaly creatures had leapt up and scratched at her. She was lucky her entire scalp wasn't taken off.

"How do you think he survived?" She said, glancing over at Chris. He didn't need to ask who 'he' was. He knew well it was a topic that Jill had been dancing about in the days since she had joined the strike force and learned that Wesker had survived the mansion. Her cool eyes, even clotted with blood the way they were, forced the truth out of Chris.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. But I know that he isn't...human anymore. I don't know for certain what he did...I..." He had told the story of his encounter with Wesker; fire-eyed, fast as a blink Wesker; to only one other person, it was still to fresh to tell again. Especially considering how Leon had taken the news, if he were to tell someone who had known Wesker...it was neither the time nor place for such musings. Chris was reminded rudely of this as a sickly pale arm burst through a grate in the elevator's wall. A lithe Licker followed the grate down, its tongue swaying in the air uncertainly. Chris' first bullet ripped the organ out at the root and stopped any thought the creature may have had about attacking. His second stopped it from thinking at all. Another Licker scuttled out from the grate high above and a grate on the opposite wall was pushed outward by the jointed legs of a Chimera. Back to back, Chris and Jill stood as they fired mechanically at the different creatures that clawed their way onto the elevator. It was a descent into a nightmare, into a hell that the two former S.T.A.R.S. had become too familiar with over the years.

--"Captain?"
--"Yes, Redfield."
--"The disappearances in the woods...I've been thinking...they don't have anything..."
--"Anything what?"
--"Well, what if this goes higher than just some bunch of psycho-killer-cult guys? What if Iro--err what if there is some sort of...I don't know, con--"
--"Conspiracy theories, again, Chris? We have heard them before, you seem to be full of them. But we need proof, Redfield. We can't go flying out on a hunch."
--"But the only guarantee we have of anything is Umbrella’s word. Yeah, they tell us that the Spencer estate is secure, but how are we--"
--"Redfield! We've heard it before and nice and cozy as your idea might be, it isn't the truth. Any other ideas, anyone?"

--"You didn't come to pr--"
--"I know."
--"What's the matter? Pouting again?"
--"I don't pout."
--"You could have fooled me, since you do it so often, I would have thought that pouting was all you were good at, Chris."
--"You're a jerk, you know that. You didn't need to...My theory is perfectly valid, its probably right and you won't even listen. I can't take it to Irons, he hates me, you know that, but you could take it to him. You could present my case to him. But you won't. 'Cause you're as much of a chicken shit as Chicken Shit Vickers."

--"I didn't mean those things I said earlier."
--"I know. You have a quick temper. And its only natural to be protective of one's ideas. They're like children, these legacies we leave behind. And its only natural for the mother to protect her children."
--"You're so odd. I don't even think the others realise it. They all see you as this hard-ass. All business and a cool head. Really though, you're just as much of a weirdo as anyone of us. Probably weirder...and I...I love you."

A pile of dead creatures lay in front of them. Chris nudged one of the stinking corpses with the toe of his boot. It reminded him of the Plant 42 that had taken rule of the guard house back at the Spencer mansion, but smaller. A sickly sweet odor, like that of a whore, permeated from the dead thing's flower-like head.

"Ever seen anything like this?" Chris asked, looking up at Jill. She shook her head, not meeting his gaze as she flipped through a file that she'd found near where they'd been attacked by the creatures.

"No...Ah, here they are. Ivy notes," she read, clarifying each word, "officially named Plant 43, this B.O.W. was developed by analyzing data from Plant 42," she glanced up, "which had appeared in the mansion."

"I thought it looked like that thing." Chris said, lip rising in distaste.

"There's more here." Jill continued, eyes scanning the paper again. "But there isn't any need to read it. We know perfectly well what any of these B.O.W.s are capable of." Chris nodded, taking the papers from her and slipping them into his belt pack. Her head wound had clotted, he noticed off-handedly.

--"You harm one hair on my sister's head and I swear I will have your life, you bastard!"
--"Now, now. Must you always resort to such name calling. You are far from ten, Redfield, name calling should have been left back in your playground days. But then...I forget how immature you are. Never did get along with authority, did you? Never learned to keep your tongue and let others have their say. You just always had to be fucking right."
--"Stop it."
--"Stop what?"
--"You fucker, you know what."
--"What, you want me to stop moving around? Is my speed making you nervous, Redfield? Would you rather me up close and personal? Something more like this?"
--"Get away from me."
--"Not what you would have said two months ago. I was just a psycho then as I am now. I haven't changed. Just you have."
--"Well, I've changed for the better! You're a monster. You watched all of ou--my friends get killed for your sick little experiment. You just needed someone to act as your guinea pig, someone to take the fall so you could test your...monsters. And you're no better than them...No, you're worse. At least those...those things don't pretend to have feelings, don't pretend to be anything more than what they are...at least they don't pretend to lo--"

The honey-combed mess they'd found themselves in was a maze, Chris realised as they entered a room already splattered with blood and zombie limbs. They were going in circles. He stared down at the red corpse of the nearest Crimson Head. He wasn't exactly sure how zombies came to be this way, how they under-went spontaneous mutation, but they did it more and more often as the two former S.T.A.R.S. travelled deeper into the source.

"Can you tell me about him now?" Jill had been patient, nothing more could be said. It had been obvious that for weeks, she'd wanted to ask him about it. "I mean, I know I wasn't there for you four years ago, I was in Raccoon, I was working with Carlos...I was everywhere. But I still think I have a right to..." She trailed off. "Leon contacted me before he left for basic. He said that you had told him about meeting Wesker...I couldn't believe it...I still can't believe that he's still alive." She raised her shotgun, having found a bunch of ammo for it back in the lab part of the facility. The head of a zombie struggling to stand exploded in brain, blood and mushy bits of skull.

