Archive of Our Own

"Come now, Doctor. I'm certain you can work faster than that," the man's accented voice came from over your shoulder. You suppressed the shudder trying to inch its way down your spine and turned around slowly to face him.

"I am working as fast as I can," you said evenly, through gritted teeth. "But reactions only move so quickly. And it's so damn cold in here it's slowing everything down." You pulled back from the microscope and gestured to it. "See for yourself." The man, flanked by two guards, leaned into your space and placed a hand on the back of your chair as he peered into the eyepiece. "Same as yesterday," you said.

"There has to be some way to speed up the reaction," the man huffed. "Aren't you supposed to be an expert." He pulled away, glaring down at you. One of the guards adjusted his hands on his weapon and you swallowed before answering.

"Not unless you can get me a few hundred grams of rhodium," you said. The man's eyebrows shot up. 

"Our pockets are deep, Doctor. But not that deep."

"Then you will just have to wait," you said. His nostrils flared for a moment before he straightened up.

"Very well. But I expect daily reports. I don't need to remind you of what happens should this little project fail." You locked eyes with him, taking a deep breath before shaking your head. "Good," he said. "You," he indicated to one of the guards. "Keep an eye on her." As he turned and left the room you sighed and slumped back in your chair. You saw the remaining guard eyeing one of the beakers on your station, a green liquid burbling against the glass. He stepped toward it curiously, his fingers extending.

"Don't fucking touch that," you snapped. "As a matter of fact, don't touch anything!" You sighed and kneading at your brow. It was going to be another long night.

_____

"Who is she?" Chris said, staring at the photo displayed on the monitor in his boss's office. She was a striking woman, high cheekbones and soft-looking hair that framed her face. Her eyes seemed to glitter and he sensed a spark of intelligence and a fiery wit behind them.

"Her name is Dr. Stein, she's a virologist at the CDC in Atlanta," Lieutenant Colonel Linder said. "And she's missing." Chris raised an eyebrow. "I'm deploying Alpha to a remote region of the Urals, in Russia. That's where we think they've got her." He clicked to the next screen, showing schematics and photos of a dilapidated building nestled in the snow.

"They?" Chris said. "Do I even want to know who it is this time?"

"New player, I'm afraid," Linder said. "They're calling themselves The Black Tide. Separatist group. They claimed responsibility for the attack on the Moldovan capital last year."

"Some sort of gas, right?" Linder nodded.

"Using gas as a viral vector is quite the challenge, fortunately the virus they used denatured quickly and didn't result in any mutations on the ground. But they did manage to get hundreds of people sick with respiratory symptoms. It took weeks to clear the city and decontaminate the release site."

"I remember," Chris grimaced. "Nasty shit. What do they want with Stein?" 

"Stein works on smallpox," Linder said. He paused and Chris waited.

"Help a guy out, sir. You know I'm not the brains here." Linder clasped his hands together and sighed, chuckling.

"Smallpox was one of the deadliest diseases known to man. Incredibly infectious. Symptoms were quick to take hold but lasted for weeks. If she enhances the virus they used in the attack last year, they could wipe out entire cities. Nations even."

"Got it," Chris said, setting his mouth into a hard line. "How long have they had her?"

"A few months at least. Neighbor reported her missing when Stein's cat started making a racket. The neighbor had a spare key and went in to find an empty dish and no one home. Said it was out of character. Missing scientists are almost always on our radar, but then we flagged a shipment bound for Russia of some rare phosphorus compound used in viral synthesis from a supplier stateside. New buyer, paid in cash."

"Not fishy at all," Chris huffed. "These guys are real amateurs."

"They might be, but they're still dangerous. Recover the doctor, and destroy anything she's worked on for them. I'm assigning you Cheney and Menéndez as support." Chris nodded.

"When do we leave?"

_____

You yawned, setting the beaker down and rolling your shoulders. They ached from being hunched over the work station for hours and while you were longing for a break the shitty mattress in your cell wasn't likely to provide it. You stretched, clasping your hands behind your back and leaning backward in your chair.

"Something is wrong?" your guard said, his English clipped.

"Yeah something is wrong," you muttered and your guard pressed his lips together. "I'm fucking exhausted. Can't you just take me back to my cell?" The guard was young, a fresh-faced recruit you didn't know well. Maybe he could be reasoned with. "Please," you said. He shifted his weight uncomfortably before responding.

"Ivan says you must be working."

"I know what Ivan says," you shot back. Ivan was their leader, and the one who had orchestrated your kidnaping. He had some basic knowledge of chemistry, enough to have chosen the right basic viral structure, but not enough to create something with lasting symptoms that would infect quickly. That was where you came in.

They'd snatched you in broad fucking daylight. You weren't sure what exactly had happened, but they'd been waiting for you. One minute you were walking into your apartment after a long shift at the lab, the next you were drugged and stuffed into the back of a van and onto a chartered flight out of the country. As soon as you'd landed it was right to work. Ivan set you up in a lab, gave you the vague genomic sequence of a virus he'd been trying to build, and told you if you didn't fill in the gaps and give him something viable he'd tear you apart bit by bit. You grimaced, rubbing at your neck. He'd made good on that threat.

Ivan himself wasn't particularly imposing. He was a short man with blond hair and a scar that ran the length of his face. But the other guards were scared of him, and you knew he was in charge for a good reason. You rubbed at your sore neck again and looked up at the guard with wide eyes, trying to garner as much sympathy as you could.

"It's not going to change in the next few hours, and without rest I might make a mistake," you said. "You wouldn't want me spilling the virus all over the place, now would you?" The guard shook his head, face paling. "So. Back to my cell then?" He sighed and nodded, approaching your chair to unlock the shackle that was locked around your ankle. As soon as it clanked to the ground you stood, wincing as you were forced to put weight on your left leg. The guard grimaced along with you and you resisted the urge to glare daggers at him. "A gift from your boss," you said as you struggled to a standing position. 

"You need help?" he said, offering you a hand.

"No," you said firmly. He pressed his lips together but said nothing, instead turning to open the door to the lab and let you into the hall. He followed as you limped back toward your cell, a dingy little 5x5 that had somehow become your refuge in this hell. It wasn't comfortable, or warm or dry or anything of the sort. But as long as you were in there you weren't engineering a virus that would turn people into horrible mutated monsters. Celebrate the small victories, you told yourself. 

