Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The last place Piers wanted to be right now, was in the sewers of a half destroyed city in Edonia. And yet.

The dirty water was seeping into his shoes, soaking his fatigues which now sticked uncomfortably to his legs. The outsides’ cold, winter air turned tepid in here, and Piers’ breath, caught behind his mask, felt chilly in comparison, especially on his sweat-covered skin.

Each of his steps sent the water sloshing around, while the man tried to ignore the recognizable odour of urine it brought to his nose every time. He’d explore every section of the underground tunnels if he had to, but after a week of searching around vainly, his determination weakened at each cockroach he saw crawling on the walls, under the beam of his flashlight.

The assault rifle he’d been using for two years now was getting too dirty, and cleaning it up every night wouldn't be sufficient anymore in a few weeks or so. There was no doubt that this place would clog it even further. His grip tightened on the weapon.

He was still bitter about his...departure from the BSAA, and every time the rifle jammed up, he felt anger and bile rise in his throat, blaming the organisation for it, even though he logically knew every weapon was bound to get unusable at some point. But logic wasn’t what got him through those two years, spite and anger were. So, as a familiar phantom pain crept up his rigid arm, he ground his teeth and waited for the resentment to distract him from the shitty situation he found himself into once again.

Caught up in his head as he was, Piers did not see the unfamiliar light in the tunnel until he found himself right under a neon lamp and its light hum brought him back to his senses.

Only then did he look around and realize the brick walls were now covered in tiles, and the water was barely above the sole of his boots. He’d reached the end of the tunnel, and against the back wall stood a desk. The man stepped closer, now terribly conscious of the sounds he was making while walking around. Papers were strewn around, in messy piles or half folded under said piles. Pictures of ugly mutations, disfigured men and women. All dead. One particular photo made Piers’ eyes widen slightly.

Running from the soldiers he’d once considered family was painful. He was being hunted, like a rabid animal, like he’d sink his teeth into anything that found itself on his way.
The throbbing in his arm and the veins on his face was starting to get unbearable. He’d managed to steal a rifle on his way out, and he only now thought, horrified, that it could’ve been chipped. He couldn’t get rid of it. It wouldn’t do, he needed the defence. All he could do was hope that it wasn’t traceable. And if they got to him, then they’d regret it. He’d kill them, all of them, rip them to pieces if he had to.

 Maybe he was an animal after all. Cornered, outnumbered, but still baring his teeth and hissing at his attackers. Anything to not go back to this god forbidden place. He couldn’t bear the experiments a moment longer.

Piers took an unsteady step back, before straightening his back and looking away from the picture. Pulling out a map from one of his pouches, he almost slammed it on the desk, flattening it with a swipe of his hand, before circling the street he was currently under. A street with a name he couldn’t pronounce, but could very well locate in the city. Once he was done, he folded the paper haphazardly and put it back in the pouch.

What was such sensitive information doing there of all places? Was he set up? Was he meant to find it?

If the bio-terrorists were behind it...Worse, if the BSAA...

No, he was getting ridiculous. He straightened his back and rolled his shoulders.

That would do for today.

He retraced his step to the nearest exit, spotting the glistening metal of the ladder from far away. Judging by the sign next to it, he hadn’t wandered too far from his place. He swung the rifle on his back. Here, in Edonia, it wasn’t uncommon to see men, women, children walk around with firearms. Snipers, shotguns, hand guns, Piers even once spotted an anti-materiel rifle like the one he used to have when…Anyway, no one would bat an eye at an armed man walking in the city.

As he lifted the manhole cover and heaved himself up on the ruined asphalt however, he felt a dozen pair of eyes snap to him in an instant. An armed man, sure. An armed man crawling out of the sewers, with his face fully covered by a mask and dark goggles…
Getting to his feet in a swift movement, he readjusted said mask, put the wandering strands of hair on his face into his beanie and slid the rifle back in his hands, walking away in long but slow strides, making numerous detours to get to his flat.

***

The building was a sad block of grey concrete, with square windows too small to let in any light inside past noon. He got up the stairs quietly, listening for any sign of an intruder. Burglars, junkies, or curious neighbours who thought they could get something out of the only American resident of the city. What Piers really feared though, was an unexpected visit from the BSAA. But as usual, no soldier at his front door, just a small boy sitting against the wall, who perked up at the sight of the ex-sniper and jumped to his feet.

Piers greeted him in broken Russian, and the boy greeted him in broken English, then handed the soldier a white bag of groceries. The man thanked him with a nod, opened the door to his flat and let the bag fall on his kitchen floor, opening the cabinet under the sink and searching around for the bundle of banknotes he had stacked here. He took two out of it and came back to the entryway to leave them in the palm of the small hands lifted for him to see. The boy smiled, a weird smirk, something not quite happy, but not insincere either. The child never smiled happily.

“Thank you”

“всегда пожалуйста”

The door slammed behind him as he left.

Piers turned slowly to look at the appartement. His military training pushed him to keep it as tidy as he could, but the place was so small that, even neatly arranged and stacked, the tons of files and papers seemed like they had been discarded everywhere without a care.

He sat on the small desk which stretched across the entirety of the back wall and started writing a short report on his findings. He could rarely bring back any document, lest he draw attention on himself. So he kept the routine of writing reports. Not as well kept as the ones he used to hand his superiors in the army, but enough that he could get back to them for information. The Russian-English dictionary he bought a few months ago sat on the edge of the desk. He hadn’t found anything on the Edonian dialect, so he made do with that, even though the translations were more than rough at times.

Once he was satisfied with what he’d written down, he got to his bathroom, turning the water to the hotter he could get -which was mildly warm- and slipped under the weak stream, sighing, and closing his eyes when his discoloured hair fell onto his face.

***

"We’ve heard of an American in an Edonian city, close to the Latvian border."

"You think it’s our man?"

"It’s a probability. Not a lot of holiday spots in Edonia for Americans. We suspect that he’s hiding in an American camp just outside the city. Apparently hides his face, but that’s not uncommon, as you know, for mercenaries to do that ‘round there."

Jake breathed out a short laugh, nodding.

"As I know, yes. Should I be looking for something in particular?"

The captain shook his head and took a deep breath, exhaustion evident in the way he held his shoulders:

"I have no idea, he could have changed a lot in two years. We don’t even know if the mutation is still visible, or the virus still active…That’s why we want him back on American soil. We don’t need another outbreak in Edonia."

"We don’t." Jake answered without flourish, noticing it was starting to annoy his superior.

"Get his ass back here, Muller. He can’t run indefinitely.” Chris’ voice sounded rough, menacing, and contrasted harshly with his absent gaze.

Jake sent a strange to look to the captin but said nothing and walked calmly to the door of the office, closing it behind him, leaving Redfield to slump slightly more on his desk.

The ex-lieutenant couldn’t slip through their fingers once again. This time, the intel had to be correct.

He often wondered why Chris had chosen him to search for the man. He'd only met the sniper briefly in China, and spent most of his time chewing his head off rather than trying to memorize his features.
Jake almost found it amusing that he’d been assigned, since his arrival in the BSAA, to the tracking of a man running from the government. Hadn’t been a great change from his mercenary activities.

He would have found it amusing if he hadn’t joined in search of some greater purpose. Right Weskers’ wrongs, something along those lines.

He stayed for Sherry, but he felt no different from when wealthy men asked him to chase some poor guy who’d sold the wrong thing to the wrong person. Now, the wealthy men just hid behind other men in cargo pants.

Chapter Text

Jake had landed in Latvia a few hours ago, and had been transported to the supposed location of Piers Nivans by local military, in a truck with terrible suspension, on damaged roads. His back felt like it'd been run over by said truck but hey, at least they hadn’t been stopped at the border.

When he stepped foot in the city, gun safely tucked away in his holster and bag over his shoulder, he felt something akin to nostalgia hit him beneath the ribs. He couldn’t say he’d missed the ruined buildings, the sombre look in the children’s eyes or the constant smell of humidity in every facility, but Edonia was still the place where he was raised. That city looked quite similar to the one he’d grown up in. To be fair, the country hadn’t ever replaced the work of USSR builders, because it was too poor to do so, and it led to very similar, ghostly towns across the whole land.

Redfield had informed him that the BSAA booked a room in a hotel for him, and Jake made a quick job of getting the keys and locking himself inside the room. He’d already gone over the city’s map in a reunion before his departure, but the flight had been exhausting and he couldn’t do anything much besides going over it one more time: the neighbourhood where the BSAA thought the American mercenaries to be, the school, the church -completely abandoned by the locals- and the very few shops.

When it turned dark outside, he crashed on his bed and fell asleep immediately.

He dreamt of grey landscapes and cold winters.

*

In the morning, he took the time to shower, trying to shake off the remnants of his unpleasant nights. The he got back in his uniform and walked out with a very simple plan. He needed to talk to the inhabitants. The faster he found the lieutenant, the faster he’d get out of this weird re-enactment of his childhood.

Most people seemed hesitant at first, seeing him approach and tower over them in painfully obvious military gear -he made a mental note to change clothes the next day- but they soon relaxed when he started speaking Russian. He accentuated his Edonian accent hoping it would get him some intel. Unfortunately, as relaxed as they seemed by the fact that he was born here, they were all more or less tight-lipped. Protecting someone, or themselves, either way, Jake couldn’t find anyone to tell him if an American soldier was staying in the city.

As he scanned the street, slowly examining the few passers-by he hadn’t talked to yet, he felt eyes on him. And soon enough, he found himself locking eyes with a young boy, eleven at most, who stared sternly at Jake, frowning. He was smart enough to seem wary of the tall man approaching him, but didn’t stop looking disapprovingly.

“Hello. What’s your name?"

"Do you want something?" The boy replied dryly. jake couln't place his accent. Maybe he was not from around here.

"I’m Jake."

"Do you have money?"

The redhead kept a smile from creeping on his face. That boy, wherever he may be from, reminded Jake strongly of himself. Surviving. Straight to the point, no time for courtesy. It was sad, in a sense, but Jake knew showing pity wouldn’t work in his favour.

"I have money."

"Then, what can I do for you, Jake?"

"I’m searching for someone. Piers Nivans."

No recognition in the boy’s eyes.

"He’s a soldier, not from around here. He has scars on his face."

"Every mercenary does here, mister Jake."

The child was getting cocky. Or annoyed, Jake wasn’t certain.

"This one’s American. And I said soldier, not mercenary."

The child shook his head, bearing a bitter expression no child his age should even know.

"No American in this country’s a soldier."

Jake sighed, biting the inside of his cheek, thinking.

"Very well, not a soldier then. A man with lots of scars, American, brown hair, brown eyes, shorter than me."

"I’ll keep an eye out. But no promises.”

The redhead laughed this time, then slid the kid a banknote, walking away, feeling the young but tired eyes burn holes into the back of his head.

***

Since the redhead had set foot on the city’s ground, Piers had been watching. Not hiding too much, aware that the soldier felt like he was being followed, hoping that would push him to be more careful and leave Piers be.

He was useful to the inhabitants, protecting the ones who couldn’t fight off the belligerent mercenaries around there, buying from the black market and the legal stores. It was in their best interest to not tell anyone he was here, so Piers trusted they wouldn’t.

