Chapter Text
Some Tuesdays, Leon left to have lunch with Sherry. These Tuesdays were random to Chris, a pattern he only recognized by Leon flipping his Jacket of the Week over his shoulder and running out of their home on a day that should’ve been free. Chris, who usually anticipated copious amounts of fantastic acrobatic sex on these work-free Tuesdays, often associated these lunches with disappointment and the taste of chamomile tea in the bath.
It wasn’t every Tuesday; Sherry and Leon had their system, a complex thing that involved lucky numbers and superstition and the occasional favor called in to combat Leon’s tendency for his off-time getting sabotaged. Since the finer details of Sherry and Leon’s lunch dates have been resolved (it must be on a Tuesday, on the 11th or 22nd, at a place west of Leon and Chris’s house, and the restaurant must serve at least one vegetarian dish, even though Sherry nor Leon participated in the diet), Chris hadn’t heard a single complaint from Leon of it being interrupted.
It would almost drive Chris to believe in superstition and lucky charms, except that the last time he had worn Claire’s lucky bracelet that she swore up and down by, he had tripped, spilled takeout all down his suit in front of the whole restaurant, and spent the next few hours at a black-tie event combating questions about the stain until Leon arrived, took pity (after laughing for a few more miserable minutes than Chris thought strictly necessary), and lent him his coat jacket. Then Chris had spent a few more hours watching people fawn over Leon and the attractive musculature that the lack of suit jacket had emphasized, and continued to still combat questions over the strained nature of the tight suit jacket.
Leon still denied that people were ever flirting with him too, the bastard. All trauma aside though, Chris stalwartly refused to believe in the sacred nature of the Tuesdays of the nature of the 11th or 22nd, or any mystical power any restaurant west of their household, BOW attacks apparently warded off by a singular vegetarian dish. Perhaps Leon’s bad luck had alleviated. Leon always did claim that Chris’s good luck was rubbing off on him.
It was one of those times again, a Tuesday on the 22nd of March specifically, and Chris was making the chamomile tea Claire had gifted him with on his last birthday for the reason of reducing his stress, specifically, or so Claire told him, so that he didn’t rupture a vein and have an aneurysm the next time Leon jumped off a building or took on a Tyrant with three bullets and a prayer. A bath was also running upstairs, the second part of the balm Chris had taken to applying on himself whenever Leon ducked out to visit Sherry.
And he had been so prepared for marathon sex this weekend too, Chris thought morosely as the microwave finished heating the water, beeping in a monochromic tone that matched Chris’s mood. He would still hypothetically have three more days with Leon before he had work slated during the next two weeks, but who knows if the vacation days would actually hold? God knows they haven’t many times before, and Leon had been off on some classified mission for the past month and a half.
Bringing the tea upstairs, Chris turns off the water, slowly sinking down into it with the tea firmly grasped in his right hand, closing his eyes in relaxation. It feels like only seconds later that a shout rings through the house but it must’ve been at least an hour - the bath water was ice cold.
“Chris!” The shout comes, piercing through his relaxed state like a bullet to the head, quite loud and distinctly Leon’s.
Sliding out of the bath, Chris snatches a towel and tucks it around his waist - no use fighting a bioweapon naked after all - and grabs the gun they keep stashed under the bathroom cabinet before stumbling down to see what was the matter with Leon. He is left confused at the sight of a perfectly normal downstairs, nothing out of place except Leon himself, grocery bags loaded in each hand like a professional weightlifter, clutching a wad of papers tightly in one fist.
“Chris!” he says again, voice much lower and calmer than it had been before.
“Leon,” Chris responds, feeling remarkably out of place in just his towel now that he had determined there was no danger. It wasn’t the first time Leon had come home excited; Sherry knew all the hottest gossip in the BOW fighting world, and Leon’s favorite thing to do was debrief it with Chris. Who was pregnant, the love triangle unfolding down the hall from Sherry’s office, the guy who got discharged after trying to fuck a Licker; Chris would hear about it whether he wanted to or not. Usually not.
“I’m a dad!” Leon says excitedly, and what Chris is is not prepared for that.
“Oh?” he replies, feeling a bit out of the loop. “How’d you manage that?” It probably wasn’t by sex. Leon couldn’t pull a woman if he tried. What other methods were there to get a baby? Meiosis? Chris feels like he had heard only plants did that though.
