Chapter Text
At nineteen, her life should’ve always been like this.
Of reckless college kids flooding through the doors of someone’s house, dancing to songs they barely knew the lyrics of. Music blasting through every speaker the living room could hold. The cheap carpet stains made from every liquor imaginable, never anyone’s blood.
Girls her age were joining clubs, making new friends, having their firsts.
It felt like a cruel joke that Claire returned changed while the world was still the same. The rumors already reached their climax by the time she left in December to search for her brother. That she secretly had the G-Virus. Or that she slept with the cop who helped her escape Raccoon City. (This was not true. If anything, Claire had to withstand his long, somber rants about the lady he couldn’t save the whole trip back.) When she came back in one piece, the rumors only tripled in quantity.
It didn’t help either that she was up on the table, dancing on her ninth shot of rum without a care in the world.
“Claire, we’re going to the bathroom, okay?” She heard Nellie yell at her. A sweet southern with blonde hair and hazel eyes, she was one of Claire’s only friends at the party.
“I can’t hear you!”
“I said we’re going to the bathroom! Jesus, how many shots did you take?”
Claire shrugged it off and went back to dancing. Times like these made her wonder what Chris would’ve thought if he saw her now. Embarrassment, perhaps? She was too drunk to even guess.
Not like it mattered right now. They diverged in different paths in order to keep each other safe. Chris joined a secret, anti-Umbrella cooperation with Jill to take down the company. Keeping contact with him would jeopardize his safety. He gave her an emergency number to call if something devastating were to happen to her, but a college party didn’t sound like the appropriate situation for that.
What would Leon think? Or Sherry? She couldn’t bear to think what that poor girl was going through now. To be forced into government custody at such a young age after witnessing her parents die.
Worst of all, Claire blamed herself for not being able to interfere.
Her life, and especially Chris, would be on the line if she did. It wasn’t like the U.S. government gave her a choice to begin with, but it still lingered in the back of her mind everyday. In her criminal justice classes, questioning her right to even study in college after everything that’s happened.
In the midst of slurring words and jerkish dance moves, standing in the crowd, she saw him.
Chestnut hair in a grungy side-part, slightly covering his right eye. Dark eyes and a choker with a metal detail in its center. The feeling could only be described as having deja vu. To see someone that you were just thinking about. Question if you were dreaming or this was reality.
When was the last time she saw him, anyway?
Oh right. When he mutated before her very eyes, dying a brutal death thanks to Alexia.
Claire stumbled off the table and took a few disoriented steps.
“Steeeeve!” She laughed, “Hey man, long time no see!”
The man wrinkled his nose in confusion, “Sorry, what did you say?”
“Steve! Come on, don’t you recognize me? It’s Claire! You know, the island? Remember that?” Claire’s measly attempt at sounding sober was pitiful, to say the least. And it attracted some weird glances from strangers nearby.
“Look, I don’t think you’re the guy you’re talking about, my name’s–”
“Why do you look different? Did you do something with your hair?”
Suddenly, another guy appeared from the crowd and into their conversation. He quickly swept away the man Claire was talking to, “Yo man, where were you? I gotta show you the new tapes upstairs!”
“Hey, wait– I was talking to him!” Claire groaned as she tried to follow them, pushing through the crowds. It didn’t work, but she swore she could faintly hear the tapes guy saying:
“What was that girl talking about? I heard she’s the Raccoon City survivor. Probably fucked up in the head.”
“She’s a Raccoon City survivor?!”
“Yeah, you gotta be careful what to say to her. Or she might pull a gun on you.”
Something in Claire’s stomach made her feel sick.
Maybe it was those words, the way they cut into her in ways worse than what Claire could have imagined. The devastation hearing someone talk bad about you behind your back. Or maybe it was the alcohol–
Nope. It was purely the alcohol.
…
After puking her guts out on the lawn, Claire had already begun to sober up. Being at this party was only making her feel worse about herself.
“Where the hell is Nellie?” She groaned, her stomach threatened to barf again if she stepped back into the house. Claire was already bracing herself for if she had to.
Fortunately, she didn’t. Because Nellie’s car had just sped across her very eyes on the road.
“What the– NELLIE!”
“Nellie, what the fuck!?” Claire screamed at the car long gone. As if the night couldn’t get worse, her only ride had abandoned her. “You gotta be kidding me…”
“Shit… Fine. I’ve walked right out of a city, what’s a few bumpy roads?”
This was arguably the most unsafe thing a girl like her could do: walking alone late at night. Then again, who else at this party had to deal with an omnipotent, trenchcoat-wearing bioweapon hellbent on killing survivors?
Claire felt like she could outrun anything… If she wasn’t so unsteady right now.
“Wait, you there!”
It was the same guy from the party, the one who looked like Steve chasing after her. Now that she was sobering up, he started to look less like Steve and more akin to a goth, donning a ripped band shirt and baggy jeans. Immediately, Claire unsheathed the pocket knife hiding in her jeans. The guy did not hesitate to put his arms up.
“Oh fuck– wait it’s not what it looks like!”
“You better give one good explanation why you’re following me right now, or I’ll stab this right through your eye.”
He sighed, “Do you always approach people like that?”
“I won’t hesitate. My brother is former S.T.A.R.S. and will fuck–”
“Look! I feel bad for what happened inside there. My buddy’s kind of a dick with zero self awareness. I’m sorry.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. It wasn’t like she could trust him completely, but she put away her pocket knife regardless.
“It’s fine.”
“Is it really?”
“I get people talking about me all the time like that.” Claire looked down.
“I can imagine. People are dicks about it too." The man frowned. "Can I at least walk you home? My name’s Judson.”
Claire scoffed. “Thanks for the offer. But I can walk home by myself.”
“And besides, the last time I trusted a stranger, he died on me.”
Judson’s brow furrowed. Her comment had clearly made him uncomfortable. How much has this girl really seen? Everyone knew about the Raccoon City incident and the missile. They knew she was one of the very few people lucky to even make it out. How people walked on eggshells around the infamous survivor because no one knew what she really went through. How many people did she have to kill? The monstrosities she faced? The people she lost along the way?
Claire was quick to pick up on this, “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, it’s okay.” Judson gave her a weary smile. “I can’t imagine what you went through, really.” He sighed, “Look, how about I call a taxi for you, okay?”
Claire shrugged, “Are you paying?”
“Of course I’ll pay. It’s the least I can do.”
…
As Claire faceplanted into bed, the last thing her vision saw was a necklace with two feather pendants. It hung lazily on her jewelry rack.
Raccoon City.
Ashford Island.
Sherry.
Steve.
Names attached to faces she couldn’t save. Lives that could’ve gone to do something greater. A reminder of the failures that will haunt her for the rest of her life.
No party, or even a normal college life would be able to wash that guilt down.
And for the first time since she got back, Claire cried.