Chapter Text
The warmth of the sun and the salty taste of the briny air feel like healing. Claire inhales deeply, tilting her face towards the boundless blue sky, and relishes in the heat radiating from the sun. It feels like she's thawing out, as if the weeks she’d spent cooped up in chilled offices full of recycled air are slowly melting away, and she’s suddenly aware of just how badly she needed this escape. It's not a vacation, but it's hard to deny that it’s trying to feel like one. A trip to the Mediterranean on Terrasave’s dime for a business summit would feel exactly like paradise if it weren't for her pesky moral compass constantly reminding her that she's on the clock.
The ferry is bustling and alive with the chatter of both her colleagues and civilians who are embarking on an actual Mediterranean vacation. If she's being honest with herself, Claire envies them because she knows that their days will be spent with sandy knees, sunkissed skin, and fresh air whereas she’ll be subjected to slide shows with photos of unimaginable gore, stale catered coffee, and forced water cooler conversation. At the very least, she convinces herself that the change of scenery will be nice. She'd rather see the beach through the window than the concrete jungle of the average American city any day.
Claire leans against the guard rail and watches a seabird dive beneath the water and retrieve a wriggling fish. The gingery taste of the dramamine she had taken to combat motion sickness is still fresh on her tongue and she inhales deeply, trying to replace the flavor with that of sea salt. A child nearby shrieks, excitedly pointing at the fin of a dolphin breaking through the surface of the water towards the horizon line. The excitement it stirs among the civilian tourists makes her smile to herself. Sure, she might have to stare at grotesque slideshows and hear about emergency preparedness plans, but she does it for little moments like these. Her work being done behind the scenes is what preserves moments of peace like this. At least, that’s what Terrasave insists.
"I'll be damned," a deep voice rumbles from behind her, tone playful, "It looks like I picked the right ferry."
At first, she doesn't even assume the comment is directed towards her. It's vaguely familiar, but not one she places until a broad silhouette enters her periphery and she turns towards the man with an expression of confusion that quickly becomes one of surprise.
"Carlos?"
Her voice nearly squeaks with uncertainty. There's no mistaking those deep brown eyes, olive skin, and perfectly tousled waves, but her surprise stems from the fact that she hasn't seen him in years. Not in the flesh, at least. As a member of her South American counterpart at Terrasave, she’d seen him at a company Christmas party a couple years back and plenty of times over staticky, lagging video conference calls, but she hadn’t expected to see him here.
And she certainly hadn't expected that the video quality did him no justice in comparison to seeing him in person. In Claire’s mind, he was still the young mercenary she briefly met in Raccoon City. He had aged well since then, now sporting the slightest hint of grey in the stubble of his beard and flattering creases that appeared at the corners of his eyes when he laughed. He smiles broadly, sliding in beside her at the railing and casually leaning against it like he belongs there. If she didn't know any better, she’d think he was on vacation in his crisp striped linen button up and designer sunglasses hanging off the edge of his collar.
Somehow, it feels like she knows him much better than he does. Maybe it's the loneliness of solo travel that inspires her to be so willingly open.
"How was the flight?" He asks, dark eyes focused on her.
"Not awful." She shrugs. "You'd think I'd learn to love it by now."
"Nah. The first time I flew, I landed in Raccoon City." He momentarily looks up at the bright blue sky. "Still get the creeps every time I board a plane."
Claire tries not to let it linger for too long, but she feels the weight of it in the air between them. Raccoon City was the starting point for nearly everyone she held dear in her life, but their trajectories had all been different. Chris and Jill became servants to it, throwing themselves wholly into the BSAA and living a life dictated by bioterrorism. Leon was a victim to it, forever trapped in an endless cycle of mourning the life bioterrorism took from him and blaming the DSO for it. Sherry, despite being a victim herself, chose to reframe her trauma and use her infection as a tool to aid the DSO in protecting her country.
And Claire had simply done her best to bury Raccoon City as best she could. She still visited its grave from time to time, mourning the lives lost and the influence it had on her and those around her, but she tried not to dwell in it. Raccoon City was long gone, a friable scar that she wore but never spoke of, but it still bled from time to time.
Surprisingly, Carlos’s presence doesn't pick at the wound. She had initially met him in the pouring rain, surrounded by the stench of organic decay and billowing smoke from the burning city. That night had brought out the worst in most of the people she met, encouraging violence spurred by raw fear and instinctive survival, but Carlos had been kind to her.
"This section of the city is off limits. Umbrella’s orders. You need to go to the tram station for evacuation."
