Chapter Text
Rebecca Chambers let the door to her apartment fall shut behind her, leaning her back against it, letting out a long sigh while kicking the shoes from her feet and wiping a strand of loose hair from her sweaty forehead. She let her bag drop down from her shoulders, pursing her lips while contemplating the chaos in her hallway. There were several pairs of shoes lying around, an empty paper bag from the last time she’d been grocery shopping – how many days ago was that? – crumpled, old receipts next to a couple of unopened letters and a small parcel sitting on top of a small shelf. She had placed a wooden bowl there too, originally meant as a decorative piece but now it held several chap-sticks as well as her keys. She’d checked the unopened mail to make sure she wasn’t missing anything important and had noticed that the mailman had mixed up the address again – the parcel was one of her neighbour’s, which was unfortunate, because these past couple of days she hadn’t been home much.
Her apartment was small, a little cluttered, and for reasons of efficiency she usually tried to keep it neat, but as of late, she hadn’t found the time or energy to put everything back in its place. In the kitchen, the dishwasher needed to be unloaded; in her bedroom, worn clothes were strewn on the floor in front of the bed. It can wait another day, she thought.
She walked into the bathroom, turned on the faucet and let cold water run over her hands and wrists. There hadn’t been much space in there to begin it, but she had gone ahead and gotten a bathtub installed anyway. The place she had been living at before had only had a shower cubicle and she had found that she missed having at least the opportunity to soak in a bath every once in a while. After quickly washing her face, she checked her reflection in the mirror: the concealer she used in the morning wasn’t doing a lot these days, she desperately needed to get some sleep. She put her hair into a low bun, it had been growing out for quite a while now, and a trim was much overdue.
Her living room, furnished with two overflowing bookshelves, a console with a TV, a small couch, a coffee table and a glass door leading to a small balcony, seamlessly transitioned into the kitchen area and she took off the silky white blouse she’d been wearing all day, put it on top of one of the chairs next to her kitchen table, and adjusted the straps of the tank top she wore underneath. When she opened the door of the fridge she enjoyed the cool air escaping from it, letting it wash over her face. During summertime, she usually kept the blinds on all her windows shut, put her fan on full blast and used only the bed linen when she went to bed. It wasn’t particularly effective at keeping her cool, but it made her think that she could hold out another year without air conditioning. The fridge hadn’t magically filled up during her absence, but she didn’t feel hungry anyway. The summer heat always tended to disrupt her eating habits a little and all the stress at work certainly hadn’t helped, either. Instead, she grabbed a cold bottle of beer from the fridge, twisted the cap open, and took a long swig, before putting it against her neck, letting it sit there for a minute. She would take a cold shower before going to bed, she decided.
To fight the stuffy air inside, she opened all the windows in her living room, as well as the door to the balcony. It held the only plant she had ever bought and next to the pot there was just enough space for her to stand comfortably and look over the street in front of her house from five stories above. She let one arm rest on the railings, watching the cars below her drive by. It was busier than usual, but it was a Friday night after all. It had been a while since she had last spent an evening out for drinks or dancing. She couldn’t even recall the last time she had been on a date.
This week especially had been draining. Even though she wasn’t an active operative, hadn’t been in the field for years now, but worked for the BSAA’s research and development department instead, she had been requested by none other than Chris personally to go out on a mission. In the past few months there had been some incidents Upstate. Nothing official had been reported, but according to the rumour mill there had been outbreaks. The BSAA had been trying to get their hands on one of the bodies for months now, but whenever they contacted local morgues, the bodies had disappeared. There were excuses – the family has already picked up the remains, or nobody has come so… - either way, the bodies always ended up being cremated. As long as the government wasn’t granting explicit permission, or there being an immediate threat, the BSAA wasn’t allowed to intervene. Which didn’t keep them from monitoring closely anyway. Now, they’d finally received a substantial lead. An anonymous source had transferred some intel and to prove its authenticity, Chris had put it through several departments, taking his time to analyse all of it.
