Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She's not sure where she is. She knows how she got to where she is, physically in the space- she can remember picking the locks, but the why, the where she came from and more alarmingly the who are all a glowing white empty in a head that feels like glass. She's someone who can pick locks, seems like an important thing to note. Someone who can do so with one terribly hurt shoulder says something too, but as the panicked confusion grows she's realizing she doesn't know anything about her own identity and the gaping maw of what that might mean is terrifying. 

Why she's injured breaking into someone's first floor apartment almost completely out of breath after clearly running from something is as missing as the rest. All she'd like to do right now is sit down and cry like a child. She doesn't really know what kind of person she is but she'd like to think that she might be level headed enough to figure this out calmly. 

A quick check of the small apartment shows a kitchenette that's clean and looks moderately well used,  well worn couch with a rather clunky outdated television and a hallway leading to presumably a bedroom. It's sparse to say the least; this stranger providing little in the way of decorating has left the place feeling half lived in. Above the fake fireplace on a thin mantle there's a picture in a small wooden frame, and hey, it might give the slightest bit of insight into the owner and why she came here so she'll take it. 

In it, a pretty woman with reddish brown hair is smiling up at a dark haired man. The woman is mid-laugh and it lights up her face in a way that makes people want to smile with her, while the man is more subdued, looking down at her with a smaller smile. He's military, or some equivalent- the blurry chain around his neck look like dog tags and he's built like a tank, which adds substance to the hunch that he's served. Touching the glass on the frame, she grimaces in frustration. These people, strangers maybe, feel like they should be someone to her but no names come up when she looks at them. Well, she has no name for herself currently either so she shouldn't be too surprised. 

She sets down the picture and moves on. Maybe a mirror . It has to help. It has to. And if she's telling herself lies to cope she's not going to fight it.

The ache in her shoulder is growing steadily more poignant as she feels her way down the wall for the light switch. It's a demanding sort of pain but it feels as if part of herself is compartmentalizing it, like a routinely practiced response to pain. It only adds to her fear and curiosity of who the hell she is. The bathroom light flickers on as the attached fan roars to life. It’s uncomfortably loud but she ignores it, bracing herself to face her reflection. 

As far as reflections go she doesn't feel as if it'd be vain to say the person in the mirror is pretty. Late twenties, maybe early thirties with big, pale blue eyes shadowed by prominent yet delicate bone structure. Her hair is a too-pale shade of blonde and in her quickly forming opinion- not her color, which surprises her. Why it shouldn't be that color she can’t say, but it makes her uneasy to see the pale color there around her shoulders. The rest of her is as much as it feels: lightly muscular, a little too thin, and not incredibly tall, but she can see an assuredness in her stance that makes her feel confident in her own fairly unknown abilities. Unfortunately facing her reflection didn’t spark anything in her like she’d hoped it would. She looks like she's been on the run, as she’d felt, but from what or who is unclear. Upon further inspection she's surprised to find that she might be military, or something along those lines based on the simple uniform-like clothing. The pale fabric of her shirt is dirty like she’s rolled around in mud and grass.

Okay. There's at least some things I know, compile them, and figure this out. Who ARE you?!

I can pick locks.

I might be some sort of trained officer.

I came here, to another officer's house.

I'm injured.

I must have come here to seek help.

There's no more time to ponder on it though because apparently this apartment isn't empty; there's the barking of what sounds to be a not-so-small dog coming from the one bedroom. The low echoing bark mixed with the droning of the fan and bright overhead light is doing something to her. Suddenly thinking begins to feel like trudging through thick mud or snow and the sensation numbs the rest of her body. Outside of almost needle-like pain in the center of her chest, she can feel nothing but the thrumming in her ears. Clasping her hands over them, she stumbles out of the tiny bathroom. She can come back later if it's really so important-

Her nose hits canvas first and the rest of her collides with a wall of mass before she can stop her own momentum. She would gasp, but the cold press of rounded metal to her temple stops her breath and she freezes so completely it might be that she's also turned to metal. She can't look up- can't focus: the fan, the barking, someone's heavy breathing, is building and she is riding that build up and away from herself. She can’t breathe, the air in her lungs a sharp pressure, it's unbearable, it has to stop , until she feels the sensation of falling and then nothing else.

-

"Jill." 

Something is moving her face.

 Ah, there's her face.

The feeling of weightlessness is fading and finding her way back to her body is becoming easier and easier. What's moving her face is a hand, a big hand with a calloused palm and fingertips that smell of an oil that she must know the name of, but like a lot of things it currently escapes her. The hand is gentle though, despite the callouses, and warm. Not something to be frightened by, to be sure. She could almost smile. 

The rest of her doesn't come to so peacefully though, the ache in her shoulder has developed firmly into a throb and no longer able to be ignored, especially as her arms seem to be suspended above her, and the wrists sure feel like they're restrained, so no more gentle hands on her face to enjoy. She needs to be awake and aware now. 

Her eyes fly open and roll wildly, trying to focus as her breath accelerates to accommodate the rush of fight or flight coursing through her.  When they do focus, the man from the photograph is in front of her in an easy crouch and everything about him is screaming dangerous. A thick green kevlar vest over a short sleeved white shirt, a silver chain glinting at the neck. Attached to the vest is an obscene amount of ammunition (to which if she were less panicked she'd be puzzled to know she knew the names of), a large knife in a holster next to an equally alarming gun holstered on his left hip and an intimidating handgun held loosely in his right hand. If she were a little saner, or at least thinking clearer she wouldn't try it, but with all the disoriented thoughts jumbling chaotically in her head she tries something stupid. To kick him in the face. 

He blocks it with disheartening speed, knocking away her ankle as easily as someone swats a fly. To add to panic, disorientation, and now slight embarrassment, the movement has tugged on her shoulder hard. Hard enough to bring tears to her eyes and a gasp of pain as it rips up her left arm with enough intensity to cause her to pull herself as close to fetal as she can get. Biting back sobs, she almost misses his next words.

"Jill? Jill Valentine? Can you understand me?" His voice is deep, almost a low rumble in his chest, as if he isn’t used to talking in a lower volume. There’s something behind his words she can’t place, but the words themselves make no sense. Clearly he thinks her name is Jill Valentine, and he knows her, but why would he think she doesn’t understand him? 

"Jill, it's me, Chris Redfield. We were…. partners. Do you know where you are?" There is something behind his words: pain. Deep enough that it seems as if he can barely contain it, the word ' partners' having a weight all it's own. It resonates with her in a confusing way. 

"No." The word escapes as a hiss from her throat and she feels a flicker of surprise at her own voice. To her, it sounds desperate, like a kitten that hisses at you even though it's shaking, and if she were being honest that's completely how she feels. Scared, vulnerable and confused. His face pulls on an expression that feels like a mask, features hardening into false neutrality at the sound of her voice. Hiding something. 

Chris Redfield. Jill Valentine. Redfield. Chris… 

The names swirl together in a strange pattern. They sound right. They sound right together, even stranger. The hint of something she should know to her core flickers at the back of her consciousness, frustrating in it's intangibility. The ghost of a feeling lingering. 

It feels like a bad idea to show weakness in the current situation, but the feeling of wanting to cry like a toddler lost in a grocery store has come back, more demanding than before. 

" Who am I ?" The tears threatening to spill do so at her admittance, the broken whisper feeling too loud. She struggles to wipe her eyes on her right arm, trying not to jostle the left. The tears won't stop though, and the tears turn to sobs and she can't catch her breath, chest heaving irregularly with hiccupping sobs. She hears the sound of him swallowing, a thick sound followed by him clearing his throat. A moment passes, then two as she tries and fails to contain herself. Rustling fabric and the shift of his presence into her space pulls her attention but has a hard time keeping it. The tears just keep coming. She flinches at the hand that comes towards her face again, watches it pause before continuing its trajectory towards wiping the tears from her cheek. It's incredibly gentle for someone his size, making her wonder again in a distant sort of way who he is, and who she is to him. 

"I-" A cough, clearing his throat again. "I'd like to un-cuff you, but I want to make sure you won't attack me again. I really don't want to hurt you." She meets his hard stare with a bewildered one of her own, blinking rapidly to clear the tears still coming. Attack him? Again? Who would be stupid enough to try? Well, she grimaces internally, she was- but that was only one kick, surely not enough to ever pose an actual threat to him. Regardless, she wasn't about to try that again. Shaking her head slightly, she finds her voice again to choke out:

"I? I won't- I don't- I?" A jumbled mess of half questions, too many to ask, too many unknowns. She tries again, "I don't know what you mean." The hiccups are subsiding and she's grateful to feel that she might stop crying soon. 

His dark eyebrows furrow, forming a crease in his mask as he considers her. He's thinking something, but what- she can't read. He stands and tips his head to the side to gesture towards a bedside table. She realizes with a start that she's in the bedroom, registering it way too late. Taking in the scratchy carpet under her and the cold metal of the bed frame against her back it takes a second to understand what it is he wants her to see on the low table. He watches her face intently as she processes a knife laid neatly out on it, still messy with a red stain. She recoils, realizing that it's blood and looks back to him with wide eyes scanning as fast as they can. 

High up on his right bicep, almost covered by his shirt sleeve, is a neatly placed white bandage. 

"You… you think I did that?" She just passed out when she ran into him in the hall, that's it . She can't have done that, she was unconscious and sure of it. She didn't even have a knife, she thinks, this must be a trick. With what goal, she doesn't know, and the not knowing sends a jolt of fear shooting through her again. She's alone, injured, and half his size, completely at his mercy. She tries not to let the terror show on her face but one glance at his, she knows she's failed. The mask slips slightly again, his eyes narrowing in what she thinks is concern, with a hint of contemplation. 

He opens his mouth to say something, pauses, then closes it again, the searching look on his face stopping him from whatever he was going to say. He's about to try again when a scratching at the closed door accompanied by a low whine interrupts him. He glances at the door and the reprieve from his eyes is instant and soothing. Short lived though as he quickly glances back at her and sighs, digging into a deep pocket. He crouches again and ignores her cowering with only a small frown. Gently, again, with almost tenderness he uncuffs her left hand and, holding it by the wrist, lowers her arm slowly down against her chest. She holds it there protecting it from further harm, watching warily as he clicks the lock on the other wrist and let's it go. 

Task done, he slides cuffs and key into that same pocket, striding over to the table to collect the knife. He approaches the door without looking at her. Murmuring something under his breath to the door, he opens it carefully, using his knees to corral a dog's face that is trying to worm into the room. Her earlier intuition was right, it is a big dog. A very big dog. The German shepherd shoves uselessly at the man's- Chris' legs, trying to get closer to her in the small space.

"-purnia, no. " His voice, quiet enough for her to miss the first syllable but not the fondness in it as he takes the dog's collar in hand to hoist it out of the room. Giving her one more long, searching look before dropping his eyes with a rough "I'll be back soon'" tossed her way, Chris Redfield leaves.

Chapter Text

Taking a few moments to wipe her face, steady her breathing and collect herself, she finally pulls herself together enough to look around. The terror of the unknown, who she is, why she doesn't remember anything, why she came here, what happened to her, who he was, is still rattling around in the back of her skull- ever present but not overwhelming at the moment. Currently , she seems safe enough and, though he’s intimidating, there doesn’t seem to be any intention from Chris to harm her: at least for now. It isn’t as if she had been kidnapped either, she came here of her own accord after all. Her shoulder is in bad shape though and she hesitates in prodding around to see how bad it is. Probably best not to know for now while her grasp on her emotions and sanity are still so tenuous. 

Jill Valentine. She rolls the name around in her thoughts then tests it out loud. It sounds foreign but familiar at the same time. So does his name, the feeling of familiarity but not understanding why his name is important frustrating her more than she expects. 

Gingerly, she stands, carefully pulling herself upright but curling slightly forward to protect her left arm as she surveys the room. It’s as sparse as the front room, plain white blinds over the one window and crisp white sheets in rigid military style on the bed. The small walk-in holds nothing particularly interesting: one suit amongst a sea of military grade outfits ranging from high protective to workout fares. A small dresser contains socks and other things, she doesn’t exactly want to rifle through his unmentionables so she abandons it. Soundlessly closing the closet door, she creeps over to the bedside table, ignoring the small lamp in favor of a picture frame that has been placed face down. 

Angling herself towards the door in case it should open she picks it up and feels a sense of trepidation that has no basis in reality- but something about what might be in this picture feels big somehow. Scoffing internally at the superstition, she flips it over. 

See , she tells herself, it's nothing.  

Like the photo on the mantle, there's two people depicted. Chris, younger here than in current time, jawline less sharp and musculature less defined. He's wearing an outfit not dissimilar to the one she had just seen but the acronym S.T.A.R.S. is emblazoned on the chest of his tactical vest. He looks happy here, bright eyes and a big smile that looks completely at home on his face. His arm is wrapped around a slight, dark haired woman, and while Chris is grinning at the camera, her chin is tilted up at him smiling fondly, dark bluntly cut hair and blue beret obscuring the rest of her features. She's wearing a light blue uniform, clashing against his green but with the same S.T.A.R.S. on her gear. They look happy, very happy, and she wonders why he would keep it down like that, it seems like a good memory. She laughs at herself for her previous 'sixth sense' and sets it back down, careful to place it back exactly where it was.