Leon thrusts out the hand with the papers clutched inside it. “Sherry asked me to adopt her,” he explains giddily, a smile large on his face, and it made Chris’s heart skip a beat, even after all these years.
“Congratulations?” Chris responds, still a bit confused because he was pretty sure Sherry was an adult.
Leon doesn’t seem to hear him. “She wants me to walk her down the aisle, officially as her dad,” he says, still smiling, big and sappy, looking for all the world like someone had just told him that he just won an all-expenses paid vacation to the Bahamas.
Chris thinks he might’ve missed a big part of the conversation. “Down the aisle?” he repeats, feeling a little parrot-like, hoping Leon would clarify. The man was usually fairly good about talking about Sherry - Chris was pretty sure he would’ve known by now if Sherry was getting married.
“Right! Jake proposed,” Leon snaps his fingers dramatically. “Or Sherry says he did, but considering that I helped her buy a ring a few months ago, I think there might’ve been some interference on her part.”
“Of course,” Chris tucks the towel tighter around his waist. “Isn’t that Muller the mercenary?”
“We don’t use the M-word in this house Chris. And besides, he’s retired.”
“Just reminding you, in case you forgot. You also didn’t like him, said, and I think this is a direct quote,” Chris narrows his eyes, “that he was an antagonistic, money-grubbing piece of shit that didn’t deserve a second of Sherry’s time.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Leon waves him off, marching off to the kitchen. “Turns out he’s not that bad. I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.”
Mildly curious about what could’ve changed Leon’s mind so drastically on Jake Muller between now and a month ago, when Chris had been subjected to an absolutely brutal rant at Muller’s expense, Chris follows Leon to the kitchen, towel and all.
Chris never had been one for planning weddings or parties or things of that nature, and their own wedding had been so long ago, in such desperate conditions, that Chris hardly remembered the actual marriage part of the entire thing, and instead the engagements rings that doubled as wedding rings because they were both too busy to get new ones, and the sloppy blowjob and three rounds of enthusiastic sex Leon had given him that evening.
“What’re you planning?” he asks Leon instead, as Leon places the grocery bags on the counter and starts relocating them throughout the kitchen.
Leon pulls out pasta from the bag and looks at it consideringly. “For dinner?” he shakes the bag of premade pasta. “You up for gnocchi tonight?” he asks instead of answering Chris, probably knowing full well that Chris has not the first clue what that is. Chris gives him a sour look and Leon nods to himself.
“Gnocchi it is. For the wedding? I’m letting Sherry take the reins,” he tries, and Chris’s eyes narrow.
“Bullshit,” Chris says unapologetically. “Don’t think I don’t know about that shared Pinterest board you have with Claire - yeah, that one. She showed it to me. You’re going to worm your way into the wedding planning, and I need to make sure that you don’t spend our entire mortgage on French food or - or on diamond catering or whatever else was in there.”
Leon sniffs. “I wouldn’t dream of having French food at a wedding, Chris. And don’t worry about the price; Jake got access to Wesker’s bank account after he died so the entire thing will be courtesy of Albert Wesker’s dirty virus money.”
“That’s another thing,” Chris continues, eyes narrowed. Leon hands him the cilantro and he obediently places it in with the other vegetables in the fridge. “I don’t want to be co-parents-in-law with Albert Wesker.”
“I don’t even know what a co-parent-in-law is. He’s a deadbeat father anyways; Jake wouldn’t invite him at gunpoint. He’s also very dead, from what you told me.”
“Co-parents-in-law are the parents of the bride and groom, if you must know,” Chris explains loftily, before hesitating. “Since when did Muller become Jake?” he asks, half curious, half irrationally annoyed at being left out of Leon's sudden mentality change.
“Dunno. He’s a decent guy though Chris, and Sherry really likes him, so,” Leon shrugs, “I’ve decided to just, let things go.”
Not buying that excuse for a second, Chris fishes out a bottle of wine from the bottom of the last grocery bag, far more expensive than Leon usually liked to buy. “You sure this didn’t have a hand in it?” he questions, vaguely amused.
Snatching the bottle, Leon hugs it defensively, glaring at Chris. “You suggesting I’m that easily bribed?”
“Oh absolutely.”
Leon stares at him with the wine bottle, watching as Chris’s grin turns smug. “That’s not as attractive as you think it is,” Leon mutters, and Chris’s grin grows wider.
“It’s not, huh?” he teases, and wraps his arms around Leon’s front, kissing his husband’s neck. “How about this?”
