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Grace Ashcroft was a deeply paranoid, overly anxious human being; she had her ticks, she had her quirks, and she had her rituals. Largely, they didn’t interfere with her day-to-day life, so she wouldn’t say she was quite at the level of OCD required for a diagnosis, but they were certainly there. One such quirk was setting traps. Every morning that Grace and Emily left their shoebox apartment, Grace locked her front door and raised the latch one quarter inch higher than it rested naturally. It would stay there until the girls returned from the evening, a testament to Grace’s privacy remaining intact. This evening, as Grace’s hand reached for her door, she noticed something odd—the handle was perfectly straight. Slowly, she let her hand drop and tried the door; it was locked.
“Grace? What’s wrong?” Emily’s voice was small and worried. She’d clearly been silent for far too long.
“N-nothing sweetheart, just—just come here for a sec,” Grace snatched Emily’s hand and led them both up one flight of stairs. She backed to the far end of the hall, right next to the balcony overlooking the sparse trees behind the property, and dialed Leon. It rang twice then clicked over.
“Go for Birkin.” Grace pulled away to check the ID—she definitely hadn’t misdialed.
“S-Sherry? Where is… uh, where’s L-Leon?”
“Hey, Grace! Sorry, he got called out on a short assignment this morning, so all his important personal contacts are automatically wired to me until he gets back tonight. What’s up?” Grace worried her bottom lip. It was probably nothing, she was making a huge deal over absolutely nothing. There were any number of reasons someone may have tried her door, or even just jostled the handle by accident, and if Grace were alone she’d just check things out herself. But she wasn’t alone, and recent events had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had a good reason for her paranoia, so…
“Emily and I j-just got home and… and I think someone broke in. The door is s-still locked, though. I-I’m worried it’s—”
“Where are you now?”
“O-one flight up, f-fifth floor s-stairwell. I-I didn’t want t-to go d-downstairs i-in case—”
“In case someone was waiting for you. Smart move, Grace. You stay right there, I’ve got a team en route to you now. They’ll be less than five minutes.”
“O-oh! U-um, okay, t-thank you,” Grace had not at all expected that response. She had thought she’d need to explain, or justify, or even insist—and she would have insisted, she had Emily with her, after all, and Emily’s safety was more important than Grace’s social anxiety. She had not for a second thought she’d meet such little resistance. It was nice, and deeply worrying; it meant there was good reason for her fears.
“Is Emily with you?”
“Y-yes, she is.”
“Noted. Response will be Captains Redfield and Nivans, I’m sure you’ll want to check ID.” God bless Sherry Birkin.
“I-I, yes, I will. T-thanks Sherry,” Grace hoped the older woman could hear the gratitude in her voice.
“Any time, Grace. I’ll need to call the response team and brief them. How did you notice the break in?”
“M-my door latch. I, uh, I always set it a-at rest ten d-degrees up when I leave, it was a s-straight ninety when we g-got home. T-the handle d-doesn’t fall unless i-it’s touched.” Grace explained, haltingly. Sherry whistled quietly.
“Clever, clever girl. I see why Leon likes you. Alright, two minutes out, gotta go. Don’t let Redfield give you too much shit, he’s really excited to meet you and he doesn’t know how to contain it.” The call ended before Grace could even begin to parse what that meant.
“Grace? What’s going on?” Emily tugged on Grace’s hand, her big eyes wide with apprehension. Grace knelt in front of her, both hands coming up to grasp her daughter’s much smaller ones.
“S-someone might have broken in, chickadee. Leon’s f-friends are going to come check it out for us, t-that’s all. Nothing to worry about.” Emily nodded seriously, a thoughtful look on her face.
“Which friends? Is the pretty one with the red hair coming?” Emily had been fascinated by Leon’s photo wall, and had asked a myriad of questions about everyone that was pictured more than once. Claire Redfield happened to be in a lot of them. Grace was trying very hard not to be jealous about that.
“N-no, her brother is, though.”
“All I’m saying is it’s bullshit that we’re the ones stuck here handling the paperwork while the rest of the Wolves get to go catch the bad guys,” Piers griped, flicking absently through the data pad he’d taken meeting notes on. They’d spent six hours at the FBI Omaha Field Office, and all they had to show for it was another stack of redacted reports and a headache.
“Welcome to upper management, babe,” Chris shot back, taking a corner with much more speed than their BSAA issued SUV was really equipped for. Old habits died hard, he guessed.