The two drawers in the table are next and last for her nosing, the top being somewhat of a let down. A notepad and pen, a flashlight, and the only thing of note, a box of handgun rounds. The box says it's for a magnum and her shaky memory pulls forward a picture of an impressive piece, and then slower after it, places it as the gun that was holstered on Chris' belt. It makes her uneasy to think about why he would have these so close to where he sleeps but as her nerves are a bundle of unease currently there's probably not much that could rattle her further.

The second drawer though, is locked. Stymied, she tries to jimmy it open quietly but that's a loud sort of maneuver and abandons it quickly. She fishes around her pocket that she remembers the lock pick was only to find it empty. He must have frisked her while she was unconscious. Giving up, only for now , she tells herself, she lowers herself to the floor to peer under the bed. It's spotless, not a dust bunny in sight, clearly this guy is a neat freak. There's a long metal box that she eventually places as a gun locker but leaves it be; she doesn't want anything to do with that right now. 

All that's left is that second drawer. She listens at the doorway to see if she can hear anything, any indication that he's on his way back, but all she can hear is the low sound of the T.V. and maybe someone talking. Retreating back to the table, she sits on the floor beside it, knees pulled up and tapping her toes. She tries not to think about the drawer but it keeps pulling her attention. Maybe it's paranoia, maybe it's just a neurotic result from the tangle of emotions she's felt in the last forty or so minutes, but that solitary drawer is making the back of her neck itch. She tries to think on anything else, but she can't focus for long. She counts until five minutes pass, then ten, trying to keep staring at her boot clad toes tapping against the carpet, eventually deciding to think of nothing instead. But the movement of her feet is causing something to press against her right ankle, something that is definitely not her sock. Having a feeling she knows what it is, she hurriedly takes off the boot, which is no small feat one handed, and claims her prize of a lock pick in triumph. Not bothering to return the shoe to her foot, she scoots so she can get to the lock on the stubborn drawer. Belatedly, she notes that she is right handed ( fortunate , she thinks, since her left arm is such a mess) and that she's the kind of person to hide lock picks on her person. Closing her eyes, the motions feel second nature as muscle memory kicks in and she listens closely to the sounds until with a satisfying click, the lock has been defeated. 

As sudden as the possession to see what is inside grabbed her, it fades, hesitation setting into its place as she looks at the closed potential Pandora's Box. Suddenly, she's afraid of what might be in there. The superstitious feeling, back of her neck tingling, and a new almost painful sensation in sharp pricks on her chest- giving her pause. Mechanically, she returns the lock pick to its place and sloppily re-laces her boot, barely looking. She has to know, but she's afraid.  It's a drawer, she thinks objectively, you won't know what's there until you open it and it's better to know than not know, right?

Feeling foolish, she yanks it open. Then, wincing at the noise, she glances back towards the door, but it doesn't seem like he's coming back just yet. Turning, she anxiously starts to pull objects out to examine. There's a diary. It's locked and seems too feminine to belong to Chris, but maybe she's judging. She sets it down, resolving to come back to it. Next she pulls out a folded wallet, which inside reveals it's actually a badge holder containing an I.D. for one Christopher Redfield. Like the picture on the table, he looks young; they were probably taken around the same time. The date reads 1996, and while she isn't sure on the current date, she's pretty sure the world is well into the 21st century. It reads "RACCOON CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT: SPECIAL UNIT: S.T.A.R.S." and it feels eerily familiar. She lingers on his photo a quick moment, taking in the attempt at stoicism that his older face has mastered much better. 

Curiously, there's a second badge holder, looking to be the same issue and age. She flips it open and freezes. 

Jillian Valentine. The name is stamped above a photo of the woman from the photo, finally facing fully to the camera. She has a small, enigmatic smile playing around her mouth, but her pale blue eyes seem calculating, like she's evaluating the photographer. 

It's her. Impossibly, it's her, staring back with the same eyes she saw in the mirror, with a younger face and dark hair. Panic is setting in, making it hard to breathe as she haphazardly digs through the drawer, pulling out pictures and mandates and reports, even a map, all about Jill Valentine. The prickling pain in her chest is loud and so is her shoulder and she feels she might be dying.

Kicking at the table and trying to push herself away on the floor only manages to knock her flat on her back, the pain from her shoulder blinding. She barely notices the door bursting open but does notice the smell of bad breath and the press of a wet nose against her forehead and cheek before Chris pushes the dog away and leans over her. 

The corners of her vision are going blurry, darkness creeping in, and her breathing has only continued to accelerate but when he traps the sides of her face between his palms and orders her to look at him . She listens. Somehow, he guides her through some sort of exercise and she can physically feel the panic leaving her body. 

Boneless, she sinks back down into the floor. The panic left exhaustion in its wake, but there is still too much happening to succumb to sleep. Fighting off the fatigue, she waits a few minutes to assure herself that she's alive and relatively okay, staring up at nothing and blinking to clear the two tears that slide down into her hairline. Finally, she rolls her head to the side to look at Chris- he's removed the kevlar -and meets his guarded gaze as he sits against the wall and pets the big dog. 

"I'm Jill Valentine," she states finally.

"Yes," is all he says, unreadable.

“You're Chris Redfield."

"Yep."

She turns her head back to stare at the ceiling. 

"We were close."

"... yeah." 

Chapter Text

There's only so long two people can stay in stillness after a moment like that. Thankfully, the dog breaks the tension by padding lightly over to her and licking her face. Chris starts to get up, moves to say something to call off the dog but stops when she raises her good hand to pat the side of its face and slides it up to scratch behind its ears. 

"Hello." She murmurs quietly to the good natured face looming over her. Finally getting a good look at it she realizes it's young, probably almost grown but the one floppy ear, too big paws and goofy canine grin clearly state that this is a puppy. 

"Her name’s Calpurnia." 

"Hello, Calpurnia." She continues to scratch behind the ear and almost smiles as Calpurnia settles her weight down to lie next to her. Looping her arm around the canine's mass she continues to lie there too. Listens as he gets to his knees and shuffles over to the mess she made. Hearing the shifting of paper and leather being returned to their well guarded home. He doesn't lock it.

"Should have known you would poke around." He sighs, but doesn't sound angry. "You never could leave things alone."

She takes in this information silently. Waiting, maybe even hoping for him to say more. He doesn't, not about things she wants to hear.

"Your shoulder is dislocated." He says clinically. She nods. Waits, then asks.

"Can you fix it?" 

She can feel his surprise and hear the rush of air as he exhales. Tilts her chin down to see him. He makes eye contact and grimaces.

"Maybe, but it should probably be done by an actual medic." At the word medic she feels a strong sense of dread and shakes her head violently, no.  

"Okaaay. We'll come back to why you feel that way later." He sounds tired. "I didn't tell anyone you were here. From the B.S.A.A. I mean. I told Claire." He looks over to her, maybe to see if she recognizes the name, either of them. She does, both, but not enough to understand or associate any face to.

"Were you looking for me? Was I missing? Why do I- I don't look like that anymore. Why? How do I know you aren't involved in what's happened to me?"

He looks hurt, the tiny glimpse she got behind his fake calm reveals that depth of the pain she registered earlier. The mask slams back home in an instant. She thinks of the open face he had in the pictures from his youth and feels a little sad for that boy.

"You can't I guess. Know, I mean. But I'm not. I wouldn't-" he cuts off the rest of the sentence and his jaw clenches, she can see the tick of a nerve there and watches it pulse. He leans back on the bedside table and stares at the floor.

After a long silence finally he starts talking, suddenly, as if he had been talking the whole time.

"You're supposed to be in a lab. Undergoing treatment for what happened in Africa. But you're not, you're a couple thousand miles away. At my house, which you heard the address to one time. So you must have been pretty hell bent on getting here." He doesn't break eye contact and neither does she. "But how you got here is unknown. So is how you hurt your shoulder, and you look like hell. You didn't know who you are, I'm not entirely sure you do now- but it's a start. You also didn't know who I was. What I really don't understand is why, if you didn't know anything about either of us, would you come here?" 

She can't think of what to say. It feels as though puzzle pieces are falling into place, but frustratingly slow, the full picture out of reach. Vaguely unsure if all of it was rhetorical anyways she returns her eyes to the popcorn ceiling and asks again.

"Can you fix it. My shoulder." She hates how weak it sounds when she adds, "Please."

He sighs as he stands, saying nothing and when Calpurnia moves to follow him he orders her to stay. She does, but is no longer relaxed, on high alert facing the door he left from. 

-

She knows she's the one that asked, but turning her back to him, left arm hanging out of her half removed button down, shirt sleeve dangling while sitting in a flimsy tank top listening to him repeat instructions to a voice coming through an earpiece, she's suddenly not so sure. 

"Thanks, Beccs, can I keep you on the line in case something goes wrong?" 

He's moved closer and she can hear a chirpy birdlike voice from the other line say "Yes of course Chris, the patient is a smaller woman, relatively in good health? I wish you would send me a live feed so I could help better-" he cuts her off. Jill tries to tune out.

"Sorry, can't. This will have to do." 

She's straddling a chair facing the kitchenette, Calpurnia standing guard by the counter, staring her down. 

A heavy hand comes down on her good shoulder and she flinches reflexively. 

"You ready?" 

She grits her teeth and nods.

"You don't have to look." He advises, relocating his hand to her bad side and gently lifting her arm at the elbow with the other. They both can feel her trembling. 

"Do you want me to count?" She looks up at him and before she can fully say no , his arm flexes, the hand on her shoulder squeezing as a brace and the other hand is jerking her arm back towards him. And with a sickening, popping, click, her joint snicks back into place.

She screams, or at least she thinks she might have, but she can't hear anything at all. The pounding of her blood in her ears is too loud for anything else, and while the pain in her shoulder is greatly relieved, the odd pain in her breast returns and intensifies. She thinks she might be falling, thinks she might have gasped out a "-Chest!" Before she sinks into black.

Chapter Text

“How’d your call go Becca?”

Chris sure had to go fast. She looks down at her blackberry, frowning. He can be a pretty taciturn guy sometimes but he’s not usually so vague, or asks me about lab stuff... I wonder who he was helping.

“Becca? Rebecca- hello? Oh-”

Oh shoot. When she glances up to apologize she’s facing her superior. Her friend and coworker Alyssa is panicking, trying to gesture subtly towards the bored looking blonde holding out a file. 

“Dr. Ivanov! I’m so sorry.” Sheepishly she laughs and accepts the file. “I was somewhere else I guess.”

“I see. Well, that isn’t to keep, it’s still classified so it needs to be back on my desk by six.”

“Oh! oh, sure. Of course. Thank you very much, I know it’s a big ask.” When she smiles the doctor doesn’t return it.

“I understand, she’s your friend.” Alex Ivanov waves her off, done with the conversation she turns to leave.

“Oof, she’s so intense.” Alyssa watches the doctor leave in relief. “She’s going to go back to Europe soon right? Couldn’t be soon enough.” 

Walking with Rebecca back to their lab she keeps chatting.

“She’s even higher up than you right? I mean I know you’re technically just an advisor but you’re also former S.T.A.R.S. and a huge part of why this place is running as smoothly as it is, friends with Mr. Burton and Captain Redfield too, are they kind of scary or like action movie cool- okay. I know you’re not listening. Whatcha got there?”

She leans opposite Rebecca on one of the few free tables. 

“Sorry, I was listening, Barry and Chris are actually very nice.” Alyssa snorts in disbelief. “It’s an update on my friend Jill, she’s been in recovery here for a long time and I was wondering how she was doing.” 

“Right, another S.T.A.R.S., God you seem so normal compared to them.” Rebecca frowns slightly, maybe she was different from the Alpha Team survivors but she was still one of the former squad- albeit Bravo Team and a lot younger. Still though, she was scouted by them at eighteen and she’d survived the Umbrella Training School and the Arklay Labs when the rest of Bravo had not. But there’s no point in arguing, it’d just be showing off, and she tries not to brag about her accomplishments. 

“Yeah. I guess so.”

Going over the file things are looking good. It details their process for weaning Jill off of the high dose of P30, even though it is processed by the body very quickly leading Wesker to plant the device into Jill’s chest for a constant dose it still has withdrawal symptoms, including bouts of psychosis. The earlier bit of the report describes violent outbursts but that they’ve faded and Jill is in better spirits, even writing letters to Barry Burton. 

I wonder why she hasn’t reached out to me or Chris? 

There’s a couple pictures paper clipped at the back. Jill during an exam, looking tired as a doctor is examining the sores on her chest. Following it is a close up of the whole wound, it seems to be healing, scabs and new tissue over the puncture holes and the varicose veins surrounding the area seem to be fading almost completely. The last is of Jill in a recovery room, sitting up in bed writing in a journal, smiling slightly at the camera.

They all seem normal but…

“Hey, can you look at these, don’t they seem off somehow?” The wound picture looks too sharp, too clear. Alyssa crosses to her and leans in, tucking a strand of wispy blonde hair behind her ear she combs through each picture. 

“No, not really. They look fine to me, why?”