Leon hums into Chris’s chest, breathing becoming just a little more labored. “I could be convinced,” he says innocently, and then Chris feels the towel covering his modesty fall away from his waist. Then Leon jerks away, scowling.
“Not in my kitchen though,” he says firmly, and Chris laughs, giddiness rising in his chest because he did miss Leon whenever he was gone, and it was always good to have him back. He presses his lips back into the side of Leon’s neck again and resumes kissing his way down.
“Don’t laugh Chris, the last time you fucked me in here it took me over an hour to get things clean again, and then that time Claire came over before I cleaned it and I couldn’t explain why she couldn’t eat - Chris! You’re not listening. Chris!”
**
So, Leon signs the papers to make Sherry his legal daughter. It apparently takes a strangely extended amount of time for the paperwork to go through, the legal documents hitting every single problem they could, Leon submitting his part of the document multiple times as each one would get destroyed in increasingly ridiculous ways, such as a band of seagulls ripping it apart in midair, or the papers happening to fall into a puddle from the post office to the government agency handling them. It took Leon resorting to threats and blackmail in order for the papers to arrive and get processed on time, and even then, bizarre worker deaths kept occuring, the papers nearly being stolen multiple times
In retrospect, it was a downright absurd amount of time for the adoption papers to go through, especially considering that the two in question were consenting adults. Hindsight’s a bitch though, to quote Jill.
It all works out though - most of the paperwork has been properly filed, with Sherry keeping meticulous records that, combined with Leon’s high legal authority, allows them to cut through a lot of bureaucratic bullshit that Leon hates so much.
Legally, Sherry is now Leon’s daughter, making Chris, in about seven months, officially Wesker’s co-parent-in-law (dead though he might be), something that peeves him every time he thinks about it too hard. He takes a few yoga classes Jill recommended. They help a bit.
Everything is good though, which was the real motivator for Chris to get over his own, admittedly very petty, feelings. Leon is happy, which leads to a lot of enthusiastic sex around their house, making Chris happy. And even beyond that, Leon is so rarely genuinely, unadulteratedly content, that Chris couldn’t even find it within himself to be that annoyed. Leon has smiled more in the past month than he has the entire year, and for that, Chris would force himself to like the Muller-Birkin wedding.
Yes, everything is good.
Then, Sherry throws her engagement party.
**
A few weeks later is the Engagement Party, aka Meeting of all the Important Wedding Guests as Leon calls it and Chris has to agree - because of Sherry’s status as a government agent and her higher-up connections, as well as Muller’s need to keep things smooth with at least some of his mercenary connections, there were a lot of fluff guests being invited, who really shouldn’t be going at all but were given an invite out of forced propriety. Chris personally thinks that this combination of people at the same wedding is a recipe for disaster, but what does he know about weddings? Nothing, if someone were to ask. He’s Leon S. Kennedy’s eye candy for the next seven months when he’ll be dragged from event to event, head empty, just agreeing with whatever his husband says.
The main group ended up whittling down to Leon and Claire, of course, Chris and Jill, forced by Leon and Claire, Rebecca Chambers (apparently she and Sherry would get coffee together sometimes, both working in California for the time being), Helena Harper and Ingrid Hunnigan, who were doubtless Sherry’s friends through Leon, and a handful of agents Chris didn’t recognize, friends of Sherry’s. He also saw a few shady-looking people standing in the back of the room in a tight circle; tactfully, like all the other guests, Chris does not comment.
The meeting was mainly to wedding-plan, or so Sherry had said, meaning it was downright mandatory for Leon and therefore Chris, if he wanted to not sleep on the couch for a week. Already in the past month Chris had been subjected to Leon’s constant talking to Claire about place mats and flowers and guest placement and color schemes. What were the colors even scheming about? Chris couldn’t say. At the BSAA it was more of the same; Claire calling Jill every five seconds about the wedding, which placed the most glazed look on the woman’s face Chris had ever seen.
The meeting is called to order relatively quickly after Chris and Leon show up, Sherry standing up in the front, sporting a lovely engagement ring that - well, Leon was definitely right when he said Sherry had a large part in her own engagement. Chris could not see Muller picking anything close to that flatteringly feminine.
Muller himself is standing behind Sherry, a glower on his face that spoke volumes on his opinion on this wedding in the first place. According to Leon, if he had his way, they’d probably have eloped. Luckily, Sherry probably had the foresight to see just how bad that would’ve gone down, both familially and politically, and had talked him out of it.