“It’s Nebraska, Chris. Nebraska fucking sucks, nothing ever happens in Nebraska. I’d rather be back in—oh, fuck,” a red alert popped up on his data pad, mission critical and an external message. There was only one person he knew that could pull that kind of direct access on the otherwise secure BSAA network; he clicked ‘open’.
Emergency response requested for possible break-in, 11807 North Greenway Plaza, Apartment 41B. Subjects are FBI Agent Grace Ashcroft and minor child, both on-scene and awaiting secure evac, if necessary.
“What? What is it?” Chris glanced at him, already signaling his next left.
“Turn around, we got a code red from Birkin. I’m routing the GPS now,” Piers frantically punched in the new address and Chris grinned wildly.
“And you said nothing ever happens in Nebraska,” Chris mocked him, eyes bright. “What is it this time? ARK related?” Fair question, all told. The only reason they’d been stuck in this hell hole for nearly two months was ARK clean up; it being Agent Ashcroft, odds were good it was related.
“Agent Ashcroft had a suspected break-in, Birkin wants us to go and check it out,” Sherry was sending more details as he spoke and the screen started populating with maps and data points.
“Fuck, it’s Grace’s place? Oh man, Leon is not going to be happy,” Chris grumbled, his smile dropping as he sped up to merge back onto interstate 80, at an inadvisable 95 miles an hour.
“How’s that going, by the way? You meet her yet?” Chris shook his head.
“Nah, haven’t had time between these all day meetings and weekend recons at RC. I told him to bring her to the next cookout, but god knows when that will happen.” Piers hummed thoughtfully. “He seems mellower lately, though,” Chris added, almost as an afterthought.
“Well, looks like you won’t have to wait for a cookout. Hell of a way to make introductions. Thank God we’ve got plenty of practice with kids,” Piers sat the data pad on the dash and reached behind him for his go-bag. He didn’t like to gear-up in moving vehicles, but needs must when the devil drives (and, let it be known, Chris Redfield drives like Satan himself).
“Wait, they’re still there? What the fuck Nivans, lead with the important bit next time!” Chris engaged the lights and sirens, and the speedometer crept up over three digits.
“Sorry, sorry! Jeez, Birkin said ‘secure evac if necessary,’ it’s not like they’re in an active shootout!” Piers huffed, wrestling with his body armor. “Besides, you’ve seen the same op-reports I have, you know Ashcroft is hell to reckon with,” Piers had been wildly impressed, and was very much so looking forward to meeting the FBI Agent of destruction that was so glowingly praised in Kennedy’s report.
“That means diddly-squat when my best friend’s girlfriend and her kid are at the scene of a code red, asshole. Take the wheel and hand me my goddamn vest,” Piers hated when he dressed and drove.
“Incoming call: Agent Birkin, DSO,” the in-unit co-pilot announced mechanically.
“Answer!” Chris barked, muffled by Kevlar. Piers jerked the wheel to hit their exit, and Chris let off the gas (minutely) for the off-ramp.
“Captains, you’ve made good time,” Sherry Birkin’s voice was calm, cool, collected, and sounded very pleased with them.
“You’re lucky we only just left the Omaha office, or it’d have been longer,” Chris grumbled, as Piers released the wheel to him, moving seamlessly to fasten the buckles now that the armor was over his head.
“Very lucky, I know.”
“Sit-rep?” Piers asked, reaching to secure Chris’ side holster.
“I don’t have much. Subjects arrived home about five minutes ago, and Ashcroft noticed the trap she’d set on the front door had been tampered with. The entryway is still locked, no signs of a break-in, but she’s been under Connections surveillance for long enough that we’re taking no chances. It could be an attempted abduction, or they could have planted bugs, hard to say without boots on the ground.”
“You know I’m always happy to be your boots, Birkin,” Piers shot back.
“Stop flirting, Muller isn’t even around for you to piss off this time,” Chris interjected with an eye-roll. “What kind of trap, Sherry?”
“Clever thing, really. She said she sets her door handle ten degrees up, it stays that way unless tampered with. When they arrived home this evening, it was sitting straight. She tried the door and found it locked, so someone must have been fooling around with it.” Piers nearly choked on his own spit, he absolutely knew where she’d gotten that trick from, but he knew if he laughed now Sherry and Chris would both have his head—he kept his own counsel.