Only an hour and a half from the BSAA’s headquarters, right under their noses, someone had bought vast amounts of property and a massive warehouse had popped up there. The source’s data had confirmed, that inside of this warehouse a laboratory had been equipped. What stood out the most were the names on the payroll, which included several people who had been working for Umbrella until their final demise five years ago. Rebecca had gone over the chemicals and equipment on the nameless facility’s shopping list, which had also been included in the data transfer.
“How bad is it,” Chris had asked.
She had taken off her reading glasses. “It’s … not great.”
“We have to get some samples, whatever it takes,” Chris had told her, his voice grave. “I need someone with the expertise and field experience on site - I need you there. Once the pressure's on, I know you're gonna make the right calls. I’m counting on you!” He had simply let himself into her office to tell her, but at least he had brought her coffee for the trouble.
Two days ago, they had been able to confirm that the warehouse was indeed being operated, receiving shipments, employees walking in and out again after completing their shifts. At night, there was security, but not nearly as much as the BSAA had expected. The plan had been to go in stealthily - only a chosen handful of operatives, each with a specific mission and a tight schedule, leaving again within a timeframe of just under ten minutes. Their instructions had been to avoid any contact with employees. They’d be gone before the facility even knew they’d been hit.
Rebecca took another big gulp, feeling the cool liquid run down the inside of her throat, a sudden gush of wind slightly playing with her hair.
Instead, they had found the warehouse completely empty. There was no lab to check. No servers to hack into. No people. Thankfully, no traps either. During the debrief all the Ops had come to the same two possible explanations: either all the data had been an intricate fake, or the company had known that the BSAA was about to come for them. Chris had remained steadfast in his belief that the intel was legitimate, and Rebecca felt uncomfortable thinking about what that inevitably meant. Was the BSAA being monitored more closely than they could have ever imagined? Or had someone talked?
There was the question of who had given them the intel in the first place, of course. Chris had been deliberately vague about that. They’d known each other for over a decade now and Rebecca considered him one of her closest friends. He was suspecting someone in particular, Rebecca was sure of that, but he wouldn’t tell her anything, when she’d asked him about it, he’d simply told her it was confidential for now. She hated it, that he did that. He frequently asked her about her opinions, valued her assessments. Being shut out by him, all of a sudden, felt strange.
While pondering everything that had happened, the sun had set, leaving Rebecca to stand on the balcony, her apartment cast in darkness when the doorbell rang, the sound ripping through her racing thoughts. Her neighbour, she thought, coming to pick up his mail. On her way she left the beer bottle, almost empty now, on the kitchen counter, switching on the lights, and using her foot to sweep the strewn shoes to one side in the hallway, before pulling the door open. The motion created an air current, tugging at her hair and clothes, while she froze in place, her mind going blank.
“Hey, dollface.”
Standing in front of her was a dark-haired man with broad shoulders and a wide chest, dressed in a black coat despite the summer heat. In one arm he held a backpack by his side, leaning the other one against her doorframe, the tiniest smile playing around his lips while Rebecca could only stare up at his familiar face, taking in his presence. Her hand had wandered upwards to cover her mouth. Of all the people in this world, Billy Coen was the one she’d least expected to show up on her doorstep. His eyes stared holes into her and before she even realized what she was doing, she took a step forward and wrapped her arms around him. “You’re here,” she said, “finally.”
He let go of the doorframe he had been using to hold himself upright, bringing his arm around her. Light-headedness set in immediately, although right now, he wasn’t sure if it stemmed from the wound or just from the relief, he felt running through every part of him. When he tried to squeeze her, he involuntarily winced and Rebecca let go immediately, standing back to look at him. She noticed his pale complexion, the hollow in his cheeks and the dark circles below his eyes and her expression changed, as she began to understand.
“Tell me, what’s wrong.”