The cell door squeaked on rusted hinges as the guard unlocked it and ushered you in. You sat heavily on the cot that served as your bed and it creaked under your weight. Dinner had apparently been served while you were working, the same plate of gruel you got every day. It was just enough to keep you alive. Though some days you doubted even that. You laid on your side, curling into yourself and covering yourself in the thin and scratchy blanket they'd given you, your only defense against the ever-present cold that seeped in through the walls. The guard hesitated before exiting your cell.

"Goodnight," he said and you scoffed.

"Yeah. Night."

____

The base was obscured by heavy clouds as Chris peered at it through his night vision viewfinder. There were two buildings, a main compound and another out building another few miles down the mountain in the direction they'd come. It was the third cluster of buildings they'd searched that day and Chris was getting antsy. The Black Tide were smart, they kept their operation as compartmentalized as possible. That meant small cells with little to contact with each other, each operating nearly independently. It made them exceedingly hard to search. And even harder to kill.

Chris shivered as he peered up at the compound from their perch. The building Alpha had made their camp in was currently abandoned, used by villagers in the warm season. It was barely insulated enough to keep their teeth from chattering. But on missions like this Chris never felt the ache in his body until after. He couldn't afford to feel anything other than determination. Especially when a life was at stake. Alpha had cleared the other cells with relative ease, but even with Cheney jamming their radio transmissions Chris feared the Black Tide might somehow get word out that you had visitors. And if that happened, he'd be lucky to find you in one piece let alone alive. Chris gritted his teeth. 

"Menéndez, you take the smaller building. I'll take the main. Same deal as the other cells. Rig these explosives as you go, and burn the whole place down as soon as you're clear. Stein is the priority though, so if you find her you clear out. Cheney, I want you on air support."

"Yes sir," both men responded.

"We'll rendezvous back here, and I've got a safe house in the village a few clicks back. Fall back there in case of any trouble or if she's injured. Radio silence until we're clear, we don't want them picking up our chatter."

"I don't like the look of the weather report, Captain," Cheney said. "There's a storm rolling in."

"Then we'd better be quick about it," Chris said. "Let's move out."

——

Chris snuck quietly up to the base, his sniper rifle drawn. He didn't want to draw any more attention to himself than necessary by shooting too many of them prematurely, but if it came to that he'd be ready. The lateness of the hour meant the base was emptier than usual, but there was still a guard standing at the access door he'd identified as his easiest way in. The muffled shot could barely be heard over the howl of the wind, and Chris dragged the man's limp body out of sight before cracking open the steel door.

It creaked and he winced, but no other guards were in sight. He breathed a small sigh of relief and continued his measured approach down the hall. There were doors on either side of him and he opened each carefully. The left door revealed a storage closet, and the right a staircase. He knew from the schematics that the lower levels held some type of refrigeration units, and that could very well mean it was a lab. It was possible they were holding you there, but at this hour they probably had you in a cell of some sort. There were several areas in both buildings that could have housed prisoners, and he was prepared to check them all.

Chris headed down the staircase, encountering a few more guards whom he quickly dispatched. He grunted upon seeing their faces. Young men, probably not much younger than he was when he joined S.T.A.R.S. Children, really. Children who didn't know what they were fucking around with.

The first few rooms on the bottom level were empty, some seemed to be dormitories while others held more supplies. He affixed a few explosive devices but kept moving, wary of taking too long and his presence being noticed.

The next door he reached had a distinctive electric hum buzzing behind it, and it was the only door in the place locked with electronics rather than a simple mechanical lock.

"Bingo," Chris muttered. He fired two rounds into the locking mechanism and it sputtered and died, releasing its hold on the door. Chris opened the door softly in case you were inside, perhaps slumped over your desk after an exhausting day. Instead only the dull hum of the refrigeration units greeted him.

He checked the room quickly, finding it empty. His eyes landed on the work station. It was kept fairly orderly, piles of handwritten notes and calculations sat next to test tubes and beakers. He peered at the notes and plucked one of the sheets from its spot, noting the sloping curves of the handwriting. A woman's handwriting. 

Chris crunched the paper in his fist and moved to exit the room, but his boot hit something metallic. He looked down to see he'd stepped on a length of chain. It wrapped around the base of the chair leg, ending in a thick shackle. And on the floor under it, a puddle of dried blood. Chris gritted his teeth, affixing another explosive under the desk and bursting out of the room, senses clouded with anger and no longer caring about the need for stealth.

As Chris stepped into the hallway he came face to face with an older man wearing glasses and carrying a cup of coffee in his hand. He started when he saw Chris, a strangled cry coming from his throat. His mug crashed to the floor as he tried to turn and run, but Chris's hand shot out and gripped into his shirt.

"Where?!" Chris snarled. "Where is she?!"

-—

The familiar clink of the lock on your cell door being opened drew you from your slumber and set your heart to galloping. You were a light sleeper to begin with, and coupled the fear of being dragged from your cell at any moment you were always on alert. You blinked, trying to orient yourself in the dark. It was still dark out? They almost never came before dawn. You sat up and wondered dimly if this was finally it.

The door creaked open and light flooded the room. Silhouetted in the door frame stood a tall figure with broad shoulders. You squinted, drawing your hands up over your face to shield it. Peeking out through your fingers you could see a man.

"Dr. Stein?" he said, voice rough. You looked up at him, eyes adjusting to the intrusion of light. He stepped further into the room and you could see he was in military fatigues and body armor, though not like the ones your usual guards wore. He was also sporting a menacing looking rifle, though in another departure from the norm it wasn't pointed at you.

"I'm here to rescue you," he said, taking one hand off his weapon and holding it out to you. You looked up at him with uncertainty, hesitating. "It's okay. You're safe." His eyes were gentle, in contrast to his frame. He was probably over 6 feet tall, with wide shoulders and a barrel chest. His arms were corded with thick muscle and a scruffy beard graced his cheeks. Under other circumstances you might have found him attractive. He stepped toward you and instinctively you flinched away.

"Who are you," you said. The man blinked.

"My name's Chris Redfield. I'm with the BSAA." You eyed him again.

"Doesn't ring a bell." Chris pursed his lips together, watching you. "You got some sort of ID?" you demanded. He looked a little perplexed but fished about in one of his pockets before producing a badge.

"Here," he said, tossing it to you. You caught it and flipped it open. On one side sat a golden shield in a symbol you didn't recognize.

"Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance," you read out, fingers fanning over the raised lettering.

"That's me," he said. On the other side of the badge sat an ID photo, worn and slightly faded. You looked back and forth between it and the man in front of you. The man in the photo was him alright, but a lot younger, missing the worn creases in his forehead. And smiling. Something told you this Chris didn't do that as often anymore.