--"St-stop it."
--"Really? After all this time you're still so childish about it."
--"No. Don't you even touch me!"
--"And here I was, thinking we were reconciling. You tricked me, Chris. Not very nice."
--"Reconciling? I reconcile with your cooling corpse, Wesker. Just let me go and I'll let you reconcile with my gun."
--"Hahaha. And exactly how will that help your poor infected sister...That's right, infected. And only I've got the cure. I'd give it to you too, if only you'd work with me."
--"...Fine. Take whatever you want. Just please...let me save my--"
--"Sister. I know the spiel, Chris. That's your problem, you're predictable and so hopelessly noble."
--"I...I hate you."
--"That's good to know. I would hate to think that this would be enjoyable for you. I want you humiliated. I want you broken. I'm a man of my word and I will give you that antidote, but don't expect this to easy for you. This isn't S.T.A.R.S., I'm not trying to get in with anyone. Not this time."

"He batted me around like I was nothing. He was fast, he was strong, he was...inhuman. He was infected. I'm not sure how but...you could see it in his eyes." Golden, slitted, fire-rimmed eyes. They still plagued Chris' mind, those eyes. The way that he'd been entranced by them, even when Wesker was threatening his sister, even when Wesker was pushing him up against that wall, violating him. He would not tell Jill that much. He had mistakenly told Leon about Wesker's tryst with him, about how he'd liked it even though he hated the man. About how he still dreamt of the fingers gliding over his flesh and the perfect, white, pompous smile. He would not tell Jill about that.

"That must be how he escaped. Some sort of spontaneous mutation. Maybe he was infected even when he was working with S.T.A.R.S."

"No!" He said it too fast, too loud. Chris covered himself quickly. "I mean, we would have noticed this. He wouldn't have been able to hide it. His eyes were reptilian when I met him again. When he was in S.T.A.R.S. they were just blue, you know. Human eyes. He was human when he worked with us. Before he went insane."

Jill surveyed Chris flatly. "He was always insane, Chris, you know that. He was always working for Umbrella and he was always absolutely nuts. Its why he didn't care that all those people were being hurt in the mountains. That's why he didn't give a shit if every single member of S.T.A.R.S., Alpha and Bravo, were eaten alive. He just wanted his god damn data." She pushed open the next door of the honey-comb and breathed a sigh of relief. They were in a weapons cache, ammo and guns lined the walls. The two former S.T.A.R.S. fell upon the arsenal like dying men to water.

--"Pick up your gun."
--"..."
--"I said pick it up."
--"Why? Why do you care?"
--"Just fucking do it, Redfield. I have business I need to attend to and I will not let her have the pleasure of killing you. Now pick up your gun and move your ass."

It was an open room, white and sterile. There was nothing else there with them, no giant, evil B.O.W., no mass of zombies, no Hunters, no nothing. Chris lowered his weapon, eyes scanning the room with distaste.

"So it was just a rumour..." Jill said quietly, her hands remained tight on the grenade launcher she'd picked up. Chris shook his head, something wasn't right...he couldn't put his finger on what was wrong, but something was off. There was a pin-prick of heat in the back of his brain, the presence of some unknown thing. And it was getting closer.

"Jill, go." He said quietly. He could see her confusion, her misunderstanding painted clearly across her features. "You need to leave now."

"What?"

"Something isn't...Something's just not..." He took a deep breath. "There's something here, I don't know what, but its bad...and," he looked up at Jill, "you need to go. Now." Jill looked at Chris, still plainly confused. "Please." She nodded, her face grim. Slowly she began to back out of the room.

"I can't pretend to understand, Chris, but okay. I trust you." She smiled at him once before turning and leaving the room. So he was alone, with his gun and the growing heat in his brain. So familiar, the uncomfortable warmth spreading through him, so welcoming in its familiarity. Just like all those years ago. The door that he and Jill had come through, slid open.

"Damn it." Wesker's drawl, his British inflection, hadn't changed. He looked the same too; perfect hair, perfect suit, glasses in place, his mouth in that all too-perfect frown. "Wrong turn again." If he noticed Chris standing dumbfounded in the middle of the room, he didn't say anything. Never once even glanced in the brunette's direction.

"Wesker?"

The man's gaze fell upon him heavily, synchronizing with the waves of heat beating against his brain. Chris flinched away from the glance, from the heat, the rush of memories and unwanted feelings spinning ass-over-tea-kettle in his core. He looked away from Wesker's face, let his gaze drop down to the man's gloved hands. They were the only thing not perfect about the former S.T.A.R.S. captain for they were doused in blood, like he'd taken a man and crushed in their skull with his bare hands. With his mutated strength, Chris was sure that Wesker was capable of doing something like that.

"Wesker." He said it again, for no real reason. Wesker frowned, his one gore covered hand rested lightly on the magnum tucked into his belt.

"Just perfect. This is not what I needed, especially after dealing with Sergei." Chris wasn't sure who Sergei was but if the blood on Wesker's hands, staining his perfect leather gloves, were a hint to anything it was that Sergei had been 'delt with' harshly. In a blink, Wesker had drawn the weapon and had it barrel to chin on Chris. The brunette's eyes fluttered at the sudden movement, he was still not used to the incredible speed that Wesker had gained with infection. "And it was such a good day too." Behind the glasses his red eyes flashed. "I just don't have time for your stupid antics right now, Redfield."

Chris bit back a quick response, swallowing it thickly. His Adam's apple bobbed against the cool metal.

--"You always were the hottest. Fucking hot, little whore, Redfield. I think that may be why I chose you. Because you were so damn hot and so damn easy."

Chris could see Wesker blink behind the glasses, his eyes narrowing. The magnum drew a little away from Chris' chin.

--"I wonder what it is that goes on in that pretty head of yours. I've always wondered. When you were sitting behind the desk at S.T.A.R.S., pretending to paper work, what were you really thinking about?"
--"..."
--"Was it anything like this? Was it sick and kinky and a scary kind of painful?"