But then he was talking to Lukass. The boy didn’t know Piers’ real name, but he’d no doubt made the connection, deciding against selling him away. Loyalty or interest, Piers didn’t know, but he wouldn’t complain about it.
However, that imbecile couldn’t walk around asking for Piers Nivans to anyone willing to listen to him. As the soldier rounded the corner, Piers jumped out of his hiding spot, shoving him against the nearest building and keeping him here with a forearm against his throat.
Hiding in plain sight, he thought to himself, to calm down the nerves sending pinpricks across his whole body.

“The fuck you want Nivans for?" He whispered aggressively, the words scratching his throat painfully.

"I advise you to let go of me before I make you regret it."

The other’s voice was confident, too confident. As he spoke, he reached for his holster…to find it empty. The Elephant killer was discarded on the ground, a few feet from them. His gaze shot back to his attacker. He couldn’t see the face of the man who had him pressed to the wall, but he guessed there was a smug smile on that fucker’s mouth.

"Now, I advise you to tell me why you’re searching for Nivans."

"Friend of yours?"vJake bit back instantly, raising his eyebrows.

Piers hesitated. What lie should he tell the strangely familiar soldier?

He settled on what seemed like the most viable option: 

"Far from it."

Jake tilted his head slightly, interest shining in his eyes.

"Searching for him too, then?"

The ex-sniper jumped on the easy alibi the soldier was serving him on a silver platter, making a show of looking like he’d been caught, sending glances around, loosening his hold on the soldier’s throat and shifting in false discomfort. He went as far as to grumble:

"Fucker."

A few seconds passed where Piers didn’t let go of the soldier, scrutinizing his face behind his goggles trying to figure out where he’d seen him before.
Then he realized what he’d been doing and stepped back. The man spoke up, seemingly unbothered by the moment:

"I’m Jake Muller. BSAA as you can see" he pointed to the patch on his shoulder,"and if you tell me why you’re searching for Nivans, then maybe we’ll be able to help each other."

Piers scoffed to hide the overwhelming surprise.

Jake Muller. Weskers’ son.

What the fuck was he doing in the BSAA? That was not good, the man knew him. One wrong move and he was back in…

He pushed the panic swirling inside his skull to a corner of his mind.

"He owes me something."

Keep it as vague as possible. Don’t corner yourself into a complicated story.

"So you want him dead?"

"I want him to pay what he owes." A pause, pretending to think. "But putting a bullet between his eyes wouldn’t hurt either, I guess."

Nivans hoped he was acting well enough, because he felt like his lies were detectable from a mile away; his relaxed and confident stance felt too stiff, his voice too tight.

"Well, I want to bring him back to America. Not kill him." Jake adds after a pause "But he’ll probably not like what they’ll do to him over there.”

Jake spoke with some kind of a forced smile on his face, something cruel but strained.

Piers’ heart stopped. He nodded curtly, silently extending his hand for Jake to shake, hoping that it would suffice to seal their agreement. He felt like he might throw up if he opened his mouth again.

“What’s your name, then?"

Piers swallowed heavily, willing the nausea away.

"Why do you need it anyway?" His voice was much rougher than he’d meant it to be.

"When I come to find you, which I most definitely will, I’ll need a name to tell the locals won’t I?"

He didn’t like the cocky tone Muller was using, like he somehow had the upper hand on the situation. In response he spoke coldly:

"Milo Riley. Don’t go screaming it on the rooftops, I’d rather not get myself into trouble.”

Jake laughed slightly, walked to his gun, picking it up, holstering it, then walking away with a relaxed stride, like nothing had happened.

Piers went back to his flat on trembling legs.

***

Jake knew the man gave him a false identity. What kind of guy would walk around covered from head to toe but giving away his legal name to anyone.

He was probably a mercenary after all. And apparently very keen on hiding himself. From what he’d seen, he’d been wearing gloves, even though they couldn’t be conformable to handle that rusty rifle he had on his back. His goggles were completely opaque, and he hid his hair under a used beanie, hair that he’d dyed, given its near white colour, contrasting quite violently with his dark eyebrows.

The soldier also knew that he couldn’t completely trust that this man wasn’t a friend of his target, trying to protect him but playing the role of the sworn enemy. Even if that seemed unlikely (what kind of mercenary doesn’t jump on the occasion of killing a potential rival), Jake couldn’t ignore that it was still a possibility.

Maybe he’d lead him to that nest, supposedly on the northern side of the city, meet all his cowboy friends.

***

Who was he working for? Was Jake directly under Chris’ command? Why hadn’t they given up already?

Piers was shaking, standing in the middle of his entryway, the closed door behind him not giving him as much of a sense of safety as before. He could feel his breaths quickening, shortening. In a second, he had ripped off his mask and goggles, desperately needing the air.

He fell to his knees, mind still alert enough to slow the fall with his hands. After he hit the floor though, his thoughts were somewhere else completely.

What if they got their hands on him again? God he couldn’t serve as a guinea pig again. Maybe he could escape twice. Would they punish him for running away? That seemed like a waste of time, but maybe they were pissed. He could already feel the sting of the syringes, paralyzing his body with a mystery fluid while they did what they pleased. Cut him open. Burn him. Draw what felt like gallons of blood, leaving him lightheaded, but never lessening the pain. He couldn’t be subject CV-24 again. He wouldn’t. Either Jake failed his mission, or Piers flew himself out the aircraft bringing them back to Chris.

Chapter Text

Back to the fucking sewers. Piers was pissed. He’d spent the last week running from the persistent soldier, and it had considerably slowed down his research. He hadn’t slept one bit last night, staring out the window of his flat to check the path to the sewers was clear, before dashing outside at 4 a.m. and disappearing underground. His neck hurt from the awkward angle he’d been looking down on the streets, rifle tight against his chest, and now, added to that, was a terrible soreness in his legs after standing for hours, trying to find anything that might take him to his next lead. But the desk, full of terrible files of horrible mutants’ photos, was just a dead end. There was nothing.

He was crouched underneath it, trying to feel for anything under the desktop when a voice right next to his ear made him jump and hit his head against the hard wood:

“Found something yet?"

Piers scrambled for his rifle, pointing it at the intruder. A second passed before he recognized him and he gaped, frozen in his half-crouch then the fatigue of the last 24 hours and his pent-up frustration exploded once he found his own voice:

"For fuck’s sake! Would you leave me the fuck alone?!"

"What do you mean, we haven’t seen each other since I arrived here." He asked innocently. "I can’t say I haven’t tried to get to you though."

"Oh really? I didn’t notice." bit back Piers, keeping his voice flat but knowing the other wouldn’t buy it.

He got back to his feet, not taking his eyes off the soldier and clenching his weapon tightly.

The redhead smirked at this, probably mistaking his wariness and anger for fear.

“What are you doing here, then? Thought you were looking for Nivans."

Piers scoffed and unclenched each one of his fingers slowly, their joints cracking under his tense muscles.

"I have a job, I’m not wasting my time searching for him every second that passes."

"Right. And your employer is…"

Jake was getting closer, Piers wasn’t budging.

"None of your business."

That seemed to piss off the man who scowled openly at the answer:

"Don’t play this game with me you little mutt. I may not be here for that, but you’re still a mercenary, and I’m still a BSAA agent. I’m sure a few arrestations wouldn’t hurt my record."

The nickname got Piers seething and lurching forward, socking Jake in the jaw. He stumbled back, his head jerking violently to the side. Piers’ breathing was heavy, fist still clenched at his side, trembling with the strain.

"I’m not a fucking animal, you get that through your thick skull you sick prick!" His voice echoed around them, raspy but still terribly loud.

The redhead straightened himself slowly, letting go of his own face. The silence was only disturbed by the humming of the neon lights above them. He was towering over Piers, but that didn’t deter the man, who stood perfectly still, teeth clenched, though it was hidden under the mask. Jake looked two seconds away from doing something equally violent to the fuming mercenary in front of him and Piers waited for the outburst, prepared to dodge, muscles taught.

Instead, the soldier smiled, though it looked a tiny bit forced -or maybe pained, his lower lip was now split open and bleeding- and took another step forward. A small step, considering they’d already been a foot apart. Piers hated that he had to tilt his head some more to keep glaring at Jake.

“- You’re not an animal. I’ll remember that now." and the fucker slid his tongue across the wound on his lip. Piers silently asked himself if his first thought being “hot” was enough to consider himself deranged.

He was very much not dwelling on that, not right now, head still spinning from the rage.

"Glad we got that-…Cleared up." -You’ve got a way with words Nivans- "Now, can I ask you what the fuck you’re doing h-"

Piers stopped himself, head turning away from Jake, his eyes searching in the darkness of the tunnel before him. He waited a few seconds, ignoring the puzzled look Jake sent his way before perking up when he heard it again. Voices. Oh that could not be good.

“Milo what-"

"Shh. Fuck, fuck, someone’s coming our way." Piers whispered, watching as realization dawned on Jake’s face, and how he immediately jumped into action, muscles tense, stance ready.

"We need to get away before they get to the lights."

"Follow me."

Piers still waited for Jake to nod at him before darting into the dark corners of the tunnels. When he was sure they weren’t visible anymore, he stopped and turned to observe the approaching soldiers. 

"What the fuck Riley, let’s move!" Jake whispered incredulously in his ear.

"I have a job remember?" Piers lied in return.

He could sense the mercenary was far from happy with the response, but they couldn’t afford to be heard nor seen, so he shut his mouth in a thin line.
The two people approaching were not spoking particularly loud, and the echo made it even more difficult to catch the meaning of their exchange. Piers’ Russian wasn’t nearly good enough to understand anything in these conditions, and he found himself looking expectantly at Jake, without thinking about it. The redhead was already listening, squinting as they got further and their voice started to merge with the sound of the water around them.

Piers turned expectantly to the other.

“Well?"

"What?"

"What did they say?"

Jake sent a frown his way.

"You don’t understand Russian?"

"I…Haven’t been here for very long…"

It was the truth, technically. He wasn’t lying, but he had to admit it must’ve looked suspicious; a mercenary moving to a country without speaking the language, nor understanding it properly. Jake must've thought the same thing because he squinted at him, unconvinced.

"Sure... They didn’t say anything interesting, talking about some other guy they didn’t like."

A sigh from the sniper.

"Great."

Piers turned around, his back to Jake, looking at where they’d gone. He knew where that direction led, maybe he’d have to follow that to find new information.

Piers opened his mouth hesitantly:

“Look, if w- Fuck!”

Bullets flying past them and ricocheting on the walls behind cut him off. The two soldiers from before were back. They’d heard. The sniper's ears rang.

“Move Riley, lead the way!”

Jake’s screaming was what made Piers come back to his senses. For some reason, he’d frozen up at the horrible echo of submachine guns being fired in such an enclosed place. The walls felt too close, the water too high.
But Jake’s voice was grounding, and also screaming at him to get them out of there, so Piers didn’t respond and simply started sprinting to the nearest exit he knew was a few hundred meters away.

The redhead was close, he could hear him move in the water, which was now almost knee-high for him, effectively slowing them down. Piers saw the exit, threw a look behind him and paled at how close their pursuers were, the lights flashing painfully in his eyes, even from behind his goggles. They couldn’t possibly make it up the ladder and to the surface fast enough, so he kept running, past their only known chance for salvation.

Jake cried out behind him, and Nivans barely had the time to turn around when the redhead spit out to keep going, don’t fucking stop they’re right behind us!