"What's your badge number," you said.

"2675839," Chris rattled off. You exhaled, closing your eyes.

"It's real," you breathed. You opened your eyes to find Chris puzzling at you. "They've tried to trick me before," you said.

"Trick you?" he asked.

"They leave the door unlocked sometimes. To see if I'll try to escape. I only did it once," you said, looking away from him and down at the dirty cot. Chris stepped closer to you again and knelt in front of you, bringing his eyes in line with yours.

"It's going to be okay," Chris said. "I'm going to get you out of here." He held out his hand and you placed his badge in his palm.

"Okay," you breathed. You stood up on shaking legs and Chris offered you a hand.

"You alright?" he asked. A burst of pain shot through your leg but you ignored it.

"My lab," you said. Chris reached into yet another pocket and produced a trigger of some sort.

"Rigged to blow," he said. "Anything you need in there?" You shook your head.

"No, but-" you were cut off by a shout from down the hall.

"Time to go," Chris said, pulling you forward. He pushed you behind the door to the cell and raised his weapon, firing off a few quick shots. You flinched at the sharp crack of the weapon being fired, though it was far more quiet than you would have expected.

"Alright, it's safe," he said. You stood frozen as if your feet had been rooted to the floor and Chris took your hand in his. "Come on. Just follow me." You nodded and took a shaking step forward. Chris ushered you from the cell, checking to his left and right before guiding you along the corridor. He was moving fast and your breath quickened trying to keep up. Each step leeched venom into your veins, and it was an embarrassingly short distance before you were yanking on Chris's arm.

"Stop, please. I can't," you said, breathing hard. Chris smiled thinly.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure they didn't exactly have a good calisthenics program here." You chuckled at his attempt to lighten the mood. "We have to keep moving, they're onto us. Be here any second." You nodded.

"Just give me a minute." Chris looked back the way you'd come and then down at you.

"I've got a better idea," he said. He slung his rifle over his back and then bent, wrapping one arm around your back and the other under your knees. You made a small noise of surprise as he hoisted you into his arms and took off down the hall. You had to admit you were impressed. Even carrying you he was moving at double the speed you'd been going previously.

"What if you need your hands," you said.

"One thing at a time, Doc," he said. He reached a corner and paused, listening. He peeked out from around the corner and immediately ducked his head back. "Two of them," he mouthed. "About 50 yards down the hall, facing away from us." He set you down, but as soon as your weight was shifted onto your left leg a burst of pain shot through it and you crumpled to the ground.

"Shit," Chris breathed, kneeling beside you. "You're bleeding," he said, swiping his fingers through the drops that had fallen on the floor.

"Yeah," you hissed. "I'm okay, go." Chris fixed you with a glare.

"You are not okay," he said. "Let me see." He placed his hands on your shin and you shrunk away. He teased the fabric of your pant leg up and you bit back a yelp. "Christ," he said, revealing the damaged tissue. "What happened?"

"Fell," you mumbled. Chris gave you a look that said he knew you were bullshitting him, but he decided to let it go for the time being.

"Stay here," he said, straightening up. He turned, but seemed to think better of it. He took a small handgun from a holster at his hip and held it out to you. "You know how to use one of these?" You nodded. "Good."

Without another word he was off down the hall.

___

Chris padded down the hall, heavy boots not making a sound as he moved with a practiced precision. He'd been expecting it to be bad. He wasn't expecting this.

The way you looked at him, terrified and wilting away from him. Your eyes that had so captured him in your photo were dull, lifeless. You were like an empty shell hollowed out from the inside. He wasn't often on a rescue team, but when he was typically the rescue-ee had been happy to see him. What had they done to you?

You were certainly skinnier than in your photo, they obviously hadn't been feeding you well. Plus they were working you to the bone, so you were probably exhausted. And then there was that injury. Chris had seen enough broken bones in his life to know you hadn't just fallen. Your shin had been shattered, long enough ago that it had tried to heal. He mulled it over in his head as he slunk down the hall.

He blinked and he was up behind the two guards. He withdrew his knife and plunged it into the one on the right's throat. Quick and efficient. He had the guard dropped and gurgling on the ground before the left one could even react. He met the same fate, a shocked expression still on his face as the blood trickled from his neck.

Chris placed his hands on to the door they'd been guarding. According to the schematics he'd been sent, it would lead up a ladder and to the main section of the base. There were sounds on the other side, and he sheathed his knife. He drew his rifle and crouched low, placing his fingers on the handle of the door. It turned and he poked it open with the muzzle of the gun.

He saw two men chatting idly through the door and fired off two shots in quick succession. There were shouts, weapons being readied, but Chris was faster. Using the door as a shield he peeked into the room and sighted two more men. He fired quickly, aiming for their heads. As soon as he heard them hit the ground he shouldered through the door, checking the room for any other would-be assailants. He looked around, the ladder above him looking far more unstable than he'd hoped. He placed his hand on the metal rung and shook it. It looked like it would hold, though he could feel the cold bite of the metal through his gloves. How you were faring in such thin clothes he didn't know.

Chris hoisted himself up the ladder and through the opening above, sweeping the hallway it lead into and shooting a few more guards. The first thing he would do once he got you out of here was make you a hearty meal. The safe house was stocked well, he could make you a nice soup. Something warm and filling that would bring a little color back into your cheeks. He wondered what your favorite might be as he sighted the door that would take you from this place. He kicked it open, checking to make sure the route was clear before doubling back to you.

As he jogged down the hall, checking over his shoulder as he went, he heard the distinctive bang of his handgun going off.

"Shit," he muttered, picking up the pace down the hall. He skirted the corner and found you backed against the wall, chest heaving. You had your arm outstretched, Chris's handgun clutched in your trembling hand. The muzzle was still smoking. And on the ground opposite from it lay a man face down on the floor, blond hair spilling out around his head and blood leaking from his chest.

"Hey," Chris said and you swung the weapon toward him. "Whoa, hey, it's me," he said, throwing his hands up.

"Chris," you whispered, dropping the gun with a clatter. Chris knelt next to you, taking your hands and squeezing.

"Hey, it's okay. You got him. Did he hurt you?"

"Yeah," you mumbled, eyes far away.

"Where?" Chris said, hands moving up your arms and checking you for injuries.

"Oh," you said. "Not now. He hurt me... before." Chris's gaze hardened and his nostrils twitched.