"What are you doing?" It was the first time that Chris had heard Wesker sound truly uncertain about anything.

Chris half-shrugged. "I-I don't know." He was thinking of Wesker, he was thinking of their last meeting, he was thinking of bleeding and fighting and loving it and loving Wesker even if the guy was a sadistic fucking freak. Maybe it was something wrong with Chris, maybe his obsessive hatred, his obsessive love, was actually a cry for help. Maybe he was destroying himself so that someone would finally notice that he was in need of assistance.

Or maybe he was just a fucking loony, just like loony Albert Wesker.

His empty hand raised, reaching out for his former captain's face. Wesker made no move to stop him, though the gun traced back up Chris' throat. If he tried anything funny, Wesker would decorate the walls with his brains. He ran his gloved thumb over Wesker's cheek slowly, eyes following the motion without feeling. He felt detached from the situation, like the sane part of his mind decided to take vacation while his fingers played politics with fire. A small part of him was a little surprised that Wesker was allowing such treatment. Even before he'd dealt the final blow to S.T.A.R.S., Wesker had not been a particularly emotional lover, he gave and took physically, and he expressed himself through kisses, but he wasn't one for cuddling. He wasn't a 'pillow talk' kind of guy. To allow such a worship of his face was a gesture that would have been far too intimate for the old Wesker.

Chris' eyebrows scrunched together, his hand retracted, his sanity returned with a vengeance. Wesker was a nut case, a psycho, a killer and worse. He had no morals, no care for life, no care for humans...no heart. If the past wasn't enough to remind Chris of any of these facts there was always the magnum pressing into his chin to keep him grounded.

"I don't have time for this, Redfield." Wesker's statement caught Chris off-guard. His brown eyes locked with Wesker's for an instant before the base of the magnum made impact with his skull and sent him sprawling to the floor. The world went black. And Chris dreamed.

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--March 1998

"You wanna go for a drink?" Captain Wesker was new, he had joined the force only a month earlier, and yet, already he had proved himself as confident and cool-headed. His hand rested easily on Chris' desk, blunt fingers brushing the file full of pictures of a woman who'd been found murdered in her apartment. The murder had strung her insides up like christmas lights around the place and then called 9-1-1. Chris looked up, his eyes inadverntantly following the path of Wesker's arm up to his strong shoulder, to his neck to his face. The man's trademark sunglasses were off, tucked into his pocket, and he had a light smile painted on his face.

"Sure." He said quickly, once he realised that the captain was not kidding. "I mean yeah, anything to get away from this...mess Irons stuck me with." He gestured to the file with disgust. Wesker smiled. He may have only been in the position of captain for a short while, but it was a well known fact that he'd already formed an air of disrespect for the sleazy police chief.

"Well come on then." The blonde grinned, a cocky display of perfectly even, white teeth, and turned to walk away from the desk, leaving Chris stumbling to catch up. The brunette was pulling his coat on as he opened the door leading out of the police station and the cold air caught him by surprise. It was so much colder outside than he remembered.

"Want one?" Wesker was holding a box of Parliments out, waiting patiently for Chris to take one...like he knew that the brunette would. Like he knew that Chris, who had officially quit smoking as a New Years resolution, had a soft spot for Parliments. Chris smiled and took the cigarette without complaint. A light was passed over a second later which Chris accepted gratefully, the warmth was sure to do something to help the cold numb that was slowly working its way through his fingers. It didn't though, the fire did nothing, so although it lit the cigarette in a flare of fire and smoke, there was no warmth in the flame.

And then the entire scene shifted and changed and Chris was no longer standing in the body numbing cold of the Raccoon City streets, but was leaning against the wall of an apartment as Wesker prepared them both drinks.

"How much have I already had?" Chris asked slowly, his mouth forming the words slower than he meant. Wesker didn't seem to notice the lag.

"Not much. You downed a few at the bar but I don't think you're drunk."

"I think I am." Chris smiled at the thought. It was the only way to explain the sudden notice he had taken to the little things about his captain. Like the different shades of blonde that made up the whole of Wesker's hair and beautiful proportions between the size of Wesker's shoulders and his waist. The tone of the skin that passed over the home-made rum and coke, fascinated Chris beyond reason. "I think I may have had too much..." He said with a grin, eyes meeting Wesker's over the glass.

"Chris." His voice was too close, too real. Chris squinted, nose crinkling. He reached out to take the drink, fingers smoothing over the cool glass when the scene shifted again.

He was lying back on the couch in the same apartment as before while a comforting warmth pressed down from above him. His fingers were lost in the perfect blonde hair, his hand had a white-knuckled grip on an alabaster shoulder. Chris' mind wheeled as those perfect, thin lips placed butterfly kisses up and down his heaving chest. It was caring, it was nice, but there was something wrong.

"Sir?"

"I told you to call me Wesker." Wesker not Albert. Not his real name, his surname. Chris was aware that he should have been bothered by that little detail, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Like the erection that was pressing hard against the zipper of his jeans. "Now, what?"

"I...I don't..." His mind was foggy. He was skipping from place to place and nothing seemed to be quite right. "I don't remember." Chris stated, but it felt like he was underwater and even as the words left his mouth they were garbled by the heaviness of the air.

"Christopher."

He shook his head as the scene shifted again. He was alone, utterly alone, Jill was missing, Wesker was missing, Barry was missing, Forest, Joseph and Kenneth were all dead. He had fallen into hell, that was the only reasonable answer to why the dead were wandering around. He had fallen into a nightmare.--

And at that thought Chris opened his eyes.

He rolled his head to the side, eyes fluttering over the bare walls of the sparse room, trying to make sense of where he was. His head was pounding and he assumed it was from where Wesker had struck him. He was still in his arctic gear, jacket, gloves, only his ear piece was missing. Chris sat up slowly, bracing his hand against his throbbing temple. A slow chuckle drew his gaze.