Piers’ heart was in his throat, his breathing growing more irregular as they kept running deeper into the tunnels, now completely lost. The last turns had allowed them to put a little bit of distance between them and the others, so when Piers saw some kind of alcove coming up, he stopped abruptly, pulling Jake along with him by his arm. They both went as far as they could, stumbling, almost losing their footing, Piers staggering backwards, hoping the shadows would hide them. They only stopped when Nivans’ back hit the wall.

Piers still had his hand firmly gripping Jake’s elbow, the two of them looking at each other in the almost complete darkness. Their eyes were wide, and they were both trying to make their erratic breathing as silent as possible. The alcove was at most a metre wide, and with Jake blocking the view to the main tunnels, Piers could only hope that their assailants would run past them: there was no escape, if they were found, they were dead.

Lights went by, Piers’ hand tightened on Jake’s arm, the redhead tensed, his breathing stopped for a few seconds while the ex-lieutenant closed his eyes, terror completely closing up his throat.

But no shots rang out, and the loud footsteps kept going, eventually fading. When the only audible sound in the area became the light movement of the water, Jake let himself half fall onto the wall, his side hitting the cold bricks, making him groan out and grimace. He half-whispered, voice sometimes coming out in light accents to his words:

“Please tell me you have something to deal with bullet wounds."

Piers followed the other’s movement with his hands gently falling on the sides of his shoulders.

"Where?"

"Left arm. I’ll only need something to disinfect I’ve got…Uh…Good genetics.”

Nivans kept the scoff to himself because he knew it would give him away, but the use of the words “good genetics” had him wanting to make some kind of dangerous comment, either about Jake’s father or looks, neither of which he could afford. Instead, he just nodded, even though the other couldn’t see it and slowly guided him out of the alcove.

***

His arm was fucking burning. He knew it’d probably be over in a few days, and that it would only be a distant throb by the next morning, but right now, it still felt like shit.

He hadn’t been prepared for the pain climbing the ladder caused, and because they were both tensed up, worried that the soldiers might retrace their steps and find them, he’d climbed far faster than he should’ve. Fortunately, Milo had gone first and Jake didn’t have to push up the cast iron disc between them and the street. He vaguely heard the mercenary complain about crawling out of the sewers for the second time in a week. He helped Jake out, pulling him up, mindful of his injury, and Jake pretended not to be unsteady on his feet as the blood loss started to make him dizzy. Then, they both looked around.

The sky was dark, stars visible, almost no one in the streets. Good, no eyewitnesses. Riley looked at the watch on his left wrist. The thing was strapped above his clothes. He couldn’t even roll up his sleeves, huh.

“Fuck I spent the entire day in there." He turned to Jake." Okay let’s go, we patch you up, then I sleep for two weeks straight."

"Right behind you, cowboy.”

The redhead couldn’t see Milo’s reaction, but he would’ve sworn that he rolled his eyes dramatically.
Not seeing his face was, for some reason, highly disturbing. Jake had encountered many people who hid their identity as if their life depended on it -which it often did-, but no one had ever went as far as covering almost every inch of skin available. He could admit to himself that he was curious, and as much as he wanted to pull down that mask as soon as he got the chance, he couldn’t afford to lose the only ally he had around here. So, instead of doing something stupid, he simply followed the man, focusing on not tripping on his own feet and keeping pressure on his shoulder. They made it two corners away before Milo held out a hand and stopped abruptly. From where he stood, the redhead couldn’t see what had caught his attention, but he could surely guess.

Before he could ask anything, Riley let out a shocked exhale and ducked behind the wall, as a bullet landed right where his foot had been a moment before. Loud steps echoed in the night, and Milo immediately took a hold of his rifle. The first man to make it pass the wall received a bullet in the knee and screamed before going down. As the mercenary struggled with the second one, Jake approached the injured soldier and stabbed him in the throat, a quick and precise movement that left a neat wound behind, gushing out blood at the pace of the now dying man’s heartbeat, which was slowing down steadily.

Jake turned to look at his partner, and had he not been trembling on his legs, he’d had whistled his admiration: the man was clearly winning, but also managing to make the confrontation graceful. In a fist fight, he was impossibly fast, and his attacker couldn’t keep up with that, taking steps backwards, but only managing to dodge a small amount of the hits thrown at him. Milo must’ve decided that the distance between them was enough to shoot his opponent, so he swiftly slid back his rifle in his hands, aimed and…

click.

The weapon made a weird crunching sound, and the confusion froze Milo up, only for a second. It was still enough time to get him a kick in the ribs. He landed on his back with a wheezy sound, and Jake could only watch in horror, too far away, as the other man rushed forward, knife out. Riley was fiddling inhumanly fast with his weapon, half disassembling it, putting it together again, shaking it one last time. Firing.

The soldier fell on him, completely limp, a bullet between his eyes. The sudden weight made the mercenary cry out weakly, but he then violently pushed the body off him, throwing it to the side. Jake sat here, mouth dry, and it wasn’t all from blood loss. He smirked and sent a wink to Riley:

“I’d let you handle me like that.”

The man stopped, half standing, and again, even without seeing his face, Jake knew his mouth was gaping, and he laughed. The movement made him wince and clutch his shoulder.

“However, before any of that happens, I’d need to get patched up, so if we could get going

"Never said yes to that happening." Answered Milo quickly, completely ignoring the second part of the redhead’s sentence.

"No, you just stared. Didn’t say it wouldn’t either, though."

A short moment of silence. Milo clicked his tongue.

"Shut up and follow me.”

That made Jake bark out a laugh again, regretting it a moment later, but the smile lingered on his face.

***

The rest of the walk to the appartement was uneventful, but Riley still stood strangely hunched forward, as if ready to jump at the throat of anyone coming too close. Jake was already feeling a tad bit better, his shoulder no longer burning. He knew that resting, or even just sitting down for a moment would settle the fog in his head.

The mercenary had grumbled at him that he’d take him to his flat, and Jake knew he wasn’t pleased with that. Still, he guided the both of them up the few stairs of the building. In the dark staircase, their steps seemed too loud, and the redhead caught himself holding his breath. They made it to Milo’s floor, and Jake could make out the shape of the little boy he’d talked to a week ago. Apparently, the boy recognized him too, because he jumped to his feet and ran back in his own appartement, fleeing his spot against Riley’s door.

The merc paused a moment, then gestured for Jake to follow him, turning his key in the lock and making enough space for the redhead to enter. He turned.

“Don’t go through my stuff, I’m going to check on him.

"Yes sir.”"

Jake frowned when he saw Milo tense up a second at his response, before exhaling harshly and going out the door in long strides, his fatigue still evident in the way he held his shoulders.

Now alone in the dark appartement, he sat down on a wooden chair facing a desk overflowing with some kind of paperwork. Intel on Riley’s job, he presumed.

Chapter Text

Jake waited for a minute or two before deciding that the bleeding, as much as it’d slowed down, still needed to be taken care of. How rude of him would it be to bleed out on his host’s beautiful...Warped floorboards. Humidity was a bitch at this time of the year.

Jake got up from his seat, searching for the bathroom, guessing it was where he’d find first aid supplies. He didn’t have to search for long; the place was tiny, as was the bathroom and there was only one cabinet under the sink, which he opened quickly. The first aid kit fell on the floor with a clatter that made the redhead’s ears ring in the quiet appartement. He fished out some disinfectant that had expired a while ago, but Jake figured the worse it could do was to not be useful, so he took it. There was no gauze though, and nothing to wipe the blood off, so he went back to the main room, stole a kitchen towel, then sat back down on his chair.

It was cold in the appartement, and Jake shivered as he took of his coat and top. As used as he was to rough winters, this was still quite uncomfortable. He poured a generous amount of disinfectant on the towel, then tapped it on the wound, hissing. He couldn’t get the bullet out without risking further damages, but if the wound closed up, he’d need surgery when he went back home.

The thought made him pause for a moment.
Huh. Back home.

He was in his childhood country, amongst familiar landscapes, but America felt like “back home” while this place felt like another mission: uncomfortable, strange. He supposed that it had to do with the people he knew. Well, the person. Besides Sherry, he hadn’t befriended anyone, (Redfield hadn’t gotten over the loss of his best lieutenant, and Jake wasn’t tempted at all to approach the other jarheads of the BSAA), and since his mother died, there was no one in Edonia waiting for him.

He shook his head, trying to get back to the task at hand. At least, his slight reverie had distracted him from the stinging pain of alcohol against raw flesh. Now that it was done, and since he had nothing to wrap this up with, he simply continued to press the towel to the wound, clenching his teeth at first, then forcing himself to relax. The once grey cloth was now a deep red, slowly turning brownish, but Jake was starting to feel better.

***

After a little while, Piers came back in the appartement, seeming even more tired than before, but relieved, as much as Jake could deduce from his posture.

“Is he okay?"

The sniper’s head shot up and the surprise kept him from responding for a few seconds.

"Um…He’s…okay, wanted to ask me for something and…Well, you scared him."

Jake honest to god chuckled.

"What did he want?"

"Wanted to see if I could give ‘im something to do." He hurried the sentence out, dismissing it with a vague hand movement. "Show me your wound."

Piers hoped Jake wouldn’t pry further, but of course, as he approached to examine the wound, the redhead opened his mouth again:

"Something to do?- нах, be careful, dude!"

"Sorry." Piers answered mechanically, not looking up "Yes, I give some tasks and give him money in exchange. He won’t accept it otherwise, he wants to work for it."

"Ah, a real hard-headed Edonian then."

"Like you, I presume."

Piers took the cloth away, frowning at the amount of blood on it. Well, that was ruined.

"Like me."

Jake nodded as he answered, then took a look at his shoulder, smiling at Piers:

"See? I told you, good genetics."

Piers wanted to scoff at the face of this absolute imbecile trying to fool him with his 'good genetics healing'. Bullet wounds didn't work like that. But he instead played the card of utter disbelief, deeming it the safest way of going about this:

"You were hit a couple hours ago at most, that’s not ‘good genetics’, that’s fucking magic. What kind of food do they give to y’all in the BSAA?"

Jake shrugged.

"Some good shit apparently."

Did Piers mention that Jake was an Absolute Imbecile?

"…Right. I’ll get you something to put on." He tries to keep the skepticism out of his voice but it's proving to be difficult.

"Can’t handle the view, cowboy?"

Piers clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. He didn’t know what annoyed him the most, the overwhelming confidence, or the fact that he had every reason to be this overwhelmingly confident. At least by Piers’ book…
But since his furious blush was hidden under the mask, he could afford to simply sigh and walk away.

He opened a drawer just besides the mattress on the floor, feeling Jake’s eyes on him as he searched for a few seconds. He didn’t have that many clothes, and since his tactical shirt were his size, the only thing fitting was a black sweater who’d seen better days. He tossed to the ex-merc, smiling as he hit him in the face with it.

Then he just…Stood there. Jake had taken the only seat around, so he leaned against the wall, and decided talking was better than just waiting in awkward silence.

“Did you grow up here, then?"

Jake eyed him curiously, but nodded quickly enough:

"Yep. Didn’t leave the country until I was seventeen."

He paused.

"Now that I think about it, hasn’t been that long…Seven years, more or less."

"You’re twenty-four?" Asked Piers in complete disbelief.

"Yes, why? Don’t think you’re that much older cowboy."

Piers had the playful words on the tip of his tongue when he swallowed them back. Giving his age would be information that could reveal his identity. It left him stumbling for an answer. 

"No, I mean, you’re- I don’t-…" Holy fuck just lie and be done with it, his mind unhelpfully supplied.

Jake laughed.