“I’m not sure. I guess it’s nothing.” But when Alyssa’s back is turned she slips the picture of Jill writing into her coat pocket.

Chapter Text

When Jill comes to, it’s pitch black. The space is small and dark and her first response is piercing fear until her grasping hands find cloth and realizes where she is. 

There must be a light, she thinks. Standing and fumbling against the wall rewards her with a light switch. As her eyes adjust she stands in confusion, trying to process her surroundings. It looks like a bomb went off. All of Chris' anally organized clothes are strewn about, half the closet's contents on the floor. 

She's lost her shirt and is left in the thin tank top, but when she glances down to look over herself she looks at her hands and is left horrified. Smears of blood coat her arms like a child's finger painting. Her nails are bloodied, two are cracked, there's a row of evenly spaced puncture holes in her left forearm still bleeding and she's alarmed to realize she can barely feel any of it. Her left shoulder aches though as she turns to the door and, adding to the horror, it looks like an animal very violently tried and failed to escape. She glances over her shoulder to check- but no, she's the only creature in here. Leaving only one conclusion. Somehow, she did all this. 

She moves closer to the door to see if anything can be heard outside it. There’s nothing-- she can't tell if he's there, and while she's still unsure of Chris' place in all this, she's too frightened to care right now and calls out his name. 

There's no answer at first. She tries to tamp down the panic creeping in and knocks against the door, loudly calling:

"Chris? Chris! What's going on-"

Before she can finish, the doorknob turns, the door cracking open an inch as one hazel eye peers in at her, evaluating. She stands in confusion as he decides and finally opens the door all the way. If she wasn't already shell shocked, she would gasp. Along the left side of his face and down his neck, four deep gouges sit red and angry, and when his arm holding the door comes into view she can see a new clean bandage on his forearm. She can only stand there, lost and frightened, wordless. 

He ushers her back out into the room and if he seemed tired earlier he's exhausted now. The window indicates that several hours have passed and it’s dark now. He sits at the edge of the bed and watches her, the closed off expression back in place. He's in casual clothes, for him, she guesses: a tight black shirt and slacks. But his posture is too rigid, too guarded when he looks at her to match his informal appearance. 

She stands palms forward, arms slightly out.

"What is happening to me?"

-

He sits her down on the bathroom toilet without saying anything, turns the tap and waits for it to heat up. The silence isn't exactly uncomfortable, but the words from the bedroom are rattling around her head.

"What is happening to me?"

"I have no idea."

And his face said he meant it. That it made him afraid.

She doesn't start when the warm damp cloth touches her hands, still lost in her own thoughts. She watches his face rather than look at her hands, would rather not think of them honestly. But the reminder of what she's capable of is there on his face too, in the angry lines down his face and the worried crease between his eyebrows. He treats her hands with the same gentleness he's shown her since she broke into his apartment this morning, and the feeling of guilt she has only worsens. Pulling her hands away, she murmurs, 

"You really don't have to do that." He doesn't answer but captures one of her wrists with a hand and continues.

"Please don't." She tries to get it back but the circle of fingers around her wrist tighten slightly in response. 

"Stop." She balls the hand into a fist to force him. He finally makes eye contact and sits on his heels. He doesn't let go of her hand. 

"I-" she blows out her breath in a long exhale, unclear on where to start. "Tell me what happened, all of it. Not just about earlier, everything. What happened to me in Africa." Chris looks pained at the request.

How to be tactful about this? 

"You must mean a great deal to me, and I think it's mutual, but right now I'm the lunatic who broke into your house and attacked you. I don't know you. Not, exactly, I do sort of know you but I don't know why it runs so deep. And I think you might have some of the answers, or at least the right pieces so I wont feel so… empty." It's the most she's spoken yet and it might also be the most she's spoken in awhile; her throat feels rough. But it felt important to say. She watches him think. His thumb is brushing the back of her hand and she wonders if he knows he's doing it, then wonders if it should make her uncomfortable, it doesn't.

"Okay." He says eventually, then gestures to the dog bite. "But only after I patch that. Yeah?" He waits for confirmation: she nods. Only then, he seems to realize he still has her hand. He doesn't drop it like it's a snake as she half expected, but he does look embarrassed as he sets it on her thigh. Neither of them say anything as he methodically cleans and bandages the gashes.

It’s a scene that clearly is familiar to Chris, like he’s been in this exact place before more than once. The familiarity leads to a sense of almost tranquility, and while the guilt is still there, she can admit that the soft cloth wiping down her arms feels nice. Of course, tranquility doesn’t have a place in their lives, apparently, because when he freezes over the crease of her right elbow she can tell bad news is coming. 

Sucking air through his teeth, he twists it back and forth to get a better look. His head is in her line of sight, dark hair a barrier between her and whatever new horror is being examined. He pulls back and makes worried eye contact briefly until she gets a good look for herself.

At first she’s confused, unclear of what she’s looking at. The inside of her right arm, now cleared of blood, is littered with small bruises ranging from an angry red to a bright yellow. A handspan patch of skin has clearly been abused for quite some time. There’s a name and idea for what they look like but she’s pretty sure she’s never seen it in person before.

“Are those-?”

“Injection sites,” he confirms. She looks closer and can see the pin pricks now, some have scarred, too many to count. “Some of them look badly done, like a junkie.” She jerks her head up to look at him and almost clips him with the movement.

“You think I did this to myself?”

“I think it’d be hard to, unless you’re suddenly ambidextrous.” All together that leaves too much leading to a bad place to keep talking about so they fall back into silence. The crease between his eyebrows is somehow deeper. He tries to clean up the patch of skin but it doesn’t seem to need to be wrapped so he abandons it. 

When her bite is wrapped tight and he's helped her stand he leads her not to his room but the living room. She pauses in the doorway, only just now having the thought of-

"I didn't hurt her, did I? Your dog?" She looks anxiously down at the bandage and back to him. He's halfway into the room and shakes his head as he sits on the ratty couch.

"Nope. After she bit you, I tossed her in the bathroom while I wrestled you into the closet. She's in her crate now." He gestures vaguely towards the kitchen where she can quietly hear a squeaky toy. She can't see his face, but he doesn't sound worried. Now that she can see the back of his neck she can see more nail marks there.

She moves hesitantly into the space. "Good." The discovery on her arm lurks under the atmosphere now, all she can think about, and she would bet he feels similarly.

She wanders back to the fake fireplace, to the picture. Grateful for the distraction, she realizes the woman with the reddish ponytail suddenly has a name.

"This is Claire." She points, but doesn't check for confirmation yet. Something else is coming. "Your… sister?" She turns, leaving her finger on the glass. She says it as a question but can feel it to be true. He nods, unsure if this is going well or not. 

"She rides a motorcycle,” he offers. "A little reckless, but means well." Before he can continue, she does instead.

"Scares you half to death." The words are coming slowly, almost mechanically, and she doesn't seem like she's quite present. "Whip smart. Funny." Faster and more focused, "Your only family?" Again it isn't a question, not really.

"Yeah."

"You didn't want her doing dangerous things, not the life you wanted for her. But she… she is, and it has something to do with us." Snapping back to herself she makes wide eyed contact with him. He's half risen from the couch, stuck between not wanting to overwhelm her and trying to get her to sit down in case she falls down.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah it does." He looks a little relieved when she sits on the opposite side, back pressed to the arm of the couch. They face off, but it doesn't feel hostile.

"Does this start with S.T.A.R.S.?" She prompts, thinking of the picture of their younger selves.

He sighs.

"It does."

Chapter Text

He tries his best not to overwhelm her, but with trying to explain their shared past and every crazy thing that's happened to them, it seems impossible.

She takes it well as far as he can tell though, that world class poker face staying on for most of the conversation, dropping only when she remembers something on her own. She focuses on something small and worries it like a dog with a bone, but then she'd always been that way, and if she wants to linger on the layout of the S.T.A.R.S. office then hell, he'll let her. 

She's fading now, the exhaustion creeping in regardless of how hard she tries to fight it. He's grateful for it; he hasn't gotten to the Spencer Estate and he doesn't want to talk about that just yet. The separation had been… hard. Which doesn't nearly cover it but it'll pull him under if he thinks about it too hard. Worse than that, he doesn't want to tell her about her captivity.

He shakes his head to chase the thought away and watches her fight drooping eyelids and fail. Her head’s slumping forward then snapping backwards, but her eyes won't open anymore. She slumps down again, cheek pressed against the couch cushion and he can't help the smile he feels, even if it's strained. 

The hair , he thinks, he kind of hates it, the wispy blonde taking the place of her beautiful dark brown and he knew she never liked it to be so long. Looking at her, she looked fragile, like a doll that would be crushed by your hands if you handled her too roughly. He knew though that wasn't true, she'd proven to be as fierce as always when she had lost herself today. 

The weight she had lost under Wesker and not regained under B.S.A.A. watch didn't weaken her at all, and her feral strength unnerved him. He knows she had been turned into a bio-organic weapon, knows she has things coursing through her veins both naturally developed and planted there- and knows he should call Rebecca again and turn Jill in. But he also knows he won't, can't. It might cost him his life but there had to be a good reason for her to leave the labs and he'd die if he had to in finding out why. He could almost laugh at the dramatic 'noble' thoughts of laying down his life like a knight in a story but he also knows it to be true and accepts it easily, cheesy as it is.

He had saved her, he tells himself. Back in that awful place, yanked out the spider like device on her chest that controlled her. But he had to give her up to the team from the B.S.A.A. and had been hard pressed to get any information about her out of them since. Something had gone very wrong for her to feel desperate enough to break out and (hopefully she didn't but he doesn't know and can't help thinking the worst) walk all the way here. It had been months since he had seen her- almost a year, he realizes with surprise. He'd been so focused on the next thing, the next mission, next thing to fix, waiting for the next time he'd hear about her . His most recent memory before this being of her weak smile and in a soft voice saying I’ll see you soon.

Her appearance back then had shocked him, so had her orders to kill him. Now he gets that it was Wesker's way of rubbing it in; lemon juice in the cut, watching him almost break over his most important person being forced to fight him and being forced to hurt her in return. She'd said at the time she was aware through it all, silently screaming through every encounter, and it had broken his heart to hear her apologies.

This Jill had no memories of any of that, not yet at least. Things were coming back fast though and there were things he'd prefer to shoulder himself and let her forget, hell knows she'd been selfless enough for an entire lifetime. He’d always been the more selfish of the two of them and he could take that if it meant she'd be spared, it was always for her, he'd let cities fall for her if she'd let him. 

He does have to be somewhat rational though, and acknowledge that in her current state she is indeed dangerous. She had lost herself twice in a relatively short span and it'd been awful both times. If she didn't remember exactly what happened he wasn't about to tell her the gory details. The uncontrolled fury as she did all she could to kill him was too reminiscent of Africa to be a coincidence, and she had indicated something was wrong with her chest before the last time but it had gotten too complicated to really check what she'd meant. 

She had caught him off guard that second time. There was almost a moment there where the two of them were like they used to be, implicit trust and tending to each other's wounds- he sighs. 

Whatever is going on has to do with the P30 device that was attached to her, maybe when he'd pulled it out it'd left something behind in her body? He didn't want to think about being too rough taking it out as the cause for her current condition, but it was on the table. Then there was the even worse thought that maybe he’d saved her from Wesker only to turn her over to people who continued Wesker’s same style of atrocities on her. Testing to see what had been done to her and what she was capable of after shouldn’t have caused the B.S.A.A. to inject her so many times, should it? Being far from being a doctor he couldn’t say but it seemed wrong.

Keeping an eye on Jill's sleeping figure he eases off the couch and moves to release Calpurnia from her crate, crouching to pet her and murmur soft things while she tries to lick his face. 

"Alright girl, no walk tonight but let's go out for a second." She beats him to the front door, heavy tail occasionally thumping against the wall in excitement. Letting her out into the pitiful square of grass they charge him more money for as a 'yard' he leans on the doorframe, half in and out to keep watch on both dog and woman. Calpurnia having a great time sniffing everything, bounding across the tiny yard as if it were a football field. 

Jill doesn't move. His pocket rings. 

"What's happening?"

"Hi to you too, jerk." He smiles. 

"Hello, Claire Alice Redfield, to what do I owe the honor this evening?" 

"Har har. Okay whatever," he can picture her eyes rolling so clearly as she speaks, "obviously I'm here for an update on the situation." He can hear her moving quickly, she isn't alone. 

"Did you tell him?" Concerned.

"No! Leon, his name- you could use it. He knows I'd tell him if it was something big, which-" she continues in a stage whisper, "it is! " Back to regular volume now. "But, for now, no. He doesn’t know anything specific."

He grimaces.

"Look, Claire, I'm sorry-"

"Don't give me that, it's okay. I don't like keeping things from him but this is a weird situation. Anyways, I tried to dig and see if anyone might have any ideas without tipping them off, but so far everyone is in the dark. If something is going down in the labs my people have no idea. TerraSave only works with you guys at a certain level I guess. How about you, anything from Rebecca?" 

"Similar, didn’t seem to think anything strange was happening. She's perceptive as always though, I could tell she didn't really believe my story but she helped me set Jill's shoulder anyways. She's good like that."