"You're finally up." Wesker's drawl was positively cat-like, his eyes only enhanced the illusion. "And here I thought I'd finally killed you." Chris felt like there was something missing at the end of Wesker's statement but it was probably only wishful thinking. "Bad dream?" His tone was mocking. Chris shook his head. He should have been terrified, he was trapped only God knows where, with a psychopath with a death-grudge against him, and no means of communication. Instead, he was calm, uncaring.

"Why me?" He asked slowly, eyes not meeting Wesker's cool gaze. "Why'd you choose me, out of everyone in S.T.A.R.S.? Why couldn't you choose Forest, or Joseph, or fucking Chicken Shit Brad?" He looked up, his brown eyes locking with orange. "Why did you have to choose me?" Wesker's eye brow raised, his shoulders rose and fell in a smooth shrug.

"Because you were the best, Redfield." The use of his last name stung, but Chris was determined not to show that to Wesker. "Because out of all of the S.T.A.R.S. you were the most impressive. The hottest, the best." Wesker's arms crossed. "Did you think there was some other reason? Something that made you special?" Chris shook his head.

"I never believed that much in your character." He whispered, knowing that Wesker could hear him. And in truth, he had known, he had always known somehow that Wesker was an uncaring sonofabitch. Didn't stop him from wanting the blonde anyway. "When I first found out what a liar you were, I wanted to kill you. I wanted to hurt you the way you'd hurt me...but I figured what with the mansion blowing up with you in it, that my revenge would just never happen. So I let some of the anger go. I mean, I'll never ever forgive you for those deaths that you're responsible for. Everyone's blood is on your hands, but I think that...that somehow all of it happened for a reason." He laughed to himself, a sarcastic little chuckle. "That makes me insane, I know. But I just don't care anymore. I can't care anymore. So I'm a psychotic ex-cop, who cares?" He smiled at Wesker. "You seem to fill the role rather well.

"And then you came back." He continued after a pause. "You came back and brought all those old memories and feelings back with you and I just wanted...I wanted you dead again. I wanted to torture you, make you scream and beg and cry before I killed you...I was willing to become just like you just to get revenge on you." Chris broke his gaze with Wesker again, refocusing on his hands. He tugged the gloves off as he spoke. "I think that's when I realised that I was steadily becoming what I hated. But even after that, I didn't stop wanting it, wanting to hurt you just so you'd know for once what it felt like. Jill noticed, I think. Barry probably did also. Claire's been bugging me about it since I got back from Europe...but I just didn't...Revenge became my life. It was my obsession. To rape you as emotionally as you had me." Chris paused again, a slow grin forming on his lips. "Do you know how quickly obsession turns into longing? How quickly hate morphs into a twisted, sick kind of love? I haven't stopped thinking about the things we did. Not once have I ever stopped thinking about them. I didn't want to admit it to myself though. I didn't want to acknowledge that I was in love with you again." His clear eyes met Wesker's. "That I still am."

"Always were the honest one, weren't you, Redfield?"

"Don't call me that." It wasn't a request or an order, simply a statement. "Don't treat me like I'm some God damn dog slobbering at your heels for a morsel. I'm not a Cerberus. I'm a fucking human." Chris looked away again, hands fisting under his own gaze. "At least show me some respect."

"Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you wait? Back in the Russian facility, why did you wait for me? You could have run away with Jill. You could have taken off, but you didn't. Why?" Like he cared, Chris thought ruefully, Wesker didn't care, not really. He was probably just curious. He answered honestly anyway.

"Isn't obvious...Wesker, I've wanted to see you again...touch you again for years now. Its been a harbouring wish, a thought that stuck to all of my others...even when I'm trying to deny it. Its always there, waiting to be thought of." Chris sucked on his bottom lip for a moment before letting it go and sighing deeply. "I didn't think you'd mind too much. Being lusted after was always one of your turn-ons, wasn't it?"

Wesker smiled cockily. "And you're saying that you want me..." His hand waved through the air in languid circles, motioning for Chris to continue his sentence. Chris rolled his head back.

"To fuck me? Yes, that's what I'm saying." He leaned back on his hands, head cocking to one side. "Usually it didn't take this long to get you in the mood." He winked. "Something up with old Wesker's libido?" Wesker didn't take the bait.

"Not at all, Christopher. I'm simply wondering if there is any ulterior to your motive." His bare hands (now free of gore, Chris noted) latched onto his alabaster elbows. One well formed eyebrow created a blonde arch. "Not that goodie-goodie Redfield was ever good when it came to lying." Wesker let out a sardonic little chuckle. "And even if you were, it wouldn't much matter, now would it? No army that you could call in here would be strong enough to stop me. You've seen what I can do, first hand. There is no way anyone that you know could ever stop me." That was the old Wesker, cocky beyond all reason. Fuck of a lot of talk but with the goods to back it up. Chris nodded slowly.

"I know."

"I know you know." He leaned back on the wall casually. "To be safe though, there isn't any other reason, is there?" His drawl was cunning, but with a sensuous edge. Chris shivered just slightly at the tone. "You're just here because you want to fuck me, like every other faceless John does." He cocked a grin. "Then again, you aren't really like those others. Not really. Sure you aren't special, do-gooders like you never are, but still..." He took a step forward. Then another. "Christopher, Christopher, Christopher...God, how I've always hated that you went by Chris." He was next to Chris now, his bare hands smoothing down the mussed brown locks. His fingers tightened threateningly for an instant before relaxing again.

Wesker's scent, the spicy aroma that defined him since he had injected himself with the T-virus, washed over Chris. Not that the brunette minded. He inhaled deeper, trying to keep some part of the scent with him, knowing full well that when Wesker was done with playtime, he'd be sent away...killed possibly. He tilted his head up, meeting Wesker's gaze with large eyes, and very slowly let words drop from his lips. "Fuck me

"Albert." It was a spilt second decision, using Wesker's first name instead of his last, but one that Chris did not regret. It was worth it, if only for the look on Wesker's face before those fingers tightened once more in his hair and Chris found himself face to face with the B.O.W. His lips were close, so tantalizingly close, that Chris figured if he just pushed his own out to meet them they would...but Wesker was quicker and even as the brunette went forward for the kiss, Wesker was turning his head, catching an ear instead.