"I’m not looking for trouble." She had greeted him, hands preemptively raised in surrender. "I'm just…I'm looking for my brother."
He'd paused then, rifle gripped tight in his hands and eyes sympathetic.
"Fine," he had sighed, "But…it's dangerous."
"I can handle myself."
He'd given her ammunition and bandages—are you sure you want to go alone? I can help—and made her promise to evacuate by dawn.
"Thanks, but I can handle it. The evacuees need you more than I do."
And he’d saved Jill’s life.
"I…I’m sorry."
Carlos quirks an eyebrow.
"For what? You didn't put me on that plane." He shakes his head, smile carefree. "Anyway, I haven't been to Terragrigia in a while. You ever been?"
The warm breeze carries the notes of his cologne in her direction and she appreciates the hints of citrus, bergamot, and basil.
"I haven't actually."
Carlos shifts his weight from one foot to the other, arms draped against the railing behind him, and he turns his head in her direction.
"There's an incredible rooftop restaurant near the beach. Great food and views. I'll take you."
He says it with an assuredness that she isn't used to. Her life is typically dictated by maybes—Chris might be able to make it to Christmas this year, Terrasave could probably manage to rebudget to give a little more aid to the group she's advocating for, Leon could call her once he's back in the states. She's used to simmering on the back burner and being plan B. The perpetual tentative yes.
"Sure." Claire thoughtlessly replies. "I'd love to go."
She feels his eyes on her and sees his lips quirk slightly.
"Excuse me."
An older lady, probably in her late sixties, with a large sun hat and even larger sunglasses interrupts them. The thick plastic frames glisten in the sunlight, a deep green adorned with flecks of gold.
"Would you mind taking a picture of me, dear?" She asks Claire, holding up an old digital camera that had definitely become obsolete ten years ago and pointing at the silhouette of the city on the horizon line with a perfectly lacquered ruby nail. "With that crazy city in the background."
Claire smiles back with a polite, genuine smile and takes the camera. The woman’s charm is oddly irresistible. "Sure, of course."
The elderly woman strikes a practiced pose that Claire assumes is featured in all of her vacation photos. She snaps several shots, giving her a variety to choose from, and returns the camera.
"Thank you, darling. My girlfriends and I are traveling through the Med, you see? The widows club." She points to a gaudy, hot pink brooch pinned to her gauzy sundress. A pink widow spider.
"Oh, I'm so sorry."
"Don't be. My Winston was a pain in the ass, but I loved him. We had a good run. 45 years, can you believe it?"
"That's impressive." Claire replies, forcing the conversation as best she can. Entertaining oversharing strangers was never her expertise.
"Well, thanks to him, I get to see the world with my friends and drink far too much with people half of our age!" She continues to overshare, leaning in close to whisper, "Rita even kissed a bartender in Palermo."
Claire forces a laugh to be cordial, but from beside her, Carlos actually laughs. It's an earnest, deep chuckle that makes his eyes crinkle at the edges and something to warm in her chest.
"You know, he kind of looked like your husband." The old lady says, looking at Carlos, but still talking to Claire.
"Oh, we're not—" Claire begins, but Carlos is quick to interrupt. His arm slides smoothly around her waist, firm and radiating heat. It nestles into the curve of her like it belongs there.
"He must have been a handsome bastard, no doubt." He teases, pulling her slightly closer.
The world is suddenly sunshine, citrus, and the clacking of the woman’s chunky bangles colliding against one another. The crown of her head is hot beneath the rays of the sun and Carlos’s stare.
"Let me take a picture of you two. I want to show them. Rita still talks about it, you know. They are already half drunk on Aperol Spritzes below deck."
Before Claire can deny the request, the lady raises her camera, holding it out at arm’s length and squinting at the screen. Carlos seizes the opportunity without missing a beat.
"Look at me, babe."
His voice is soft, so gentle that the older woman wouldn't be able to hear it. Claire looks up at him and is met with a tenderness in his gaze that catches her off guard. His eyes are like molten honey, his hand is still firmly at her hip, and his fingertips are brushing against the thin fabric of her sundress. He is playing his role way too convincingly.
"Beautiful. Absolutely stunning." The lady yells, seemingly more happy about the photograph of strangers than the one with her in focus. Claire suspects that she, too, might be half drunk on Aperol herself.
"You look lovely together. Still in the honeymoon phase?"
Claire opens her mouth without even knowing what to say, well aware that it's probably too late to correct her. It doesn't really matter, because Carlos beats her again.
"Nah, but she still makes every day feel like it."
Claire subtly elbows him in the ribs and, in response, his smile only widens.
