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When a memory forced it's way to the surface of Chris' mind, he questioned Piers about it. He had apparently spent most of his time with the Lieutenant, with the old Alpha team as a whole. Rarely any of the memories that resurfaced didn't include one of them. And Piers, as much as Chris was reluctant to share with him, seemed eager to provide context. He wanted Chris to get his life back, Chris resolved. The more he remembered, the more he could be the captain that Piers had apparently gotten so close to. You met Marco's mother after his leg got crushed when the building we were in collapsed. She was in the waiting room and made you sit down and give her a play by play of exactly what happened. Chris remembered sitting across from the woman, barely even a few years older than him. Marco in the bed between them. You and Finn went to the gym on base every Tuesday. You went everyday, but he only went every other day. Chris remembered spotting for the soldier, arms crossed over his chest as he loomed over the bench. Andy was always trying to get you to drink with us. You said yes once. Chris remembered sitting at a crowded table, surrounded by his men. He remembered a bright young face next to him and a nudging elbow on his other side. He remembered Piers sitting across from him. The two of them smiling over something that was said. You recruited me, sir. Chris remembered standing out in some desert with a man standing in front of him. Handing something to him only to get it given back. It was no wonder he was so attached to Chris. He had brought the kid into the organization. Piers was doing the same for him now. Bringing him home.
Chris didn't know how to ask about what had just played across his mind. Clear as if he were living in the moment in the present. The feeling in his chest just as strong as it had been then. Guilt and anger and somehow also longing. The memory didn't seem real, like it was some scene he had once watched in a movie and was misremembering as as his own life. Like he was watching it play out through misty glass. But the feeling was too strong. It felt like he had lived it himself. He glanced sidelong at Piers. The Lieutenant was looking out the chopper to the city below. They'd be dropping soon. There was no time to question it, even if he wanted to. He did not.
"Nivans, sir." Chris didn't look up from the documents in front of him, nor the laptop whose screen was beginning to burn his eyes.
"Come in." Piers came into the the room, shutting the door behind him as quietly as possible. Anyone in a nearby room wouldn't hear it, so it had to be so gentle for Chris' sake. He silently thanked his Lieutenant for his consideration. Always so thoughtful. Piers stopped and stood just behind Chris' shoulder. Chris wasn't reading the words on screen anymore. "What is it?"
"Checking on you, captain. Rest of the team turned in for the night."
"Good. They need the rest." Chris' voice was flat, disinterested. They did deserve it, but he couldn't bring himself to put any warmth in his words. He could feel the bags under his eyes. He could feel his foot bouncing quickly. He needed a cigarette.
"So do you." Chris' eyes stopped moving over the screen, not even pretending to read now. He had only seen her face for the last paragraph anyway. Piers turned, leaning back against the table that was in front of Chris.
He folded his arms looking down at his captain. "You're punishing yourself."
"Because the mission failed. The target died."
"And killing yourself doesn't change that." Chris tugged his fingers away as Piers shut the laptop. Chris scowled up at him, but Piers was unaffected. "She died. We tried our best to save her and she died anyway. What more is sitting here going to do?"
"I don't recall asking for your advice, Piers."
"You didn't." Piers replied bluntly. He leaned on one arm, that little bit closer to Chris. "You need to hear it."
"I can't just turn it off. This isn't some," Chris leaned back in his chair, gesturing to nothing in particular, "little accident. A woman is dead because we failed."
"And five more are alive because we were there." The BOW had grabbed her as they were making their way out, guiding the subjects through the labyrinth of a decimated illegal lab. Always a lab. Always with hallways too cramped and air somehow both stale and rotten. The monster had grabbed onto the subject's back and sunk its teeth into her. It tore its head back to rip the skin from the bone. Her scream had bounced off the grey hallway walls. She didn't make it back out of the labyrinth alive. She was dead then and there. But the rest had. They were in the BSAA medical and trauma teams hands' now. "Do they not matter, captain?"
"Don't," Chris warned. Piers wasn't ruffled by his scowl or his voice. He unfolded his arms, settled his hands on the back of the rolling chair Chris was in. He caged his captain in where he sat.
"This job is going to kill you if you don't focus on the victories." He lost that edge to his voice. He wasn't speaking to his superior anymore. He was speaking to Chris. Chris felt an emotion burn in his throat.
"Forgive me if they're not as often as I would like."