"Eugh." He can hear and picture her shiver from the mental image of relocating a bone. She'd always been a little squeamish over medical stuff, though when it came down to it she'd do whatever she needed to in a crisis. "That went okay then? How is she? I can be up there by tomorrow if you need any help."

"No." He says too quickly and she picks up on it. The last thing he needs is her here in potential danger. She wouldn't understand either, she'd tell Leon and Rebecca if she knew the full scope. "I've got it."

"So everything's dandy then, yeah. Just peachy keen?" She's gotten that tone that sounds like their mom down almost perfectly. He could groan, but she'd zero in even further. "Spill it, Chris. Something else happened. I can tell." 

“It’s all under control.” He tries to end it there but is intimately familiar with Claire’s tenacious streak and knows it’s a lost cause. He can almost hear the gears turning in her head, even through all of the distance and the phone.  She snorts and he braces himself.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” 

“Maybe.”

“She freaked out again then. That’s what seems most likely to me. You don’t want to tell me because I’ll tell you she’s dangerous and should call Becca, huh.” She’s not done so he waits it out. “Chris. I get it, it’s Jill. She could have been my sister, I care about her too. But if this is like what was happening with the P-thirty, or worse, a side effect, there’s not a lot you can do. No offense, but you’re not really equipped for this. She needs actual help.”

She’s not calling him stupid, but the rush of heat he feels overtakes him anyways, she doesn’t get it, just like he knew she wouldn’t.

“So, what? Return her to the people that she crossed a few states to get away from? Bullshit, I won’t do that.” He’s almost yelling, can hear it, but can’t keep it down. “She’s worse than when they took her. She didn’t have memory loss when I let them take her and now it was an hour before she recognized her own name. Something is wrong. And I will not give her back to those people until we know what it is.”

“Okay,” Claire is trying to control her temper, voice shaking “yeah sure, that’s all well and good, but what happens if she kills you, or incapacitates you- gets loose and the local authorities shoot her? What will have been the point then! Especially when you could have done something to prevent it?”

He hangs up, snapping the phone closed hard and gripping it so tightly the plastic creaks. Turning to call Calpurnia back inside, behind him comes a quiet voice.

“She’s right.”

Chapter Text

He’s angry. Broad shoulders bunched and tense. She watches him from her spot, leaning against the counter and cradling her left elbow in her hand, keeping her expression passive. 

“No,” is all he says, calling the dog inside and turning away, slowly closing and locking the door to avoid looking at her. Eventually though he has to turn, expression hard.

“She’s right. I’m a danger.” Voice steady. 

“I disagree.”

“No, you don’t.” There’s a barely perceivable slump to his shoulders.

“There’s more you haven’t told me. I can tell and I can also guess.” She thinks of the tall blond man with the sunglasses that lurks in her memory, associated strongly with fear and pain. “I’ve done this before, haven’t I. Hurt you.”

Confirmation. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t have a choice.”

“I don’t seem to have much say over this either. Doesn’t discard that I’ve done this before and you’re letting me do it again.” There’s no emotion there, just facts, and it seems to make him angrier. 

“ You don’t want to go back. ” His eyebrows are a thick line over his narrowed eyes. 

“I didn’t say go back.” She feels that same fear again, red impassive eyes below non-existent eyebrows- but shoves it down. “But Claire is right. I’m going to hurt you again.” When he moves to disagree she cuts him off, “Don’t say I won’t because neither of us know why it’s happening, so I’m basically a ticking time bomb until I go crazy again.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t know that!”

“Well, I’m not going to call her back. So that’s the end of it. You should go back to sleep.” 

“Fuck that. I’m not done.” When he tries to move past her, she pushes into his space and gets in his face. Calpurnia whines behind him, nervous. He won’t look her in the eyes but he’s breathing hard. She changes tactics but doesn’t move.

“Hey.” She tries softness. “Hey, look at me.” She continues anyways when he doesn’t. “I got an idea of what I can do from your stories, and you can’t deny that I’m a threat. I also think, given our shared history, I came here because part of me sees you as a source of safety. With that in mind, how do you think I’d feel if I kill you and then get back all of those memories of you and realize what I’ve lost?” 

When she says ‘ lost,’ she gets a clearer look at that pain he tried to hide hours earlier. It’s an equal dose of loss; he lost her at some point and it still hurts. She was right to go this direction then, and she knows she should feel bad for pulling that back up but if it sways him it’s worth it. Feeling his resolve weakening, she keeps pushing.

“You don’t have to decide this minute. We can compromise, figure it out tomorrow. I’ll sleep in the closet to separate myself, but I’ll stay.” Not that she has anywhere else to go currently, but it will be incredibly easy to steal the phone while he’s asleep. She wants him to think of it as a compromise, and he swallows the bait.

“Fine.” She could smile but it’d give her away.

 
“Fine,” she repeats without harshness, moving aside and adding the feeling of disappointment as he leaves her space to the pile of puzzle pieces she has that’s labeled as ‘them’ for their relationship. Following him, she evaluates. 

This past day has been more than disorienting, feeling closer to weeks, but sometimes that’s life and you don’t catch a break. She went from no one to Jill Valentine, Special Operations Agent and important member of the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance. Maybe his story was all bullshit: zombies, special tactics and rescue squads, an ever increasing amount of terrorist designed virus strains. It’s all insane. But it rings completely true. And together they have a big part in all of it.

They both stop at the closet door and glance inside. She winces at the destruction, but Chris seems to be resigned. 

“This is gonna take awhile.” He exhales in a long whoosh. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, he bends to get started. It’s too small a space for both of them to work so she watches instead, shifting between him and the mess she’s made. It seems like she tried to kick down the door, there’s dents that she would bet match the heels of her boot, and the area around the lock is strained. It’s hard to look at, and harder to think of being the one to have done it, imagining herself wild eyed and crazed kicking at the door screaming.

Jittery, she decides she can’t stand there anymore, “Can I take a shower?” Anything to get away from this specific train of thought, and she does feel rather disgusting. He’s methodically rearranging a drawer she had ripped out and tossed, it contained socks and he has a very specific way of organizing them apparently. Sock in hand, he shrugs and turns to her.

“Uh, yeah sure.” He looks silly, squatting there, and a sudden manic laugh bubbles in her throat. She cuts it off, trying to turn it into a small cough, but he notices. 

“You sure you’re okay to? I’m not trying to tell you that you can’t, it’s just if something happens, the shower door is glass and I don’t want to have to try and grab you- you know.” His cheeks tinge pink.

Noted, another piece for the ‘Them’ pile. 

“I’m sure, I’m just,” she searches for the right expression, “slap-happy or something. Tired.”

“Okay.” He says it slowly, watching her closely. Sidling towards the door, she nods at him.

“-Hey, wait.” He ducks back into the closet for a second then reemerges, passing her a neat stack of clothes. “Something more comfortable, if you want them. The towels are in the cabinet under the sink.” His face is still pink. She retreats, nodding again.

-

She takes a couple deep breaths to steady herself once in the privacy of the bathroom. There’s so much to think about, too much. She’s starting to gather that the ‘episodes’ or whatever they decide to call them are caused by extreme distress, so if she wants to control them she’d better learn fast how to calm herself down. Move onto something more tolerable, but with things coming back fast and still more to learn, she’s not sure how to avoid another one. It feels inevitable.

That exercise Chris had, counting breaths, naming things, if she can remember it when she feels she’s slipping, it might work.

Speak of the Devil- Chris opens the door abruptly, then swearing to himself promptly closes it again, directly onto his sock clad foot.

“Fuck. Sorry, I should have knocked.” He’s partially in the doorway, clearly checking that she’s decent.

“It’s fine. What’s going on?”

“So.” He’s serious again, any trace of a flush on his cheeks fading. “So- I really don’t know where to start with this. I promise I’ll explain everything about it later, but you’re going to have some uh, scars.” His eyes dart to her chest then refocus back on her gaze instantly, clearly not wanting her to notice. She does.

“Okay ? ” There’s an ‘ and?’ clear in her tone.

“They’re probably… intense. Is what I’m trying to get at. And the story that goes with them is something we need to talk about, just, later okay? Tomorrow, I promise. Don’t, I don’t know. I’m worried they’ll trigger another-” thinking of a word, “Blackout. There’s a lot of glass in here, like I said.”

He’s being too vague and it’s suspicious, his words adding to the notion that there’s something very very big he doesn’t want to tell her, but it’s a well intentioned warning and she’s set on demanding the rest of their story later regardless, so she’ll take the promise with the intention of cashing in later.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll yell if I think something is going to happen.” He still looks worried but nods, then scrambles to shut the door as she starts to pull the tank top over her head. She lets herself laugh about it quietly as she clambers into the shower.

Holding the sides of her face, crouching under the scalding water, she takes the time to organize things in her overfull skull. Everything she knows now first:

It’s 2010.

I’m in Grand Junction, Colorado in a neighborhood of B.S.A.A. safehouses.

Chris Redfield’s apartment specifically, who I met in 1996.

We were a part of a special group unit when the first B.O.W. virus was accidentally leaked, causing a zombie outbreak in Racoon City in 1998.

We were present for it and got out.

Our boss, Albert Wesker double crossed us.

I was in Racoon City right up until it was eradicated.

Some time after which, we helped form the B.S.A.A.

Then things she can guess about through heavily clouded memory and conjecture:

Something happened to me roughly five years ago, possibly involving Wesker.

If that’s true, somehow Wesker did something to me that Chris doesn’t want to tell me about.

Before or after which, I hurt him in some way, not by choice. 

I’ve been tested on after being recovered.

Since then I’ve broken out and made my way here from Wisconsin, presumably, since that’s where Rebecca and the B.S.A.A. labs are located.

Why would I, in a fucking blackout- make my way through TWO states to get here? What could have made me want to do that? She’s mystified, but it feels safe to assume it has to do with the track marks and the man named Wesker.

Is Wesker dead? Is he the man with the red eyes? The name does pull up blond hair, but the eyes are covered with dark glasses making it hard to confirm. The whole subject makes her chest itch. She tries to get a good look at it but it's hard with the angle to see all of it, the disgorged dark veins creeping out from half-healed deep holes surrounded by dense scar tissue look and feel insidious. 

What could have caused this? It feels like eyeing a rabbit hole and instead of nervous rabbits and asshole cats the other side, it feels like there might be another blackout waiting. Glancing at the glass shower door warily, she tries to change tracks. 

Thankfully in the ten odd hours since she’s gotten here, her memory seems to be strengthening and as far as she can tell, nothing new or learned has been lost. It feels good to have things stick . Remembering people and events makes her realize not only how disorienting but how sad it is to lose all those connections that ground a person to reality. Little things are coming back and they’re acting like braces, bolstering her grip on calm.

Little things like Claire’s perfume, the sly smile before saying something she knows is funny, the comfortable sibling banter between her and Chris. Memories of mundane activities with Chris, his near perfect scores on the gun range, the contrast between his intensity and focus on missions and his natural easy going demeanor. There's others too, a large older man with a kind face is associated with gratitude, but he doesn't yet have a name. A tiny brunette with the courage of a lion, she's smiling even through exhaustion in Jill's mental image. Fun, happy, even the memories tainted by exhaustion and fear, she wants them back, all of the connections she’s lost.

It would be nice to know who they are again, she thinks. But it's late and the weight of the day is heavy on her bruised shoulders, and she still needs to get Chris' phone to talk to Claire and get a more rational response to the whole situation. Chris is too close to it all to put it in perspective, though she feels hard pressed to blame him. Clearly there's a lot of history between them and it's clouding his judgment. 

Were we together? She muses, clinging to the better train of thought. I’m not getting the feeling that we broke up or something, it’s not that kind of awkward, more of… No, something clearly did or almost went down, he seems to know even the smallest details of my life and I think it’d be hard to deny nothing ever happened, but it sure doesn’t feel like nothing. It makes her want to smile in a silly way and the heat in her cheeks and torso is the best thing she’s felt all day.

She revels in the feeling just for a moment before forcing herself back to seriousness and focus. She can’t get distracted now and risk everything she’s just barely getting back.

Chapter Text

Slipping back into the bedroom, she's unsurprised to see that Chris has made quick work of resetting the closet back to it's pristine condition. He's also made a makeshift bed on the floor by the door to the hallway that she eyes curiously as she steps over it. Chris has wrestled Calpurnia's crate into the room and is settling her into it as Jill walks in, oblivious to her presence. When he finally notices her, he starts, then smiles a small rueful smile that she doesn't understand but doesn't ask about. Instead asks,

"So, change of plans?" Indicating the neatly laid out blankets and solitary pillow. 

"Yeah." He seems uncomfortable. "Yeah, I just figured it'd be more comfortable for you on the bed, your shoulder-"

"And if I lose it and strangle you while you sleep?"

"I was getting there. If you think you can sleep like that, cuff one hand to the bed." 

Kinky. They're both thinking it, impossible not to, so neither say it aloud. It is a good idea though and with her lock pick safely concealed, it'll be just as easy to slip the cuffs than the original plan of picking the closet door. Slip out, grab the phone, message Claire and hope she figures something out before Jill can seriously harm Chris, then return to the safety of the cuffs. 