"Never again. Come on, let's get you out of here." He took your hands and pulled you to your feet, but he whirled around as a garbled moan sounded from behind him. Chris's brow hardened and he stalked toward the man on the floor. You leaned all your weight into your good leg, pressing against the wall for stability as Chris knelt by the man's side.

He grabbed him by the scruff of the neck like a cat might, hauling his head up off the ground at an uncomfortable angle. He had a scar on the side of his face, probably from some type of knife wound, and his nose was broken from having fallen face-first onto the concrete. You'd shot him in the chest and although the wound was leaking a good amount of blood, Chris surmised it likely didn't hit anything critical. 

"How many others know I'm here?" Chris asked, shaking the man. He just grinned, showing off a mouth full of blood. He locked eyes with you and your lip curled. He said something in Russian, or at least started to before Chris cut him off with a hard shove of his forehead against the ground. "How many?" he asked again, tightening his grip. The man just laughed, eyes returning to yours.

"Yeah fuck you too, Ivan," you said and Chris's eyes snapped up to yours.

"You know him?"

"He's in charge," you said. "He won't give you anything. Trained not to." You were staring daggers at him, and though Chris could practically taste the anger rolling off you your eyes were wide and full of terror. 

"Well then," Chris said, looking down at Ivan. "I guess I don't need you anymore." He paused, bringing his gaze back up to you. "Don't look, sweetheart," he said and you took a deep breath.

"I want to." Chris nodded once before he took the man's neck in his hands and twisted sharply. You flinched at the sickening crack but you kept your gaze locked on the man's eyes as they slowly went dull. "Good riddance," you hissed as Chris returned to your side. He lifted you gently into his arms and you looped your arms around his neck to pull him close. He moved in a blur, hurrying out of the compound as fast as he dared. Before you knew it, cold air was blasting over your face and you shivered.

You looked over Chris's shoulder as the building got smaller behind you, shutting your eyes and blinking several times as if it were a mirage.

"It's real," Chris said, giving you a light squeeze. "Nobody is ever going to hurt you ever again. I promise." And despite the whirling doubt inside you, you believed him.

_____

Your heart was in your throat as Chris ushered you out into the snow. His boots crunched as he walked and you tried to focus on the sound. The wind was strong and snow whipped your cheeks as you moved.

"Where are we?" you asked. "It's freezing." Chris's jaw flexed.

"Russia," he said. "In the Urals."

"I figured," you said. "I picked up a few words here and there. They called me cyuka. I assume that's not a nice name."

"It's not," Chris said. He stayed quiet though the veins his neck bulged. He was clearly the sort of man who didn't approve of violence against women and it touched your heart.

You arrived at the edge of a crop of trees where a vehicle was stored, a sort of all-terrain van you felt confident could navigate over the mountains. Chris helped you into the passenger seat and his fingers brushed over your waist as he clipped you in. You heard shouting coming from behind you, but Chris was cool as he slid into the driver's side. He pulled the trigger out of his pocket and pressed the plunger down. You startled as a series of explosions sounded from within the compound, lighting up the sky with plumes of orange fire.

Chris started up the van and sped off down the road. You hazarded a glance behind you, afraid you'd be followed.

"It's okay," Chris said. "Blew up the rest of their vehicles too."

"Wow," you said, relaxing into your seat. "You really thought of everything."

"I'm a professional," Chris said, a smile gracing his lips. You returned it faintly. Maybe you were wrong. A smile looked good on him.

Chris touched his earpiece as soon as you'd left the compound. "Alpha 1 to Roost, I've got the asset. Gonna need a Med Evac stat." There was a crackle on the other end.

"Captain, it's good to hear your voice," Cheney said. "Is the asset intact?"

"Roger," he said. "Intact, but injured. What's the status of my Evac?"

"I'm sorry, Captain. The wind is picking up and I won't be able to land the chopper. I can't fly until the storm breaks." Chris sighed heavily.

"Redfield?" another voice said. His superior's. "Put her on, I wanna talk to her."

"Sorry, sir," he said. "She's asleep." A sigh on the other end.

"Alright. Stay safe, comms might get spotty the worse the storm gets. We'll get evac to you as soon as we can."

"Roger," Chris said. "Redfield out." He switched off the comm and turned back to you. "Looks like we're hunkering down until the storm passes," Chris said, smiling at you.

"Okay," you said. "Thank you, for not making me talk to your boss."

"There will be plenty of time for debriefing later," he said. "Right now we need to focus on you." You toyed with the hem of your shirt and took a heavy breath.

"I almost just want to get it over with. I've tried to remember all the stuff I've seen, layouts of their bases. Anything that might help me escape."

"That's good, HQ will want to know that. It'll help us take them down. Permanently." You took another deep breath and swallowed.

"I finished it. The virus," you said quietly. Chris's eyebrow quirked up, the only outward sign of the shock he felt.

"You did?" You nodded.

"Yeah, like a month ago. But I figured if I told them they'd kill me, so I just... kept working on it. Kept making things up. Doing experiments I knew wouldn't work. Making them order ludicrously expensive supplies." Chris gave you a thin smile.

"That was you, wasn't it? You ordered something from the US, and it got flagged." You returned it half-heartedly.

"Phosphoramidite," you said. "It's highly reactive, and also highly regulated. I told them I needed it from a specific supplier. I figured someone would notice it."

"You did it on purpose?" Chris said. "I'm impressed." You felt a blush creeping into your cheeks.

"I built a failsafe into it too. The virus will denature when exposed to oxygen for longer than a few minutes. Not a great feature to have in something airborne." Chris broke into a grin.

"'Atta girl." Your blush deepened at his praise. "I'll let HQ know as soon as we get where we're going. It's about an hour drive. Just sit back and relax." You nodded, settling into your seat and curling your good leg under you. You let your eyes drift closed, the rumble of the engine lulling you to sleep.

When you woke Chris had pulled the car off the winding road and through a small collection of buildings. "Here we are," he said, pulling up beside a nondescript-looking cabin. "Best I could scrounge on short notice. Rented it from one of the villagers. It's not much but it'll hold us until the storm passes." You nodded thankfully.

"Anywhere but there." You sighed, looking over at him. "Thank you for saving me. I thought I was going to die there. I thought-"

"Hey," Chris said. "None of that. You're safe. With me, you're safe. Come on, let's get you patched up, okay?"