"What does sitting here do?" Piers looked tired too. They had all been on the same mission. They all hadn't slept in god knew how long. They all knew someone didn't make it out. But here he was confronting his captain's behavior. Chris felt some of the fight leak out of him looking up at those focused hazel eyes. "Next mission, we're going to charge in with our orders and do exactly what we did today. Our best. Holing up in this room kicking yourself over a mistake doesn't do shit."
"So I just pretend it didn't happen? Distract myself until I forget?" He couldn't sit and eat and drink with the rest of the team after a failure. He could try, but his mind would only think about that mistake. He wouldn't talk. He’d run over all the ways things could have been avoided.
"You move on," Piers corrected. "Doing this doesn't bring her back home." Chris stared up at him. Blinked for a moment.
"How long have you been sitting on this speech?" Piers hung his head as he chuckled.
"At least a year, sir."
"Must have killed you." Piers picked his head back up at the sarcastic reply. His expression had lightened. He was still tired, but he was also fond. The feeling lodged in Chris' throat moved, melting down into his chest and steaming there.
"It was torture, sir."
"You know you'll have to do this again." Because Chris was an old dog. A lesson had to be pulverized against his skull for him to pick it up. His habits kept him alive; to change was a dangerous unknown. Piers stood up, pushing the chair with him. He ended up standing over Chris, the captain's legs between his own. His hands settled on Piers' hips.
"As many times as it takes, captain."
And Piers leaned down to kiss him. Chris wasn't surprised or repulsed. He leaned forward and up towards the touch. He kissed Piers back and there was no sense of novelty to it. They had kissed enough for it to become easy. It only broke because Chris pulled on the hips in his hands, forcing Piers down into sitting atop his captain's thighs. Chris didn't kiss him again. Instead, he leaned forward and embraced Piers. He rested his chin on Piers' shoulder. He still thought about her, but Piers was right. Killing himself over it did not bring her back. He focused on the weight of Piers body, the warmth radiating off of him, the sound of his breathing. He distracted himself.
Chris could feel that weight on his legs in the helicopter, could feel the texture of Piers' pants in his hands. Could he feel those things now if it wasn't real?
He didn't feel any attraction towards Piers. The man was a poster boy for every kid that grew up with generations of soldiers in his family, fated to become one themselves. He was the picture of the American dream, if Chris wanted to give it a name. The only thing Chris could even think to call soft or, God willing, feminine, about Piers was perhaps his eyes or the freckles on his cheeks. They were dusted across his cheekbones and nose, suggesting too many years of standing out in the sun unprotected. They were cute, something that made Piers look even younger than he was. Like a little kid. And his eyes were still bright. There was a shine of hope in them that Chris didn't see when he looked in the mirror at himself. They were nearly blinding when Chris would ask about a distant memory. And they were framed in long lashes. When Piers pulled his veil down to expose his face, they were striking. They would have been beautiful on any woman, surely one of her best features. And by that logic, Chris supposed they were also Piers'.
Chris couldn't fathom any past version of himself being attracted to, let alone intimate with, the Lieutenant. He didn't look like a woman, and he didn't act like one. He was just like every other soldier, just like Chris. Hard edges, sharp glares, commanding demeanors. No softness to be spared on the battlefield. No beauty to be found.
Chris respected him, yes. He would be willing to admit that. The kid was a good soldier, a great shot. He was determined enough to track Chris down and stubborn enough to be willing to drag him out kicking and screaming if he refused to come back to the BSAA. And he clearly respected Chris as well. He refused to let Chris beseech his own acclaimed name. He was willing to put in effort that no one expected of him in order for Chris to remember who he was. Piers was a good man. Chris would not deny that. But to say his feelings went any deeper than that was ridiculous. And yet that glimpse of a memory...
He could ask Claire when this was all over. The memories he did have, she was the clearest of them all. Her bright face when they were kids. How tight her hug was when he came back from his last day as a pilot. The feeling in his chest when she looked at him now, or at least as recently as he could remember. He was certain that he would have told her something like that. His lieutenant... Claire wouldn't have let that fact stay hidden. She would have worked it out of him even if he had kept it a secret. And why wouldn't he? Something like that wouldn't be something he should be proud of, that he should let anyone in on. But Claire wasn't anyone. His little sister would know. He swallowed, chest aching with a longing to sit next to her. She would have told him everything right there in Edonia. And he would have believed her. No one knew Chris Redfield better.
Piers looked to him. He raised a single brow before holding down the button of his ear piece.
"Everything alright, sir?" Chris had been staring at him. He nodded stiffly and turned his eyes down to the busy streets.
"Fine, Lieutenant." HQ came in over the comms, laying out the objective before them. It wasn't worth asking Piers about.