“Right. OK, I’ll take Grace and Emily down to the SUV to wait out of the line of fire, while Nivans goes in armed and with a sweeper to check things out,” Chris announced. Piers dutifully grabbed the RF detector from the go-bag before shoving the duffle back to the rear seat. “We’re pulling into the complex now, where are they?”
“Fifth floor stairwell, building B. Be gentle with her, guys, she sounded rattled. Birkin out.” The call cut right as Chris drifted into the lot in front of building B, screeching to a halt in a handicapped spot.
“Alright, let’s get this done,” Captain Redfield was out to play and Piers loved it. It was not, however, in-line with Sherry’s request.
“Stop doing the scary Captain face, you’re gonna make a bad first impression,” Piers called out as they exited the vehicle.
“I’m not doing a scary Captain face!” Chris protested as they checked their weapons—all in order.
“You really, really are,” Piers tucked the RF reader into a belt loop and followed Chris up the stairs. They took it at a light jog, and arrived at the fifth floor in less than a minute. There, huddled at the end of the hall in the open-air balcony area, stood Agent Grace Ashcroft and a smaller, less worried looking version of her. Man, are they sure cloning wasn’t involved?
“Agent Ashcroft. I’m Captain Redfield and this is Captain—”
“Mr. Nivans! Can I see your arm?” The child squeaked, catching everyone off guard.
“Emily!” Grace sounded horrified. “I-I’m so s-sorry Captain N-Nivans. Leon h-has pictures of—well, he, um. S-she wanted to k-know who his friends were, a-and she was fascinated by y-your… I’m sorry,” Grace looked utterly abashed, and the child stared, wide-eyed and widely grinning at Piers.
“Hey, no harm no foul, it is pretty cool, isn’t it?” Piers flexed his prosthetic, showing off just a little for the kid.
“It’s very, very cool!” She agreed brightly. “Can I touch it?”
“E-Em, baby, you c-can’t—t-that’s not a polite thing t-to—”
“Knock yourself out, little lady!” Piers took a knee, reaching his right hand out to her, wiggling the gleaming metal fingers. “Really, Agent Ashcroft, it’s fine. I don’t mind at all,” he smiled warmly up at her. It was a good sign that the kid wasn’t panicking in spite of the situation, and he wanted to keep it that way. Piers chanced a glance over at Chris, who looked at them thoughtfully.
“Change of plans. Nivans, gimme the sweeper. You take the girls down to the car to wait while I check things out,” he held a hand out, and Piers tossed him the EF reader with the hand that wasn’t currently occupied by an eight year old. He saw the logic in the change, Piers was already building a rapport and keeping the civilians calm and out of danger was important. The only reason they had Piers sweeping to begin with was because they always did this split when civilians were involved—his scars and prosthetics were off-putting to a lot of people, and even though Chris was much scarier than Piers, he was the less frightening looking of the two.
“Alright ladies, why don’t you come down with me while Captain Redfield does his thing?” The child, Emily, grasped his prosthetic fingers in one hand and reached for Grace with her other. The trio made their way downstairs, abandoning Chris at floor four. Piers unlocked the SUV and slid the side door open, motioning for them to get inside; he jogged around the front and took the driver’s seat, just in case they needed a speedy get-away.
“T-thank you,” Ashcroft murmured. Piers turned fully in the seat, one knee resting against the center console to glance askance at her. “F-for coming so quickly. I-I know it’s silly, a-and it’s p-probably nothing, s-so I’m sorry to w-waste your time l-like this…” she trailed off, looking unsure of herself. Piers took a moment to look at her, really look at her. He had seen photos of Grace Ashcroft, of course he had. He’d read her FBI employment file front to back, and knew she was petite in stature and rather thin. Knowing that, and seeing that were two different things. Faced with the barely 5’3”, borderline underweight analyst in front of him, he was shocked at how delicate she appeared to be. Reconciling the fragile, stuttering mess in the back of his SUV with the after action reports from the ARK incident was simply an impossibility. He couldn’t reckon with it.
“Don’t sweat it. Really. The Captain and I have been going stir-crazy with all the paperwork, so this little field trip has actually been a bright spot for us!” He reassured. “Besides, I, personally, am thrilled to bits to get to meet you; Kennedy’s report was very complimentary,” he winked and she blushed up to her hairline.
“I-I really d-didn’t do all that m-much at all. L-Leon was the one who—”
“Was hallucinating so badly he shot a threatening looking autoclave, if Captain Redfield is to be believed. Don’t sell yourself short, Grace.” Piers had died laughing when Chris recounted the disastrous debrief.