"Ah-ah. Not that easy with me, Christopher. You should know that." He nipped at the bottom of Chris' ear lobe as he spoke, teeth pulling lightly on the cartilage. Chris let out an embarrassing little moan and he tried to turn his head to stop the blonde from his torturing. It was no use however, Wesker's strong hands, fisted as they were in his strands of brown hair, kept Chris firmly in place. He chuckled darkly against the former S.T.A.R.S cheek, his lips brushing dryly over the skin. It was a feeling that Chris had missed, much as he hated to admit it.

The last time they had coupled, pushed against that random wall in the Antarctic facility, there hadn't been teasing. There hadn't been time. Wesker had charged in, taken what he wanted and left. Chris didn't really want another experience like that, but at the same time, he didn't want the teasing of the old days. The strength in his voice surprised even himself.

"Not like this." It was as close to an order as he had ever given to the blonde. It went over a fuck of a lot better than he'd expected. Wesker compiled. His teeth, gleaming-white-perfect-fuck-it-teeth, left Chris' ear and made a straight move for his lips, catching one and nibbling it before retreating and making room for Wesker's lips. Chris melted into the motions. He was a sentimental guy, much as he tried to play the macho-stud part in his earlier years, and cuddling and kissing were among his favourite things to do. And, oh, did Wesker know how to kiss...

--"Don't..."
--"What? You said you'd comply, Redfield--or does the life of your sister mean that little to you?"
--"...Look, I'll do whatever...I will, just don't..."
--"Redfield--"
--"Fuck it...Just don't kiss me. Your taste makes me want to be sick."

'The lingering sweetness in your kisses makes me want to vomit. Makes me want to not hate you', was probably the deeper meaning to that turn of phrase. Because despite the humiliation, the torment, the blood, tears and cum, the curses, the hate, the anger, the revenge, the brutality; there was sweetness in the press of Wesker's cool lips. There was something in the way he moved his tongue, the way he nipped lightly or sucked on a lip that sang volumes about his emotions. Within the violence, the proclaimed hate of the brunette, there could always be found this hidden expression of true, caring love. And it had--still did a little bit, to be truthful--unnerved Chris to no end.

"Are you even paying attention to me, or is all my lavishing going to waste?" Wesker's smirk could be heard in his voice. Chris looked up at the man, surprised to find himself now sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket and shirt off, belt undone. He smiled slowly up at his one-time superior.

"I was paying attention." It was a harmless white lie, not one that could hurt anyone majorly.

Wesker's grin read volumes. "Then you'd be down on your knees, Christopher." He raised his eyebrow, smirk increasing. "Sucking my cock." And strong hand, pressing against his shoulder, left no room for question. Chris fell to his knees, wincing automatically when they cracked against the cement. It didn't hurt, or more accurately, if it had hurt he hadn't noticed. Chris' attention was focused on the man in front of him, focused on the slight bulge in the plain black slacks.

To Chris, there was something obscenely hot about having another man's cock rammed down his throat, it was one of those little things that he'd always been fascinated by, even when he was 'straight' and only dating chicks. He smiled as he popped the button of Wesker's pants with one slightly calloused hand. The blonde would know something random like that, even if they had never discussed it before, it was just so Wesker to know. Chris caught his own lip in his white teeth as he lowered the zipper of his ex-captains pants. It was a motion he had gone through countless times before, but he was more excited, more nervous this time. Not to think about it was the best way to go about oral, Chris had found. Just open your throat and let the motions go, just suck. So that was what he did. Pretty brown eyes scrunched closed as the swollen pink-toned head of Wesker's dick touched his lips, only to pop open a moment later.

Wesker's strong fingers were once again hopelessly lost in Chris' hair, tangling in the gossamer strands to the point of knotting. He let out an appreciative groan--Chris dared call it nothing else, anything else would be too feminine, and there was nothing feminine about the strong shouldered former captain--as his subordinate's mouth went to work, but after that small slip, he let no further noises escape. From his place on his knees, Chris' muddy gaze met Wesker's fire-eyes. It made it hotter, Wesker had informed him, for the submissive one to be so bold, now however...The deft fingers of his right hand swept down Chris' cheek, brushing past his eyes.

"Don't look at me like that, like I'm forcing you into this position again." There was a hint of something in Wesker's choked out words, some unknown emotion that sat wrong with Chris. So he did as he was asked, he closed his eyes and he opened his throat, breathing deeply through his nose as he trilled his tongue agianst Wesker's impressive length. His calloused, warm hands toyed with what his mouth couldn't reach. He didn't snap his hips--Wesker wasn't nearly as impatient as Leon or Forest--he just pressed in, slowly tugging forward, letting Chris know what he wanted and how to do it. Chris bobbed his head back, knowing if Wesker didn't want him to move that he wouldn't be able to, freeing his mouth from the burden to blow lightly on the tip. A deep-throated, animal-like growl was what he got in response. The detail filed itself away in Chris mind for scrutiny later. He slid back on to Wesker's cock, teeth scraping along the skin lightly. He brought his hand up, cupping Wesker's balls lightly. He cracked his one eye open, heart soaring at the look of sheer ecstasy on his ex-captain's face. He smiled as best he could around his mouthful. There was still one trick, one trick he had left to make that expression ten times more intense.

