#post requiem

smokey haze danced languidly through the neon lights, carrying with it the tune from the juke box and a familiar sense of longing. longing for a smoke, a drink, a person…

time.

the singular currency that could only be spent with no capital gained. no exchanges, no refunds, no savings. you could only tally how much of it had ticked by without ever knowing when you’d be scraping the bottom of a dry well. in the end, how you spent it was the only thing that truly mattered.

chris liked to think that what he had dedicated the past 30 something years of his life to was worth the time spent. that it meant something.

anything.

if he made a difference, any at all, he would be happy. at least he liked to think so, but the thirst cracking his lips as he looked at the lines of bottles behind the bar and the ever present itching for a cigarette made him beg to differ. it wasn’t those vices themselves, but the reason he still wanted them. the self destruction that still fought against him despite the good he’d done, the lives he’d saved, the evils he’d stopped…

every small victory would always be weighed against the heavy burden of everyone he lost.

he couldn’t help but to feel like his mistakes, his negligence, his lack of foresight, or a culmination of the three was the B A N K R U P T stamped across their time tables. because of him they went all in on a losing hand and the dealer came to collect.

“…if words could make wishes come true…”

he mumbled along with the melody beneath his breath and reached for the sweating glass of coke that sat in front of him. the fizz was pleasant—cleared the senses—but it lacked the distinct burn that he pained for. he quit drinking, but the craving for it never quit him.

“careful. how many of those have you had?”

aside from a trip to the bathroom, the familiar voice behind him was the only thing that got him to turn in his stool since he had planted himself in wait however long ago. no dust or cobwebs had settled on him, so he imagined he hadn’t quite overstayed his welcome just yet.

“not enough.” he gave a dismissive wave to the other and gestured to the stool beside himself, “you’re late, kennedy.”

leon moved to sit beside him with a grunt as he settled old bones onto the stool, waving to the bartender.

“i’ll have what he’s having,” his attention turned back to chris with that ever charming smirk of his, “sorry—you know how briefings can go.”

his words were laced with that signature sarcasm and slightly flippant attitude, but chris knew better than to take leon’s words at surface level. it was the subtleties he had to look for, like the way the younger man’s pinkie brushed out against his in a privately affectionate apology. or the sight of the silver band around his ring finger that instinctively made chris’ thumb spin the matching one around his own.

“mm,” he understood very well how briefings could go, and how they only seemed to take the most time when there was somewhere else he needed to be. it didn’t matter now though. they both understood more than anyone the importance of time.

he wouldn’t waste it.

“you don’t have to torture yourself, you know,” leon spoke, giving a nod in thanks to the bartender that brought him his own respective glass of soda, “we don’t always have to meet here.”

it was true. there were plenty of places in between that they could meet without one of them having to go too out of the way—most of which wouldn’t have a wall of booze tempting him like the apple in the goddamn garden of eden—but this place held a soft spot for him.

“i like it here,” he gave a smile to leon that seemed to soften the agent’s pointed stare, “besides, this is where i kicked your ass in that first game of darts.”

ah, there it was. that competitive redfield spirit.

“oh, you’re so sentimental,” slight bitterness laced leon’s words, but—try as he may behind the coke glass—he couldn’t hide the sliver of amusement (or tinge of pink) that washed over his face. “you’re still thinkin’ about that?”

the constant cravings that nagged him seemed nothing more than a dull ache now that the one he was longing waiting for was finally here. he turned to fully face him, leaning a thick arm against the bar. coyly, he played with the straw in his drink while his foot moved to rest on the side of leon’s stool—effectively boxing him in. not that he was looking to escape anyway.

“all the time. it’s not often that you see leon kennedy start losing his cool like that.”

“i’m not as level headed as you think,” was the grumbled response half muttered into the drink that the agent also seemed to wish was something a lot stronger.

“maybe but i didn’t think you’d take a game of darts so seriously.”

“HA. you didn’t really leave me a choice, redfield. there was a lot at stake in that game.”

“oh, come on. the only choice i didn’t leave you was the one to win.” a stark slap resounded after his words once he clapped leon on the shoulder with a loud laugh.