"Yeah," you said, still a little shaky. Chris got out of the car and came around to open your door, supporting your weight as you limped into the cabin. He started the generator out back and the lights flickered on. The interior was tastefully decorated with a homey sort of feel. A little kitchenette graced one corner while a table and a few chairs sat in the other. In the center on the back wall was a large fireplace and a cozy looking couch with a blanket thrown over the back of it that looked handmade. There was another room off of the main one, what you assumed to be a bedroom. You hoped dearly there was a bed. You'd missed yours tremendously these past months.

"Here," Chris said, guiding you to sit on the couch. He stood, turning to rummage around in a drawer in the little kitchenette. "It may not much, but it is fully stocked. I wasn't sure what sort of condition you'd be in," he said. You grimaced at that. Chris returned to your side brandishing a first aid kit. You rolled up your pant leg gingerly, revealing the mottled bruising fading up your shin. Chris dabbed at your wound, tutting as you hissed. "I'm sorry, I know it stings."

"S'okay," you gasped out. Chris inspected the wound and bit at his lip.

"I'm going to give you a shot of antibiotics. I don't think it's infected but better safe than sorry." You nodded.

"I tried my best to keep it clean but I'm not that sort of doctor." Chris chuckled.

"You did okay." He wiped across an unmarred patch of skin with an alcohol pad. He drew up the medicine into a syringe, then uncapped the needle with his teeth. He pinched your skin tightly and plunged the needle in, wincing almost as much as you did as it sunk into your skin. He withdrew it and rooted around in the first aid kit again. "Pain killer?" he asked, holding out a bottle to you. "I've got ibuprofen, or something a little stronger if you want."

"Ibuprofen is fine," you said, accepting it gratefully. "Thank you."

"My pleasure. Let me get a fire started, then we can eat something."

_____

You sat by the fire in silence, and Chris mulled you over in his mind. He made you a nice bean soup with bits of chicken in it and you'd sucked it down greedily.

You'd put on a brave face so far but he could see your resolve was starting to slip, stone cold desire to survive bleeding into shock. He watched you for the classic signs, the shaking, the hollow look in your eyes. He'd seen it dozens of times before on the faces of new recruits, or civilians caught in the crossfire. You were doing remarkably well, all things considered, but seeing you so broken clawed at his heart in ways he thought he was numb to by now. The sparkling image he'd been shown of you for ID was burned into his retinas, and some deep part of him longed to bring that smile back to your face, if even just for a moment.

"How was the soup?" he asked. You sat back on the couch and set your empty bowl aside, humming thoughtfully. 

"Terrible," you said. "I didn't enjoy a single bite."

"Had to make plenty sure of that, huh?" he asked, chancing a small smile. You returned it and sparks ignited deep in Chris's chest.

"Yeah. Wouldn't want to offend the chef." He chuckled at that, standing to clear the dishes away. He felt your eyes on him as he set the bowls in the sink. He rinsed them out, setting them to soak before returning to the couch. 

"So. How did you end up here?" you asked as Chris settled himself opposite you once more. "Doing top secret rescue missions? Are you in the army or something?"

"Air force, actually. Well, I used to be. I got recruited to a special police unit after I was discharged. That's when I was exposed to bio weapons for the first time. Been trying to fight back ever since."

"Not your first time then," you said quietly.

"No," he answered.

"Is that how you stay so focused? So... okay? I thought I was going to die in there. All I wanted to do was go home and see my cat." You took a deep breath, voice breaking. "If there's even a cat to go back to. It's been months, I mean-"

"Your neighbor has her," Chris said and your face immediately brightened. "See? It's going to be okay." He paused, reaching out to knead his fingers into your shoulder. "I can't tell you that it goes away. That the nightmares ever stop. But it does get easier. Because of you, we're going to be able to stop these people. The things you know, the people you've seen. The virus you fucked up? We'll get them." Your gaze drifted back to the flames.

"They broke my legs," you said quietly and Chris snapped to attention. "When I tried to escape. The right one healed up pretty nicely, but I couldn't get the left one to stop bleeding." A sort of growling noise echoed from Chris and it made your hair prickle against the back of your neck.

"I swear to you I will kill every last one of them."

"You did," you said softly. "Ivan, the one who did it? You snapped his neck." Chris harrumphed.

"Still. They'll pay for what they did." The corner of your mouth quirked up into a sad little half-smile and Chris felt his chest squeeze tight as a fist.

"It's alright. It doesn't matter now."

"Hey. It does to me." Chris squeezed your shoulder. "Look at me. It does to me." You met his gaze and smiled weakly.

"Thank you," you mumbled. "Think I can take a shower? I haven't actually had one in ages and-"

"Of course," Chris said immediately. "Though a bath might be easier. Here." He stood and offered you a hand and you hoisted yourself up. Chris wrapped his arm around your waist and helped you to the bathroom. "Just don't get the bandages wet," he said and you nodded. "I'll see if I can find you some clean clothes." Chris sat you on the side of the tub and released your waist, watching to make sure you were stable. "You need anything, you just holler."

"Thanks," you said.

Chris exited the room politely and you stood on your good leg and stripped out of your months-old clothes. You looked at your body in the mirror and grimaced. You were caked with dirt and sweat, mocking the attempts you'd made to give yourself a sponge bath when you could manage to get warm water. Your ran your hands down your sides, looking over the ribs and hip bones that were now protruding out in evidence of the bare subsistence diet you'd been living on. Your hair had lost its shine, and your face felt hollow where it hadn't before.

Looking at yourself like this made you want to be sick. In only a few short months they'd robbed you of so much. You felt your legs begin to shake and you clutched onto the sink for support. You stared at yourself in the mirror and gritted your teeth, reminding yourself of what Chris had said. You were going to destroy them. It would be by your hand they crumbled. If you could just hang on a little longer.

You hobbled over to the bathtub and clambered over the edge. You turned on the tap and let the warm water flow over you, soothing your aching muscles. You were careful to keep your injured leg out of the water, but with your leg over the edge of the tub you found you couldn't reach the soap. You tried to sit up further, but you quickly found that if you leaned far enough forward to get the soap your leg would be in the water. You sighed, closing your eyes.

"Chris?" you called out. "Can you help me? I... I can't reach the soap." There was a gentle knock on the door a few seconds later and Chris popped his head in. You'd let the water rise up over your breasts so you were at least partly covered, but still you felt raw and exposed.