"You can’t even give me your age? No skin, no name, no age. You must be some kind of terrible criminal." Jake said, amusement shining in his eyes.

"I told you my name." Piers argued dryly, irritated at the thought of being so easy to read.

"Is that right, Milo?"

Piers tensed up, freezing in his spot against the wall, arms defensively crossed on his chest. He felt like Jake could see right through the gear, could observe the mutated skin, had him figured out already, just waiting the right moment to strike.

The redhead held his palms up, trying to diffuse the tension.

"Woah, hey, relax. I’ve been a merc before, I get it, you don’t give a name easily."

Piers simply nodded, unsure of what to say next. He opted for the safest option, and the way out of the corner he found himself in.

"So…Why’d you leave Edonia?"

Muller turned his head to look through the small window, apparently brought back to some distant memories.

"My mother died. The merc job payed better in the richer countries and I didn’t have to come back home anymore."

"God, sorry, didn’t want to bring up something like that."

Jake smiled lightly and looked back at Piers with such intensity in his cold eyes that the sniper found himself holding his breath.

"It’s alright. Wherever she is, it’s better than here.”

The silence that followed had Piers fiddling with his rifle, Jake picking up on the motion fast enough and pointing his shin in its direction:

“How long have you had this? Seems like it’d need a replacement."

Piers nodded in agreement, the kick on his ribs from the earlier fight, when the damn gun had jammed, was already forming a painful bruise under his vest.

"Had it for too long, but I can’t find a worthy replacement, the weapons they sell here are in as much of a bad shape as this is."

"Where do you get ammo then?"

"Black market. But it’s so expansive, couldn't dream of getting another rifle from there."

"I could…Give you something? I brought a rifle with me." A pause, then he adds with a smile that's probably meant to be charming but make the merc tense up minutely. "BSAA approved."

Piers snorted, thinking about his own weapon, also BSAA approved. But his eyes still narrowed, once the amusement passed.

"Why would you do that?"

"I help you out, you help me out. If I give you this, stop avoiding me, I don’t think I can find Nivans without your help, as much as I hate to admit that to your face."

"You know, I’ve been searching for him for quite some time, I don’t see why I could catch him better than you."

"You don’t want that rifle, Riley?"

Piers frowned under his mask, voice coming out more strained than intended.

"I do, but I won’t accept it if it means making a promise I can’t keep."

It was Jake’s turn to narrow his eyes. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"Such a sharp sense of honour. Rare for a merc."

Piers paled at the sharp and accusing tone. He forced himself to simply shrug and scoff.

"Yeah, well. All of us can’t be assholes.”

The soldier paused. He stared at Piers, face void of any emotion, thinking. It seemed like whatever he debated doing, he’d made his choice, as he pushed his sleeves up, stood, and got to Piers in a couple of long strides.

“If you drop the mask, you get the rifle, and I won’t force you to try and find your friend."

"He’s not my friend". Piers denied sternly, tempted to just push the soldier back and storm out.

"Whoever he is, you don’t look like you’re in that much of a hurry to find him." Jake gestures vaguely to Piers, cocking his head. "The mask comes lose, I don’t dive into why that is."

"Why the fuck would I do that?!" Piers burst out, bothered by the way Jake seemed to be sure he’d obtain what he wanted. "You said it yourself, no age, no name, no skin."

"You must be very fuckin’ ugly under all that to refuse a deal like this one."

Jake was taunting him. Piers knew that. It was written all over his body language -leaning forward, cocky smirk, head still slightly tilted to the right- and in his tone. He was not letting that bastard get under his skin.

"Yes. I’ve got nasty scars, I wouldn’t want to scare you away. It’d be bad for business if a BSAA soldier ran out screaming of my appartement wouldn’t it?" Piers forces a smirk out, though Jake can't possibly see it, he hopes his words show enough scorn to make up for it.

"I don’t get scared easily, cowboy."

The merc's smile slips right off.

"Leave it. I don’t accept the deal!"

The redhead seemed to understand that provoking Piers wasn’t going to work. So he went for a different angle. Why did he have to Keep. Trying?!

"Just the beanie. Just the hair."

Piers sighed deeply. He was frustrated, and he vaguely felt threatened by the lack of space between them, but he also was tempted.

Since Jake seemed so eager, he was starting to want to -quite literally- drop the mask. The beanie wouldn’t hurt, right? His hair was dyed anyway, and much longer than on any photo the BSAA might’ve given Jake.

He raised a hand, making the soldier step back slightly by pushing his uninjured shoulder.

"The beanie, and you give me that rifle."

"Deal."

"Say it."

Jake, to the sniper’s surprise, didn’t mock his insistence, but simply and solemnly said:

"If you get out of that damn beanie, I’ll give you the rifle."

"Okay." breathed out Piers, readying himself.

He realized it had been two years since anyone had seen even such a tiny part of him.

He slowly raised the hand he’d put between them to the beanie, sliding it off his head in one fluid motion, letting his hand fall back to his side, gripping the clothe like a lifeline. He kept his stare straight forward, which left him only with the sight of Jake’s mouth, since Piers refused to tilt his head back to look up. His brows were furrowed, and it got worse when nothing happened. The soldier was just silent. Waiting for something maybe. The situation was unnerving Piers in so many ways -mainly because he felt ridiculous being so disturbed by the fact that he was showing his hair like victorian lady showing an ankle-, so he started to raise the beanie back up, ready it to put in on again.

Of course, because that man couldn’t just let Piers be for an instant, Jake stopped his movement with a hand on his forearm.

“"Don’t."

He wasn’t giving an order, his voice was firm but not commanding.

"Well fucking say something then, it’s creepy, you’re creepy, and if you could jus-"

"It’s nice."

Jake watched as Piers cut himself off and shook his head incredulously.

"…What?"

"Your hair. Obviously you bleach it, but you do it pretty well. Suits you."

"Suits me? You haven’t seen my face."

"Are you offering?" Jake answered immediately, wiggling his brows with a stupid smirk on his face.

As much as he wanted to keep his mouth shut, Piers burst out laughing, falling backwards on the wall. Jake chuckled too, before it turned into a wheezy noise and he was laughing too, bending in half with the force of it.

Piers distantly thought that they must’ve looked mad, both men laughing in a cold appartement, one with a bullet wound in his shoulder and the other covered from head to toe in dark clothing.

Still giggling between his words, Piers managed to say:

"I hope you don’t flirt like that in real life."

Jake retorts, plastering a falsely offended frown on his face.

"You mean I’d have to step it up for you, cowboy?"

The sniper shakes his head, the laughter subsiding, but a smile still lingering on his lips.

"I mean; I don’t expect you to pull anyone with that, but yeah, sure, me included."

"Duly noted."

He just had to add that, didn’t he? Piers was going to blush like a teenager again.

"On a more serious note, I’m fucking exhausted, so I’ll crash right here" he pointed to the mattress on the floor, "and if you don’t want to return to wherever you’re staying right now, we’re going to have to share. I kick in my sleep, if you think that’ll help you make an informed choice."

"I’m not one to back down from challenges."

Piers laid down without responding, realizing that he had to sleep with the goggles on and groaning at the thought.

***

Piers couldn’t move. There was something holding him back, something he couldn’t see in the pitch-black void he found himself in. And though he couldn’t move, he could feel his muscles shifting beneath his skin. There was too much, like a snake was slithering across his arms. Or, rather, inside them.

His legs trembled with the weight of whatever had replaced his arms, and though he wanted desperately to collapse under the pain, his body wouldn’t let him. He screamed to the void. Begged, cried, wailed in agony, and the piercing sound of his voice only served to hurt him more, his throat raw, like the terror was trying to claw its way out his trachea.

There were prodding hands, though they were nowhere to be seen, leaving him to just feel, feel how they seemed to melt his skin, some kind of disgusting warmth to them, like they belonged to corpses that were still clinging to life out of pure spite. Maybe the rot under their fingernails would get to him, maybe his limbs would turn black too, falling off and leaving nothing but gaping holes. Not even bleeding, he wasn’t human enough anymore for that. 
The hands were everywhere, keeping his mouth open for their clammy, necrotic skin to drip inside, blackening his teeth. He made a terribly loud gurgling sound, his throat convulsing nauseatingly to keep the rot out. But there was nothing to do, he was choking on it and it was pouring in and out of his eyes -or maybe his eyes were dribbling out-, and god his ears too, and then his teeth were falling and his throat was closing up-

***

He jumped up, out of the mattress, with a desperate plea stuck to the back of his throat. The mask was strangling him -god no please, let me breathe- , the goggles tearing into his skin, and he was halfway to ripping them off when a voice made him jump and effectively release the scream he’d been holding in this whole time. He just had enough presence of mind to cover his face again. Then he was backing up as far away as he could from the voice, which was speaking words he wasn’t registering.

It was coming from the pitch-black void, and soon it would tear, claw, bite-

His back hit a wall, a quiet sob escaping him. The voice was getting closer.

“…-not going to hurt you. Look, I’m not getting any closer, but you have to breathe in deeply, you’re breathing too fast Milo.”

Who was Milo, what was the voice talking about? He wasn’t breathing, he was suffocating, he could feel the oxygen stopping in his throat, the phantom pain of his teeth falling out and his gums gushing out blood, the oxygen was never reaching his lungs. It was burning.

“…-isten please! You have to breathe!”

Suddenly, there were hands on his shoulders, and he fought back. Kicking, kneeing, thrashing around as violently as he could. He distantly heard himself pleading, too. Something along the line of “please don’t put me back there, please I’ll do anything”. The hands on his shoulders were not leaving and, suddenly, they shook him.

“Listen to me! Fucking breathe slower, you’re going to pass out if you keep hyperventilating like that Milo!”

That knocked back some sense into him. Right, Milo, that was him. And the voice had to be Jake’s then.

Where was he, then?

“Milo? Slow, slow breaths…”

Slower. So he had to breathe slower. Yeah, that was manageable, he could do that.

He gripped the layers of clothes on his chest, pulling on them, to give him a sense of relief that helped him breathe better. Jake didn’t interfere, watching carefully, hands hovering between them, still a bit hunched forward, maybe in an attempt to make himself appear smaller. Piers smiled slightly, seeing the efforts the redhead put in appearing less threatening.

He was in the appartement. The dark shadows in the corner of his eyes were seeping away.

The sniper looked at the other’s hands, focusing on their slight tremble, the way the skin had reddened slightly on the tip of the fingers from the cold. One of his nails was shorter, the one on the right thumb, looked like Muller had bitten it off. There were a few scars, some from deep and painful wounds, it seemed. Some droplets of blood had dried up on the bumps the scars formed. It was hypnotizing, how many details Piers was able to observe. And it’d had the benefit of distracting him from the throbbing panic in his chest.

He worked silently to get his muscles to listen to him, to relax, one by one. It took some time, but Jake stayed there.

After what felt like hours, the fear was reduced to a dull buzzing in the back of his mind, and the only remnants of the nightmare were his sore throat and his trembling legs.

He nodded, not trusting his own voice, and hoping it’d be clear he was feeling better. Jake straightened, now fully towering over the merc. His hands were still between them, like stuck in the air. They both stared, unmoving, save for the shaking of the soldier’s hand.

Piers cleared his throat, and his voice came out rough, it felt like he’d just swallowed shards of
glass -or teeth- :

“Well I’m- Sorry. For- Yeah, waking you up…"

God he was stumbling. But Jake said nothing, so he continued, hating the quiver in his words:

"I’ve…Usually, I don’t have guests so-"

"No it’s good. We’re good. Don’t apologize for having nightmares."