“Mr. Nivans?” Emily interrupted.
“Yeah, Princess?” Her smile grew even wider, if you could believe it.
“Leon said you’re the best sniper in the whole world, and you got even better after your accident. Is it ‘cause you’re missing an eye now? It’s still weird for me seeing stuff, but I noticed things look closer if I only open one eye, so I was wondering if that was why you got better.” Good god Kennedy, what the fuck have you been telling this kid? Why does she know what a sniper is?
“Uh.”
“Y-you don’t have to a-answer that!” Grace held both hands up, as if to stop him. Piers chanced a glance at Emily; he was there when they’d administered Elpis, he knew what she had turned into, what she’d been brought back from. Any other kid and he probably would have hesitated to explain, but he thought it might do more good than harm with this one.
“It’s fine. A few years ago Captain Redfield and I were on assignment, and I got infected with a virus. That’s when this—” he gestured to his mangled eye-socket with the prosthetic hand “—happened. I only survived because of the virus. Even though I got a cure eventually, it… changed me? If that makes sense.” Emily looked thoughtful.
“Like me and Marie, then. Only, Grace and Dr. Chambers said that the vaccine made me normal again… why didn’t you take the vaccine, too?” Marie… Marie… oh god was she talking about Subject 170? Piers opened his mouth—to say what, he had no fucking clue, he was not as good with kids as Chris was, and he really didn’t know how to explain the intricacies of B.O.W.’s to a child survivor of human experimentation—but his radio, thankfully, saved the day.
“Nivans,” Chris’ voice was staticky, and Piers reached up to depress the link button.
“Go for Nivans.”
“All clear, nobody here. Not surprised, you know how hysterical women can be—god, remember Carla? S’just like that,” Piers stiffened. He’d found bugs.
“Copy that. Stay up there, we'll come up to pack bags. Ms. Ashcroft says she doesn’t feel comfortable staying alone tonight, so she’s gonna take the kid and go to her friend’s place for the evening.”
“And lemme guess, she wanted the big scary soldiers to supervise packing and act as escort. Typical. Make it quick.” The line went dead, and Piers turned back to Grace, his face apologetic.
“I’m sorry for that, it’s—”
“H-he found something d-didn’t he?” Grace’s voice was low, the trembling thread of defeat obvious.
“... Yeah. Yeah, he did. Your place is bugged. How did you…”
“Y-you c-clammed up when he s-said Carla. Code word, m-maybe? A-and I d-didn’t say anything about going e-elsewhere, y-you made up that cover t-to get us out of the h-house. I figure his comms a-are like yours, s-so if s-someone was listening, they’d h-hear the plan, a-and believe C-Captain Redfield t-thought I w-was crazy. He didn’t w-want to tip them off,” her shoulder sagged.
“Holy shit you’re good,” Piers blurted thoughtlessly. She’d picked up on all that, made the connection in less than the thirty seconds it took to have the exchange with Chris, and was able to do so objectively, even though the whole back and forth was incredibly insulting to her. Piers winced at himself. “Sorry for the language.” Emily laughed, and Grace waived his apology away.
“Leon told me only grownups can say words like shit and fuck,” Emily supplied helpfully.
“Emily!”
“Sorry, Grace.” Emily didn’t look sorry at all. Piers might be a little in love with the kid, she was a spitfire. She reminded him a lot of Rose, and was only a little older than her, too—he’d need to talk to Chris about arranging some kind of playdate, they’d get along like a house on fire.
“Alright, enough of that, lets go get those bags packed, huh?” Piers smiled at the girls; it was a shitty situation, but they’d take good care of them.
Chris waited stone faced outside Ashcroft’s apartment. He did not like this one bit. When Leon had gone on and on about how Grace was still in danger, that he had to let her keep her little (highly suspect) blood gadget because she was in so much peril, Chris was mostly just humoring him. Surely, now that it was out that Ashcroft wasn’t anything special, that she was a simple, normal, human woman, then surely the Connections would lose interest. They have their fingers in so many pies it just flat out did not make sense to continue to observe someone who, by all accounts, was utterly useless to them. It should have been fine. The fifteen audio transmission devices Chris had found during his sweep put that lovely little hope to bed.
“Pack for a few days, okay? You can take your time, so make sure you don’t forget anything,” Piers’ cheery voice echoed in the apartment stairwell as three heads appeared in view. Chris kicked off the wall and turned to face them.
“Nivans, you supervise. I’m headed down to the car to call this in to Birkin,” Chris nodded at his partner, who made a face at him.