"No worries," Chris said, his voice an instant balm against your aching worry. He stepped into the bathroom and rolled up his sleeves, revealing thick forearms graced with veins that stood out against his skin. You swallowed, trying to keep from blushing. Those stupid arm veins had always been your weakness. "Here." He knelt by the edge of the tub and retrieved the bar of soap, placing it in your hand. "Found some clothes too." He laid a set of plaid pajamas on the counter and you followed the fluid motion of his arm as he did.

"Thanks," you said, shifting to begin lathering up your right leg and grimacing as the movement jostled your left.

"Would you... would you like help?" Chris asked. "I don't mind. I don't want you to hurt yourself." Maybe it was the stress weighing on you, or maybe it was the soft look in Chris's eyes that did it. Whatever it was, you didn't feel the burning shame you should have felt to let a strange man bathe you. But as soon as he offered, you felt almost relieved.

"Yeah," you said. "If you're sure."

"My boss would have my ass if I let you drown in the bathtub," he said, taking the soap from you. You stretched out your leg and Chris worked the soap into your toes, scrubbing away the grime bit by bit. He worked his way up your right leg, pausing over the raised bump on your shin where it too had been broken. "We'll have one of our doctors take a look at you," he promised. "They're top notch. Put me back together more times than I can count." His fingers rounded your thigh and though now you could easily reach the area where he was washing, you didn't stop him.

His touch was so relaxing, like he was sucking away all the hurt with each pass of the soap over your skin. He reached your hip and switched sides, gently bathing your injured leg up to where the bandages lay. You noticed a wash rag hanging over the counter and reached for it, the tips of your fingers nudging it into the water.

"Give me some soap?" you asked. He nodded and passed it to you, and you worked the lather over your chest and down your abdomen, washing over your more intimate areas Chris had respectfully avoided.

"Hair too?" he asked when he'd finished your left leg.

"Please," you smiled. Chris stood and opened the cabinets before finding a bottle of shampoo. He poured a generous amount onto your scalp before he began to massage it in with his fingertips. You couldn't help the happy groan that left your lips as he worked.

"Feel good?" he chuckled.

"You have no idea. It's like magic." He smiled, watching the tight coil of stress unfurl from you.

"Not to brag, but I'm told I have a healing touch. My sister broke her arm one summer when we were kids. I helped her with her hair while she was in a cast, and ever since she'll beg me to massage her head every once in a while. Says it helps her headaches."

"I'm sure it does," you said. "It's helping mine." He smiled and you closed your eyes, pressing into his touch. He rubbed at your scalp for far longer than was probably necessary, but he didn't seem to mind and you certainly weren't going to tell him to stop. It had been months since you could relax and you truly did feel safe in Chris's hands. Even if your mind was still reeling, your body had given the okay to let go as if it knew Chris would take care of you.

You were nearly asleep when you felt Chris lifting your head and dipping it gently into the water, one hand supporting your neck as the other washed out the soap. When he was satisfied he lifted your head back to rest on the side of the tub, his thumb still gently rubbing back and forth on your forehead.

"I should get out," you said, opening your eyes sleepily. "The water is probably filthy." Chris chuckled.

"We've got plenty of water. If you want to soak we can run fresh." You pressed your lips together but shook your head. 

"I think the bed is calling my name," you said. "I'm tired enough to sleep for a year. And someone might get in trouble if I fall asleep and drown in the bath." Chris smiled and turned, yanking the towel off the rack and moving to stand. You watched his body work to move, each muscle in perfect coordination. As large a man as he was, he moved with the grace of a damn gazelle. Meanwhile your movements were jerky and uncoordinated, and you knew you'd need help out of the tub if you wanted to avoid injuring yourself further.

Chris spread the towel out between his wide arms, creating a barrier between you. He pinched one corner between his forefinger and thumb to offer you his palm. You took it, standing awkwardly, though Chris's strong arm never wavered. He wrapped the towel around your shoulders and guided you to the toilet lid so you could sit.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," you said. "Thank you." You looked up at him and his deep eyes sparkled.

"Of course. I'll let you get dressed. Be outside if you need me." You nodded and Chris left the room again, ever the gentleman. You wondered dimly if he'd kept his eyes averted or if he'd snuck a peek at you. He didn't seem like the type to peep, but you couldn't help the small spark of hope that a man as attractive as Chris might somehow be interested in you. 

You dried off and grabbed the pajamas, slipping them on. They were several sizes too big but they were clean and you weren't complaining. You combed through your hair and brushed your teeth with the little guest pack sitting on the counter, and by the time you were hobbling back out to the bedroom you were feeling halfway human again. Chris was putting fresh sheets on the bed and turned to pat it gently.

"Your room, madam," he said with a flourishing bow and you giggled as you slid into the sheets. He turned to another cabinet and started fishing out more blankets.

"You can stay here," you offered. "I don't mind. You're too big to be comfortable on the couch. Plus you'll keep me warm." Chris shook his head.

"And if I kick you in the shin in my sleep and hurt you?"

"You won't," you said. You bit at your lip before speaking again, uncertain. "Please. I don't... I don't want to be alone." He considered for a moment before nodding.

"Alright," Chris acquiesced. "I'm gonna grab a shower, you get comfy." You nodded, drawing the blanket up to your neck and settling on your side. The soft mattress felt like lying on a cloud, and the kinks that had developed in your back after months of sleeping on a thin cot slowly started to release. You dozed off, the wind outside sounding more like a lullaby and less like a storm by the minute.

____

Chris turned the water to cold as he stood in the shower, trying to freeze his thoughts in their place. Your soft little smile, the way you'd relaxed instantly into his touch. The tension in your brow when you asked him to stay with you. Chris couldn't believe he was actually considering it. Considering you. It was against protocol and beyond inappropriate. Only a few hours ago you were still a prisoner, and you were in a highly compromised emotional state. To think of you as anything other than a mission would be a violation of everything he stood for.

And yet...

The way his chest tightened when you smiled at him, the blind rage that had come over him at the thought of anyone hurting you. Chris had it bad, and he knew himself well enough to recognize it. Maybe after this was all over he could ask you out for a drink and you could start over like normal people. 

By the time he was finished showering and dressed in a matching pajama set he was bound and determined to go back to the couch. But then his eyes settled on your sleeping form, curled into yourself in that big bed. You did look cold... It was against protocol. It was breaking a boundary, probably several, crawling into bed with a traumatized woman. Especially a traumatized woman he was developing an attraction towards. 