Chris willed his throat to relax completely, battering his gag reflex into submission, and moved further down on Wesker's cock. His nose got buried in the curly, blondish hair at the junction of Wesker's thighs, his eyes stayed closed. As he moved, his finger pushed slowly into the blonde. It was a trick he'd picked up in Europe, to override the senses with double stimulation. It was something that Chris figured Wesker would like.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

The fingers that had been so needily wrapped in his hair were suddenly no longer in-active, they were pulling, dragging Chris off of him, away from him. The mutated strength made nearly tossing Chris across the room no more than a slight effort for Wesker. Chris' head struck the opposite wall with a resounding crack. His brown eyes fluttered open with a painful wince. He didn't have time to process much though because the next instant Wesker was pushed up against him, knee slipping in between Chris' thighs without resistance. The ex-captains cool lips nipped at Chris', dragging across his slightly stubbly cheek to his neck. A feral growl slipped out from Wesker' clenched teeth. He ripped at Chris' remaining clothes while his mouth performed its talented work, the belt fell away with a clatter followed by the dry thump of his heavy cargo pants. Chris groaned, his neck stretching under the torture bestowed upon him by that heavenly mouth. Something was so wrong, something was off in Wesker's mind--not that there wasn't always something wrong with Wesker's mind--something wasn't human, but Chris was beyond caring. Fingers; dry, alabaster fingers; were pressing into him, starting off with two and moving about immediately. There was no time for adjustment, no time for kisses or cries, there was just delicious friction as a third finger joined the other two after a moment of prepping.

"My God...Wesker," Chris breathed, his knees giving out under the on-slaught of pleasure. "Nn..." He tossed his head again, lips lost in Wesker's blonde hair. "Albert." It was so quiet, his whispered words, said as an exhale. Almost not there at all. Wesker looked up, a growl dying in his throat, something feral in his inhuman eyes broke and scattered, leaving his usual scientific detachment.

"Say it again." His fingers were still knuckle-deep inside of Chris, but they were stilled now. His warm breath tickled Chris' cheek.

"Al...bert?" Chris' breathing hitched between syllables. The fingers rammed in and out of him, slower this time, more gentle. More caring? Chris let out a little moan.

"Again." They were withdrawn to the tips.

"Albert." Rammed back in. But he was still whispering, still quiet.

"Again."

"Albert." It was spoken now. An 'inside voice' Forest would have said with that down home smile and easy drawl; but thoughts like that only served to make Chris sad, so instead he focused on Wesker's fingers. On the wonderful burn they produced to his core.

"Aga--"

"ALBERT!" A shamless yell. Chris hooked his leg around Wesker's waist, tried to pull the blonde in closer. He was almost positive that, were Wesker human, the white-knuckled grip his hand was locked in would have shattered the bones in Wesker's shoulder. The ex-captain's breath was in his ear, his teeth catching on the skin.

"You ready?"

"Fuck yes." Chris had never been more ready, more willing--even the first time, batshit drunk in Wesker's downtown apartment, he hadn't felt the readiness that pulsated through his core at this coupling. And where the first time there had been pain, discomfort as Wesker had shoved his dick up into Chris' ass; at this meeting there was only anticipation and a sort of impatience. He wanted Wesker in him, controlling him, owning him, and he didn't want to wait. "My God, Albert." He said, voice dying as it hit the air. It was too much, the pleasure, the need. Wesker's hips snapped in the warmth that greeted him between Chris' knees. His breathing was ragged on Chris' collarbone. Was he noticing too, Chris wondered. Did Wesker understand the difference between this time and those times?

Chris tilted his head down, lips brushing Wesker's alabaster temple. "Albert...Albert..." It was his mantra, his rhythm. And it apparently was driving Wesker crazy as well. The man's thrusts gained in intensity with every dropped word, every whispered name. The spell of the entire escapade was going to both Chris' head and his groin. He felt warmly dizzy, but the heat in his brain was nice. It was the heat that was building up in his core, the unravelling he felt in his balls that was unbearable. "Fuck...make me come, Albert." He said, voice picking up volume, carrying easily into Wesker's ears. And Wesker wasn't one to question an order like that, even if it was from a technical inferior. His warm hand fell to Chris' cock, which was standing proudly at attention against Chris' toned stomach, and he jerked it in perfect synch with his thrusts. It didn't take long. Chris was human, merely human and pleasure was a mountain easily scaled.

He came with a cry, a guttural moan that may or may not have been Wesker's name, even Chris himself wasn't sure. His essence spurted into Wesker's hand, onto the stiff black turtle neck that Wesker was still wearing. He body went rigid, muscles bunching as the last of the sticky, white liquid was released into the cool air. But Wesker's hand didn't stop moving, his hips never once caught in their set pattern. His cock hit Chris' prostate again and again without fail, stimulating the brunette too much. But even as Chris pushed weakly against Wesker's shoulder, voice trembling as he tried to express himself, he knew it would do no good. Wesker was too close to release to stop and yet...Chris' nerve endings were numb, his body overloaded with the pleasurable waves of warmth that flooded from Wesker's body. The only thing he could feel was the pulsating rhythm of Wesker's cock inside of him, the synchronization of their combined heart rates. And then he felt it, the warm, uncomfortable gush, the spread of liquid from Wesker's cock.

The blonde groaned, British inflection dancing over Chris' name as he came. He pulled himself out of Chris' ass, kissing the former S.T.A.R.S. cheek as he did so. It was a tenderness that Chris was not used to. Though the action was not as outlandish as the stunt that Wesker pulled next, hunching over and gathering the brunette up in his arms to deposit him back onto the cot. Chris wanted to ask him about it, wanted to grill him about the uncharacteristic behaviour of late, but he found he was too tired. Too numb. His nerves were still fried from Wesker's abuse of his prostate. So instead, he let himself be laid down, let Wesker run a finger through his hair and let himself fall asleep.

***************************************************************************************************************

"So how many other people have you fucked, Redfield?" Wesker's voice floated to Chris over the sea of light that he'd been dreaming of. He rolled his head to the side, avoiding the hostility in the voice. There was no reason that Chris could think of for the anger that he could hear in Wesker's lilt. "I know that you're awake, Christopher, so open your eyes and answer me." From under his eye lashes, Chris found Wesker's form, arms crossed by the door. His brown gaze slowly met the inhuman orange of Wesker's.