“you know,” he feigned a wince, rubbing at his shoulder, “you and your damn sister are a lot alike.”

the banter between them had the two of them subconsciously getting closer to one another. knees came to touch as the younger’s foot moved this time, planting firmly on chris’ stool and right between his legs. a challenging smirk and flash of a dare reflected between brown and blue eyes. it had been a long while since they last saw each other, what with chris being out of the country and leon handling things here in the states. usually, their reunions were fleeting—too brief. too tense. this time, there was the knowledge that they could breathe but the fear that, if they did, they might breathe too soon and drown under the illusion of peace.

leon’s last mission was successful in a way that was greater than anything they could have imagined, but with that came the strange sense of waiting for the floor to fall from beneath their feet. every victory—no matter how big or small—always seemed to precede a string of heavy losses, but this time it felt like they were allowed to let go. there was an antiviral for…everything. a full stop to the bioweapons that they’ve endlessly faced for the past three decades, and a new lease on life for some of the people closest to them.

for once, there was hope.

it was the reason that they were meeting. the last time chris had seen leon was just before he left, when his and sherry’s symptoms were just starting to show. claire was in the same boat, and chris stayed by her side—as much as it pained him to let leon go into raccoon city alone. he was worried. if leon didn’t return, it meant much more than just losing him—as if that wouldn’t be painful enough.

it meant losing everything.

everyone.

again.

so as strange as it seemed to be on the upswing of victory, chris figured he would be a fool to squander it wallowing in the past and the what ifs. he had spent more than enough time doing that tonight. besides, he was itching for another game…

“i’d hope so—i raised her.”

“don’t say that like it’s a good thing.”

chris laughed at leon’s scoffed words, lightly choking down the rest of his drink and leaving the empty glass on the bar with a few bills.

“what do you say we play again? maybe you’ve gotten better in your old age.”

icy daggers drilled straight into him even as they were hidden behind sheaths of ‘good’ humor. try as he may, leon would never be able to hide that annoyed twitch in his brow from chris, which he only made worse by showing just how satisfied he was at the sight of it.

“don’t go crying elder abuse when i kick your ass this time, redfield.”

finishing his own drink and leaving the glass behind with his own stack of bills, leon followed suit behind chris who slapped a broad hand across the center of his upper back. as they closed in on the dart board, he dared to slide that hand a bit lower and lead leon in front of him. his thumb traced gentle circles along his spine, taking the moment to appreciate getting to touch him again.

the younger turned to face him, and, for a brief moment, he softened. they weren’t a pair for pda—they preferred to keep things private—but how many more chances would they get to share in little touches? there was no telling when their time would run out, and they had gotten too close to it this last run around.

chris didn’t want any more regrets.

“don’t go getting sentimental on me now,” leon spoke tenderly this time, stepping close enough that chris could still smell the sweetness of the soda on his breath, “it won’t get me to go easy on you.”

with a quick smirk, chris gave leon a swift and subtle pinch of his ass before he finally stepped back and started gathering the darts from the board.

“oh, trust me, kennedy—i wouldn’t want you to.”

more than satisfied as he heard leon swear under his breath, chris stuck a dollar in the dartboard and set up their game.

“same stakes as before?” there was no missing the challenge in his eyes as he asked him. he watched leon like a hawk—studying how he ran his hand through his hair with an air of nonchalance and rolled the darts back and forth between his fingers with feigned contemplation at the posed question. chris knew better than anyone that this little show was nothing more than a tease. he knew what the answer was, and he knew that no matter who won or lost, leon would be very pleased—regardless of how indignant he was being about it.

“fine by me.”

***

“bullseye.”

large hands collected the darts between his fingers, fanning them out in an arrogant display to his sneering partner. the facade of nonchalance was cracking around leon as chris only seemed to get cockier and cockier the longer the game went on. leon still believed that, out of the two of them, he was the better marksman—he wouldn’t have rolled around on the ground shooting at arias in circles like some goddamn circus act—but competing against chris was an entirely different ballpark.

if you challenge a redfield, be prepared to lose.

once again, leon was learning this the hard way.

“bullshit,” at one point, they were neck in neck, but chris always had a knack for the illusion of safety. once you felt genuinely confident in your ability to beat him, he’d remind you why his team called him the alpha—a name leon could never quite take seriously until moments like these.

then it just seemed like a cruel joke.