But that was his job, wasn't it? To protect you and give you everything you needed? He glanced down at you and you shifted adorably in your sleep, arms tucking into your chest. Chris sighed. If what you needed was him, he wasn't going to say no. He lifted the blankets and crawled in next to you and you instantly snuggled against his warmth. That stupid pinch in his chest was back as you nuzzled your head into his chest, and he laid his hand against your back. Against his better judgement Chris drifted off by your side, lulled to sleep by your gentle breaths.

____

The twisting halls stretched out before you and you hobbled along, injured leg dragging uselessly behind you. Everywhere you looked lay a maze of hallways and corridors, and every turn you made seemed to put you right back where you'd been a second ago. The walls surrounding you seemed to elongate far above your head and the longer you stared at them the less real they seemed. You had to keep going though, had to keep moving. If you stopped they'd get to you and then-

Cold hands gripped your arms and you blinked away sleep, a face coming into focus above you.

"Wh-where am I?" you asked, thrashing limply against whoever was holding you.

"Where do you think?" a cold voice said. "I must say I'm disappointed, Doctor. After the last time I thought you'd learned your lesson."

"No," you said, your heart dropping into your stomach. "I didn't-"

"How else do you explain it? We found you out in the hall, raving and half mad." His face clarified and your blood thundered in your ears. Ivan.

"No. You're dead," you said. "I watched him kill you!" Ivan laughed.

"Who, some guardian angel out of your imagination? Please. There's no one coming to save you. Now what will I have to break this time..."

"Hey, hey!" You blinked, opening your eyes to reveal a darkened room. A pale sliver of moonlight shone through the window, casting unfamiliar shadows on the walls. The air was cool on your face but your body was warm, a presence beside you was giving off a pleasing heat. "You okay?" a deep voice rumbled, edged with sleep. You drew in a shaking breath and forced a word out.

"Chris?" you whispered, as if he were some nebulous mist and breathing might dispel him. Even if he wasn't real you wanted to keep on pretending.

"It's okay, I'm here."

"I-I thought I dreamed you. I thought-"

"Nope. We're here together, we're okay." His broad arms wrapped around your back and you buried yourself in his chest. Tears slipped down your cheeks and Chris tightened his grip. "I've got you," he whispered. The floodgates opened and you wailed, clutching onto him hard enough to leave a mark. He didn't mind. Each sob that shook your frail frame made his chest squeeze tighter and tighter and he wished desperately there were some way he could take it all away. "I know," he said. "Let it out." He rubbed your back and held you as you sobbed. 

"I'm getting y-your shirt all wet," you sniffled, pulling back from him just enough to wipe your eyes on your sleeve.

"It's alright," he said. "Don't worry about it."

"I-I,"

"Deep breaths, sweetheart. You're hyperventilating." You nodded, trying to calm your frantic breathing. "Here," Chris said, taking your hand. "Squeeze on real tight." You did, interlacing your fingers with his and applying as much pressure as you could. "There you go," he soothed. "Good job. You're safe. I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere. Just focus on me. Good girl." You shuddered against him, letting the rough timbre of his voice infiltrate your senses and drive all other thoughts away. Each inhale filled your nostrils with the smell of earthy soap, gun smoke, and a deeper, more indescribable smell that was likely all Chris. 

It touched something deep inside you, stoking an ember to life that set your thighs to buzzing. You clamped them together, embarrassment rising to your cheeks. Why in the world were you thinking of that at a time like this? It made no sense and it was completely inappropriate. But the more you thought of Chris's rough hands on your skin, his lips pressed to yours, the more the agonizing knot in your stomach seemed to fade.

Just this once. Just this one time, it wouldn't hurt to pretend. That the stranger holding you was more than that, that his gentle hands rubbing your back would continue their journey downward. You focused on his smell, imagined yourself curled up in his gigantic hoodie and nothing else. As shameful as it felt, it worked. Slowly, you began to come down and your vice grip on Chris's hand loosened.

"Better?" he asked, bringing his hand up to your face. His touch seared your skin and you had to stop yourself from pressing into it. He wiped away a few stray tears with the pad of his thumb and you nodded. 

"Y-yeah. Thank you," you stuttered. Chris pulled his hand away and you missed its grounding warmth immediately.

"Of course. Try to relax, you need to get some rest."

"I don't think I can," you sighed. You turned toward the window, watching the drifts of snow blowing in the wind. It had died down significantly, lost its bite. Your head was suddenly filled with the sounds of the wind you could hear from your cell. It always sounded like screaming. You turned back to face Chris and swallowed. "As soon as I close my eyes I'm afraid I'll be right back there again." Chris grunted his understanding.

"I know the feeling. You need something to ground you, get your mind away from it."

"Yeah," you mumbled, focusing all your energy on keeping your eyes on his face. You'd gone slick between the thighs and you desperately needed something to grind against. "Something to get my mind off it." 

"Something cold usually does it. Here." He shifted against you, reaching for the window, but as if they had a mind of their own your arms shot out, wrapping around his bicep and drawing it back to your side.

"No!" you yelped. He withdrew his arm and you felt a flush of embarrassment. "That's not... that's not what I need," you said. You shifted subtly towards him and Chris felt his heart hammering in his chest.

"What is it that you need," Chris said, voice barely above a whisper. 

"I need... I need you." Chris drew in a deep breath, his hands moving to cup the sides of your face. Your skin burned and you realized in a blink that you'd crossed a line. "I, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me, I-" Before you could backtrack any further Chris's hot lips were against yours and you instantly opened for him. He deepened your kiss, tongue greedily pressing against yours and you let out a small gasp, some of the tension leaving your shoulders as you did. Chris shifted so he was leaning over you, supporting his weight on his elbows. You let him explore your mouth, losing yourself in the ebb and flow of his body pressing into yours. You broke apart gasping and Chris's eyes glinted in the dark. "Chris," you breathed. 

"Baby," Chris said, ghosting his nose along your cheek. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tilted your head back to grant him access to the skin there. He traced gentle kisses down the side of your jaw and across the column of your throat. "You do need it, don't you?" he murmured. "How long as it been since someone touched you like this? Who treated you right?" He punctuated his words by sucking lightly at your earlobe. "Gentle," he whispered in your ear. In answer you just writhed against him and his kiss-swollen lips upturned into a smirk. "That's what I thought. Don't worry. I'll take such good care of you." 

"Chris, please," you groaned and he shifted so his knees straddled your hips. His fingers slid into the waistband of your pajama pants and you lifted your hips so he could get them off. He removed them gingerly, careful to avoid the bandages on your injured leg. You shivered as the air hit you, you didn't have any clean underwear so you'd gone commando. An awed sigh left Chris's lips as he took you in. Your legs were trembling, your pussy glistening in the dim light.