“Scary Captain face, Redfield,” he reminded Chris with a grin. Chris rolled his eyes and displayed amazing strength of will by restraining himself from the very rude gesture he wanted to make. Emily giggled, and Grace silently accepted her keys from Chris’ outstretched hand. He booked it to the SUV and pulled Sherry’s contact up.
“Go for Birkin.”
“Bugged to all hell. You’ll need to send in the techies to get rid of them all, but I’d consider just burning it,” Chris announced, with zero fanfare whatsoever.
“It’s their home, Redfield, not a safe house. You don’t burn a home, you just move.”
“Well they should move, then.”
“It’ll be taken under advisement. What’s the plan?”
“I’m taking the girls to Lee’s condo in Lincoln. That’s where he’s staying, yeah?”
“Mmhmm. Has been since the RCS victims started popping up mid-summer. He’s on assignment right now, though.” Oh. Well, shit. Chris didn’t even think to check on that.
“But he’d be fine with them staying there, right?” He couldn’t imagine Lee refusing to put up his girl and her kid, especially not with the starry eyed way he talked about Grace.
“Of course, not a problem. He’ll be back in a little while anyway, might even beat you there. I’ll let him know what’s going on, but you should probably text him too. He’ll be less antsy knowing you’re there with them. You will stay with them until he gets home, right?” Chris snorted, as if that was even a question.
“Of course we will. Besides, I think I’d have to drag Piers kicking and screaming away from the kid, it was love at first sight,” Chris had been utterly amused by that meeting, but privately, he was grateful to the kid for being so unafraid of the arm. Chris knew that as much as Piers put on a good face about the whole situation, he still didn’t quite feel comfortable in his own skin, even thirteen years on from losing the eye and limb. Emily’s honest and open admiration wasn’t the sort of reaction Piers got frequently, and judging from the look on his face he’d been thrilled about it.
“Oh, yeah, Leon told me Emily’s been wanting to meet the crew. We’ve really got to plan a get together soon to introduce everyone.” Chris hesitated, just a second, before deciding to barrel forward.
“You think it’ll stick? Grace and Lee?” Chris had seen his fair share of shitty relationships blowing up in his best friend’s face (and picked up the pieces nearly every time)—he really, really did not want to have to watch that again. More for Leon’s sake than his own.
“Honestly? Yes, I think it will. She’s good for him.” Well, if Sherry was convinced, Chris had no doubts. She knew him better than just about anyone, and had a fantastic sense for people to boot (her husband notwithstanding).
“Good. I’m glad for him,” Chris’ eyes caught on his new charges as they made slow progress down the stairs. Piers was laden down with suitcases, and Grace and Emily both had armfuls of bags. “Gotta go, looks like they’re all packed up.”
“Drive safe, try to stay under a hundred,” Sherry chirped.
“You’re not the boss of—and she hung up.” Chris dragged a hand over his face, lamenting the evening of shitty movies and fantastic sex he’d be missing out on to babysit. Ah well, he’d been meaning to get to know Grace and this was the perfect opportunity to do so. The trunk popped open and Chris took his last moment of relative peace to shoot off a text to Leon.
Grace and Emily are secure, evac en route. Call me when you’re out of blackout.
Unread, 6:47 p.m.
He pocketed the phone just as his passengers tumbled into their seats, Emily chatting animatedly with Piers and Grace looking tired and serious. She was clearly aware of the gravity of the situation, and he felt for her—after all she and the kid had been through recently, the universe really owed them a better hand than a fucking bugged apartment.
“Ashcroft,” Chris turned in his seat to address the FBI agent. She startled to attention, wide blue eyes grave and determined.
“Y-yes?”
“I’m trusting you with a solemn, important duty. Do you think you can handle the responsibility?” Her lips pinched together, and she looked nervous, but nodded anyway. Kid’s got grit, he’d give her that. “Good. Here,” he passed the aux cord to her. “You’re in charge of tunes. Don’t disappoint me.” It took a second for her mind to catch up, but when it did the nervousness bled away into slightly hysterical laughter.
“I-I’ll endeavor n-not to, Captain,” she grinned at him, and they were off.