"I don’t-"

Jake looked sternly at him and shut him up with a click of his tongue.

"I dare you to say you didn’t just wake up from a nightmare."  

Piers stared in return, then pushed pass the guy with what he hoped came out as a grateful nod. He just needed terribly for this conversation to end. He started to search around -for what, he couldn’t tell- occupying his hands in a desperate attempt to stop them from trembling violently. Back turned to Jake.

"Now that we’re up, we should just- get going. Where do you want to start the search?"

The redhead didn’t answer, instead frowned as if he didn’t understand the question. Maybe the sudden change in Piers’ behaviour had thrown him off. The ex-lieutenant tried again:

"For Nivans? You still…Want his head on a stick or something?"

That got a short laugh out of Jake.

"Okay, first of all, you want his head on a stick, I want him alive.”

Formalities.

Piers brushed him off with a wave and a dry chuckle. His thoughts were still going too fast for his sluggish mind and the fear of getting caught wasn’t helping.

"Fine, I’m a big bad guy and want to skin him alive. We should- maybe…Um. Maybe try to get back to that tunnel or…Or just uh-"

Jake interrupted, taking a step in his direction, though they were still several feet apart.

"You’re in no condition to crawl back into the sewers, Riley."

"I’m in condition to do whatever I please."

"Oh yeah, so I assume that your extremely steady hands or the fact that you’re stumbling around instead of walking won’t get in the way of…Doing whatever you please."

Oh that fucking smirk. Piers was going to gut him.

He didn’t answer, out of pure spite and not because he didn’t have anything smart to snap back at the moment, simply scowling at the redhead. Jake sighed and took another step forward, putting his hands up in surrender.

"Look, I know you’re capable of handling yourself, but- happens to the best of us, fuckin’…bad dreams." He shrugs. "Some are much worse than others and I think that going back to the people who almost killed us not even 24 hours ago is not a brilliant idea after…"

Somehow, Jake’s tip toeing around the word 'nightmare' had Piers breathing an amused chuckle. The redhead wasn’t saying he was weak. Actually, he was looking after Piers, and even if it was because his only ally around here was the sniper, it still felt nice.

That was a bit pathetic but two years of loneliness and fear in a foreign country will do that to you.

***

Jake’s sympathy had finally convinced Piers that maybe, maybe he needed the rest. The ex-lieutenant wasn’t used to it, though, so he found himself pacing around the room, thinking, with a can of corn in a hand and a spoon in the other. He was mumbling, only interrupting the flow of unintelligible words every few minutes by shoving the spoon in his mouth and chewing anxiously on it, his back turned to the soldier to hide his face. Jake was watching it with an amused smirk, looking a bit too relaxed on the shitty bed, but keeping his mouth shut, knowing better than to make fun of the guy.

After a while, Piers jumped to the highest stack of papers on his desk, searching for the photo he’d found a week ago. Maybe seeing it for the hundredth time would help, who knows…

“When I said rest, what word did you hear Riley?"

"Hm?" Piers responded absentmindedly, the spoon between his teeth through the mask, papers in his hands and can forgotten on the edge of the desk.

"Why can’t you just let it go for a few hours Milo? Whatever your employer is asking, it can wait for a day, no?"

Piers looked up, about to ask something along the lines of ‘what employer?’ before catching himself last moment and biting his lip.

Close to the greatest slip up of his fucking life.

"It can also get done a day sooner."

Jake shrugged.

"You don’t see me worrying that much about catching Nivans and I’ve been sent by the holy captain Chris Redfield."

Piers felt his back straighten. 

Directly under Chris' orders. Chris was hunting him down.

"Well. I bet your captain perfect pays you whether you bring the guy back or not. If I want to be able to afford the fucking luxury of canned vegetables…"

"You’ll get it done. And I will too. Sit down and finish the corn."

Pier shook his head, staying stubbornly on his feet and ignoring his half-finished meal, twirling the spoon in his fingers.

"Well, okay, but have you got any…Lead?"

God, it was a terrible idea, Piers was digging his own grave, wasn’t he? Why was he asking stupid questions? It would not end well for him if their research stayed useless, the soldier would start doubting him.

For some reason, that idea didn’t sit right with him. And it made no sense, because why would he be upset if the guy sent to drag him back to America didn’t like his guts?

"I thought you had a job and didn’t 'waste your time looking for him every second that passes'."

Oh fuck.

"You promised a rifle if I helped you."

Piers tried to maintain his poker face, remembering shortly after he didn’t need to do that because it was hidden behind the mask.

"And your employer won’t get angry if you don’t do what they asked you to do? You seemed quite worried about that two minutes ago."

It was formulated as a question, but it was more of a playful -if not suspicious- jab.

"Well…Our search won’t…Take that much time, will it?"

He cringed at his own word, aware of how unsure they sounded.

"And didn’t we agree last night that you taking off the beanie was what would get you the rifle?"

Piers stopped breathing. Oh he was so fucked.

Jake exhaled deeply, and walked to him again. He decidedly had a problem with personal space.

"Okay. I was a merc before. I know how this job works and you…Obviously don’t."

Before Piers could argue back, he continued, raising his voice to avoid being interrupted.

"I read the paperwork on your desk" he pointed at it vaguely, "and that doesn’t look like a report to an employer. Now, if you could tell me what you’re really doing here…”

Jake let the words float in the air while Piers began to scramble for something, anything, that he could reply to make sense of the whole situation. He didn’t have much but the truth. Or at least, part of it.

“I’ve seen, first hand, the damage of bio-terrorism in this world. The horror of it all, and how defenceless people usually are against it. It- It pains me that this country has already been through hell and- and now it’s starting again."

He was looking at the window, seeing the streets fill up as the sun rose. He pointed at the sight, desperate to make his point.

"Those civilians never asked for this! I can’t let it happen. So I do what I can. One man isn’t much, and I can’t do miracles, but I’m-…Trying."

Jake was looking at him. Unconvinced, apparently, if his raised eyebrow was anything to go by. That angered Piers more than it should’ve had, and he began to back the soldier up against the wall, satisfaction blooming in his chest at the way the redhead hurriedly took multiple steps back while he marched forward.

"You don’t believe me, fine, but you don’t get to act like you just fucking know I’m telling bullshit, because I’m not! You’re lucky I’m not kicking you ou-"

"I believe you."

That got him to shut up and instantly deflate.

"What?" He said eloquently.

"I believe you. With the way you were talking about that boy next door…It makes sense."

Piers was so certain he looked downright lovestruck behind his goggles, and he was suddenly very grateful for them. The goggles couldn’t, however, hide the small, breathy, laugh that escaped him, and certainly not the gasp at the feeling of his hair being gently tugged behind his ear.

"You actually…Want to protect these people and…I admire that. Believe me, I do."

Jake waited for a second before adding:

"Also, the anger makes you look kind of hot, and um…I really would’ve kissed you but- This is getting in the way."

 He said, as he pulled slightly at the mask, smirking.

It took Piers exactly two second to make a choice.

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close."

He repeated, louder, with a slight laugh when Jake hastily did as told, seemingly understanding what Piers was offering.

The sniper took his sweet time collecting himself, ignoring the voice in his head telling him this was a terrible idea. It was, but he hadn’t felt human in an eternity and that felt like…A glimpse of who he was before. He hadn’t been totally insensitive to the ex-merc’s charm in China and Edonia, and now he got to be human while also satisfying his past self who’d been driven crazy by Jake’s antics.

So, he slowly pushed the goggles down to hang around his neck, appreciating how the anticipation got a shudder out of Jake, and how it made his eyes flutter behind his eyelids. Then the mask. It was a black neck warmer, which he also slowly pulled down. The cold air hitting his face made him feel particularly exposed, and while he got closer to the redhead, he gently placed a gloved hand over both his eyes. The man said nothing.

Their breaths were mingling, teasing each other. A few tingles went through Piers’ body. He pressed forward, shivering.

***

Jake could feel the scars that the merc had been talking about. They were curling around Milo’s lips and Muller would be damned if he said they didn’t feel amazing against his own. The hand on his eyes was warm, even with the glove covering it, almost like the merc was suffering from a fever.

Jake was tempted to push, to trace the other’s face with his own hand, but he knew it’d only break the moment, and he didn’t want to lose that warmth against him, so he just lets his fingers run up and down Riley’s back, revelling in the sigh it forces out of him. It makes Jake bolder, and he pushes forward, making the smaller man tilt his head backward so they can keep on kissing.

When the lack of air becomes a problem, they draw back for a moment, Jake particularly aware of all the overwhelming sensations on his skin as his eyes remain closed and covered. It’s the merc who initiates contact again, and Jake doesn’t have the time to think about supressing the needy sound at the back of his throat before it’s out. Milo has the audacity to smile. He can feel him smiling, the smug fucker. It’s only fair, then, if Jake bites his lower lip in retaliation, and if it earns him a surprised moan and makes him smirk, too, then it’s just him repaying his debt.

Milo’s breathing gets more erratic by the second, and Jake’s grip on his clothes get tighter. Their bodies move slightly against one another, barely, surely not enough for Jake to get satisfied with it but, he knows he won’t get much more with the other man covered in tactical gear.

The fourth time they separate to breathe, Piers takes a tiny step back, putting a definitive end to their moment. Muller hears him putting his mask on one-handed, as the other hand is still over his eyes. He laughs quietly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere around them.

“Do you think you’ll be able to trust me to keep my eyes closed the next time we do that?"

Piers chuckles. It send pinpricks down Jake’s spine, his inability to see making the sound echo in his head.

"The next time?"

"Well, it was a pleasant experience…"

He hears the merc shift a bit, then put his hand away. Jake opens his eyes, disappointed to see that Milo’s face is completely covered again.

"When I trust you to keep your eyes closed, you won’t need to…have them…closed."

Jake tries not to feel to giddy at the use of the word “when” rather than “if”.

"Can’t wait."

Milo looks like he’s about to smart-mouth his way out of the rather vulnerable corner he found himself in when a scream resonates outside the flat. Then another, from a different voice, and it soon turns into a cacophony of terrified cries.

Chapter Text

The both of them made a quick job a of rushing outside to get a good look at what caused the panic. A street away from Milo’s appartement complex, was a J’avo. Well. Some kind of grotesque replica of a J’avo, with bulbous mutation all over its body. It was so weighed down by its deformed body that it could only stagger forward, emitting raspy sounds of pain and growling aggressively at anything coming too close. Jake fired his Elephant Killer three times, directly hitting the creature’s head, before it fell forward and stopped moving and whining altogether.

They didn’t have to consult each other, both men marching carefully towards the mutant to examine it. Milo eyed the mutations with some kind of repulsed interest. Or maybe it was anguish, Jake couldn’t tell. Anyway, it was dead, and some inhabitants were starting to gather around the spectacle its corpse offered. Milo looked at the circle around them -people not daring to come closer to the J’avo- with some kind of anxious twitching in his hands and turned to Jake, carefully suppressing any emotion from his voice:

“If you help me, we can interrogate them. See where it came from."

"You think they know anything?"

Riley shrugged.

"Worth a shot.”

Jake nodded in response, approaching the closest adult-looking person he could see and asking them in the most amicable voice he could muster after seeing that monster's blood leaking all over the pavement.

“Did you see where that thing came from?"