“Thank you everyone for coming!” Sherry announces, more radiant than usual to offset the sour demeanor of her fiance. “It means a lot that you all have come out to support our marriage like this, and -”
The double doors bang open. Dramatic music pours in from the hallway, perfectly timed to polished boots, clipping briskly against the linoleum. Everyone’s head swiveled simultaneously like possessed owls, and Chris hears the simultaneous snick of twenty-odd guns turning off their safeties at the same time.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Chris hears Jill mutter.
“Didn’t wait for me?” Albert Wesker says, as he flips his trenchcoat dramatically around him. “Typical.”
Chris is surprised Wesker didn’t spontaneously combust from the amount of shocked hatred that permeated the room in that moment.
“What in the seven hells are you doing here?” Jill explodes with so much venom, Chris thinks Wesker should’ve dropped dead on the spot out of respect, whipping her gun out so that it points directly at his forehead. “You’re dead.”
Wesker stares serenely at her furious face, a deed not many men had lived long enough to tell tales of. “Death is subjective, easily avoided,” he replies, which - no its not. What did that even mean? Somewhere in the years, Chris had forgotten just how insanely dramatic Wesker tended (tends?) to be.
“Isn’t it obvious what I’m here for?” Wesker continues, his mocking tone only serving to piss Jill off even more. His hair is perfect and even from this distance Chris could see the copious amounts of gel slicking it back - the bastard prepared for this.
“No!” the entire room yells. Several more guns had clicked into place alongside Jill’s, including Chris’s.
“Who’s this guy?” Leon whispers to Chris, following Chris’s lead and pulling out his gun, and Chris remembers that right Leon’s never met Wesker. Talk about worlds colliding.
“It’s Wesker,” Chris hisses.
“Your ex? Isn’t he supposed to be dead? Volcano food?” Leon looks slightly more perturbed.
“I mean, he also tried to end humanity as we know it,” Chris mutters. “He also hates me, and would probably kill you for saying that.”
Leon gives Wesker his full attention, eyes narrowed. “It's what Jill said,” he replies, a bitter note in his voice that says he’s planning something, and Chris almost feels bad for Wesker now. Very few people managed to escape unscathed from the individual ires of Leon S. Kennedy and Jill Valentine; combined, Wesker is no doubt about to be dead in ways he didn’t even know he could be dead in. He thinks Claire is working herself into a state as well, her face slowly sinking into one of rage, of how dare Wesker interrupts Sherry’s engagement party.
Unperturbed, Wesker simply smirks. “No need for violence,” he simpers. “I am simply here to assist with my nephew’s act of holy matrimony.”
“Nephew?” Chris asks at the same time Jake yells, “I’m your fucking son you bastard!”
“That’s most certainly my . . . beloved nephew,” Wesker says, with no small amount of vitriol lacing ‘beloved’. “I, or course, am Albirt Webster, brother of Albert Wesker, may he rest in peace.”
“More like pieces,” Leon mutters to Chris, who is forced to stifle his laughter.
“Why do you guys have different last names?” Claire asks, face truly enraged now at how dumb Wesker thought they all were.
“Bullshit!” Jill shouts. “I thought you killed him Chris!”
“How did you even manage to find Wesker, let alone send an invite -”
“I didn’t even know he was alive! He drowned in lava and me and Sheva shot bazookas at him; you were there Jill. How was I supposed to know he would survive that!?”
“Seriously, if Wesker’s your brother then you guys should have the same last name -”
“I posted the wedding announcement on Facebook -”
“You should’ve checked to make sure he was dead!”
“In the lava?!”
“Jake, you know Wesker can operate Facebook; Excella taught him before she died! Why would you even put it there?”
“If it makes everyone feel better,” Wesker interjects, “I actually found out about the wedding through the various spyware I have spread around your houses.”
A stunned silence spreads through the room.
“You wouldn’t,” Jill hisses.
“He definitely would,” Chris affirms.
“I did,” Wesker confirms.
Jill, whose hand hasn’t wavered in pointing the gun at Wesker the entire argument, spits, “You fuck,” and shoots him in the head.
“Get him babe,” Claire cheers.
Chris could see Leon gearing up for something. “Stop,” he mouths, only to see Leon shake his head.
It hardly takes more than thirty seconds for Wesker to reform his skull and the bastard even tuts while coming back together. “Making a mess for your friends to clean up Jill,” he scolds. “Very unladylike.”