Grace, as it turned out, had fantastic taste in music. Chris was both surprised and impressed when she took them on a tour of 60’s motown, 70’s disco, 80’s hair bands, 90’s punk rock, and early 2000’s indie favorites. They hotly debated the discography of Queen, and ceded ground to Emily for a show-tunes sing-along (the eight year old loved Les Mis, and had strong opinions about which anniversary concert was superior. Weird fuckin’ kid, man.) Definitely one of the more enjoyable road trips he’d been on in recent memory, albeit a short one. They were most of the way to Lee’s condo when Emily’s rumbling stomach made itself a problem.
“Alright, who wants Burger King?” Piers paused on the opening notes of Do You Hear The People Sing, much to Emily’s disappointment.
“You always want Burger King,” Chris griped. “Can we not do something even marginally healthy? Subway? Chipotle?”
“Burger King!” Emily repeated with enthusiasm.
“Y-you’re just saying t-that because it’s what Captain N-Nivans wants,” Grace teased.
“Nuh-uh!”
“Baby, y-you’ve never had Burger King,” Grace laughed.
“It’s decided! Babe, Burger King.” Piers tapped Chris’ shoulder, grin wide and happy.
“God, fine. There’s one at the next exit,” for all his protestations, Chris really didn’t mind so much. If Piers was happy, he was happy (even if the Whopper was not the peak of culinary experiences).
“You can even stay with the car for a smoke while we go order, I’m sure you’re dying for one,” Piers winked at him—and yeah, that was true, he absolutely was. Thankfully, they were close enough to Lee’s place that Chris was familiar with the area. He pulled off I-80 and shot across four lanes of transit to make it to the turn-in, thankful for the light traffic.
“Jalapeño chicken sandwich?” Piers checked as they exited the vehicle.
“Yeah. Spicy chicken wrap and onion rings, too, thanks,” Piers’ salute was messy, bent as he was to accommodate Emily’s clinging. Chris got out too, and wasted no time lighting up, letting the bitter, acrid smoke fill his lungs. He’d been trying to quit for years, though admittedly not very hard. To be fair, he never thought he’d live to see forty—the fact that he was nearing mid-fifties did a number on his ego, and his fucks to give. If a B.O.W. hadn’t taken him out yet, he wasn’t going to waste time thinking about cancer doing the job. His eyes tracked across the empty parking lot, over the well lit restaurant and back to the SUV—was that a light in there? Attention grabbed, Chris opened the back passenger door to investigate. Sure enough, a phone was buzzing frantically on the floorboard, face up and wallpaper display blinking a (frankly, ridiculous) picture of Leon. Looks like Grace left her phone in the car. Chris grabbed it, swiping up to answer without thinking.
“Grace,” Lee’s voice was reedy with panic.
“Nope,” Chris replied. “It’s—”
“You listen and listen well, motherfucker. You lay a single goddamn finger on either of my girls and I will hunt you to the ends of this godforsaken earth. They’ll be finding parts of you for months and you’ll still be alive for most of it.” Chris pulled the phone away from his face to check—four missed calls. Okay, that somewhat explained things.
“Alright, hold your horses—”
“Where are they. I am giving you one chance, one. If you cooperate, I promise a quick death.” Not a painless death, Chris noted with some amusement.
“Leon, shut the fuck up. It’s Chris. I told you to call me, stop freaking out. Did you not check in with Birkin?” The line went silent for a long moment.
“Oh thank god,” Leon breathed, every ounce of righteous fury gone. “No, I haven’t checked in with Sherry, because you texted me that Grace and Emily needed to be evacuated. What the fuck happened?” Chris rolled his eyes.
“You know, this all could have been avoided if you’d just checked in like you were supposed to,” Chris needled.
“Chris!”
“The girls got home and Grace noticed something off. The trap she’d set on her door was messed with, but the lock was still engaged. She called you and got routed to Birkin, who called Piers and I in to check things out. Place was bugged,” Chris summarised, hitting only the most important points.
“God dammit, I knew she was still being watched,” and there was the return of the righteous fury.
“Can you sufficiently chill out in the next ten minutes? Because we’re almost to your condo and I don’t think Grace and Emily need the full Avenging Kennedy experience this early on,” Chris remarked dryly.
“You’re bringing them here?" Panic, to fury, to relief, to fury, and back to panic. Hell of a night.
“...should I not be?” Both he and Sherry had been certain he’d be fine with it, but—
“Christ, I have so many dirty dishes,” Leon groaned.
“Well, sounds like you better get started on that, Lee. Chop chop!” Chris grinned.
“You are the worst. A terrible, terrible friend, you know that?”
“Suck my dick, Kennedy.” Chris ended the call before any retort could be made—and not a second too soon.