Billy slowly pushed his coat to the side. Her pulse shot up, as soon as she saw the dark red on the fabric of his shirt underneath. She didn’t say anything, simply grabbed him by his biceps and resolutely pulled him inside. Before she closed the door behind them, she routinely checked to make sure nobody had seen him enter. She turned on her heels, saw Billy putting the heavy backpack onto to the floor and panting a little while doing so.
“Bathroom, to your left,” she instructed him, pointing at the door.
There was hardly enough room for both of them inside, but Rebecca’s mind was already five steps ahead, telling her what she needed to do. For starters, she needed to see how bad the wound really was. Standing behind him she grabbed the collar of his coat, carefully taking it off of him and let it drop into her tub. She positioned herself in front of him, her fingers quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt.
“Feels like you’ve missed me more than I’ve anticipated,” he said, attempting some humour, while she already grabbed his hands and undid the cuffs. He disliked showing up like this, barely able to stand on his own – it certainly wasn’t the reunion he had pictured.
She looked up, giving him the smallest smile. “I’ve been fantasising about you, but how about we concentrate on this for now.”
If he hadn’t been in so much pain, he would have laughed at that. He’d been so nervous when he rang her doorbell, envisioning the possibility of her feeling bitter towards him but when she had hugged him - for a short moment at least - it had felt like he was coming home. Finally, she’d said. You’re here, finally.
She leaned in now, her fingers on his waist, checking the blood-soaked bandage.
“I don’t like the look of this,” she asserted.
Her heart sank. If he’d lost too much blood, she’d have no choice but to take him to a hospital. She reached behind her into a drawer and produced some scissors, quickly cut the wet gauze, and peeled it from his body, letting it fall into the tub next to his coat. A small surge of blood trickled from the open wound, just above his hipbone. She grabbed a clean towel from the rack next to them, started cautiously wiping and cleaning, carefully avoiding the wound itself. Some of the blood had already started to clog against his skin, and when she had taken off as much as she could she started to examine the wound itself. A short blade, she concluded, maybe a Swiss army knife. The cut wasn’t nearly as deep as she’d feared and its placement wasn’t worrying to her either, even though the edges looked awfully frayed, but most pressing was the need stop the bleeding itself as fast as possible.
“Can you sit down,” she asked him, pointing her chin towards the rim of the bathtub.
Billy simply nodded and let himself sit down, the motion accompanied by a strained exhale.
She pressed the towel against his wound. “Hold it there, firmly,” she told him, and his hand did as instructed. “I’ll be right back and you’re not going to like what’s about to come.”
She hurried outside and Billy had a brief moment to himself, looking about the room he found himself in. Her bathroom looked nice and clean, the walls, surfaces, shower curtain, even the towel in his hand a sparkling white. He had already managed to spread his blood on every surface. What a fitting metaphor for my life, he thought while catching a quick glimpse of his reflection in the mirror.
He didn’t have time to wallow anymore, when Rebecca stormed in, holding something in her hand that – to him – looked like the biggest syringe he’d ever seen. From the bathroom cabinet above her basin, she produced a first-aid kit and crouched down in front of him, sitting down on the heels of her feet, and put both next to his feet. From the first-aid kit she grabbed a bottle of saline solution and did her best to clean the wound. Billy was fascinated, watching her work. There was not a single moment of hesitation, she knew what she was doing. Then she took the cap off the syringe.
“Please tell me you’re not going to poke me with that,” he mumbled.
“It’s going to close the wound,” she explained, “but it’s also going to hurt like a bitch. It will feel like … like a really bad burn as soon as I apply it.” She touched the hand he used to press the towel down and gently pushed it aside. “I’ll need you to stay as calm and still as possible, okay?”
He nodded, raised the blood-stained towel, prepared to bite down on one of the remaining clean parts of it.
“Ready?”
“Go for it.”