"I love love." The woman shrieks, clapping her hands together and sighing wistfully. "Ah, now that Aperol is calling my name. Lovely meeting you. You two behave once we land in the city! Or don't."
She finishes the goodbye with a waggle of her eyebrows that are drawn slightly crooked and a wave of her hand. Claire forces a smile. Once she's out of sight, she puts some distance between herself and Carlos.
"You enjoyed that way too much." She accuses, arms crossed over her chest in a halfhearted play at mock seriousness.
"You liked it!"
"You could've just corrected her."
"And break that poor woman's heart? Don't be cruel, Claire. She just lost her husband."
"She thought we were on our honeymoon."
"And for one magical minute, we were, my love."
The laugh that escapes her is instinctive—a half-snort that isn't charming in any way, but it somehow elicits a proud grin from Carlos.
"You are something else."
"Oh? Can you elaborate more please? Something…funny? Handsome? Exciting?"
She thinks for a second, contemplating if she's even dignifying the question with an actual answer.
"Funny, certainly. Almost funny enough that it makes me forget what I'm actually here for."
"Sure. And it comes with a view." He says, but he doesn't glance to the ocean. His eyes stay fixed on her. She lets the silence stretch just long enough to let him know she acknowledged the line.
"Enjoy it while it lasts, Carlos."
"Definitely plan to."
It shouldn't work on her, but it does. Claire blames it on her decrepit love life. Is she really so hard up that weak, flirty one liners are enough to make her heart race? Get a grip. A man like Carlos probably flirts with anything that has a pulse.
She watches the distance between the boat and the city grow smaller, the ocean between them glistening like sapphires. Choppy waves eventually give way to frothy foam and she hears the shouting of the locals greeting them from their pop up shops along the docks, peddling cheap jewelry and romantic boat rides for the tourists as they disembark, and she turns to Carlos with the intention of offering to buy him one of the hideous pooka shell necklaces when she finds he’s still looking directly at her.
Eyes still warm like honey, lashes dark and long, waves of dark hair brushing against his forehead. Something handsome, no doubt.
"I'm a man of my word." He murmurs, voice husky and deep.
She rolls her eyes, but can't deny the heat she feels in her face. Claire tells herself it's early sunburn and curses the fair complexion she inherited from her half-Irish mother. Maybe a stop at one of the overpriced sunhat booths isn't a bad idea after all.
"So, before I forget…give me your phone."
The demand roughly rips her from her thoughts. Claire plays it back in her head, confused by the statement.
"Excuse me?"
"I need to make sure you have my number. You know, in case of an emergency." He cheekily says, arm outstretched.
Claire wonders what type of emergency he could possibly expect to arise on this type of trip, but ultimately hands him her phone. He deftly adds himself in as a contact with quick, assured taps of his fingers.
"Actually…"
He suddenly shifts closer to her and raises the phone into the air, angling it for a selfie.
"What are you—"
The click of the shutter interrupts her protest and he returns his attention back to her phone, presumably attaching the photo to his contact. He wordlessly hands it back to her, but she doesn't miss the subtle smirk on his face before she looks down to see what he's done.
Carlos🍹 (Husband)
His contact card is complete with the ridiculous impromptu photo of them in which she's both mid-blink and halfway through her verbal protest, while he looks like he just stepped out of a goddamn cologne commercial.
"Unbelievable." She mumbles, wrestling the dual urge to ask to retake the photo, but also not wanting to entertain his antics. She’ll change it to Carlos Oliveira 🙄 later.
He glances over her shoulder.
"Looks like your cavalcade has arrived."
She turns, catching sight of a sleek black shuttle that is perfectly impersonal and very much TerraSave’s brand. Neil is already waving in her direction from the opened door, clipboard in hand.
"I think Fisher has already spotted you."
The distaste in his voice is obvious. Claire returns her attention to him, brow furrowed in question.
"You're not coming with us?"
Carlos shakes his head.
"Nah, the weather is way too nice to be ruined by Neil Fisher’s presence. I opted to stay somewhere a little more…coastal."
It sounds intentionally vague and she wants to ask him what he means, but chooses not to. Carlos doesn't owe her any answers. She hardly even knows him.
"Well, I hope you enjoy the beach, Carlos." She says, the hint of sadness in her voice entirely unintentional. "Work calls."
Carlos smiles, casually slipping his hands into his pockets as he studies her.
"Try not to miss me too much, Mrs. Oliveira."
She narrows her eyes at him.
"Don't overdo it, Mr. Oliveira."
"Oh, I wouldn't dare. Happy wife, happy life, as they say."