“Mr. Redfield, Mr. Redfield!” Emily’s bright, cheerful voice interrupted any further brooding Chris may have engaged in.
“Yeah, hon?” He cringed internally—pet names were normally reserved for his Rose, but it just sort of slipped.
“Mr. Nivans got me two burgers even though I’m not that hungry cause I liked the toys so much and he said that this one was perfect for you!” She barreled over, one hand outstretched in offering, a little plastic bag sitting neatly in her palm. Chris knelt, plucking the bag up to examine it; inside was a bug-eyed looking cartoon dog, with the coloring of a red wolf and big, dewy looking brown eyes.
“Did he, now?” Chris ripped the bag open, eyes slanting over to Piers who was doing an admirable job of holding a straight face.
“It’d look great as a charm on your USM-AI, wouldn’t it Captain?” Piers’ grin was unabashedly teasing, and Chris fought the eye roll that was threatening to overcome him.
“Too true, Nivans, you know me well. Thank you, Emily, I love it,” he stood, ruffling the girl’s hair as he did so. “Are we ready to head out?”
“C-Captain, where are we going?” Grace asked, hands clutched white-knuckled on the brown take out bag. Had he not mentioned it? They’d been driving for nearly an hour, he was sure he’d… well, no, they were too busy arguing over which cover of Don’t Fear the Reaper was superior.
“Lee’s condo in Lincoln. We’re about ten minutes away,” he unlocked the SUV and motioned for his charges to enter.
“L-Leon’s place?” Grace’s voice was sharp (in surprise? Panic? He didn’t know her well enough to determine).
“That a problem?”
“D-does he know w-we’re coming? H-he’s out on assignment, I-I don’t know if h-he’d appreciate…” she trailed off, looking a bit lost as Piers hustled her into the back seat.
“I just spoke with him, he knows. You left your phone in the car, by the way,” Chris handed the device over his shoulder, not bothering to look back as he threw the SUV into reverse.
“Oh fuck,” Grace’s murmur was near silent under the thrum of Les Mis automatically kicking back on, but Chris had definitely heard it.
“Yeah he called a few times,” Chris shrugged, an imitation of nonchalance that wasn’t quite in line with what Lee’s state of mind had been.
“And sent s-seventeen texts,” Grace mumbled. “I-I should call him b-back…”
“Better not, knowing Kennedy he’s frantically vacuuming right about now, wouldn’t want to interrupt,” Piers spoke around a mouthful of fries.
“Dishes, this time,” Chris corrected, rejoining the sparse traffic of I-80.
“You’ve been over often?” Piers asked their charges, turning around in the front seat to do so.
“Lots!” Emily chirped.
“A f-few times f-for dinner,” Grace interjected.
“Mask hasn’t come off then, yet,” Piers cackled. “Hate to break it to you ladies, but that man lives in a constant state of disarray, you guys have experienced Prepped Kennedy, now you get to see him in his natural habitat,” the snickers continued, and Grace’s hands twitched on the bag in her lap, the crinkle of paper barely audible against the music.
“Y-you’re sure he w-won’t mind?” Grace asked.
“Not a bit, I promise. He’s worried sick and would probably feel better with you two safely locked behind his behemoth of a security system,” Chris assured. He knew Lee, knew him well, and was very familiar with his friend’s need to control a situation; they were much alike in that regard. The only place Leon would want Grace and Emily would be right there next to him—probably for the foreseeable future, depending on what Birkin’s tech guys uncovered.
“I-if you say so,” Grace’s assent was quiet, and Chris really had to wonder about that. Either she didn’t know Leon well at all, or her sense of self worth was abysmally lacking. Thankfully, the remainder of the drive was filled with nothing but Piers’ open-mouthed chewing and Emily’s enthusiastic rendition of One Day More. When they finally pulled into Leon’s driveway, Chris didn’t even have time to shift the gear into park before his friend was rushing through the front door and halfway to the SUV. Chris sighed, mentally preparing himself for the verbal beatdown he’d surely be receiving once Lee was satisfied with the safety of his girls.
“Grace, baby, you okay?” Leon yanked the door open. His voice was gentle, but undercut by a strain of tense anxiety, and the grip he had on the door looked tight enough that Chris almost worried for the metal’s structural integrity.
“F-fine—”
“Emily? You good, bug?” Emily showed no hesitation whatsoever as she lunged for Lee, little arms wrapping around his waist as she hung halfway out the door, the only things keeping her in place being the lap belt and Lee’s firm grip on her.
