Chapter Text
Chris Redfield had always been a handsome, rugged man.
You'd met him in the airforce during his young, dickhead phase. The amount of second hand embarrassment you'd feel when he'd argue with superiors was unbearable. Briefly, you'd thought of kicking his ass, maybe reversing reversing damage he probably got from getting dropped on his head as a baby. Too bad you never got the chance.
Chris had taken keen interest in you shortly after your meeting. Eyeing your chest when you hoisted up during crunches, he was even bold enough to offer his help by holding down your feet. You weren't fond of the attention but, well, it's nice to be appreciated sometimes.
Chris was intelligent when it came to his work— but common sense was not his strong suit. You'd fooled around to ease stress. He was still trying to learn how to flap his wings when it came to sex, which resulted in a lot of painful deep thrusts and pinched nerves. You were patient though, he was willing to learn, and before you knew it he was pressing all too soft kisses to your jaw while he pumped his come inside.
That was the stupid part. He never pulled out, neither of you ever bought condoms, and you forgot to take your birth control.
Shortly after Chris was discharged for insubordination, you began to fall ill. Most of your time spent with the nurses, the poor girls having to hold you steady as you fell face-first into the toilet. They were divided– flu or pregnant? They tested for both, and God, you wished it were the flu.
You weren't too far along, there was the possibility it could be taken care of before a superior officer found out. But you were a day too late. Following in Chris' lead you were discharged as well, except yours was for a less humiliating reason. You rented out an apartment, bought second hand furniture, and sat for days trying to figure out what to do.
Was telling Chris an option? Doubtful. Where would he go? What would he do? He was likely as dumb as a rock when it came to kids, you in a similar situation, and neither of you has a degree. How would you even support a child if you kept it?
Would you keep it?
You bury your face in your hands, letting out a loud groan of frustration. The hanger or a life of hardship with an unplanned baby and an absent father– neither seemed like a pleasant choice.
But, three months later, it wasn't a choice you'd have to make.
You'd decided to get a college degree, pursue your dreams, make some money for a home. A home for your family, perhaps. As you tugged your shirt on, there was this agonizing cramp in your lower stomach. You'd suspected that you had your period. Your mother had her period when she was pregnant with you, so maybe, just maybe you were having it too. You chugged down a few ibuprofen, shoved on a pad, and called it a day. You'd see a doctor in a few days to get it checked out.
You went to your classes per usual, jotting down notes while you held your abdomen. It felt like something was in your uterus, shredding your insides so it could climb out. (Little did you know, Alien would make a mockery of your pain in 1979 with the iconic chestburster scene). Your English professor, obviously concerned when you doubled over in mind-numbing agony, demanded you go home early. He was a nice guy, insisted you call in sick for a bit and he'd email you your work.
The next few hours at home was agony. You tried everything to soothe the cramps; chocolate, exercise, hot compresses, baths, food– everything. Nothing worked. You felt a blood clot gush out, and you weren't sure why, but your stomach twisted in anxiety. Your feet carried you to the bathroom a little quicker than you thought.
You flopped onto the toilet, ripped your pants down to your knees, and your heart jumped to your throat. Blood. Dark red tissue, a small mass in the middle of the pad. Your eyes burned as fat tears rolled down your cheeks. You'd never wailed before, hardly ever cried, but your head was pounding as cries ripped from your throat. You kept screaming to your self, "what happened? What happened?!"
There was no explanation for this grief. You didn't even *want* this baby, yet for some strange reason, imagining their little feet and their little giggles tore your heart to shreds.
You spent the next few days at home, hiding away in bed. You cried until your chest hurt, until you couldn't breathe, and honestly you *wanted* to stop breathing. You couldn't take this agony. You'd been screamed at by sergants, beaten bloody, put down more times than you could count, but one miscarriage had torn you down to your roots. You'd thought about telling Chris, if you could find him, but what would you even say? "Hey, Chris! Remember me? The person you had casual unprotected sex with in the military? Yeah, well, you got me knocked up and I just had a miscarriage that I'm super upset about! Anyways, see ya!" He'd probably think you were crazy. It felt like you were going crazy.
"C'est la vie." Shit happens. You needed to pick yourself back up before you drowned in your pain, or else life will drag you out by your hair. The next morning, you wake up, get dressed, slip on your shoes, and you go back to college.