"Oh." She nods. "Okay, that sounds good." She would add she feels bad kicking him out of his own bed, but it was his idea and he doesn’t seem like he’d take the apology anyways, so she leaves it be. 

When everything is settled, she's on her side as comfortable as possible with her right hand attached to the bedpost. Facing the picture of the two of them, she gingerly reaches over, mindful of over-extending her shoulder and sets the frame upright. Even with the lights off, the street lamps illuminate the room enough to see it.

They look so happy. She badly wants to ask but it seems like a terrible idea. It comes out anyways.

"Were we together?"

Silence. Maybe he's fallen asleep, he's breathing evenly. It's probably for the best- she hadn't meant to ask anyways and it seems a risky subject. 

She's sure he's asleep and contented herself to waiting a bit longer before executing her plan when he finally answers.

"No."

"...Why?"

The silence drags.

"Just thought we'd have more time to get there, I guess." It's filled with regret.

She doesn't answer. Eventually she hears his breathing shift into a slower rhythm and guesses this time he's actually asleep.

Staring at their picture until she cant wait any longer or risk falling asleep herself; she retrieves the lock pick from the rolled waistband of the sweatpants. It's harder to do like this, a bad angle for her right hand and painful for her other arm but she pushes through. After a short minute it opens with a soft click and she gingerly removes it, careful to not rattle it against the post. Easing off the bed and padding quietly to his sleeping form is simple enough, but Calpurnia is awake and alert, watching warily from her crate; a bark from her would ruin everything. All she can do is hope she won't and press on. 

Chris looks a lot like his younger self when asleep, no stress lines and world weary expression. She's zeroed in on the pocket with the phone but her attention is pulled to the chain around his neck instead, breaking her focus. It's out from under his shirt and three tags are visible on it, different ages and makes. With one finger she gently spreads them out to read in the half light. 

The first reads Christopher Redfield in bold font and an I.D. number for the U.S. Air Force in the late eighties. The other two are newer, they say 'B.S.A.A. Operative' on them and while this first one is stamped with his name like the one before, the second says hers.

Oh.

He's been holding onto her tags, has a drawer of things devoted to trying to find her. "Just thought we'd have more time to get there, I guess."

She doesn't feel that same depth, but she does feel something for him and to kill him in an uncontrollable moment is too big a risk. The phone, it's even more important now. Calpurnia whines quietly behind her.

Pickpocketing seems to be as easy for her as lock picking and that's another line of questions she has for herself that now is not the time for. She's almost got the phone eased from the pocket when his hand comes up lightning fast and snatches her wrist.

Shit.

The motion is reactionary, his grip hard while he tries to wake up completely. When he does, he takes the phone from her hand, let's go, and rolls to his back, scrubbing his eyes to get the sleep out. She stays crouched sheepishly, thwarted.

Voice rough with sleep he says, "I'm not-'' A deep sigh. "You're not a captive here. I'm not trying to kidnap you or something. But could this keep till the mornin' maybe?" The barest hint of a midwestern accent slips out while he fights a yawn. 

"I guess so." She slinks back to the bed in defeat and re-cuffs her wrist. He's still on his back, one hand over his eyes. 

Groaning, with joints popping, he sits up and leans against the wall facing her. He propped up his head on the wall, eyes bleary but sharp underneath while he considers her. Now she feels a twinge of guilt.

“Claire?” He asks. She makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat in response. “Yeah, okay.” He looks way older than thirty-six as he makes himself comfortable. The picture of him sitting like this brings up memories and she realizes he’s settling in to keep watch.

“I just.” She sighs, frustrated. “I’m not going to try again, you can sleep.”

“You’re worried about ‘strangling me in my sleep’ right?” She’s not sure where this is going so she keeps quiet. “So, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen.”

Frowning, she’s torn, but ultimately decides to toss him the lockpick. He catches it and snorts once he understands what it is.

“Should have known.” But there’s no anger in his voice.

“I want to call Claire tomorrow.” His mouth tightens, but he doesn’t say no. “Please sleep.” He doesn’t move and she gets the feeling that stubbornness is a big trait of his; it feels familiar. 

This doesn’t seem like something she’s going to win, so she doesn’t try. She will push the Claire thing tomorrow, she promises herself while resettling and lets sleep take her when it comes.

-

Everything is too bright. She can’t see. It hurts her eyes, but there's bigger hurts everywhere else on her body- in her organs even- that the light doesn’t hold a candle to. There’s ice coursing through her right arm and she can feel things moving underneath the skin, writhing between muscle strands and it's excruciating.

She wants to scream. 

She can't seem to find her voice, choking on something in her throat- can't close her mouth, can’t move to pull it out, and the panic grows. Restraints across her thighs and her chest, they dig into bare flesh as she thrashes against them. She thinks they might cut into her, thinks she can feel her blood trickling down over her skin. Her spine is on fire. 

A face looms into view, but the headlamp they wear obscures everything but the surgical mask and safety glasses. They say nothing. A hand reaches down and shuts her eyes. 

Behind closed lids, a face remains: pale with blue eyes and ice blonde hair, shifts to red eyes and sharper features, then gaining a pair of dark glasses. She’s pulling at the restraints, a new sharp pain encircling her wrist as she screams and screams in her head.

"Woah, woah! Hey, it's okay- you're okay-"

She is screaming.

The pain in her wrist is brighter. Though the sharp restraints are gone, there's still something holding her down and the idea of something else happening to her is too much to bear.

No more! She moans, unsure if it's aloud or in her mind.

"Jill- Jill ! You're safe- you're okay!" The weight pinning her down shifts and she struggles harder. Gasping for air, throat burning. 

"Hey. Hey! Shit- stay with me Jill, you're safe, you're okay, it's Chris-" 

Chris...? Chris! The darkness is dragging her in right as she's scrabbling for consciousness, an understanding for what's about to happen clear-

But she's sinking.

Down.

Down.

Chapter Text

Turns out there’s no need for any debate over calling Claire; at six-thirty in the morning, she’s made that choice for everyone. 

He looks at the phone as it lights up and vibrates in his palm, seriously considering not answering it before sighing and flipping it open.

At least she’s not arguing right out of the gate. “Hey.”

“Hey.” If someone is going to talk first, it sure isn’t going to be him. She can bring up their argument from last night.

“So.” She sounds uncomfortable, nervous. “I’m sorry for things getting so heated.”

He could let her feel bad, probably make her feel worse, if he were in the mood to do so. But truly, he’s just tired and could use some help. Claire was good in crisis situations, almost thrived in them, and he can finally admit this is a crisis situation.

“Nah. I’m sorry, you were right. I shouldn’t have yelled.” Dragging his free hand over his face, he pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs again. “I can’t do this by myself and I should have listened and let you come up.”

She clears her throat. “About that.” Instantly he knows right before she says it. “I may have made a choice in the heat of the moment, and well- I’m here.” She says the last bit with forced, sheepish fanfare. He hangs up and heads to the door.

When he opens it, she’s holding her phone up to her ear, expression indignant. His pocket rings once before she closes her phone to greet him.

“Oh. Hey.” To her credit, she does look like she’s thought everything through now, and regrets showing up uninvited. “I can go, hang out in a diner or something- motel maybe-”

She lets him pull her inside and smiles against his chest when he pulls her into a hug. He might be miffed at her, but she means well and she’s still his baby sister. If he’s being honest, even though he’s worried about Claire getting involved in this mess, he’s grateful for her coming to help lighten the load.

“In the least rude way possible, you look like shit.” She's taking in his appearance, noting the scratches in concern. He snorts, lacking the energy for a real laugh.

“Smooth. Thanks.” He takes in her riding jacket and eyebags. “You’re not looking so hot either. Please tell me you didn’t ride your motorcycle here.” She doesn’t answer as she puts her backpack down, but he can see the corner of her mouth quirk the way it does when she knows she’s done something but doesn’t want to say.

“Claire, it’s almost eight hours from Santa Fe-”

“Seven and a half,” she clarifies. He’s unimpressed.

“Still.”

She flops down on the couch, limbs akimbo, head over the back. 

“Okay, yes, it was far and a bad idea. But at least I took a nap before talking myself into coming.” 

Calpurnia trots over to Claire and sets her big head and squeaky toy down on her leg. “Oh hey, Nia!” Claire beams and pulls herself upright in a dramatic way to pet the happy dog.

He watches her, too tired to bring anything up himself, feeling like he might fall asleep where he stands.

“Wait, weren’t you just on a mission two days ago? Have you slept since Wednesday?”

What day is it now? He’s frustrated, he’s stayed up longer than this before. He heaves out a sigh as he settles on the floor, leaning against the couch and giving Calpurnia a hardy pat on her side.

“Maybe? I’m not sure. I got a couple hours last night.”

He doesn’t have to see her face to know she’s unimpressed.

Softer than expected, she asks, “What happened?”

Resting his elbows on his knees, he fills her in, every detail he left out and every new thing since they last talked. He thinks he’s doing a pretty good job keeping any emotions out, but when her hand comes to rest on his shoulder and squeezes gently, he knows he’s failed on that front.

“Chris…” He pushes on but doesn’t shrug off her hand.

“I think she had some sort of night terror? It was awful… it wasn’t the same as when she- attacked.” He sniffs, realizing he’s hit that point of exhaustion and distress where he tears up. “She was so scared, Claire, she wasn’t angry. Not right then at least, but then she slipped. I could feel it happen.” 

Claire slides down to the floor next to him and leans her head on his shoulder, tucking a hand under his bicep to hold like she did when they were kids. 

“I had to put her in a chokehold.” He admits in a shaky whisper to his trembling hands. “She was hurting herself, and I couldn’t calm her down, I-”

“Hey, hey.” Claire is sounding like a double of their mom as she soothes, tugging on his hand to hold in both of hers and holding it steady between her palms. “You did everything you could. None of this is your fault.”

“It’s not hers either.”

“I didn’t say it was. I want to help her too. She’s my friend and I know how much she means to you.”

“I just,” he sniffs again, feeling eight years old, “I don’t know what to do.” He leans into her when she says,

“We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

-

Out of the two of them, Claire is definitely the worse cook, which doesn’t mean she’s bad at it per say, but she definitely makes a bigger mess and adds too much salt occasionally. 

He's watching her now, hands wrapped around a coffee mug, leaning on the counter. She's already teased him about the amount of protein powder he has (two tubs, but they were on sale ), how tightly packed his freezer is ("like Tetris!"), and the three empty boxes of MRE bars in his recycling bin ("Those were for assignments right, you don't eat them normally?" He does, but he's not telling her now). 

Whatever she's making has her entire focus and he knows from experience that unless directly asked something, she'll keep that focus until she's finished. Despite the time and spending seven, no , eight , hours on a motorcycle, she's alert, forgoing coffee for a glass of orange juice she sips occasionally. 

The scene reminds him of his early twenties; they had just lost their parents and he'd made a point to come see her once a week so they wouldn't lose that last family bond. She'd come up with Sunday breakfast being their thing. Their dad had loved the occasion, cooking more food than four people could eat without fail, and she'd wanted to keep it going. They both would take turns making breakfast and talking about mundane things like her classes and his training. 

That all had stopped though once the world decided to go through a seemingly never ending stream of near apocalypses and swept them both along with it. It’s a dark train of thought, so he drops it to ask,

“Hey, how’s the kid?” He waits while she takes a minute to come back from wherever she goes when she focuses like this.

“Sherry?” She makes a face that passes too quick to read. “I’m not sure, actually. We’re still trying to find where she is to visit, but it’s been a stream of deactivated lines and phone tag. Leon is trying to look where he can, but it’s kind of coming up empty and it’s been years. She got sort of adopted, but I don’t know the guy.” 

The look is frustration. “It’s like she’s disappeared off the face of the Earth and they’re trying to make us forget about her. We kind of did too and that’s the worst part. After Antarctica and Spain, we both just got so busy. That’s a terrible excuse, but it’s what happened.” 

She doesn’t want or need any input, so he just lets her vent. He wishes he could help and, though he’s never met the kid, he knows she means a lot to Claire and Claire feels responsible for her.

“She’d be around twenty-three now too, so maybe she just doesn’t want anything to do with us since we left her there. That’d be okay, I guess, I wouldn’t blame her- just seems weird that they’re being so cagey about her and won’t tell us anything, everything is classified. So much for Leon trading working for the government to protect her, I know he feels like he’s failed to keep her safe. I do too.”

“Ugh.” She sets both hands down on the counter in fists then softens them. “Anyways, bigger fish to fry and all that.” She’s changing the subject, and he lets her.

“We agree we should call Rebecca right?” 

He closes his eyes but can hear her get back to work and smell bacon as it hits the pan. “I guess there’s no other choice, is there?” Claire makes a noise of agreement and sympathy.

“I just don’t want to get her in trouble, you know? She’s not the kind to get involved in this stuff, so it’s not as if I think she’s in on whatever's going on, just worried that if we bring her attention to it she’ll get caught up in a bad way.” He can’t get his eyes back open, lack of sleep gluing them shut.

“What if we get her to come here?” He peels open his eyes to look at her. “Ask her to bring her field kits, say it’s for TerraSave and get her out of there. Then she’s safe and she can help with the Jill situation at the same time.”