“Hi Leon! I got Burger King! And Mr. Nivans got us cool toys, and his arm is amazing!” She enthused. Chris and Piers exited the vehicle, going around the back to unload the bags (and give them some privacy) while Leon took stock. The Captains, hidden from view, still had a front row seat to the action, and Chris almost wished he didn’t.
“H-hey,” Grace’s greeting was watery, and there was movement in the back seat as Emily was shuffled out and onto solid ground.
“Hey. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Lee’s voice was achingly tender in a way Chris had never heard from him before. Yeah, Sherry was absolutely right, this one was going to stick.
“I—I’m s-sorry we showed u-up u-unannounced like, like t-this, w-we—”
“Shh, it’s okay sweetheart, don’t worry about it. I’m happy to have you—both of you, for as long as you need to stay,” his assurance was firm and resolute, leaving absolutely no room for argument.
“I-if you’re sure,” Grace’s voice was equally soft, unhurried and slightly muffled by whatever the fuck they were doing up there.
“Mr. Redfield?”
“Jesus fu—hi! Yes, Emily? What’s up sugar?” Piers snorted from next to him as he closed the hatch back.
“I can help carry the bags,” she offered, one arm occupied with her fast food spoils, the other outstretched towards the child sized duffle currently clutched between Chris’ bicep and rib cage.
“Knock yourself out, kid,” Chris shifted, allowing the strap to fall into her hand. She beamed at him, lingering with the two soldiers as they loaded up the rest of the luggage. Multiple trips were for quitters, after all.
“Wrap it up Kennedy,” Piers heckled with a slap to the SUV’s roof.
“Shut up, Nivans,” Leon bit out, with no venom whatsoever behind it.
“You want us to stick around, or…?” Chris circled the vehicle to find Grace tucked comfortably under Leon’s arm, her slight figure dwarfed by his ramrod straight posture and protective grip.
“Nah, not necessary. Thank you for bringing them home to me,” the thanks, while gritted out from between clenched teeth, seemed to be sincere. Looks like he didn’t want to engage in any verbal castigations in front of his new girl, thank Christ.
“Fabulous! C’mon Cap, let’s get the bags inside for them and head out,” Piers led the charge into the house, dropping the suitcases unceremoniously on the mud-room bench. Chris followed, depositing his own armful of bags on the floor beside the overladen bench. Leon and his girls trickled in behind them—Chris turned to look and was only a little startled by the view. Emily was perched on his right hip, arms twined around his neck; Lee’s right hand rubbed soothing circles on the girl’s back as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Next to him, and still clinging tightly, Grace Ashcroft gazed up at her daughter and Leon with eyes so unambiguously full of trust and love it nearly bowled Chris over with the force of it. Chris cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Well, we’ll head out then, got reports to write and shi—stuff. Have a good night,” Chris made for the door but was stopped by a small, gentle hand on his forearm.
“T-thank you, C-Captain Redfield,” Grace’s gratitude was plain as day, and extremely unnecessary.
“Call me Chris, please,” he smiled at her, a close-lipped thing that was more awkward than kind, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“Chris, then. Thank you.”
“Well, that’s us,” Piers wrapped his prosthetic arm around Chris’ waist, bodily dragging him to the door. “G’night you guys! Kennedy, we’re doing that barbecue soon, don’t try and get out of it again,” the front door shut behind them before Leon could make any sort of meaningful protest.
Back in the quiet darkness of the SUV, Chris’ ears all but rang in the silence.
“I liked them,” Piers spoke up, shattering the stillness in the cab.
“Me too,” Chris agreed.
“Hey, we should ask if we can bring Rosie over to play with Emily. They’d love each other,” Piers continued as Chris approached the stop sign leading out of Lee’s neighborhood. Chris threw the vehicle in park and whipped around to stare at his partner. “Uh. Unless you think it’s a bad idea?”
“I love you so fucking much.” Their kiss was brief, but sweet.
“Aw, love you too, you big idiot,” Piers’ smile was radiant. “Now get us back to that stupid motel, our food’s going to get cold.”
“It’s already cold,” Chris grouched. His food was cold, there was a burgeoning headache behind his eyes, and he needed a solid ten hours of sleep, but life was good. He had a partner and daughter that he adored beyond all reason, and now his best friend had the same slice of happiness Chris had gotten to experience—completely undeserved, on Chris’ part, but that was neither here nor there. Life was good.