The young man shrugged, trying to look around Jake to get a glimpse of the J'avo.

"No, just heard the screams and came to check out what was happening."

"Do you know anyone who could’ve seen how it got there?"

Jake followed the direction the Edonian had waved in, still not looking at him.

"Uh...Yeah, that old woman over there. I think she’s the one who saw it first."

"Thanks.”                                                                        

Milo caught the person pointing at the woman, and even if he most likely hadn’t understood anything to their interaction, he followed Jake closely when the soldier walked in long strides over to the disgusted-looking Edonian.

When she saw them approach, her expression changed to cautious suspicion. Maybe they looked a tiny bit too intimidating with their guns out ant Milo’s damn mask and goggles.

“Someone told me you saw this thing arrive here."

"I did. Crawled up and out of the sewers, that freak. Thought I’d seen it all but…Clearly, the devil’s not done yet with us."

"I wouldn’t put it past humans to do that kind of thing."

She dismissed his answer with a vague movement of her hand:

"Doesn't make much of a difference, does it?"

Jake shook his head slowly.

"You think it could’ve come from the American merc camp?"

She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, as if she doubted he wasn't making fun of her. Apparently deciding he wasn't, she answered slowly:

"…The American camp? It’s been deserted for…What, ten years? Foreigners don’t come here to make money anymore."

The soldier frowned, surprise making his whole face scrunch up.

"Deserted? Completely empty?"

She nodded absentmindedly, eyes back to the unmoving form of the dead monster.

"No one has been there for a very long time. It’s already been looted, though, if that’s what you’re thinking about."

Jake shook his head, thoughts racing.

"Uh…Yeah, no. Thank you."

He was about to turn away when she grabbed his arm and her eyes were suddenly very sombre. Milo tensed up and adjusted his weapon in his hand. If she saw it, she didn’t let it show.

"Get us rid of this…Plague. Whoever did this, make sure you rip them to pieces.”

Jake nodded. He understood. This country had suffered so much during the last century, the inhabitants were tired to the bone. The old woman seemed satisfied with that and let go of him.

He got a few feet away from her before Riley caught up and spoke in a hushed tone.

“What was that about? Why’d she grab you?"

"She asked me to ‘rip to pieces’ whoever created this mess."

Jake responded motioning to the beast with a nonchalant gesture. Milo halted for a second.

"Oh. And- And what did she say about where it came from?"

"Out the sewers."

"Figures…Anything else important?"

"No.”

Milo nodded to himself.

Jake was starting to…Doubt he’d help him find his target. What was that about the American camp? What hadn’t he told Jake? Surely the subject came up at some point and Milo chose to keep the information to himself.

And no American camp meant no American.
Well, no Americans plural, but…

***

Jake was onto him. He knew. He fucking knew, and he would drag him back to Hell.

It was in his eyes, the way he kept throwing glances in his direction, squinting like he was trying to see through the mask. As if he didn’t already know what he’d find under it.

The wisest choice would be to shoot him. Point blank, brains splattering everywhere, staining his goggles, making his mask humid and smell like iron. Anything so they wouldn’t peel his skin off his bones again.

He could choke him, he could bash his skull in with his weapon’s butt, or even just hit him unconscious then dump him on the side of the road, and hope the redhead wouldn’t get back to him.

He looked behind him and the thoughts stopped.

He should, he should, he should.

But he couldn’t.

What good was it to protect all these people from mercenaries and bio-weapons if he had to murder this man?

He turned back around, kept walking. Straight ahead, with the heavy thought in mind that they both knew.

Piers’ vision was foggy, his brain unhelpfully providing images of his time in captivity, keeping his steps unsteady.

“What are you planning to do?"

Jake’s voice made him jump, and he had to feign readjusting his goggles for a second to regain control of his thoughts.

"Go back to the sewers. Burn down whatever I find there."

He surprised himself with his calm and collected -if not a little high-pitched- voice.

"You think we’ll be able to get pass the guards?" Jake asked, sounding more than unsure about it.

"I don’t know about ‘we’ but I’m going to get pass them just fine."

Piers was still marching firmly in the direction of the nearest manhole, back straight and legs rigid. He had a feeling the ex-merc wouldn’t let him get away that easily and he braced himself for whatever the man would throw at him, waiting for threats, a fight or even a gun to his head. The almost pleading tone flooded him with warm relief, a sensation he tried desperately to bury in the back of his mind:

"C’mon, let me help."

"Why would you? And why would I let you?"

"Can’t hurt, and I might find something out there to get a lead to my target.”

Piers almost scoffed that it actually could hurt very much, but chose to keep his mouth closed, certain that he wouldn’t be able to hold back the confused cry of ‘why are you pretending you don’t know I’m going to fucking lose my mind’ and it wouldn’t get him anywhere. He settled for an understanding nod.

***

“This isn’t getting us anywhere Riley."

Piers stubbornly kept his gaze forward.

"We haven’t reached the end of the tunnel."

"No we haven’t, and I’m starting to think the end of this damned tunnel is underneath fucking Germany!"

"I’m not going back out to the surface without finding the damn source!"

Jake sighed so hard it made his voice rumble and echo around them.

"And why the fuck not?!"

Piers whirled around, hands impossibly tight on his rifle, barely concealing the incredulous whine escaping his mouth.

" Because-!"

You’ll drag me back there

I won’t be able to run away

This is the only thing that kept me going for two years

"… I can’t stop after going all this way."

"We can fucking stop!"

Piers scoffed and started walking again.

"Alright, stop it with that ‘we’ thing. It’s been me for long enough, you chose to tag along a week ago."

"And yet I’m here, following you into the sewers, running after a lab you still haven’t found!”

The ex-lieutenant didn’t even respond this time, choosing to ignore the ache in his legs from walking knee deep in the water for too long. He hears the splashing behind him, indicating that Jake was still following, keeping his mouth shut.

It didn’t last long of course, because the universe hated Piers and it decided being infected with the C-virus wasn’t annoying enough. An angry edonian redheaded prick, however, seemed to be.

“This is getting quite fucking ridiculous now."

"No one’s keeping you here."

Jake jumped forward and grabbed his shoulder, forcibly turning the sniper around.

"Yes, you are, because if you get a bullet in your thick skull I’ll-…"

His grip on Piers’ shoulder tightened, and Jake didn’t notice it, too preoccupied with his unfinished sentence, visibly searching for the right words.

"I still need your help to find Nivans."

It was Piers’ turn to grip Jake’s shoulders, but with much less care, as he yanked him closer, seething and forcing words through his teeth:

"You stop acting fucking stupid Muller, I swear I’ll punch your nose in-"

As he slammed Jake into a huge door with the words “maintenance, do not open” written across it, its hinges shrieked and detached themselves from the wall, sending the redhead flying backwards, taking the other with him.

They fell heavily on the concrete on the other side of the door, Jake groaning from both impacts on his back and ribs -the floor, then Piers- and immediately reaching to the back of his head, searching for blood. His hand came back dry.

The sniper -now holding Jake’s suspenders- wasn’t moving from his spot, looking around with an incredulous grimace.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"What is happeing right now?"

The redhead slurred, catching Piers’ eyes, who got up like he’d just remembered the soldier’s presence. He chose to look around nervously, rather than see Jake get on his feet painfully slowly, the broken door creaking under him.

"This is straight out of a movie. Or like. A Silent Hill game, what the fuck?”

Jake looked like he was going to make a comment about Piers’ culture when he -finally- took in their surrounding: tiles on the walls, another door (closed with an electronic lock this time) and a red and white umbrella tagged on the floor.

"Well that’s an unexpected turn of events. And here I was, thinking we were having a homoerotic figh-"

"Would you shut your mouth!"

Piers interrupted him with what he hoped was a collected and vaguely annoyed tone. He was grateful the tips of his ears weren’t visible because they were probably burning red. Since he was not dwelling on that, he approached the other door in the room -the one still attached to the wall- to find it wasn’t locked.

The pad on the side was open, the cover had been unscrewed, and someone had messed around with the wires inside, apparently enough for the lock to be permanently broken. Piers pulled the door open, and immediately caught the distant cacophony of a fight.

He slowly turned to Jake, hand still on the handle, and watched the hesitant look on the redhead’s face. His mouth was twitching at the corners, eyes fleeting rapidly between Piers’ expectant gaze and his hand.

The sniper seemed to sense he was about to suggest they don’t go in, so he turned around much too fast for his poor neck, and practically ran inside. It felt childish, but he wasn’t backing down now. Again, he heard footsteps behind him, assuring him he hadn’t been left alone.

Following the sounds of fire weapons and the cries of wounded soldiers, they finally found the hall where the fight was taking place. Now close enough to do so, the both of them were starting to hear the inhuman roars and whines of J’avos.

They had changed since the mess from a few years ago. And visibly not in a good way. The whines seemed to be from constant pain, and looking at the bent bones tearing their skin, the creatures seemed to be in a great deal of said pain. A few men, all dressed in dark green, were lying on the ground, scattered around, gaping holes in their body. The claws on the J’avos shone a brighter red at the horrific sight of the wounds. The monsters weren’t fast, but almost indestructible, taking rounds after rounds, always getting back up.

Their arms, and the claws at the end of them were…Oddly similar to…

Piers’ breath caught in his throat, his right shoulder shifted, and it took a few seconds for him to get air in his lungs again. He threw a glance at the other man, who was…not looking pleased with the presence of the BSAA agents? Piers frowned, intrigued by the complicated grimace on the soldier’s face. It was gone in a few seconds, and none of them said a word about it.
Bringing his attention back to the mess in front of them, he was starting to think that, if they were sly enough, they could worm their way through the fight to search for anyone still human in the facility they could get information out of. 

Of course, they had no such luck, because the J’avos’ enhanced senses had the duo spotted in seconds, and a small group of infected was already limping towards them. Fortunately, as they were at the top of a flight of stairs, their attackers had trouble getting to them, stumbling on the steps, crashing on top of each other, shrieking every time they collided with the railing.

Jake was able to kick them back down a few times until others came, drawn by the noise and there were suddenly too many of them to get close enough to push them down. During that time, Piers had managed to neutralize two of them, but he doubted it was worth the bullets. He’d practically used up all of them, and too many monsters were still standing.

They shared a look and ran the opposite direction, weaving through the soldiers, Jake barely sparing them a nod of recognition. They were much faster than the J’avos, and stopped, realizing they could afford the time to discuss their next move. They were both breathing heavily, and had to wait for a few seconds before forcing the words out.

“Riley, tell me I’m not going to have to drag you out of there."

Jake’s voice was low, but harsh. Piers hesitated.

"You’re- Listen, now that we’re here…"

The soldier let out an incredulous cry:

"You think you’ll be able to get intel out of this fucking mess?! Those things obviously got out of hand, I doubt there’s a single alive scientist left in here!

"Why don’t you stick with your little friends from the BSAA and leave me alone!"

Jake turned to fully face him, having already caught his breath and looking two seconds away from throwing a fist fight.

"My little- Are you being dense on purpose?! Do I-"

"Am I being dense on purpose?! You’ve got fucking nerve Muller because all you’ve done since that J’avo at the surface was play dumb! Don’t pretend you’re not going to fucking drag me to- to-…That you’re not here to-“

Piers wasn’t out of breath from running this time. The panic was starting to grip his lungs with its slender fingers, squeezing wheezes out of him. He took a step back, trying desperately to hide that it was because he’d lost balance after his head had started spinning. Jake extended a hand between them -to catch Piers or to shake some sense into him, it seemed like he wasn’t sure- but his fingers closed on nothing, when something slammed in the sniper’s right side, violently sending him collapsing on a nearby wall. Jake screamed, something raw and terrified, lurching forward reflexively. But Piers was already getting back up.