“That’s a solid plan.”

“Thanks.” She raises her eyebrows up and down comically, “I’m known for those sometimes.”

Chapter Text

She's not exactly late. It's not like she has a rigid time card, she sort of works on a volunteer-but-paid basis. Still, she does like to get to the labs at the same time as everyone so she doesn't come off as entitled or above anyone else. 

Thirty minutes? Seriously?!

Thankfully, Alyssa holds the elevator door for her, clearly on her way up from the coffee cart. She sips from her cup and watches Rebecca straighten out her skirt and hair.

"Late night?" 

"Oh! Uh, no. No." Rebecca shakes her head, slightly out of breath from the mad dash from her car and through security.

"I overslept. I can't believe it, that never happens to me."

"Hey, it happens.” Shrugging, she comments, “I love that skirt, makes your legs look really good." Then offers up her cup.

"Thanks." Feeling flushed, she gratefully takes a sip and hands it back. "Uh, so! Anything interesting today or are we just going to keep processing group C?"

"No, Ivanov has something, some sort of meeting with just our lab. She's being very cryptic, especially before a four-day weekend, I hope she's not going to talk us into staying overtime." She looks annoyed as she adds, "I made plans this weekend already, staying behind while every other lab gets to go off and jet ski or whatever would suck."

Making a noise of agreement, she follows Alyssa's swaying blonde ponytail through the halls, towards the meeting room outside the doctor's office. They are late and even though Alyssa seems unfazed, Rebecca can feel her own face turn bright red as they make their way to their seats in front of their colleagues. 

Dr. Ivanov perpetually seems put upon and annoyed, so it's hard to tell if she's upset at their lateness or not. She doesn't comment though, waiting until they're settled to begin speaking.

"As you hopefully are aware, tomorrow kicks off a four day weekend here. Unfortunately, we are woefully behind on our work, especially with isolating and processing the new samples. Team leaders, this was under your responsibilities. I expected better initiative.” Alyssa shifts in her seat, seeming uncharacteristically annoyed; under the table, her leg begins to bounce aggressively fast. Rebecca puts her hand on her forearm as comfort and a warning.

“If this really is a Progenitor strain imitator on the market, we need to know A-S-A-P. In short, we need to do better." From her seat at the end of the big table, Alex Ivanov folds her hands neatly and takes the time to look each person in the eyes. It's meant to be an affirming thing, Rebecca thinks, but mostly it's a little frightening. 

"So, we will have to give up part of our long weekend. If we work quickly, hopefully it will just be one day and everyone will be free to do as they please after." Any notion of groaning or complaining is quickly shut down as she continues. "I have also negotiated for triple pay to make up for it."

The atmosphere around the table brightens immediately and that closes the conversation. She's hard to read but it seems as if the doctor is pleased with herself; Rebecca watches her while she gathers her things and leaves. She could have sworn she smiled.

Back in their own office though, where it's the two of them, Alyssa is furious. Seemingly contemplating throwing things around, she settles on throwing her files down on her desk and screeching through her teeth.

"Woah, hey, what's going on?" Rebecca closes the door to give Alyssa's freak out privacy from everyone else.

"I just! Can't stand the way she talks to us!" Her back is turned but her hands gripping her desk have white knuckles from the force. "She's not better than me, and certainly not better than you!"

She whips around to face Rebecca. She still looks like she'd like to break things, but there's nothing here that she can. 

"Okay…" Hands out like she's trying to corral a wild animal, she approaches. "It's okay, you're right that she can be condescending sometimes, but she's only temporary, remember? She'll be leaving soon."

As quickly as her anger came, she deflates. Allowing Rebecca to hold her hands and smooth out the fists. 

"God, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. You're right." She takes a deep breath and seems a little sheepish, but there's still anger in her eyes.

"It's okay, it happens to the best of us sometimes."

"'Cept you, I guess. You're always Miss Perfect." It stings but Rebecca shakes it off, stress can make people say hurtful things.

"Let's just try and finish out today, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." She lets out a big exhale. "I just- I've had a lot of people think I was just some nobody screw up. I let her get to me.

"I mean, I am a nobody," she laughs harshly, "I always have been, but I'm not a screw up." 

Rebecca feels a wave of pity for the woman but tries to brush it off. Alyssa doesn't want pity, she reminds herself, she just wants to be heard.

"You aren't a nobody! Not to me, at least." She hopes Alyssa can see how genuine she's being when she adds. "You're the only person I can honestly say is my good friend here. And I don't have a lot of friends outside of here, either. You matter."

Alyssa sniffs and wipes her nose on her sweater sleeve. 

"Thanks Beccs, that means a lot to me." She accepts Rebecca's hug gratefully. Then, trying to ease the tension, she starts joking like her usual self.

"Hey, do you think ' Dr. Alex Ivanov' is secretly a Russian spy?" She says the doctor's name with an exaggerated fake accent, then giggles. “She looks like a Bond villain.”

“Oh ha ha , veeeeery funny.” Rebecca only manages to look stern for a couple seconds before smiling back. 

For the next couple of hours, things seem to be normal. Alyssa goes back to her cheerful self after a few hours, seeming to forget completely about her outburst, chatting away and blazing through their experiments. At nine, Rebecca's phone rings.

Checking the number, she's surprised to see it's one of TerraSave’s codes. 

"Hello?" She's even more surprised to hear Claire Redfield on the other end. She's only met Claire a couple of times and they were all pleasant but brief experiences. Alyssa looks up from her microscope to look at her in curiosity, mouthing a ' who is it? ' before Rebecca waves her off and moves away. 

"Claire! Hi, what do you need?"

"Hiya Becca, I need a huge favor." She says everything quickly. "I need some extra eyes and minds on something high level for TerraSave, it's on the more hush hush side and something in your expertise."

"Okay," she says slowly, turning her back on Alyssa who is being distracting, trying to get answers from her. "Sure, but why not someone on-" glances back, "uh, your team?" She resists adding that Claire could call the actual TerraSave employees in the building rather than her, but she doesn't, not wanting to sound rude.

"It's, it's something only you would understand." It sounds like Claire has put her hand over the mouth piece from the sound of muffled talking. "An Arklay sort of situation."

"Oh."

"Yes, exactly. Can I get you a plane ticket to me? I'll explain everything, I promise. Once you're here."

"I'll see what I can do." There's something Claire doesn't want to say over the phone, and by saying 'Arklay' this must have something to do with Chris, or Umbrella, but since it does really seem to be dead this time- most likely Chris. They must not think it's safe to say everything. "It might take a bit though, can I text or call you back?"

"Absolutely. Can you bring your field kits please? Bio-chem and first aid, as extensive as you’ve got. For TerraSave , again. I'll explain when you get here." 

"Sure, I'll call you back when I can." She hangs up mechanically, trying to piece everything from the weird conversation together.

If Claire is with Chris but doesn't want to say, she doesn't want the B.S.A.A. to know. Helping TerraSave is clearly a cover, but for what. She gnaws on a fingernail until a sharp poke in her side startles her.

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to scare you. What was all that?"

"I got a call to help out somewhere." She might as well use the cover story and trust in the Redfields. With my med-aid kit? Whoever Chris was helping yesterday maybe? She feels close to figuring it out. 

"Sorry, I have to go talk to Ivanov." Slipping out the door before Alyssa can keep prying, she puzzles over it all in the halls.

Maybe I shouldn't try to work it all out right now. She's not the best liar and she knows it. It might be better to not know everything before I go in there.  

Dr. Ivanov's door is open when she arrives. The woman is sitting at her desk, writing in what appears to be a journal. 

"Come in." She doesn't look up but finishes her sentence and places the book into a drawer.

"What do you need?" As always, she makes it sound as if she's inconvenienced by the presence of anyone else and that her time is being wasted. 

It's intimidating, but this is important.

"I received a call requesting my help somewhere else today, so I need to leave." She's proud about how smooth she sounds. "I'm sorry to leave my team shorthanded."

"Are you asking me or telling me?" It feels like a test. The doctor's impassive face is giving nothing away. 

"Telling. I wouldn't leave on a whim or to shirk duty-"

"You're here as a favor to the higher ups because you're very useful. I can't fault another group for needing you. Good luck." It's a clear dismissal, but prefaced by the compliment doesn't feel as rude. Rebecca can feel eyes on her back as she leaves. 

-

"What, just like that-"

"Sorry, I'll make it up to you!" 

"Wait-!" But Rebecca doesn't pause as she leaves, letting the door close on Alyssa's bewildered face.

Chapter Text

Waking up burrito'd tight in blankets is a surprise. But as Jill wakes up fully she thinks that it could be worse, and comparatively it is much nicer than the last few times she's regained consciousness. Am I…? Swaddled? What is this? She tries to wiggle a hand free. Could laugh about how ridiculous she must look, but tries to focus on finding a way out instead. Feeling more caterpillar than person, she rolls, trying to find some way of exiting her cocoon. Ultimately she just ends up falling off the bed with a muffled thump.

It doesn’t hurt but does startle a laugh out of her while one arm is finally released. As she finally makes her way free and manages to stand, the door opens cautiously.

Calpurnia wastes no time pushing past Chris to come sniff at her hand and despite the distrust Jill’s earned since being bit, the dog still lets her scratch behind her ears and even lolls her tongue out of her mouth. Chris watches from the doorway, worried expression back into place softened only slightly because of the dog.

Surprisingly another face peeks around his shoulder. This close together the familial resemblance is unmistakable, this woman has to be Claire.

Feeling silly and self conscious standing in her shed blankets, she’s grateful when Claire breaks the silence.

“Hi.” Claire says with a smile. “It’s good to see you again.” When Jill nods Claire seems to realize something and rushes to add,

“Oh, wait- shit, I’m not trying to be confusing, I’m-”

“Claire.” Jill cuts in.

“Yeah.” She glances up at Chris, unsure how to continue, and nudges him when he doesn’t seem like he’s going to say anything.

“How are you feeling?” He asks quietly. There’s not a lot to say about it, so she shrugs with her good shoulder.

“Alive, I guess.”

Claire clearly thinks now is a good time to bow out, so she pats her leg for Calpurnia and smiles again before exiting. “I made breakfast, if you’re hungry!” She calls over her shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

Chris seems automatically drawn to tidying things, so she quickly skips backwards out of the blanket pile to let him pick them up. Like most things, she can guess he has a specific way of doing it so rather than offer to help, she stands holding her elbows while he remakes the bed. He’s unreadable again, thinking about something, but what, she isn’t sure. 

“You okay?” He looks up incredulously at the question, half smiling in confusion.

“You’re asking me if I’m okay?”

“Yeah. It’s not always all about me, and you’ve been through a lot because of me. I’m checking in.” For some reason she feels that she should have added ‘partner’ to the end of that but thinks it’d be weird to say.

He shakes his head and looks like he could laugh.

“Right now it is about you, and that’s okay. I can handle it.” He gently picks up her right hand and twists it to see her newly damaged wrist. It’s got a gnarly looking bruise from the cuffs and where the skin was broken has already scabbed.

“You don’t need to always worry about other people, brave girl.” The way he says it doesn’t sound condescending, but familiar and fond. 

His mouth turns down, “I’m sorry the cuffs didn’t turn out so good.”

“Neither of us could have known; it was a good idea. What’s another bruise at this point, anyway?” He doesn’t like how blasé her tone is, she can tell, but he doesn’t do anything other than frown deeper. He still has her hand so she touches his forearm with the other and smiles softly when he meets her eyes.

“It’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself, okay?” His answering hum doesn't sound like an agreement, so she twists the hand in his to actually hold it and squeezes. 

She wants to pull the big man into a hug and see him smile, hear a genuine laugh, but she doesn't know how that would go over and can't bring herself to let go of his hand to find out. 

The moment of silence between them isn't awkward, but it is loaded. Almost as if he doesn't realize he's doing it, he lifts his other hand to trap a free strand of her hair in his fingertips. She has a vivid image of what it might feel like if he were to run his whole hand through her hair and has to stifle the nervous laughter she feels in her chest. 

Fuck it. She goes for it, sliding her free hand around him to give him a hug. He’s frozen and she’s thinking she’s screwed up when his arm comes to rest across her back and pulls her close. With their hands still connected, it probably looks like they could be dancing, she thinks. This isn’t like embracing a stranger for the first time, this is warm, familiar, welcome. Almost a homecoming. 

Being this close to him, memories start to come back again. Thankfully, good ones this time. Moments of feeling safe, the feeling of camaraderie, implicit trust based on genuine friendship. Just from the memories returned, she knows how incredibly important he is to her, and she doesn’t even think she has everything back yet. A funny moment surfaces and she withdraws from his arms to ask:

“I hustled fifty bucks from you playing pool when we first met, didn’t I.”

He lets go and scratches the back of his neck, smiling. It’s one that lights up his face in a way she hasn’t yet seen in person: success .

“You did. Then you lifted everyone’s wallets when Brad implied your skill sets wouldn’t be useful. Broke into his desk and left him a post-it-note on his wallet saying ‘ Wanna bet? ’” He chuckles thinking of that moment in their past. 