“I’ll show you unladylike -”
“Hey Wesker!” Leon calls before Chris can stop him. “What do you call a dickhead who falls into a volcanic pit?”
Wesker’s glare returns with the force of a thousand suns. Chris grabs Leon’s hand and squeezes it tightly. “Do not antagonize him,” he mutters through gritted teeth.
Leon, of course, has a tendency to not listen to good advice. “An ashhole!” he yells, and if looks could kill, Leon would be a new form of plasma.
Being the bad influence she is, Claire snickers, and Leon gives her a grin.
“Tomfoolery notwithstanding,” Wesker bites, “I am Albirt Webster, here to assist with the marital bonding of my nephew and . . .” his eyes land on Sherry contemptuously, “his future wife. It must be so overwhelming for her family to keep up with everything by themselves, so I decided, out of the goodness of my heart, to be here today.” Even as he says it, his eyes flick over to Chris with no small amount of his weird, creepy hate, practically searing its way through his sunglasses. Chris knew Leon took notice, tightening his grip on his gun.
There was no way this was a knockoff Albert Wesker. Only Wesker could make the word family sound like a curse upon mankind, and only Wesker could manage to both sound like he wanted to both fuck and kill the subject of his ire. All of Chris’s worst fears had been realized in one horrible Important Wedding Guest meeting. Wesker was not dead. And worse yet -
“I cannot be co-parents-in-law with Wesker,” Chris insists, jabbing his finger at the man.
“If my poor dead brother were here,” Wesker shot back waspishly, “I’m sure he’d tell you it’s no great dream of his either.”
They glared at each other. Chris resisted the urge to pick back up where they left off in Africa and dropkick the fuck into an active volcano. Or, considering there probably weren’t any active volcanoes in his vicinity, nuke him into the next planetary system. He should probably call Sheva.
“What the fuck is a co-parent-in-law?” Muller finally snapped, banging his hand against the table.
Wesker and Chris ignore him. “No one knows,” Chris hears Sherry explain quietly. “We think they made it up for attention.”
“You’re just here to sabotage this wedding!” Jill yells. “You don’t even like weddings!”
“I adore weddings,” Wesker clearly lies through gritted teeth. “The . . . joy and happiness it’s truly - beyond compare. The fulfilled dream of being related to a Redfield - what more could anyone want?”
“Are you seriously here to ruin my engagement party because you can’t stand being related to Redfield?” Muller snarls. Chris thinks that Muller probably isn’t that bothered with the engagement party being ruined - more that it was Wesker, his deadbeat father, ruining it. “If I can get over that, so can you!”
“Hey,” Chris protests. He feels like he should be offended.
Wesker crosses his arms and smirks. “As a relation to the groom’s family, I maintain the right to be here.”
Jill shoots him again, practically point-blank this time and having switched to her beloved Magnum. Wesker would definitely be down longer this time. “Party’s over,” she announces to the group. “Kennedy, you still got those plans? We’ve got a bitch to shank.”
Chris side-eyes Leon, who’s nodding confidently. “When’d you guys come up with a plan to kill Wesker?”
“PT. ” Leon’s pulling out some additional ammo from his pockets and handing it to Jill.
One time Chris had brought Leon to Jill’s PT session and the two had immediately hit off. Reportedly, they had caused a major explosion in the east section of the BSAA. Chris had turned his phone off the minute he had learned they had left PT. He had no desire to learn about what messes they were wrecking in the BSAA that he would play janitor to.
Trauma bonding, Claire had called it. Mind control buddies, Leon explained whenever asked.
“Were you guys actually doing PT in your PT classes?” Chris snaps, slightly annoyed. “What was I paying for?”
Sherry throws up her hands. “I’ll text everyone the details of their assignments, bridesmaids, groomsmen, the like,” she says exasperatedly. “I suppose we all better leave before Wesker comes back to life.”
“Oh I’ve got this,” Jill replies. “Take your time.” She shoots him for a third time. Wesker’s body twitches like a downed fish.
“Thanks for the drinks,” Chris hears one of Sherry’s friends say. “Should I wear a darker color for the wedding in anticipation of a bloodshed? I had this super cute green dress, but I think it would stain really easy.”
“Yes, I think that would be wise.” Sherry agrees with her friend. “That’s a general PSA by the way - everyone dress in things that they wouldn’t mind getting stained. A renewed dress code will be sent out accordingly.”
A gunshot rings out for the fourth time. Chris thinks Jill might be getting a little too into this.