***

His mask had been torn to shreds, his goggles lying at his feet and part of his right sleeve was caught in the claws of the J’avo who’d tried to take him out.

There were numerous scratches on Piers’ face, but they were smoking, slowly closing up, as his exposed arm was beginning to turn an alarming shade of red. Piers fell back to his knees at the sickening crack of his own bones, which were starting to grow out from under his skin, throat so torn up from screaming he tasted blood.

The creature that had hit him was stepping towards him, unsteady on its feet. Jake stumbled forward too, just in time to see Nivans dig his claws in the unsuspecting J’avo with a pained cry he couldn’t bother to bite down. The monster was reduced to a shrieking mass of flesh, extremities turning black, convulsing violently. After a few seconds, it fell to the ground, burnt from the inside, a wisp of smoke escaping from between its lips.

Piers’ eyes stayed fixed on the limp body at his feet for an eternity, fingers -claws- twitching, and when he looked up, Jake gulped back the sinking feeling in his guts. The pure terror he was reading in the snipers’ mismatched eyes was chilling, especially since the man looked glued to the spot, completely unmoving. The cracks of electricity echoed inside Jake’s skull, blinding him each time they illuminated Piers’ wounded body, which was healing at an inhuman rate. The soldiers around them were starting to realize what had just unfolded before their eyes, and a murmur was slowly replacing the sounds of the fight. A few “Is that Nivans?” or “Why isn’t Wesker junior fucking moving?”.

Jake made sure he had Piers’ full attention before he mouthed “go”, eyes wide, hoping to get the urgency of his command to the sniper. Fortunately, the man seemed to have enough of his mind left to understand and obey the order, and there were not enough BSAA agents aware of the situation for him to get stopped on his way out. No J’avo approached him, not even throwing a glance his way, still fighting the other men in the hall.

Jake, however, had his fair share of J’avo lurching at him, and no matter how desperately he tried to follow Piers, he couldn’t make it to the stairs in time. He could only watch in horror as two men, closer to the exit than he was, ran after the ex-lieutenant. He had a few minutes on them, and it was the only thing that kept Jake from trying to shoot them. He was too far away anyway, he’d get killed by the others.

***

His throat was burning from the pained pants he couldn’t keep in anymore. They were ricocheting harshly on the brick walls, covering the watery sounds of his frantic running, unbalanced and heavy. The extra weight on his right arm felt alien. It hadn’t shifted that much since he last escaped from the BSAA labs. It was sending waves of pain up his shoulder, right into his neck, forcing his jaw shut, muscles spasming. He could hear the two soldiers running after him, could smell them, even, and the rancid odour of desperation and cruelty wasn’t helping him breathe any better.

He went up with the first ladder he saw glistening in the faint light, and was greeted with the night’s fresh air, which soothed the burning under his skin. He didn’t take the time to enjoy it, though, and took off, running again, dropping the manhole lid heavily at his feet, not bothering with replacing it correctly. Sprinting like a madman through the street, he regretted walking so far away from his appartement. Damn him for not knowing when to give up.

He distantly notes the numb feeling in his legs, sticking out from the rest of his scorching body. As he keeps fleeing, he feels his right arm slowly return to its human form, the bones retracting under his skin, and the skin losing its concerning red tint. By the time he gets at the bottom of his building, he’s certain he has lost the two soldiers, and his arm is almost back to normal. He practically flies up the stairs, barrelling through his door and locking it with frantic hands.

He can feel the terrible tremors running through him, and barely gets to the bathroom before emptying his stomach, dry heavingfor a few minutes, still shaking uncontrollably, desperate to finally catch his breath.

He cleans up in a daze, rinsing his mouth more times than necessary, the horrible taste of bile clinging to the back of his throat.

He gets back to the living room when he no longer feels like he’s going to be sick, sitting on the mattress, his back to the wall, watching the last remnants of C-virus disappear before him, the faint cracking of electricity burning his eyes in a delicious kind of way for his numb brain.

Looking out the window for hours and waiting for the sparks to stop, Piers wishes he’d never picked up a gun in his life, the loneliness engulfing him, the virus buzzing in his chest.

Chapter Text

He’d desperately hoped that today, they would leave him alone. Usually, after putting him through a fight, they let him recover for a day or two. Especially since he’d broken down on the last one, erupting in uncontrollable sobs after killing an infected dog by pulling at its lower jaw as hard as he could. The blood had splattered everywhere, he’d gotten some in his mouth, and his right arm refused to mutate back to its -almost- human form. It had been too much. His brain shut down, he cried his throat raw and let whoever entered the room carelessly drag him away to his cell.

They called it a bedroom, but the tiles on the walls and the monochrome furniture told otherwise. It was cold, because the C-virus could be activated by too much heat, they’d discovered, so he fell asleep freezing every night. 

But his little display of emotion hadn’t been enough to deter them. Lately, he’d noticed some kind of frenzy that hadn’t been there before, like they were in a hurry to get some answers from his body. That meant he couldn’t rest properly anymore, and on the morning following the fight, they were already dragging him out to another chamber. He wondered if today it would be electricity. Last week, it’d been fire, and the week before blunt force trauma. So maybe today he’d have to suffer through various levels of electric shock.

Often, he wondered if the time he’d served in the BSAA had changed -at least a tiny bit- the way they treated him, or if he suffered as much as the other prisoners he heard screaming from time to time.

A prisoner of the BSAA. Piers Nivans. Golden boy Piers Nivans, with the squeaky-clean record, the perfect reports and irreproachable behaviour, prisoner of the BSAA.

When they got to the room, he realized that he’d been right. A chair waited for him, with straps open for his limbs to get trapped in.

Everything from the moment they entered to the moment they started the shocks was a blur, his brain shutting down again in an attempt to protect him. Soon though, it would be woken up by adrenaline and the C-Virus trying to mutate Piers’ body to keep it alive.

And woken up it was, leaving him to scream in agony for what felt like entire days.

***

Jake was standing in front of Piers’ door, blood on his boots, a BSAA-issued handgun in his holster.

It was smaller than the Elephant Killer and annoyingly moving around, but he’d lost his personal weapon in the sewers, while pushing an angry soldier’s knife away from his throat. He had to make sure the man couldn’t follow him in there, and the only way to do that had been to leave his lifeless body floating in the sewers’ water, along with the Elephant Killer.

He realized he’d been standing there for quite some time, and took a step forward, hand extended, reaching for the doorknob when he felt something pull him back. A small hand was caught in his long coat.

“You stay there, traitor."

Jake turned his head to the side and his eyes bore into the little boy’s -Lukass, if he remembered correctly- and gently disentangled him from his coat. But the boy stepped in front of him, a dagger in his other hand, like a barrier between the soldier and the door.

-"Don’t. He came back hurt an hour ago. What did you do?"

Jake scoffed. He admired Lukass, but he wasn’t discussing this mess with a little boy in this dirty hallway.

"What do you think you’re doing, with that butterknife of yours?"

"I asked first."

The redhead paused, thinking.

"We met people I…Used to work with."

"And they did it?"

"Mmnot exactly. Look it’s complicated, let me…I need to get to P-…Milo."

The boy stood his ground. Jake sighed, shifting his weight from one feet to the other. It wasn’t like him to get fidgety like that. The stern gaze of Lukass was like looking in a mirror. He’d looked awfully like the young boy, with old but clean clothes, and a strong resolve in his eyes.

"You know, when I was your age, I lived inside a building that looked exactly like this one."

Jake laughed breathlessly but continued talking.

"God I sound like an old woman.. I lived with my mother. Was as poor as you are, didn’t trust a lot of people. I had very few friends, but I was loyal to them and…I’m not going to start stabbing them in the back now. I think you know I wouldn’t betray Milo. I know he helps you all. I-…I couldn’t, even if I wanted to."

Jake was met with silence once again. He was starting to think the boy would never answer when he opened his mouth.

"You were sent here to capture him, weren’t you?"

The soldier tensed up.

"I was."

"But you won’t."

Jake breathed a relieved sigh. They were getting there.

"I was not-…I won’t.”

Lukass stepped aside, fist unclenching around his dagger. He nodded to Jake, and the redhead almost wished he hadn’t, because now he had to get in the appartement and face…Well, he didn’t know what, be he was sure it wouldn’t be pleasant.

He slowly went for the doorknob again as the boy retreated in his home. The door was locked. He knocked gently, calling out in a soft, almost whispered way:

“Milo…Piers? Just- Could you open?”

He waited patiently for the sounds of the latch and the key turning. When they finally came, he waited some more, before slowly pushing the door open, revealing the wall, a corner of the mattress in the living room and…

He stopped abruptly when he spotted Piers. His rifle trained on Jake, hands terrifyingly steady.

The man had a heinous look in his eyes. Without his goggles, he was very expressive, Jake realized. He’d still took the time to replace his neck gaiter, which was no doubt hiding a nasty scowl. Jake closed the door behind him, not turning his back to Piers, who pointedly readjusted his grip on the weapon at the movement.

Once the lock clicked loudly again, Jake raised his hands in surrender. Piers’ eyes hadn’t flicked away once, and he looked like he could keep the gun aimed at the redhead all day. His right sleeve was torn to shreds, there were bruises on the side of his neck, and he looked like he was consciously keeping his breaths deep and regular, like forcing down a terrible panic. Of course, his face only betrayed his anger, and Jake’s throat felt tighter at the thought. The sudden and raspy sound of his voice almost made Jake jump:

“The gun.”

The soldier nodded, sliding the pistol out of his holster and throwing it at Piers’ feet, who kicked it behind him, standing his ground and not looking like he’d stop pointing that damn rifle at Jake’s face anytime soon.

“They…They didn’t follow me here."

No response. Not even a waver in his stance. Jake took a step forward, nearly wincing at the sound of his boots on the old wooden planks.

"Come on Piers I-"

"You, stay back.”

Piers’ voice was trembling with white, hot rage, so overwhelming that Jake reflexively took the step back.

“Okay, okay. See? Not comin’ any closer."

"I should shoot you."

A few seconds of silence.

"…What?"

Jake watched Piers swallow heavily, loosen and tighten his grip on the rifle rhythmically a few time, before steadying himself.

"I should blow your fucking brains out, Muller. You’re lucky I didn’t do it the moment you stepped inside this hellhole of a city.”

It was the most he’d talked since Jake had arrived, and the redhead tried to ignore the fact that it wasn’t a particularly good sign considering what he was saying. He just had to focus on the fact that the ex-lieutenant seemed inclined to talk now.

“Why should you?"

"I thought we were done playing dumb."

"I’m not playing anything."

"You’ve called me P- You’ve said my name two times now, surely you’ve realized I’m the one you’re supposed to take back to America."

Jake was about to cut in when Piers started talking again, a humourless light in his eyes:

"What was it you said? 'He’ll probably not like what they’ll do to him over there.'? I’m quite certain I wouldn’t."

That got Jake to frown and shake his hand, irritated at Piers’ sharp tone.

"Has it occurred to you that, at the time, I thought you were a random mercenary, and that I could’ve been lying?"

Piers took a step forward, his gun still pointed to Jake’s face. The redhead jerked back.