And with that, he pivots on his heel and heads down the boardwalk to…somewhere more coastal, she presumes.
She slides into the backseat of the shuttle. The doors glide shut and the cold blast of the air conditioning dries the sweat on her neck. The fake leather of the seat sticks to the back of her legs. Neil doesn't waste a moment.
"So, tomorrow we're starting at nine o'clock sharp." He begins, voice commanding as usual, and she fights the urge to roll her eyes.
"There will be a light breakfast available at the conference hall starting at 0830." He says, looking at his clipboard. "Afterwards, we will have an opening briefing, followed by a seminar on cross agency coordination and—"
Claire’s thoughts drift after the word breakfast. She leans her forehead gently against the glass of the window as the shuttle lurches into motion. The exhaustion of travel starts to creep in as the city slowly moves past.
"—and tonight we will have a networking reception. You'll want to be there, Claire."
The sound of her name stirs her from her daze.
"Dinner?"
"Yes."
"Is it mandatory?" She asks before she can stop herself. Her voice sounds more drained than she intended it to, but Neil doesn't seem to notice.
"Nothing is mandatory, but it would be great if you came."
Claire hums a quiet sound of acknowledgement and looks back out of the window. She pictures the warm sand welling up between her toes, the ocean waves lapping at her ankles, and a cold drink in her hand. The backdrop of the Mediterranean paradise that is Terragrigia feels like another planet compared to what Neil apparently has in store for her.
Her thoughts drift to Carlos and the obnoxious contact card he stored in her phone. Maybe she’d text him after all, if only to live vicariously through him and ask if the beach is nice at sunset or see if he knows a good hiding place she can retreat to when she's tired of smiling prettily for strangers. More than anything, she wants to text him just to remind herself that she's more than just a name on Neil’s clipboard and a means to an end for TerraSave.
"You alright?" Neil once again interrupts her musings.
"Yeah, I just really need a shower and a nap." She says, forcing a tired smile.
Neil nods, apparently satisfied and goes straight back to his list of bullet points. Claire zones out again until they arrive at the hotel.
From the outside, the hotel looks too expensive to actually be enjoyable. It’s all sleek lines and cold perfection, a modern eyesore nestled in the midst of charming historic architecture, citrus trees, and cobblestone streets. It, too, is so very Terrasave that it makes her stomach turn.
She steps out into the humid, salty air, but the moment is immediately ruined by the artificially cooled air that blasts from the lobby. Neil is already halfway up to the reception, barking orders into his phone. Doing what he does best, Claire cynically thinks to herself.
Inside, it's exactly what she had expected. An unnecessarily big atrium that carries sound in an unpleasant way, a glass elevator that offers no privacy, and tastefully arranged tropical plants that look like they've been dipped in wax. She smiles at the receptionist who tells her about pool hours and breakfast times. She nods along. Neil hands her a folder with schedules and agendas, emphasizing places to be and people to see. He then has the nerve to tap his watch to remind her about tonight's diner.
She watches him disappear behind a column, his voice echoing throughout the empty atrium. His speech is animated, picking up both pace and pitch in the way that it always does when he's flustered, and she decides it's not worth waiting around for him to finish his inevitable argument with whoever he has on the line. She presses the elevator call button twice for good measure, willing it to move faster as she watches it slowly descend from up above.
It greets her with a punchy, artificial chime that reminds her of her dishwasher back home. She flips open the brochure the receptionist handed her to double check the location of her room and winces as she selects the 8th floor. As the elevator slowly ascends, she rests her head against the cool glass and closes her eyes.
She's not surprised to find that the 8th floor is swathed in bland shades of cool gray that spans both the carpet and walls. Various pieces of stock art that could easily be artificially generated are mounted on the walls as she makes her way down the hall. It feels like a liminal space. She's sure she's had an analog horror style nightmare about this very hotel before. The diamond pattern printed on the carpet makes her dizzy if she stares at it for too long.
Of course her room is as far from the elevator as possible. She sighs as she taps her keycard for entry and is greeted by an equally charmless room, adorned with heavy curtains, a desk that’s just slightly too small to comfortably get any work done on, a television that has a poorly responsive UI littered with advertisements to click, and the ugliest lampshades she’s ever laid eyes on.
Claire unceremoniously throws herself onto the bed, face buried in the pristine white pillow. She immediately rears back, worried she’ll mark the blindingly white surface with smudged mascara or sunscreen residue, and she flips onto her back to stare at the ceiling. Her hand rests on top of the glossy folder Neil handed her and she looks down at it, wrinkling her nose. The mere presence of it beside her feels daunting.