“don’t be a sore loser, kennedy. all that frownin’ will give you more wrinkles.”

darts slammed into the board, practically smoking from the force and threatening to shatter on impact as leon’s eyes flared. he wasn’t a superficial man by any means, but looking in the mirror was reminder enough of how haggard the years had left him—the last thing he needed was the old bastard he married to remind him of that.

“i’ll have nothin’ to frown about when i stick your ass in a home.”

“oh come on,” chris mused, leaning down to leon as he passed to collect the darts the younger had almost decimated, “you’d miss me too much.”

his voice was low and smug and close enough to remind leon why he had fallen for the man in the first place. despite his current cockiness, chris redfield was an honorable man—a damn fine one that was few and far between. he had a strong will and determination that had picked leon up off of his feet—or his sorry ass when he was drinking—on more than one occasion. though age and hardship marred his face, the drive and magnetic passion to put an end to an ongoing war was still clear and true in those big, beautiful brown eyes that always seemed to melt the ice around leon.

he wasn’t unkind, but his days—day, really—as a naive rookie were long lost behind him. to cope with the loss of innocence, both his own and of those he couldn’t save, leon had built a shell around himself. smartass quips and one liners were the only shield he had to beat back the dread of having to continue on, the exhaustion that seemed rooted into his bone marrow, and the fear that, one day, it would all come crashing down on him.

this last time around, it almost did.

“about as much as i miss spain,” the dry response huffed in a sigh as leon planted himself at the table. his eyes lazily slid down to the scores and rolled in about as much frustration as they did amusement. just like the first time, he thought, letting his mind wander away from his every day horrors to a memory he actually held onto quite fondly as chris lined himself up for his winning shot.

***

it was years back now, sometime in between glenn arias and alcatraz. leon was still drinking, but he had certainly cut back. gone were the days of drowning in boredom and booze to try and cope with an unfortunate fact of this life—you were going to lose people. whether they were civilians or the people you trained with every day, people were going to die. eventually, that cycle of loss would weigh just about anyone down, and, sometimes, a vice became a crutch and a crutch became an inevitability.

leon’s happened to be whiskey that burned a little too much going down. the pain was enough to remind him of the fact that, for whatever reason, he had lived and his friends, his colleagues, the people that had trusted him to get them to safety had not. it was his bitter pill—his burden, and it had almost taken him out of the game on more than one occasion.

it reminded him of how many more lives would be lost if he just gave up.

so, he had cut down and thrown himself back into his work. he still drank on occassion, but he would never let himself get too far. the thought of losing control again was just about as terrifying as every ugly monstrosity he had faced thus far. he was doing well and, one night, found himself in this very bar to get a little nightcap after a briefing.

that was when the bell over the door rang and a familiar face came waltzing up behind him, slamming a large hand across his back that threatened to choke the whiskey right out of him. it was about as much of a greeting as it was a warning.

“careful, kennedy. how many of those have you had?”

the familiar voice had almost washed out all of the annoyance he felt, but there was still a slight twitch in his brow as he turned around to greet the hulking figure standing over him.

chris redfield.

“not enough,” he had muttered sarcastically into the glass, but the sly shift of his eyes up to the older man was the subtle hint that he was actually happy to see him. it had been a long time, but there was still that fierce warmth and determination burning in chris’ eyes that had inspired leon to put down the bottle and pick himself back up in the first place.

“then how about i get the next round?”

the corner of leon’s mouth curved in a smirk as the bear of a man sat down beside him and waved the bartender over for another round. to be honest, he wasn’t sure how many the two of them shared that night, but he did distinctly remember the conversation leading up to that fateful game of darts.

“oh, come on, redfield. you know i’m the better shot.”

“you think so?”

there was no denying the tension between them, and leon remembered being unsure of whether he was feeling it right or if he was just too drunk to care. but chris was close to him—almost too close. he could still smell the hint of his soap and aftershave—the warm, clean spice enveloping him. it was the first time leon had found himself so inexplicably drawn to chris.

“i know so.”

the gleam in chris’ eyes was really what had lured leon in. it was something he hadn’t seen before—this spark that, despite not knowing what it was, he wanted to see again. the stool creaked beneath the weight as the older man leaned closer, and it took a long, deep breath for leon to steady himself beneath the intensity of those eyes.

