Chris Redfield had worked with governments before.
Agencies. Commanders. Politicians who thought strategy was just another word for control.
He tolerated them. Worked around them. Never with them.
Until her.
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Head of a parallel unit—one that operated beside governments, not beneath them.
Same authority. Different rules.
And from the very first briefing—they clashed.
Maps spread across the table. Intel reports stacked high. Two minds moving in completely opposite directions.
“Your approach is reckless.”
Chris said, arms crossed, voice steady.
“You’re pushing too fast without securing the perimeter.”
She didn’t back down. Of course she didn’t.
She argued.
Silence.
Not empty— charged.
Chris held her gaze for a second longer than necessary.
“…You always this difficult?”
There it was.
The first crack of something that wasn’t just strategy.
Because no one spoke to him like that. No one stood their ground like that.
And yet—she did.
Every time.
Meetings turned into debates. Debates turned into arguments.
Sharp words. Sharpened minds.
And still—neither of them walked away.
Because beneath the friction… there was respect.
Chris saw it in the way she moved—decisive, calculated, never careless.
She didn’t guess. She knew.
And she saw it in him too.
The way he carried responsibility like it was second nature. The way he never gambled with lives.
They were different. But they were equal.
And that? That was dangerous.
Because now every argument felt… personal.
Not in anger. But in intensity.
She challenged him.
Not just his plans—his thinking. His instincts.
And Chris— Chris wasn’t used to that.
But he didn’t stop her. He leaned into it.
Even when it meant losing ground.
Even when it meant—
“…Fine.”
A slow exhale, running a hand over his face.
“We’ll try it your way.”
A beat.
“Don’t let it get to your head.”
There it was again.
That tone. Half-sarcastic. Half… something softer.
Like a man conceding a fight he didn’t mind losing.
The team noticed. Of course they did.
The way they argued. The way they stood too close over the same table. The way neither of them ever truly walked away from the other.
It didn’t look like rivalry. It looked like something else.
“They fight like a married couple.”
Someone whispered once.
“Yeah.”
Another muttered.
“But notice how they always end up on the same side?”
Because they did.
No matter how sharp the disagreement---when it mattered?
they moved together.
Perfectly.
Chris adjusted his position without being told. Covered her blind spots before she even noticed them. Stayed just close enough to intervene---never close enough to make it obvious.
She never noticed. Or maybe… she just didn’t say anything.
Because even in the middle of chaos—even with tension still lingering between them—he was there.
Always.
“You’re exposed on the left.”
His voice cut through the comms, sharp but controlled.
A beat.
“…Try not to make this harder for me.”
Not just an order. A quiet kind of concern.
And when the dust settled—when the mission ended and the arguments returned like nothing had changed—Chris would lean back slightly, watching her with that same steady gaze.
“…You done proving your point?”
A pause.
“Or should I just admit you were right and save us both the time?”
There it was. That almost-smirk. That quiet surrender wrapped in sarcasm.
Like he had already accepted something—even if he’d never say it out loud.
Because for the first time in a long time---Chris Redfield had met someone who stood beside him…not behind him.
And somehow—he didn’t mind losing an argument to her.
Not even once.