Good-byes are made and the guests to the party slowly meander their way out. By the time the last guest had filed out the door, Jill had gone through all three of her guns, all her extra ammo, Claire’s shotgun rounds, and was starting on Leon’s supply.
“Well that wasn’t horrible, all things considered,” Leon comments, sitting criss-cross applesauce, watching Jill skewer Wesker like a bug. “There could’ve been more blood.” A considerable amount is pooling under Wesker’s head, more than enough to make the Red Cross drool.
“You say you have a plan to dispose of him,” Sherry says, her arms crossed. She looks displeased, but Chris supposes he would be too if Albert Wesker had interrupted his engagement party. “You sure this will kill him? He was launched into a volcano before.”
Leon and Jill exchange a dark look. “Oh I’m sure,” Claire smiles sharply, like a shark out for blood. “Rebecca and I collaborated on the project together. You’ll have an amazing wedding Sherry, I promise.”
That didn’t sound good. Chris had seen Rebecca tape together vaccines with raccoon spit and dandelion roots; she definitely had the brainpower to come up with something exactly like the Uroboros virus, but luckily got enough government funding so that it probably wouldn’t happen anytime soon.
“If you’re sure. Jake and I are going to head out.” Sherry waves to them. “Try not to die once he recovers completely.”
Leon salutes. “I’m ready for a nap,” he mutters once Sherry’s left. “Can’t go anywhere anymore without BOWs.”
“What will we do with him?” Chris asks.
“Just leave him here,” Claire replies. Jill shoots one last bullet into Wesker’s decimated skull. “It’ll ruin his ego to find out everyone left him while he was bleeding on the floor. His cool guy image is everything to him.”
“Can we get Indian?” Jill requests. “I feel like I deserve Indian.”
Chris gets a hot flash just from thinking about the level of spiciness Jill likes her curry at. She’s managed to convert Leon to an almost-similar level of spiciness, something Chris has never really forgiven her for.
They leave the building after Jill sends one last bullet through Wesker’s head.
“Should I be worried about this turning sour? Going beyond Wesker?” Chris levels both of them with a glare. “I feel responsible for the three of you.”
The three in question exchange highly suspicious and suspect looks. “Don’t worry about it Redfield,” Jill says finally. “Just keep looking pretty.” Leon and Claire nod in agreement.
“This wedding’s gonna suck,” Chris mutters.
They hear something crash inside the building they just left and then furious screaming.
“Huh,” Leon says. They all stare at each other for a moment before making a break for Chris’s Jeep.
“Drive, drive,” Claire hisses as Chris fumbles for the keys.
“I’m trying!”
“Try harder!” Leon’s leaning over the median-cupholder part of the car, angling his gun at the front doors.
“The person who’s gotten their license taken away five times is not allowed to be backseat driving,” Chris snaps, finally getting the keys in the ignition.
Wesker’s walking out the building, moving at a leisurely pace, trenchcoat flapping dramatically behind him, not a single thing belying the fact that they definitely just heard him have an evil villain meltdown inside of the building.
Aggressively reversing the car, Chris accelerates out of the parking lot at speeds his twenty-three year old self would’ve been proud of.
Jill’s watching Wesker beadily through the window. “He’s not running,” she observes. “I know he can run faster than this car.”
“You think he lost some of his powers?” Leon questions, still leaning over the center of the car, seat belt off because, and Chris was quoting directly from his beloved husband, the government couldn’t control everything he did. Chris maintains that even though yes, baby, love of my life, he understands that the government did horrible things to Leon and abused him and used his loved ones against him, that was still not justification to ignore basic road safety laws.
“Perhaps,” responds Jill, looking thoughtful. “It certainly wouldn’t hurt if he had. I can’t imagine burning alive in a volcano did him any favors.”
“I suppose we need a new meeting spot,” Claire tilts her head, “if he’s got our houses bugged.”
“Nah. I want him to know exactly what we’re gonna do to him,” Jill says darkly. “I want him to feel just as much fear and pain as he made me feel for three years.”
“Also for ruining Sherry’s engagement party,” Leon adds. His expression is just as dark. “And Jake’s life, I guess.”
"I really think we should find a new meeting spot," Claire reiterates. "I think the element of surprise is a good one to have, when planning revenge."
Chris is very glad he’s not Wesker at that moment. He takes them to get Indian and chokes down Jill’s absurdly spicy curry out of pure fear.