Rebecca let the syringe sink into his flesh. He’d expected her to do it with a fast stab, but instead she coaxed it into his wound slowly and deliberately. Pushing whatever was inside of the instrument into his wound, she removed the needle bit by bit.
The way she’d described what it would feel like was an understatement, he found, biting down hard. The wound started to burn instantly, the feeling radiating into every part of his body. He held on to the cold enamel of the bathtub holding his breath, a cold sweat covering his body. Rebecca, still on the floor in front of him, watched the wound closing itself, the steady flow of blood stopping almost instantly. He’d still need some sutures.
The pain subsided as quickly as it had come, and Billy fought to get some air back into his lungs.
She gave his arm an encouraging squeeze. “Hey, don’t you dare pass out on me now.”
“I’m okay, just … give me a minute. You weren’t kidding about this stuff. What is that?”
From the kit on the floor, she took a small hook, a clamp, and some surgical thread. Before she started to stitch him up, she looked up questioningly and he gave her a quick nod to go on ahead.
“It’s one of my personal concoctions,” she explained while working, “basically white blood cells on steroids. It closes wounds like glue, but it also encourages cell renewal. Within the next few days your body will disintegrate the plug it has created and replace it with – well, yourself. But since your body won’t have time to heal conventionally, it’s going to leave quite a nasty scar, I’m afraid.”
“I‘ve been meaning to add a new one to my collection anyway.”
She rolled her eyes, then finished putting a fresh gauze around him, and let herself sit down on the tiled floor, leaning her back against the tub. “There, good as new.”
Billy followed her example, almost sliding down the rim, until he sat next to her, his hand on top of the bandage, the space so narrow, that he had to bend his legs. They sat in silence for a few minutes, feeling the adrenaline running cold and Billy had a hard time keeping his eyes open now resting the back of his head against the rim.
“So, a knife fight?” she finally asked him.
“Yup.”
“You really should have left the knife in, you know.”
He couldn’t help himself, turning his head to shoot her a cocky smile. “I didn’t have much say in the matter, dollface, but I’ll try to remember it next time.”
She smiled back. “Please, do.” She got up and started washing the blood from her hands, only noticing now, that it had also found its way onto her shirt and pants. “For a dead man you make quite the mess.”
He looked up at her, running his hand through his hair and letting it rest on the back of his neck. “Shit, yeah, I’m sorry about that. I really hadn’t planned on just … showing up here, but there was nowhere else for me to go.”
Rebecca shook her head and crossed her arms. “There’s no need to be sorry. Except maybe for waiting a whole decade to come see me. How’d you know where I lived, anyway?”
“A magician never reveals his tricks.”
She gave his leg a playful kick. “Fine, don’t tell me. Now, how about putting you somewhere a little more comfortable than the floor? You need to get some rest.”
He couldn’t find it in him to protest. Rebecca helped him get up off the floor, led him into her living room, the curtains in front of the windows moving from an evening breeze coming in, where she gently coaxed him to sit down on the sofa and the second his body sank into the cushions, he knew that it would be impossible to get up again any time soon.
“Do you have any security on this place?” he asked her.
“Top-notch security system, I just never use it. Do you think we’ll need it?”
“I hope not, but better safe than sorry.”
She nodded. “Alright. I’ll go get you a comforter.” When she turned to leave, Billy caught her hand, pulling her back around towards him.
“Thank you, Rebecca. I don’t even know what to say, I’m just…” His eyes fixated her with all the same severity she remembered from the first time they had met. “I’m so glad to see you.”
She tilted her head slightly; it always made her feel nervous when he stared at her so intensely. She wondered if he even realized he was doing it. “I’m really glad to see you too, Billy Coen.”
He chuckled a little, let go of her hand, his body sinking even deeper into the cushions and his voice already sounded a little husky. “You know, nobody’s called me that in a very long time.”
When she returned with a blanket and a cushion, he was already fast asleep.