“come on then. show me what you’ve got.”

at first, leon hadn’t moved, still lingering under the enticing smokey scent of the whiskey on chris’ breath mixed with the faintest trace of tobacco from the cigarette he must have smoked outside. he was never a fan of cigarettes himself, but the way it clung to the older man was oddly…enticing—at least enough to make him finally understand the appeal. his gaze languidly followed as chris sauntered towards the dartboard with a confident stride—a confidence that both annoyed leon and made him question what kind of trouble he was about to get himself into.

if claire was any indicator of her brother’s competitive spirit, he was starting to think he should maybe just leave.

the game itself had been tense, but leon had managed quite a lead over chris; however, there was absolutely no defeating that cocky attitude that only served to annoy leon more and more. in hindsight, he knew chris had won the game from the minute leon had challenged him. the shit talking, the negging, the “bad” shots that were made a little too accurately…

leon should have known the second chris asked him for a second game that he was being played like a fiddle.

the scores had evened out much too quickly, and the younger agent realized much too slowly that he had severely underestimated chris’ skills. that combined with his own competitive spirit and the healthy buzz of alcohol in his system had made for a dangerous combo. he could still remember how that frustration mixed with what he now knew to be attraction started making him sweat. his jacket had come off with a huff and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“aww, what’s the matter, kennedy? am i making you nervous?”

“ha, yeah—i’m shakin’ in my boots.”he lined himself up for his next shot, too determined to not let chris dupe him to notice that he was about to do just that.

“need me to steady you?”

leon could blame the alcohol all he wanted, but he knew that wasn’t why he had fluffed his shot—the dart slamming into the board and dropping to the floor. it was the feeling of chris’ breath on his neck and the chill that followed—goosebumps rising despite the heat of it. it was the implication in his question, the tone that suggested he had been reading leon to filth the whole night—knowing exactly how he had been affecting him. with a twitch in his brow finally showing his frustration, leon whipped around and shoved a finger straight into chris’ chest.

“suck my dick, redfield.”

he should have known right then and there the connotations that would have.

“if you win.” leon could still feel the way chris’ hand rested on his shoulder as he leaned down and spoke by his ear, knowing now that the older man had read every sign from him and reciprocated them, “but if i win..”

***

“looks like i’ve still got it.”

chris’ taunting gloat was lost on deaf ears as he turned to face leon. their eyes met, but leon’s were hazy—glazed over and still lost in the memories of that first night though chris assumed he just didn’t want to face his defeat.

“what’s wrong, leon?” it was the sound of his name that seemed to spring him to life, brows piqued as the older male closed in and leaned down, “can’t admit defeat?”

he could tell by the straightening of the younger’s spine that he had gotten under his skin again. the physical annoyance chris pulled out of leon was a reward in of itself—call it an ‘older brother’ thing. he watched as the glare he received melted into something that almost made his heart skip a beat. it was a mix of tenderness and nostalgia—the look that leon always seemed to get when he walked down the short path of fond memories lane—and the deeper seeded headiness that told chris exactly what it was leon had been thinking about.

“take me home, chris.”

the solemn ring of the bell above the door didn’t seem so lonesome anymore as the pair walked out into the night.

***

every moment apart was too long and too much to bear, but the reality of that never fully set in until they were together again. they had barely spoken a word between leaving the bar and walking up the steps to leon’s apartment door, but every desire and confession was left plain and laid bare on the table for them both to see. there was nothing that could be said that the other already didn’t know or feel.

with hardly a second for the hinges to creak, the pair were already intertwined and pushing past the door. with leon chasing his lips and settling for trailing hungry kisses and bites down the expanse of his neck, chris—somehow—managed to shut and lock the door behind them. he wouldn’t risk being interrupted, not when he could finally hold leon in his arms again.

despite the heavy laden desire threatening to bust the fly of his pants (and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time), chris’ heart was close to boiling over with emotion. every day away from leon mixed with the looming threat of time finally catching up to him had left chris on the verge of breaking at any second. his lungs ached from shallow breaths, never able to take a full one against the weight of dread in his chest. loss was inevitable, he knew that. he was forced to accept that, but spending every day thinking leon was a loss he’d have to accept possibly sooner than he had ever wished…

“don’t get sentimental on me, now,” leon’s soft words stopped the choked whimper in his throat as his tender kisses sought chris out of his inner turmoil, “i’m right here.”