"What are you talking about?"

Wesker frowned. "You were thinking about it...earlier." Not surprising that Wesker would know that. Chris had noticed that the man seemed to have limited telepathy since his infection. Wesker's index finger bounced on his brow. "Thinking things about other men...other guys from Raccoon. So, tell me about it." Chris blushed heavily. Yes, he had 'been with' other guys, not like anything that any of them had had to offer was even on the same scale as what Wesker gave him, but he didn't see the need to talk about it.

He found himself answering anyway. "It wasn't anything big, cap--Wesker," he bit his tongue at the near slip, "a few drunken kisses, hot and dirty fucks..." He trailed off. A perfect blonde eyebrow was cocked in his direction.

"That doesn't answer my question. Who?" He paused, smiled, the anger of earlier dispelled. "And while we're at it, when?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "Forest."

"Speyer?"

"Who else. At a New Years party, a few months before you were assigned to S.T.A.R.S. We didn't do anything...a kiss, or eight, and a whole lot of groping. We talked about it the next day and nothing ever came out of it, Forest was straight, it was a drunken need sort of thing." Wesker nodded, his hand raised, motioning for Chris to continue. "Then there was you."

"And I know all about that." Wesker said with a cock-sure grin.

"And then after you there was Leon...but that was another one time thing. We were both desperate, it was right after Raccoon, and we both needed some reassurance...He was there and I was there and..." Chris trailed off, blush taking over his features. "It just sort of happened." He shrugged. "There hasn't been anyone after that, no one in Europe, no one in the strike force." He dropped his head to the side, resting his ear on his shoulder, hoping Wesker wouldn't catch his little lie. He looked back up at Wesker. "And what about you? Who have you fucked? Its only fair you tell me, since I told you."

"It isn't important." Wesker's hand waved through the air in dismissal. Chris frowned.

"Bullshit it isn't. You can't tell me off for keeping secrets when you yourself can." Angry as he was, his voice didn't reflect it. He sounded hollow, defeated, old. He smiled ruefully at the sudden thought. "I turn thirty this year, you realise that? Thirty." He chuckled. "I'm getting old, Wesker. By next month I may as well be in the grave." Chris placed his hands behind his head. "And you're what...forty? Forty-one? You don't look a day over thirty-six." He rolled to his side, noticing that he was now wearing a pair of boxers. "What are we doing? This childish shit is below us. So what if we've both fucked other people. It doesn't even matter."

"That's certainly a mature stance to take." The grin on Wesker's face didn't look like it fit. "Reverse psychology, Christopher? Really?" Chris frowned hard.

"I didn't...I mean, that isn't what I was..." He gripped his head, fingers kneading into his cuckoo’s nest of hair. "God damn it, Wesker, you can't just accept anything." Chris' head swam with alien anger, a pulsating emotion just behind his brain. Slowly he let his eyes drift back open. Something was wrong, something was off, much as it had been with Wesker during their fuck. Something was just not right. Only this time, the problem wasn't Wesker, it was him. It hit Chris like a ton of bricks. "Infected." He said quietly. As he sat up, his wild gaze met Wesker's calm, if not confused, one.

"What?"

"Infected, you're infected."

Wesker's laugh was more like a bark. "Very nice, Christopher, what a brilliant deduction. It only took you how long to figure it out?" Wesker's sarcasm was ignored.

"And you slept with me." Wesker's slightly ruffled expression returned, so Chris continued. "No one knows all the ways the T-virus spreads. We thought it started as an air-born disease..." Chris' hands returned to his hair, pulling on the knots savagely, "but since then, it has been disproven...Jill said that it was the bites that did it in the city, she said the virus was spread through saliva and the mixing of blood...body fluids..." His breathing was coming more rapid now, in light of his revelation. "Fuck...Wesker, that's twice now that body fluids have been..." He paled, the hand not tangled in his hair motioning between the two of them. "I could be fucking infec--" Wesker's laugh cut him off short.

"Infected? Really? You, Redfield?" His laugh bubbled forth again, cutting harsher than a Crimson Head's claws. "Please, save it for someone else. This isn't AIDS, despite what your little friends seem to think, what they've been telling you. Remember who you're talking to here, I helped create this virus, this beautiful power." His hand clenched on the word 'power'. "And now you're telling me how it spreads." Despite that his voice sounded firm, his eyes held a note of insecurity. "Don't kid yourself, Redfield."

Chris' anger spiked again at that. If it wasn't the virus, Chris didn't have any explanation for the emotions running riot in his brain, his core. He'd gotten what he'd been after for years, he'd gotten his--the possessiveness in the word scared him--Wesker back, if only for a little while. What did he have to be so angry about? Was he mad at himself, was pissed that he hadn't shown self control? Was there something deeper that he just wasn't seeing? He pressed his hands to his temples, wincing as his one brushed where Wesker had hit him what seemed like days before.

"Christopher, Christopher..." Wesker's voice wasn't laughing anymore, he sounded almost pitying. "What a hand fate has delt you." He strolled over, his speed that of a normal human, and seated himself next to Chris. There was a rare note of sincerity in his words. "I almost pity you. Almost." He let out a dry chuckle. "You see, Christopher, our fates are intertwined. Always have been, always will be. That is just the way it is. For a mere human though...I can understand that its tough." He smiled, hand resting on Chris' knee, fingers warm in the cool of the room's air.

"Don't tease me."

"I'm not." Chris knew it was true, Wesker was being truthful. Out of character as it seemed, he was not lying. Chris rested his hand on Wesker's, pointer finger balancing on one alabaster knuckle.