She smiles when he laughs. Tries not to sober when Brad Vicker’s name pulls up a pang of sadness. She wants to keep this current moment going, for once her past be damned. For the first time wanting to have new memories, not focusing on old ones. 

Ever courteous though, Chris ends the pleasant tension between them by tipping his head towards the door and lifting his eyebrows in a question. “Breakfast?”

“Sure. I’ll be right there.” She watches him go, smiling to herself about feeling like a high schooler watching her crush leave down the halls. 

Bracing her hands on the sink in the bathroom, she laughs at her reflection in the mirror.

Thirty-four and getting butterflies like a twelve year old? Nice, Jill. Real smooth. 

Washing her face and feeling a little less juvenile, she closes the door behind her. In the main room she can hear Claire and Chris talking. Not necessarily intending to eavesdrop but making no effort to make her footfalls heavier, she listens in. 

“So are you going to say something this time or am I going to watch you two dance around each other for another ten years?”

“Claire!”

“What? I’m not saying going up and kissing her like some forties movie, just say ‘Hey Jill-’”

“Please stop.”  

“Okay, sorry, sorry, too far. I get it. I’m just, ugh. I don’t know.”

“Now’s not the time, okay? She was gone for so long, I have no idea what really happened under that bastard. I don’t think an amnesiac really wants to hear something like that from some guy she barely knows. It would be unfair to push my feelings on her right now, and manipulative to boot. So no. I’m not going to say anything. I don’t want to assume.”

“I guess those are all good points. I’m just thinking of what you were like when you thought she was dead, the regret. I don’t want you to miss out on this second chance by being afraid.” 

He doesn’t answer for a beat. Claire continues in a softer tone. 

“I’m sorry for being pushy. Really, I am.”

He sighs. “I know you mean well, but it isn’t the right time. Later, when this whole thing is resolved, I’ll get there.”

Claire sounds much older when she replies.

“You never know how much time you have.”

Chapter Text

Jill is quiet at breakfast. Claire fills the silence occasionally and he joins in with her, the joking and bantering being a relieving change from her grilling him on his love life. Jill watches them both, alternating between a searching expression and a small smile when Claire says something particularly funny. It’s a weird trio to have for such a domestic scene but it feels nice: a respite that none of them have had in more than a decade. Under better circumstances this would be a treasured moment, maybe later he’ll look back on this fondly. 

They have a couple of hours to kill before picking up Rebecca and there’s a restless energy born both from inaction and having nothing to do while they wait. Jill folds herself into the corner of the couch again while Claire takes the floor, absentmindedly playing tug-of-war with Calpurnia, lost in thought. He takes the other end of the couch trying not to groan as sore muscles relax against the old cushions. The coffee has not done its job and sleep is circling like crows. 

“So, do you have any clues on how you got all the way here?” Claire bursts the quiet bubble, turning at the waist to see Jill, who looks taken aback.

“No.” Jill hesitates, uncertain. “I think I was in some sort of vehicle; I remember it being dark and cramped but not much else.”

“You were being held in a vehicle?”

“I think I was hiding, actually.” Jill is concentrating hard, a small V of tension creasing her forehead. Chris knows it well, and waits for her nose to scrunch the way it does when she gets frustrated. “I was there for a long time, but that’s pretty much it. I just had a sense of location , like I knew where I was going.”

“Wow, you really P. Sherman’ed your way here, huh.” Claire turns back around and leans her head back. 

“I what?” 

“The fish movie? Nevermind, I saw it on a plane. You probably missed it. Basically- Ow!” Claire swats at Chris’ foot when he lightly taps the back of her head to make her stop. Jill laughs and they both look at her.

“I did see that. The blue fish had memory problems, right?” She smiles wryly. “It fits.” 

When it’s clear neither of the Redfields know what to say, she keeps going.

“I’m getting things back in random order, no idea why.” She shrugs. “Can’t say I think animated movies are what I’m looking for, but at least it’s something.” 

“It’s something.” Claire agrees. Chris nods, failing to fight off a yawn.

He’s just going to lean his head back. Only a minute, one minute of closing his eyes, then he’ll open them and start thinking of a plan. 

-

He wakes with a start, half sitting up. Whatever he was dreaming about is already out of reach, but since his dreams are very one-note, he can guess what it was about. Almost every night for over ten years, when sleep does make its way to him, his brain cycles through only a handful of scenarios: Seeing a tyrant for the first time, Wesker holding Claire by the hair in Antarctica, Jill crashing through that window and taking Wesker with her, Jill screaming with rage and pain as he and Sheva try to remove the device without hurting her.

Out of those, the window at the Spencer Mansion frequents more than the others exponentially. The anger from being tossed around like a rag doll-  the sudden impact of the floor- quickly turning to helplessness and horror as the glass explodes and Jill sinks from view clutching tightly to Wesker’s coat. That moment. Hitting the ground, the sound of glass, the last wisp of Jill’s hair. It plays on repeat in his dreams. He could have done better, should have done better.  

He hates this dream, it’s his greatest failure on loop. He had hoped when Jill was found alive they would stop, but they haven’t. Now they’re accompanied by the feeling that if he had just tried harder to find her, she wouldn’t have undergone the horrors of those years of testing and abuse. He can’t ever shake the feeling that all of it, everything, is his fault. 

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sinks back into the couch with a sigh, letting the anxiety and adrenaline fade. When he opens his eyes again they focus on Jill, still at the end of the couch watching him with her arms wrapped around her knees and resting her chin atop them. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s good you did, you needed it. You were dreaming, are you okay?”

“Fine. I don’t remember what it was.” She picks out the lie instantly, her eyes narrowing. He tries to make a joke to move on. “Why, was I talking or something? Hope I didn’t say anything embarrassing.”

“You don’t talk in your sleep.” She says dismissively. “You never have.” 

Fair enough, he doesn’t know whether feeling a little jolt of happiness at her remembering little things about him is appropriate right now but he does. She wants him to give up and explain the lie, but he won’t, so eventually she concedes instead.

“You did drool a little though.” She laughs when he wipes his mouth, embarrassed.

“Yeah, yeah, very funny. Where’s Claire?” When he sits up to look for her, Calpurnia’s ears prick up and she trots over to him with her toy. He takes it from her and squeaking it once tosses it for her to chase. 

“She went to go get Rebecca, left about half an hour ago.”

“Geez, I was asleep that long?”

“Like I said, you needed it.” 

“Hmm.” 

He throws the toy a couple more times before she speaks again.

“Why’d you get a dog?”

“Oh, she failed out of the canine unit so I volunteered to take her. She’s not so good at following commands but she’s smart, and a good friend.” 

“Why Calpurnia? Seems like it’d be a better name for a cat.” When he looks at her baffled, she spells out the letters with her finger.

“Cal- purr - nia?” His laugh is unexpectedly loud and Jill seems very self-satisfied.

“Wow- ha, yeah.” The joke hits him again and he has to laugh before continuing. “Yeah it would be a good name for a cat.

“It was the name of Julius Caesar's third wife. She was known for being kind and loyal, it seemed like a good fit.” He can feel the back of his neck get red from her staring. 

“It is a good fit. What made you think about it?”

“I- uh, read the play in college.” Why he feels so embarrassed, he doesn’t know. He’s not a secret intellectual or something, but he’s also not stupid, so why should admitting he read Shakespeare in college be a hang up? Maybe he doesn’t want to seem like he’s bragging, or trying too hard? Jill doesn’t pry or seem to care though, just holds out her hand for the toy the next time Calpurnia brings it back to him and throws it herself.

Fifteen minutes later, Jill has won back some of Calpurnia’s trust and Claire is banging at the door. Jill comes to stand warily at the entrance of the kitchen as the other three say their hellos and bring Rebecca’s things in. The two cases she has with her alongside a rolling suitcase are huge and bulky, they bang on the door frame as he pulls them inside and Rebecca looks sheepish.

“Claire said to bring the extensive kits, I’m sorry!”

“Well, I didn’t know that would mean big enough to set up a FEMA tent.” Claire is joking, but it takes a second for Rebecca to pick up on it. 

He claps her on the shoulder and shoots a look over at Claire.

“No worries Beccs, thanks for the help.” Rebecca smiles gratefully at him before her eyes slide over to see behind him and look curiously at Jill. 

“Of course. So,” she sounds nervous, “where should we start?”

-

Rebecca is nothing but gentle- having been treated by her himself in the past, Chris knows this, but he can’t help but feel the need to stand too close as she examines Jill. She’s silent as Rebecca looks her over, having only said a quiet and guarded greeting to the scientist. 

It’s hard to tell what exactly she’s thinking, but the usually impeccable poker face is being betrayed by the tense way she’s holding herself. Her teeth clench as Rebecca’s fingers glide over the needle points in her right arm and she looks like she’s resisting wrenching it away. When Rebecca asks if she can take a blood sample, she pales visibly but after a moment agrees. 

“I’m not trying to pry, but can I get a bit more information about what’s going on?” Rebecca asks after she’s wound the medical tape around Jill’s left elbow. 

“I just read a report on you a couple days ago, none of this was documented. It didn’t even say you’d left.”

Claire turns in the chair she’s sitting in at the table, pulling her headphones down and turning away from her laptop. With the focus of everyone in the room on her, Rebecca needs a second before continuing.

“I thought the document and pictures looked weird-” 

“Pictures?” He doesn’t mean to interrupt her so abruptly, but she keeps talking.

“Yeah, I took one because it didn’t seem right. The whole thing said you were doing so much better and were just resting, I don’t understand-”

“How deep does this go?” Claire cuts her off to ask him, moving to stand behind Rebecca.

“Seems deep enough for a cover up.”

“This is bad, the B.S.A.A. being compromised-” 

“We’ll figure it out. Rebecca, can we see the picture?” She hurries over to her coat hanging by the door.

“Here.” 

Looking at the picture, at first nothing seems wrong other than that the Jill in the picture looks significantly less haggard than the one in front of him. He keeps a passive eye on her as Rebecca continues to look over her, checking her eyes with a small flashlight. 

Upon closer inspection though, the smile on photograph of Jill’s face seems wrong, a smile he’s never once seen before. As he looks even closer, nose almost touching the photo paper the features look wrong, out of place-

“This is a composite.” Passes the photo to Claire when she reaches for it.

“You were right Becca, this isn’t a real photo. Good instincts.”

“Thanks, though I wish none of this was happening.” 

Jill is watching them, and he can tell she’s starting to get freaked out, so he crouches in front of where she sits and holds her hands in his, resting them on her lap.

“It’ll be alright,” he promises, and she squeezes his hands.

“Sorry, but can I look at your shoulder, Jill, the one that was dislocated? I’m sure you did a great job Chris, I just want to be thorough.” Jill looks like she would rather say no but nods anyway, letting go to gingerly pull up the sleep shirt he had lent her. She probably doesn’t need the help. But he assists anyway by helping her pull her left arm from the sleeve without extending it too much. When he goes to turn his back to give her some privacy, she reaches out and grabs his hand.

“It’s fine, I don’t care. Stay.” And how could he say no? He can’t, so he returns to his position in front of her.

“What were the other pictures, if you can remember them.” Claire sets the photo down by her laptop before leaning back on the wall nearest them. 

“There was one of the device wound, it seemed to be healing well but-” She leans around to look at what she can see of it above Jill’s bra. “That was clearly a fake too.”

Rebecca concentrates on Jill’s shoulder, pressing gently and checking the socket’s rotation. Following the line of muscle from deltoid to trapezius with her fingertips, she brushes Jill’s hair out of the way then pauses. 

“What the…” She sets Jill’s arm down to look closely at whatever she’s found. Claire pushes off the wall to get a better look and Jill locks eyes with him; he can see her fighting panic in them.

“What is that?” Claire murmurs. Rebecca shakes her head, mystified.

“Jill, can you feel this?” There’s an odd sound as Rebecca taps her fingernail on something. 

“Not really.” Jill was never much one for crying, but she’s close to it now, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes shut tight and there’s moisture in the lashes. 

No more, that’s what she had said the night before. White hot anger burns through him at the pain and fear she’s experienced.

“That’s enough.” He’s not angry at Claire or Rebecca but his voice still comes out in a low and dangerous tone. 

“There’s more.” Rebecca is moving her hand to spots down Jill’s back, who curves forward into herself further.

“Chris, look at this.” Claire gestures for him to come and see.

“No, that’s enough for now-”

“ Chris. ” She’s deadly serious, any trace of her usual good humor gone. He’s only heard her like this when truly upset over something. He grits his teeth and stands, afraid of what’s coming next. 

Up and down Jill’s spine are five sets of metal implants: small, round and evenly measured with a blank center of skin in the middle; they look vaguely reminiscent of metal washers. 

Weirdly, it reminds him of something,

“The suit, the one she was wearing when we found her in back in Kijuju, had a similar pattern on the back.”

“Would they line up to these?” Claire has gone into full detective mode.

“I don’t know for sure, but I’d say it’s a strong possibility.”

“That’s too much of a coincidence.”

“I agree. Rebecca, any ideas?”

“Nothing concrete, there’s not enough infor-”

“Anything, let’s hear it.”