“i know….i know.”

hard as it may be to believe it, he knew it was true. his stubbled cheek nuzzled into leon’s touch as it guided him to look the other in the eye—eyes that were as clear as the blue sky for the first time in a long time.

“you’ve still got a prize to collect, old man.”

that half smirk that chris had come to grow so fond of tamed the swell of emotions in his chest and so very kindly reminded him of his victory. strong arm caught the younger just around the small of his back to press him close and kiss him with a threatening vigor—a warning and a promise that this old man still could and would leave him spent and still begging for him by the end of the night.

chris broke away and moved to the couch. he sat with his legs spread, large arms splayed over the back with a not so subtle reflection of that arrogance he had displayed earlier. it was the spitting image of the last time they had played this game, but, this time, leon had an air of confidence that he hadn’t before.

the name of the game had been fueled by drunken egos and flaring testosterone, leaving each of them with the hard headed need to not only prove which of them was the better marksman, but for the loser to admit it by ‘sucking my dick’—a remark that had been taken a little too literally. they would both admit that it was stupid and immature, but neither of them could say they didn’t want to. that flare of tempers only seemed to fan the flames of a desire that neither had realized until they were in the heat of the moment.

as much as chris enjoyed the sheepish look in leon’s eyes back then as he had settled himself between his legs—particularly in the way a blush had painted his cheeks, ears, and neck but he still defiantly fought to remain flippant about his predicament—he had to say there was something even more alluring about the way he settled between them now.

experience was a funny thing.

his fingers were practiced and precise, not betrayed by nerves that would cause them to tremble as he undid chris’ belt. now, this had become methodical—part of leon’s routine. in some ways, he was the real winner because what had initially been something to embarrass and punish him had become something he craved. it had shifted from a challenge to his pride to a confirmation of it because leon and chris both knew that leon would have him wrapped right around his finger the second his lips wrapped around chris.

the air in the apartment felt cool against him as leon released him from his strained confines. a transluscent bead of precum had gathered at the tip, already threatening to spill over the head of his cock.

“looks like someone’s happy to see me.”

chris barely had a chance to laugh before it was cut off by a low groan as leon slowly dragged his tongue up from the base of his shaft to his head, following the path of the throbbing vein along his length. teasingly, his tongue stayed there, forcing chris to watch the painfully slow way his precum shifted and collected against leon’s tongue and spilled down the sides. it was a lewd sight that sent shivers through his thighs.

he may have won the battle, but it was clear leon wasn’t going to let him win the war.

curling his tongue, the younger agent collected all that he could and swallowed it down with a satisfied hum. his teasing killed chris, always being one to prefer giving over receiving, but there was something about seeing this side of leon that made him want to be a little selfish.

slowly, as if savoring every inch of him, leon took chris into his mouth and made his way down. his lips met with his hand that had come to wrap around the base and gently squeezed. at first, his rhythm was slow, the measured tick of a clock. as his lips came up, his hand went down, both of them coming to meet together in the middle in a way that had chris’ head falling back with another groan. as much as chris had enjoyed talking leon through it his first time—and the gags from underestimating how big chris was—he wouldn’t trade this for the world.

this was a testament at how well leon knew him—how much he loved him.

“fuck.”

he probably should have felt embarrassed at how quickly he was feeling the tension building in his stomach and through his thighs, but the precision in which leon took him—how he shifted his other hand to massage his knuckles at the sensitive place just beneath his jewels—wasn’t something he could fight against. it was simply a testament to leon’s skill.

his hand came to rest at the top of leon’s head, curling fingers into his soft hair. the gleaming metal of the wedding band on his ring finger glinted from the streetlights through the windows, sparkling among the collection of silver strands wrapped in his grip.

“i’m close.”

almost breathless, chris struggled to hold on long enough for leon to remove his hand, understanding his husband’s warning. once chris had a taste of selfishness, he liked to indulge. even after all of these years, leon still gagged as the full expanse of chris’ thick cock overwhelmed his throat. the hand he wrapped in leon’s hair was now the anchor that shoved him all the way down and held him in place for the snap of his hips. the slow pace would always get him there, but it was the total domination of leon’s mouth that pushed him over the edge and sent hot spurts of his finish to paint his esophagus.

even as he collapsed down on the couch, he held him there, needing the moment to collect himself all while feeling leon struggling against his own arousal from between his legs and the more and more urgent need to breathe. finally, his hand dropped, and leon came off of his cock with a wet pop and a quick inhale.