"Lying? You weren’t sent there to put me back in-?! Stop fucking bullshitting me Muller!"

"I’m not! I’m- Do you think Redfield would actually want to see you back in captivity?! You think that your beloved captain would want that?!"

"I was infected! I am infected!" Piers ignored the way his voice cracked, screaming louder instead. "He should’ve put me down back at the facility rather than let them do what they did to me!

"What, shoot you in between the eyes like a dog and get it over with? You think he knew what they would do once you touched land?!"

"How would you know?!"

Piers hands trembled on the rifle, his eyes suddenly a lot more wet than they were a second ago.

"He’s been beating himself up for three years Piers! You think that your escape was entirely you?! Why would your cell have been open?! How did you not encounter anyone until you were already in the armoury?!"

Jake stepped forward, Piers backwards. It seemed the sniper had been stunned into silence.

"He barely sleeps, he’s been sending me across the whole world, following any lead! I’ve searched for you in China, practically every European country, in Nigeria, and south Africa! Do you want the entire list?!"

Piers was gaping at him.

"And he hasn’t done it to get you back in the lab with those sick people! The moment I call him to say I’ve found you, he steps down and runs the fuck away from the BSAA! It has been corrupted for god knows how long, but he wouldn’t leave until he knew we could keep you safe from them! He’s the one who’s been lying to them for all these years!"

Piers blinked, a tear fell from his left eye, catching in the fabric of his mask, darkening it. Jake chest ached but he refrained from stepping towards the other man.

"He-…He got me out?"

The redhead nodded very slowly, finally lowering his hands.

"I’m not here to put you back in hell, Piers. I promise you I’m not."

Nivans shook his head frantically, but lowered the rifle between them and retreated in the living room with long strides, on trembling legs.

"I don’t believe you."

He muttered in a hurried voice, like he wanted to get the words out of his throat before they got stuck. Jake answered from behind him, staying by the door.

"It’s the only solution you have. To believe me."

- I could shoot you. I should-

Jake followed after him, with a shake of his head.

"But you won’t, you’ve already proven that you won’t.”

That got a sharp intake of breath out of Piers. He was nervously clenching his hands on the rifle, but his feet were glued to where he stood, in the middle of the room. Jake watched carefully the growing panic in Piers’ mismatched eyes, which were fleeting all around them, never stopping on the redhead for too long, instead dancing around in his general direction. Jake chose to speak up in a hushed tone, trying not to startle the ex-lieutenant:

“Maybe you could let go of the rifle."

Piers’ eyes finally stopped, staring in Jake’s own with an intensity the redhead found hard not to crumble under. He bared his teeth with a menacing grimace:

"I’d rather not."

"What, in case I try something funny?" Jake scoffed, annoyed at the sniper’s stubborn behaviour.

"Yes, exactly Muller. In case you try something funny."

Jake clenched his jaw, holding back a flinch at the sound of his last name spit with such venom.

"That’s ridiculous I-"

"You what?! You weren’t sent here to do that? You’d never do that to me? You would disobey Redf-" Piers paused for a very brief moment, then continued in a quieter tone, but one that still trembled with barely concealed fear and anger. "Yeah, I want to talk to him. Give me your satellite phone.

"He’ll get compromised if they hear him talking to you."

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, as Piers pointed the rifle right back to Jake’s face and started screaming hoarsely at him;

"I don’t fucking care! Do it now!”

Jake took a step back at that, fear finally striking him. He still hesitated before getting out the phone and handing it to the shaking lieutenant, who grabbed it with his left hand, tossing the rifle to the side and unsheathing his knife with the right. He got to Jake in two strides, pressing the blade against his neck, staring him into silence then fiddling with the phone until he got what he wanted.

It rang. Two times exactly, before Chris picked up, his tired voice making Piers visibly frown:

“News, Jake?"

"Oh yes, I’ve got fucking news."

The other side fell silent, the only sound getting to them being the breathing of the captain, which soon turned into hushed words:

"…Piers?"

"Precisely." The lieutenant gulped down the bile he felt rising in his throat at the sound of Redfield’s voice, instead latching onto his anger, biting into it like a stubborn dog. "You mind telling me why I’ve got an ex-mercenary in my living room claiming you’re ready to betray the fucking BSAA?"

Jake scoffed: “That’s rich coming from a man who’s currently a merc.” The blade pressing harder in the tender skin besides his jugular stunned him into silence again.

"You…Where- Are you with him right now? What’s happening?"

"He found me. And he’s -" a tense pause, a nervous twitching in his lips- "he said you…You helped me to escape. Did he tell the truth?"

"Piers it’s…Jake is only-"

"Did he lie to me, captain?"

Chris exhaled harshly on the other end, then his tone shifted slightly, losing its too-gentle lilt:

"He did not lie to you, lieutenant. Now…I need to cut this conversation short I’m afraid, because they no doubt heard that, and I cannot stay put until my men come to arrest me. If you’ll excuse me Piers…"

There was another pause, then Chris added:

"Please listen to Jake. He doesn’t want to hurt you, and you’ll both need to get out of wherever you are.”

With that, the phone beeped in Piers’ hand, and the conversation was over. The sniper stayed unmoving, his blade still pressed to Jake’s throat, almost hard enough to draw blood. Thoughts were swirling behind his eyes, as he struggled the process the short conversation and its implications. The redhead gulping down the mix of fear and arousal in his guts seemed to shake Piers out of his own mind, as he drew back his blade taking a few steps back to gently put it on his desk.

“Satisfied?"

Jake asked, not able to keep the cockiness out of his voice nor his smile. Piers answered with an annoyed stare, his jaw clenching beneath the mask. Jake relented, dropping the smirk and pushing himself off the wall, walking forward slowly.

"Chris is right. I don’t want to hurt you, and you have proof of it now."

The ex-lieutenant simply nodded, teeth visibly still grinding together. During the short amount of time it took him to lift his eyes from his own feet to Jake’s face, the other man had stepped forward again, and was standing too close to Piers liking. However, no matter how much the sniper told himself he didn’t like the proximity, he just stood there…Expecting something, though he didn’t know what.

Jake brought a hand up, cupping Piers’ jaw through the mask, a thoughtful look in his eyes as he rubbed his thumb against the fabric.

“Would you let me see your face?"

Piers almost flinched. He closed his eyes, unable to fight off the urge to lean into the touch. He responded in a rough and strangled tone, almost a whisper.

"You’ve already seen it."

Jake shook his head gently when he answered, voice low:

"Not properly. You were injured, afraid."

The lieutenant’s eyes opened again at that, albeit slowly, and rose to Jake’s own, as if searching for some kind if dishonesty. The redhead felt like he’d said something wrong, but Piers hadn’t moved, simply looked into Jake’s soul with those piercing eyes of his. The white one caught light in an unnatural way, and the skin around it had been stretched by the scars, leaving it wide and open while the hazel one’s eyelid drooped slightly out of exhaustion.

"I haven’t taken off the mask in a long time…"

It wasn’t a no.

Piers didn’t move, but it wasn’t a no so neither did Jake, waiting for the sniper to make his choice. He was still trembling from the residual terror and anger, and Jake waited until the tremors stopped.

"You did. I just had my eyes closed. What difference does it make now?"

Piers glanced up, amused at the way Jake tried to not make it sound like he was begging, a light smile playing on his lips.

"You’re right.”

The sniper gently pushed Jake’s hand away from his face, so he could grab the edge of his neck gaiter, pulling it down agonizingly slowly. For some reason, the redhead found that incredibly more intimate than if Piers had been undressing any other part of himself. He could hear the soft sound of fabric sliding off skin, then grazing against the lieutenant’s shirt. While Jake had followed the movement with his eyes -which were now gliding along the curve of Piers’ throat- the sniper hadn’t stopped staring at the other man’s face, looking attentively, noting every twitch of his eyebrows, every time his pupils expanded slightly. Nothing going unnoticed to the ex-soldier’s trained gaze.

Once Jake had drank enough of the sight of Piers’ neck, his eyes jumped back up to the scars. The ones above the nose first, that he’d already seen, then the ones around the mouth he’d only got a glance at, back in the sewers. It looked much different without Piers’ mouth being distorted by fear and pain. Jake could observe all he wanted the way the right corner of Piers’ lips was permanently kept up, pulled back enough to show a glint of white teeth. How the old wound that cut right through his cheekbone had sunken in while healing, leaving a pale trail on a rosy patch of skin.

Piers smiled under the scrutiny. Jake felt his heart skip a beat, eyes still trained on the sniper’s lips and the way his smirk made everything shift: the sharp teeth now fully visible, the crook of his lips twisted in a delightful way.

It was Piers’ turn to bring his hand up to Jake’s face, thumb resting just under the redhead’s eye. The sniper inched closer, still terribly slowly, mouth barely open, and when Jake detached his gaze from it, it was to find the other already looking straight at his eyes, some kind of confident cockiness in his stare that made Jake’s chest ignite with something pushing him to surge forward, slowness be damned. He barely resisted the urge, eyes fleeting to the other’s lips again, and watching the distance close.

When the contact eventually came, it sent a shock of electricity through Jake’s spine despite the fact that it was merely a brush. He pulled back, barely a centimetre between them, then tilted his head to the side and leaned forward again.
This time, it felt nothing like a brush. Piers lips were firmly pressed to his, the scars grating against his skin in a toe-curling way. The kiss had an ashy taste to it, something akin to gunpowder and sweat. Neither of them would’ve traded it for anything else. After licking lightly across Piers’ lips, which remained closed, the redhead locked his fingers in his belt loops, pulling him closer suddenly, relishing in the honest-to-God whine it drew from the other, whose hands clenched around his jaw, middle finger pressing against that spot just below his ear, sending shivers across his whole back.

Taking advantage of the hold he had on Piers’ hips, Jake pushed forward until the sniper was pressed against the desk and could lean back on it, parting his legs so the redhead could stand between them. He knew he had a few inches on the ex-lieutenant, and their position now allowed him to loom even more above him, forcing him to tilt his head backwards even more to be able to keep kissing Jake.

When they drew back for breath, both gasped desperately against each other, Jake’s hips twitching forward at a particularly raspy growl from Piers. He was then able to feel how the kiss had affected both of them, and when the sniper pulled him back against him this time, his lips were parted in an open invitation underlined by the bucking of his own hips in response. His right hand flew behind him, slapping on the desk so he wouldn’t fall backwards as Jake leaned his torso against Piers’ until they were pressed together from crotch to sternum, while his left hand slid from Jake’s jaw to the back of his head.

Another twitch forward, the friction sending Piers’ head hanging backwards, choked moan escaping his lips before he can stop it. Jake’s teeth find the sniper’s exposed neck immediately, his breathy whine muffled against the pale skin he could now taste and feel against his tongue.
Soon enough, the simple bucking turns into full-on grinding that leaves them both panting, doing their best not to cry out. Piers suddenly becomes very aware of the sound of the desk, creaking under him and thudding against the wall, and he can feel a blush break out on his face. This is the hottest thing to ever happen to him he’s got all of his fucking clothes in the way!

“Jake-, Jake fuckin-ha…I’m not coming in my damn pants so you- hn- you better do something about it.

Jake let out a shaky laugh at the command, but complied and pulled back just enough to get his hand on Piers’ belt, while Piers’ did the same with his.

The redhead looks at the sniper through his eyebrows, head tilted towards the buckle and smirks:

"Took us long enough, Puppy.”