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“Thank you again, for everything your Son did. For me. For his team. For the world.”
He sighed as he wrapped up his annual visits. He felt it was only right to show up. To acknowledge, to remember those who had remembered him when he longer remembered himself.
The years would add lines to their faces and more sadness in their eyes.
He too, is just another battered veteran who refused to quit, because he owes it to those who could no longer fight, to fight.
Wrapping up, he headed to the lake. He’s far from the ocean now, but he wanted to reflect.
Reflect on what it’s like to have met hell at its depths, and emerge again. Alive, whole.
Alone.
Reflect on whether it was pure luck he’s still here.
No. It wasn’t just luck. Others wanted him to still be here.
He stood at the shore, looking down at the dark waters.
Even in the waters he saw the silver on his temples. Lines on his eyes, his cheeks.
It’s been a while.
What would it be like to feel young again?
Relaxing his shoulders, he took a rock, aimed and sunk it right into the lake when he was trying to skip it across the waters.
He’d forgotten how he’d used to do that.
He threw another. And another.
It worked! It skipped for a moment.
Memories are coming back, like the times in his youth, when he’d try to impress Claire.
He threw the rock, looking at it skipping across the lake. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce.
He threw another. It didn’t skip so well.
He sat.
As he threw another, he heard another splash, as two rocks bounced, in a kind of short synchrony until they sank to the depths of the lake.
“You still had to be better at everything don’t you?” He said, still gazing over the waters.
Footsteps, somehow completely silent to him until now, headed towards him. An arm braced his shoulder as he sat.
Chris reached his arm around his shoulders, as he’d practiced so many times, pulling the man close, feeling the weight of his head resting on his shoulder as they sat side by side.
“I didn’t know if you were going to show.”
“I didn’t either. But I remembered this little speech…”
“One of mine?” Chris asked.
“Uh, actually, it was one of mine.”
“Here’s a man who’s far too in love with himself.”
“That’s not even half the love I have for you, but stop interrupting.”
“Oh, you’re going to lecture me again?”
“Well I kinda made myself the leading authority on not running away from your past, so-”
“Well you’re in the wrong place hotshot. This... ahem… is the present.”
“I… damnit.”
Chris smiled and celebrated his little success at making Piers falter. It’s hard to get the upper hand on him these days.
An elbow nudged him in his ribs. “Don’t you go all Master Sifu on me.”
“Well.” Chris said, proudly “I am after all, your mentor, your hero… it was meant to be me-”
“It’s us now.” Piers had cut him off. “It’s been ten years. I’ve made my peace.”
“I love that about you, always so optimistic.” He squeezed Piers’ arm, feeling his strength and wholeness.
“We’re survivors Chris. We both are. I only learn from the best.”
Chris looked down, catching the spark of mirth in those dancing hazels.
He had to remember to breathe, let alone whatever banter he was going to volley with, because those eyes are only making him feel one thing.
That Chris Redfield is the luckiest man in the world.