“asshole,” leon affectionately breathed out as he moved to climb into chris’ lap. a strong hand came to rest on his ass as he settled his weight fully against the hard press of chris’ still erect cock. if there was one thing leon had against him, it was the way he made sure chris could never get enough—always wanting more.

“you like it,” his other hand came to grab leon’s chin and guide him into a kiss, tongue flicking out to seek the taste of himself on leon’s. it drove him insane—the proof that he had fully conquered his mouth. his kiss deepened, pressing himself up against him and pushing for his hips to grind against him. it was the sounds that came from him, almost whining and desperate, at the press of chris’ arousal on him that made chris stand. leon’s legs instinctively wrapped around his waist and his arms around his neck, refusing to break their kiss as chris brought them to the bedroom.

he kicked the door open, collapsing on top of leon on the bed. shirts were abandoned in favor of the heated press being skin to skin brought. the kisses moved from hungry to desperate, threatening to tear one another apart as their hands sought to rid themselves of the barriers between them. they had spent too long apart as it was, wondering if time would run out before they could hold each other again.

they were used to it, the feeling that any moment together could be their last, and that was why each and every one of them meant something, no matter how brief or fleeting they may be. but this time? it felt like they were finally getting rewarded for what they’ve done—the sacrifices they’ve made. this time, maybe, they didn’t have to spend their nights thinking there wouldn’t be another one.

chris broke from leon’s kiss to travel down his body, marking his path with love bites at the most sensitive points. he pulled back as he got to leon’s half removed pants, taking a moment to look down at him and appreciate what he saw. like himself, leon’s body was honed to a fine point—chiselled by the years of training and experience in the field. scars and freckles were smattered across his skin like constellations, but what stood out to chris the most was how clear it was. no more black marks marred his skin—no more cruel remnants of the past and umbrella’s negligence.

no more death sentence.

he didn’t realize the tears rimming his eyes had spilled until leon reached to catch them on his thumb with a gentle ‘hey.’ between the two of them, chris had always been the softer, more emotional one. a gentle giant, as leon would teasingly call him. tenderly, he led him back down, this time to kiss away the tears lining his cheeks.

“i’m just happy you’re here…” his voice trailed off against leon’s kisses, chuckling softly at himself. he knew it really wasn’t the time, but he couldn’t help himself. all of that wound up tension was finally giving way into relief—a relief that he still had yet to let himself feel until he could see for himself that leon was okay. truly and undoubtedly okay.

“not if you keep drownin’ me in tears.” leon’s teasing brought another laugh from him, letting the tender kisses between them seal up the dam that had broken. with a nip to his lower lip, chris wrapped his arms around leon and held him close for a moment. he needed to breathe him in, ground himself in the fact that, for now, they were together and safe.

they had all night to celebrate their reunion.

***

the sunrise had just started peeking through the curtains by the time the two of them had finally been spent, collapsing on the bed beside each other. they were both panting, covered in a sheen of sweat and enough bites and hickeys to look like they had just gotten back from the field. chris felt leon’s weight shift as he forced his exhausted body to move and roll into his side. his cheek rested against his chest, each huff of air across his sweat making goosebumps rise over chris’ skin.

“so,” he started, trying not to laugh when leon immediately groaned at that tone in his voice, “are you ready to admit i’m the better shot?”

“are you ready to be put in the home?”

their laughs echoed through the room, and a sense of comfort washed over them. they would always have their reservations on whether or not it was safe for them to relax—always waiting with baited breaths for the pin to drop—but, for now, they would rest.

and be thankful that time was finally in their favor.

thank you so much for reading this far!! i’ve been sitting on this fic for a while lol

as always, this was cross posted onto ao3!

i do briefly touch on some of my own headcanons here! i don’t think chris or any other member of STARS that was involved with the spencer mansion incident but NOT the raccoon city incident have RCS. i believe RCS was only contracted by those who were in raccoon city during the outbreak and either drank or were exposed to the water. the t-virus was not airborne, and only spread airborne in the mansion do to an isolated lab incident. other than those who were in the mansion before the arrival of any BRAVO or ALPHA team members, the only way the t-virus was contracted after that was through direct infection! so, i believe that claire contracted RCS but that chris did not.