"I know." And Chris wasn't surprised when Wesker kissed him after he said it, pale hands pushing on Chris' shoulders, lowering him onto the cot. It was just the way that things were meant to be. It was just his destiny, to be intertwined with Wesker's...to be intertwined with Wesker. Chris smiled into the kiss at the thought.

***************************************************************************************************************

Mechanical beeps sounded him to waking. Chris sat up fast, too fast. His head swam with lights and colours, causing his stomach to lurch. His mind was a fog, processing like he was underwater. He remembered Russia, the broken down Umbrella facility, Jill, the B.O.W.s. He remembered Wesker, fucking Wesker in some unknown location...letting himself be taken twice. The last thing he remembered was the blonde kissing him, despite the sweat covering his body, despite the stickiness clinging to his stomach, Wesker kissed him. And then there was darkness.

And now he was...

Home?

Claire, her young face tense with worry, burst into the room. Her eyes fell on Chris, and her jaw dropped. "You're...awake!" It was a whisper with the intensity of a yell. Lancettes of pain laced their way through Chris' head. Claire didn't seem to notice. "He' awake!" That time it was a yell, aimed at the door she'd come from. She may of well had set off a fire alarm in Chris' ears, the sound was that intense. A second later she was on him, hugging him tightly despite the soreness that pervaded his body. He hugged her back as best he could, wires that were stuck into his arms getting in the way. Her tears were wetting his cheeks, getting their saltiness in his mouth. The taste stung.

There was a small cry from the door and Chris looked up in time to see Jill, her face wide in a smile, before she too was hugging him. Barry was there too, leaning casually against the door, his large face bright. Chris didn't smile back at any of them.

"What happened?" He asked. There were gaps in his memory, too many damn gaps. Jill and Claire broke their hug and shared a glance. Chris frowned. "Someone, tell me what happened?"

Jill spoke first. "They said that this might happen. Chris...you've been unconscious for two days now."

"What?" He squinted.

She bit her lip. "After the battle with T.A.L.O.S. we got separated...you were gone for a day and a half and...Shit, Chris we thought you were dead." There were un-cried tears coating Jill's eyes. Her arms crossed in front of her chest. "When we found you, I still thought you were dead..." She took a deep breath. "Thank God, you're okay." But her explanation didn't help.

"Who...what, I guess is the real question, is T.A.L.O.S.?" He asked, hand cupping his head where he remembered Wesker had hit him. Jill and Claire shared another glance. It was more steeped in worry than it had been before.

"It was the B.O.W., Chris." Claire said. "The one in Russia..." She trailed off. "The one you guys went in to destroy. You don't remember?" Chris shook his head. He couldn't remember because there hadn't been a B.O.W. it had been a rumour. The room had been empty. He remembered. When he voiced his memory though, he was met with frowns.

"Chris, that..." Jill bit off her sentence. "The room was anything but empty...That fight was a bitch and afterwards..." She paused to wipe at her eyes. "The whole room was caving in and I ran but when I turned around you...you weren't there. I thought you'd been..." She shook her head. "You turned up at the U.S. embassy in Russia, some soldier found you unconscious and found your passport tucked into your jacket. He contacted Barry and--" Jill looked away. "You don't remember anything?" The scab on her forehead gleamed in the sterile light.

"I remember that." He tapped his head were her wound was. "We got assaulted by a bunch of Hunters. You were lucky your scalp wasn't taken off." She nodded but the tears in her eyes didn't dissipate. "But I don't remember any B.O--any T.A.L.O.S." A tear escaped from Jill's eye and rolled down her cheek.

"It doesn't matter, really." Barry's deep voice assured them from the door. "Whether he remembers or not, Chris is fine, T.A.L.O.S. is dead, Umbrella is finished." He smiled, always the parent, always the cool-headed. "Can't we just be thankful for what we have?" Jill smiled sadly at the words.

"Of course...you're right." She wiped at her eyes again. "We did good, you know?" Chris nodded. No, really he didn't know, but if it would make things settle, he'd say he did. Jill smiled sincerely at his nod. "Right. Well, we should probably let you get some more rest. God only knows what happened to you..." She shook her head again and sighed. "Forget it. Just worry about getting your strength back, Chris." She paused, a spark of light dancing across her features. "Oh, we found these in your pocket." She produced two slips of paper and handed them to Chris. "They don't mean anything to me, but maybe they'll help you remember something."

One was a note, an extraction from a report that Chris had found in Russia. He handed it back to her with that explanation. The second was a postcard. On the front was a picture of the Russian tundra, all cold snow and falling flakes. A figure could almost be made out, far in the distance of the shot, but it was too small to really tell. With a sigh, Chris turned the postcard over. There was no address on the back, no signature. Just a sentence. "And so destiny's wheel keeps turning, see you at the next intertwine." Chris read aloud. The hand-writing was un-unique but the words were unmistakable. He fought down the blush and placed the postcard next to the bed.

"Mean anything to you, Chris?" Claire sounded hopeful.

"Nope." He lied. All three others in the room looked at him like he was crazy.

"Then why are you keeping it?" His sister was persistent. Probably not the best trait that she'd picked up from him.

"I like the picture." Chris said with a smile, finger running over where the figure may have been. "Makes me feel warm inside. Should I not keep it?"

Claire shook her head. "Whatever, its up to you." Barry and Jill waved their goodbyes, motioning for Claire to follow. She smiled before she did. "Its good to have you back, Chris." She said quietly. "So, don't go away like that again, okay?" Claire didn't wait for an answer before she turned and jogged to catch up with the departing Jill and Barry.

It was better she hadn't asked for a promise, Chris reflected as he lay back down, better she didn't want him to make her any deals. Because, when their destinies did intertwine again--and Chris was positive that they would, there was no question in his mind--he was already set in the direction he'd be taking. The direction he always took, crazy as it was. Chris closed his eyes with a rueful little smile and he dreamed.

Of snow and Russia and words whispered hurriedly into the frozen landscape of his lover's neck.