She’s not trying to be a buzzkill, but the idea of back-to-back seminars and social events feels overwhelming. Maybe it’s because of the jetlag, but she doesn’t feel like she has the energy to summon a polite smile and humble giggle when Neil parades her around as the Claire Redfield who survived Raccoon City to a room full of potential donors. The schmoozing that comes with working for a nonprofit organization never sat right with her. She’d rather go back to Raccoon City a thousand times over than tell a group of rich men looking for tax breaks about versions of bioterrorism that are somehow both simultaneously watered down to keep their stomachs from turning and overly embellished enough to make Terrasave seem like heroes over flat champagne and unsatisfying hors d’oeuvres.
Maybe she’s burnt out.
She reaches for her phone, squinting at the time. It's too early to sleep, jetlag be damned.
Made it to Terragrigia, she writes out to Jill. You'll never guess who I ran into.
She snaps a halfhearted photo of the room from her bed, capturing the eyesore of the massive AC window unit obstructing her view and the photograph of the beach framed on the wall. It looks perfectly awful and she almost laughs to herself as she attaches it to a message to Carlos.
Beachfront views courtesy of Terrasave.
She drops her phone onto the mattress beside her and lets her eyes flutter shut. The sound of her notification tone mere seconds later makes her jump. She hadn't expected him to reply so soon.
Claire’s jaw involuntarily drops at the photo he sends in response. The foot of the bed is just barely in frame, the point of focus being opened French doors mere feet away from where she presumes he's sitting on the bed. A small balcony tastefully adorned with tropical plants gives way to a breathtaking view of the ocean, framed by craggy islands on either side that are studded with tufts of green vegetation and sun bleached buildings. She can nearly hear the seagulls, taste the salty air, and feel the coastal breeze from the photo alone.
The Buenos Aires branch has better taste. Want to transfer?
She smiles to herself as she writes out a reply.
Tempting. Show me more of that beach view and I'll consider it.
Claire allows her eyes to slip shut momentarily, eyelids heavy with the weariness of crossing time zones. She lets her phone rest in the dip of her ribcage, head nestled in the pillow, and she can't quite tell if she drifts off or not before the buzz off her phone against her body arouses her.
Happy wife, happy life.
The cheeky message comes attached with a photo. Carlos is leaning against the wrought iron balcony, arm outstretched to take a selfie with the ocean in the background. He looks radiant, olive skin glowing healthily and dark waves pushed away from his cinnamon hued eyes. He's beaming with a crooked smile, all bright white teeth and perfectly manicured dark stubble peppering his chin, and the casual linen set he's wearing is billowing in the breeze.
Unhappy wife. You're blocking the view.
She’s still staring at the photo of him when the next text comes through.
How about I just show you in person instead?
His location is attached. She stares at the coordinates in her maps app while idly worrying her lower lip between her teeth. It's too early to sleep, but she hardly knows him. He saved Jill’s life and he offered to save hers back then, too. She can't sleep yet. It beats her view. What else is she going to do to kill time?
"Nothing is mandatory, but it would be great if you came."
Right. The company dinner. Claire purses her lips as Neil's voice echoes in her head.
Hey Neil. I'm so sorry, but this jetlag is really catching up with me. I'll have to pass on dinner tonight.
She quickly taps send before her guilt can get the best of her. With the sight of the delivered receipt popping up under her message, she feels a weight lifted off of her chest. Done and delivered. She's free and doesn't bother waiting for his inevitable polite ‘feel better’ text that he surely only sends out of professional obligation. Mentally, she's somewhere else entirely—somewhere a little more…coastal.
She opens her message thread with Carlos instead, her thumbs hovering over the screen and her pulse a little quicker than she'd like to admit.
On my way before I can change my mind.
She tosses her phone onto her bed and flips open her suitcase. Claire pulls the neatly folded swimsuit Jill had convinced her to bring out of a side pocket in her luggage.
"I doubt I'll have much time to enjoy the beach."
"Live a little, Claire. No one takes these events seriously."
"I guarantee Chris ‘I Don't Know What Fun Is’ Redfield is nothing but professional at these types of events."
"Are you kidding me? Do I need to tell you how many times the BSAA has paid us to have sex?"
"Uh, no. I'm good, thanks."
She snorts to herself at the memory. At least it's just the beach. She feels like she'd die from the guilt of fucking someone on Terrasave’s dime. It's hard to imagine that Chris is somehow more adventurous than she is at this point in their lives.
It’s a fifteen minute walk to wherever he is. Maybe, if she moves fast enough, she’ll make it before she has time to talk herself out of this.