"Look at you," Chris whispered, hot hands caressing up your thighs. You felt a sudden tide of embarrassment, so all-consuming you wanted to bury yourself under the blanket and forget this whole terrible idea.

"What's there to look at," you managed. "I'm not the same person I was before. I'm so weak."

"You stop that," Chris said. "You're beautiful." You made a sort of flustered sound, which Chris thought was achingly cute, but you averted your eyes and he clicked his tongue. "I won't have that. Do I need to prove it to you?" He took your hands, rubbing your palms with his thumbs. He planted a kiss to each palm before releasing them and rising to his knees. "Can I take this off?" he asked, fingers skirting the edge of your pajama shirt.

"Yeah," you said, shifting to help him. As soon as the fabric left your body Chris dropped his eyes to you, his soft gaze illuminated by the moonlight. He trailed his hands over your hip bones and up your sides, gentle fingers caressing your breasts.

"This okay?" he asked and you nodded.

"Feels good."

"Good," he said, dropping his mouth to tongue over your nipple. Your breath hitched, your body blinking and stretching as Chris woke it with reverent touches, reminding it what tenderness was. His large hand cupped your other breast, fingers spilling over your skin.

"They used to be fuller," you said. "I lost so much weight. I look like a stick figure, all bony." Chris pulled away from your breast and brought his fingers to your forehead, brushing over your hairline and pushing hair from your face.

"Hey. This body bore you through a lot, show her some respect." You giggled but there were tears forming in your eyes.

"I've got scars now," you said as Chris reached up to yet again wipe your tears away.

"So do I," he said. "Next time, I'll show you." Chris settled himself back between your thighs and, head still buzzing with thoughts of next time, brought his mouth right to your swollen clit. He kissed it gently and you bucked into him. He pressed his lips harder against you and began to lave his tongue in lazy circles, dipping down towards your dripping pussy. His hands circled your hips and pulled you down so you were flush to his face, his beard scraping against your thighs and leaving behind a pleasing burn. Wet noises filled the room as he ate you out, mixing with your gasps and moans to form a chorus of pleasure.

You could feel an electric current running down your spine and the muscles in your abdomen started to clench. 

"Close, baby?" Chris said and you let out a whine. "Come on then, pretty girl. Come for me." You tossed your head back, sensation coursing through your veins as you came hard on Chris's face. He licked you through it, your pussy tasted so good he never wanted to let go. Eventually you were pressing at his head and with a last lingering lick he deposited your hips back onto the bed. 

"More?" he asked, thumbing over your thigh, and you rolled your head down to look at him.

"Please. Let me come on your cock."

"I live to serve," he smiled, moving to shuck off his pants. He guided himself into you slowly and a keening sigh fell from your lips as soon as he was seated within you. 

"Feels so full," you mumbled. "So good." He rocked his hips against you and leaned back over you, caging in your frame with his. Yours fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt and tugged. "Off," you said and he chuckled, rearranging himself to pull his shirt off. His muscled body looked like something out of a painting. "Damn," you whispered. "You're gorgeous. And you feel so good." Chris planted a kiss to your forehead and set a steady pace, grinning at the enraptured look on your face.

"That's it, baby. Just focus on me. I'm gonna fuck you stupid, get you so drunk on my cock you can't think about anything else." 

"Yes, Chris," you groaned. "Fill me. Please, I need it."

"Whatever you want, baby," he said. You reached up to cup his face and you brought him down to you, kissing him sloppily as he fucked you in long, even strokes. He could have lived in that moment forever, buried to the hilt in your pulsing heat and listening to the fluttering little sighs that spilled from your lips. He'd give you anything you wanted; if you asked for the stars he'd swim to the moon. 

"I'm close," you gasped, and Chris felt you clenching around him. 

"Give it to me," he groaned, his own impending orgasm thundering in his ears. "Cream my cock, baby. Let me feel it." You moaned, tossing your head to the side, and Chris brought his fingers to strum over your clit. You let out a high pitched little noise, face twisted up in pleasure, and Chris couldn't hold himself back anymore. He came with a grunt, pressing his hips flush with yours and spilling into you. You were right behind him, walls clamping down and milking him dry. 

He continued thrusting lazily, body still wringing out the aftershocks. He withdrew gently and found himself still half-hard. You were looking up at him with hazy eyes, blissed out yet still on earth. Chris wanted to change that.

"One more?" he asked, fingers rubbing gently over your stomach. "I know you can, baby. Give me one more." You nodded, still trying to catch your breath.

"Yeah," you said, rising up to your elbows. "I can."

"Good girl," Chris praised and you sighed. "How do you want me? How do you like to get fucked?" You gave him a sad little smile and your chest deflated.

"I like to be on top, but I don't know if I can. I won't be able to put any weight on my shin."

"You let me worry about that," Chris said, leaning down for a quick kiss before lying on his side next to you. His hands at your waist helped you sit up and you shifted onto your good leg, swinging the other over his hips to straddle him. As soon as your left shin touched the mattress you grimaced. "I've got you," Chris said, cupping his hands under your ass. He lifted your entire body weight as if it were nothing, balancing you right over his cock. You stroked him a few times before slotting him against your entrance and he groaned. "Don't tease me, I'm sensitive and I won't last long."

"In that case," you grinned, guiding him inside you. He dropped you down onto his cock and began to pump you gently up and down. You sighed, gripping onto his chest. "More," you gasped and he bounced you a little harder, letting himself bottom out on each thrust. He had you full to bursting and you hovered right on the edge. You felt his come leaking out from around his cock and you shuddered, the sight enough to send you back into orgasm. 

Chris's face twisted up beautifully as he followed behind, his fingers squeezing into your skin and pulling you back down to earth. He set you down gently and pulled out. You settled beside him and he drew you across his chest, breathing heavily as you both came down. The wind howled outside and the moon was suddenly obscured by clouds, plunging the room once more into darkness.

"Looks like the storm's picked back up again," Chris said. "We may be here a few days."

"I don't mind," you said.

"You know, I was going to ask you out. After all this was over."

"Oh really?" you asked, snuggling into Chris's shoulder. He nodded. "No time like the present." Chris grinned.

"You wanna grab dinner with me?"

"Why yes, I'd love to," you said. 

"Great, I know a nice little spot. Real intimate, only room for two. You free tomorrow night?" You giggled. 

"Yeah," you said. "I'm free."