“Well,” she crouches down to get eye level with one of the implants, gently pressing around it, “They’re at an odd angle. I would guess that they’re going directly into the spine. They might be some sort of stabilizer- like pins in a broken bone, but why would they be exposed like this?” 

A broken spine? The fall from the cliff could have caused that, but she would definitely be dead if that were the case. At the time, the B.S.A.A. had been searching for Jill’s body, but she’s here now, alive. 

“ I died.”  

Jill is trembling, breathing fast with her face in her hands. He waves back Claire and Rebecca to give Jill space. When he tries to pull Jill’s hands away to see her face- to do something, anything, she speaks again in the same low, haunted voice.

“ I was supposed to die.”  

“What do you mean?” She doesn’t answer but the trembling in her hands is getting worse.

“Jill, look at me, please.” He pulls gently on her wrists and this time she doesn’t resist. Her eyes are too wide and unblinking, the tears she was holding back moments ago have spilled.

“Hey, what did you mean?” He’s trying his best to sooth, stroking his thumbs along her wrists.

“ The fall was supposed to kill us. Kill us both. We were supposed to die .”  

He was so selfish. He had deluded himself into thinking that by not telling her about the mansion he was helping her, protecting her. It had only been to protect himself, and now both of them are paying for it. She had no warning for the onslaught of the traumatic memory and is on the verge of losing herself again, only this time it’s not just him around- Claire and Rebecca are in the mix now too. 

Fuck.

Jill’s pupils are rapidly shrinking and dilating, her hands alternating between clenching into a fist and curling into a claw shape. 

“Chris...?” Claire, always ready to lend a hand, inches forward but stops when he shakes his head.

“It’s happening,” Jill whispers to him, trying to warn him even through everything she must be feeling. “I can feel it-”

“I know, but you’re still here, right here.” Cupping her face in both hands, he wipes away the tears with his thumbs. “You’re still right here with me. Still you. Stay with me.”

For one small moment it seems like she’s fought it off, that his words helped her. 

“I can’t.” 

With a hopeless expression that he knows is now burned into his brain, she sags in his arms before she lunges, body tight as a piano wire, and wraps her hands around his neck.

Chapter Text

Jill’s hands shoot out to clench around Chris’ neck and the room explodes with sudden movement and sound. Looping an arm around Rebecca’s waist and hoisting the woman behind her roughly, Claire is yelling for instructions, Calpurnia is barking loudly, and there’s a low unsettling feral noise coming from Jill’s throat.

“-Got it. Dog-” Chris rises to standing, trying to get the height advantage to break Jill’s hold. Claire seems to know what to do before he can get out any more words, catching Calpurnia mid leap and wrestling her into her arms. Running past a frozen Rebecca, she tosses the furious dog into the bathroom and slams the door shut.

I have to help, there has to be a way to help- I have to do something!

Droperidol! Diving for her kit, she flips the latches and throws it open, digging through neatly organized materials to get to the rarely used sedative. The noise and chaos behind her fades as she searches for the autoinjector of the right drug. 

Gotcha!  

“Hold her still!” With a commanding tone she can only really manage in these kinds of situations, she makes her way across the room, holding the injector tightly in her right hand.

Chris and Claire lock eyes over Jill’s head and Claire nods, shifting into a ready stance behind Jill. Chris lets go of Jill’s wrists to bring his hands through the loop made by her arms and extends them up before bringing his elbows down sharply on hers, breaking the hold. Claire is ready behind her, catching her wrists and twisting them high up her back while hooking a foot around Jill’s ankle, using her imbalance to lower her as carefully as possible to the ground. Strangely, once she loses her grip on Chris’ neck, Jill doesn’t struggle, just screeches through clenched teeth. Her eyes are much more lucid as Rebecca depresses the autoinjector into her bicep, seeming almost grateful before she slumps completely into the floor. 

As quickly as the chaos started, it’s abruptly still. Rebecca falls back on her butt with a thump, legs feeling like jelly, while Claire gets up gingerly off of Jill’s prone form and exhales loudly.

“Oh man.” She sounds shaky and smooths her hair away from her face before dropping her hands and shaking the tension out of her arms. “You okay?”

Chris has his back against the wall, sitting with one knee up and rubbing at his neck. He waves off the question.

“Did you see that? Right at the end, she wanted us to stop her. She tried to help.” When Claire huffs in disbelief and exasperation, Rebecca chimes in.

“I agree, I think she was more aware than you described her being before.”

“She also warned us, that was new too. Maybe she can start to fight whatever this is off with some time.” Claire doesn’t seem entirely sold, but she reaches for him and gives him a hand, pulling him up and into a hug. 

He pats her back once before bending down and carefully gathers Jill into his arms. It’s sweet, Rebecca thinks, how tenderly he looks at Jill when she’s not even awake to see it, how gently he touches her.

Claire follows Chris down the hallway when he leaves and Rebecca can just hear,

“So, do you still think we should turn her back in?” Chris doesn’t sound intentionally harsh but the words still have a slight bite to them.

“ No , of course not. But I still think we're in way over our heads.”

-

"Ouch."

"Sorry!"

"It's okay- Beccs, do we really have to do this right now?" Chris looks for all the world just like a bear put out by some annoying small animal as she checks him over.

"Just let me finish, I promise it won't take forever. I read Agent Alomar's reports from back in Kijuju. If this has something to do with the P-thirty condition that means Jill's still strong enough to damage even you ." 

And truthfully, he does look roughed up. They all may joke about Chris being stupidly Clark-Kent-tough, but he truly is hard to injure. Well, normally. Jill's boosted strength and his lack of will to truly defend himself against her has done quite a number. 

Chris sighs and stops protesting, letting her poke and prod at his neck to make sure nothing is badly damaged or broken. 

"Thanks for humoring me." Despite his rank and the way his accomplishments stack against hers, she's never felt particularly shy or nervous around Chris. Something about the way he always treats her like an equal and the bond they formed through sharing that awful night in the Arklay Manor has made him a true friend. 

"Thank you . Really, for everything. It's good to have you here, and not just for the science stuff." He nudges her with an elbow and she can't help but smile. "You were a big help back there and it's good to have a real friend with me. I can always count on you. Oh, I don’t think I ever congratulated you on your doctorate in person, well done Dr. Chambers.” When he gives her a small salute, it isn’t mocking in the slightest. 

She's not about to cry , but she certainly is getting a little misty-eyed. 

"I wish we didn't have to drag you into all this, but really who else could I have called, huh?" He's noticed her getting emotional and is teasing to let her get herself back together. "Come on, how many other brilliant bio-chemists who are incredible first class medics and come with such a record of excellent choices in friends could there possibly be?" 

When she bursts into laughter, he smiles kindly. Then, in a normal but just as sincere voice adds,

"Really, you're the best Rebecca. I can't thank you enough."

"You don't have to. I'll be here anytime you need me."

“I appreciate that.” Leaning his head back, he yawns wide enough for his jaw to crack. 

She’s not sure if he wants to talk to her of all people about it, but she’ll give him an opening just in case. “Seeing Jill this way is kind of scary.” 

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Maybe this was a bad idea, she’s no psychologist and she’s starting to get worried at his silence, until he breaks it. “She was already pretty lethal to start with, people just chose not to see it. Probably could have gone better for some of them if they had.

“But she’s never cruel, would never hurt someone who didn’t deserve it. Even then, she always tries to find a different way. She’s saved more lives than she’ll ever get credit for and that doesn’t matter to her one bit, all she cares about is how to keep helping more. Loyalty, that means a lot to her. She’ll go to any lengths for someone she’s decided is worth it.” He’s looking at his hands clasped loosely in front of him.

“That’s part of what makes this mess so awful. I know her, she wouldn’t care about pain to her own body, but being forced to hurt others and having no choice on what your hands are doing? That’s the ultimate torture for someone like her, I don’t know if she’ll ever find out how to forgive herself.” 

To Rebecca, Jill has always been an enigma of sorts. Aloof, almost cold, funny but in a more distant way than someone like Claire. She was never unkind to Rebecca, just- separate. From all of them really, except Chris. She would joke and talk to all of S.T.A.R.S., but Rebecca always got the feeling that the only one of them that really knew her was him. It’s interesting to compare the image of Jill she has with Chris’, maybe even letting her see Jill more clearly in a way she hadn’t before. 

“She’s a good person.”

“The best.” The smile on his face when he says it isn’t for her, it’s for the unconscious woman in the next room who has completely earned his loyalty in return. 

-

“What are you?” Frustrated, Rebecca leans away from the microscope and rubs at the imprint the rubber eyepiece has left from her pressing too hard to it. 

“What’s that?” Claire is looking at her, pulling one headphone away from her ear to hear. Calpurnia, now calm, is sitting next to her legs under the table, head on Claire’s lap. Both dog and woman are focused on her.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s nothing. Just having a hard time here.” Chewing on her bottom lip, she taps her fingers on the rickety card table she has all her equipment on, trying to figure out what it is she could be missing. 

“Well, if you need a break, I’m trying to make a timeline. Maybe you can help.”

“Sure, what do you have so far?” She stands and stretches, back popping from sitting hunched. Claire shifts her things on the table and pulls the loose sheet of paper she was writing on to the front and center. Leaning over Claire’s shoulder, she can see Claire’s messy handwriting along a line with the days of the week labeled. 

“So, today- Friday.” She gestures with her hands in what Rebecca can only describe as an ‘Obviously,’ sort of way. “Yesterday Chris got home around ten-thirty AM and Jill was already here.” 

She pauses for a second, maybe waiting for her input? Rebecca doesn’t say anything, so Claire continues.

“By Greyhound, it takes eighteen to nineteen hours to get from the B.S.S.A. facility in Kenosha to here. I’m going to take the liberty of saying that whatever vehicle Jill snuck onto was traveling at relatively the same pace. If she got here around ten, we can estimate that she left the facility around two PM on Wednesday. Do you remember anything weird on that day?”

“That was the day I got the report on Jill, it said it was current.” 

“That’s it? No alerts from other departments or facility wide notes? Maybe not even something big, a spill or something.”

“Sorry no, I don’t think so.” The only thing of note she remembers is Alyssa getting a phone call and being gone for awhile, but Claire’s not looking for an update on her friend. “It was a pretty normal day.”

“Hmmm.” Leaning her chin on her hand, Claire stares at the page as if willing it to write out the answers on its own.

“My lab is pretty isolated, I’m not sure what we would be told. We’re self contained, so we don’t get a ton of information on other departments. Our department head would know though.” 

“Oh, who is it? Maybe I have a contact through them.” Claire drags her laptop over top the other items on the table and Rebecca winces at the chaos. 

“I’m not sure you would, she’s sort of new, and temporary. She’s a contractor through our European branch and is scheduled to go back to her own lab in the next couple of months.”

“That’s weird…” Claire isn’t paying complete attention though, typing quickly and opening up windows on her laptop with the TerraSave logo on them.

“-Wait, why would the B.S.A.A. hire someone they don’t really know or plan to keep?”

“I’m there in kind of a similar capacity so…” 

“I guess you are, still weird though. What’s her name?”

“Dr. Alex Ivanov.” Claire repeats the name slowly as she types it in. 

“ I-van-ov. Nothing. Shoot.” Claire sighs loudly. “Well, can’t expect a handwritten journal explaining everything we need to know every time, can we.”

“Ha, not this time.” 

 “We’re not back at square one, but we sure didn’t get that far either.” Claire scoots the chair back and both Rebecca and Calpurnia have to dart out of the way. “Oh, sorry. So, can I help with your stuff? I don’t know a ton about bio-chem, but I can be your sounding board. What is that engineer thing? The rubber duck test, or something like that.”

“Sure, we can try that.” Rebecca pulls up a chair next to her and pulls out a clean sheet of paper from Claire’s pile. “I wanted to make a list of things I found on Jill first.”

“Okay, what’ve we got?”

“Well, first off we don’t know how she dislocated her shoulder. As in, if it was done to her on purpose by someone or she somehow did it.” Claire frowns at the thought. “Then there’s the injection sites. They’re recent- most of them at least, and some are from a large gauge needle.”

Making a face (maybe she’s afraid of needles?) , Claire asks. “Okay so what would that mean? What do you use big needles for?”

“Something to do with bone marrow most likely, either extraction or infusion.”  

“Eugh.” 

“Yeah, it’s not good. Then there’s the, hmmm, ‘implants’ I guess is the best descriptor. The skin in and around them is scarred; they don't seem recent, my guess is they were done when Jill was under Wesker and Tricell captivity. Directly into the bone… But why the hollow center? Almost like a channel...” 

Claire snaps her fingers, startling her out of her musings.

“You know what they remind me of?” Rebecca has no idea. “Headphone jacks!”

When Rebecca clearly doesn’t get it, she pulls over her laptop and yanks her headphones out from the side, pointing at the round hole. 

“You know, like a plug.”

“A plug directly into the spine?” Rebecca winces at the idea and another wave of sympathy for Jill hits her. “But for what?”

“A stimulant? If she broke it when she fell, maybe it was to inject something to fix it.”

“Hmm.” Rebecca shakes her head. “That’d be a pretty extreme way to do something that could only take a handful of treatments. There must have been a benefit for the labs, some sort of convenience to it.” 

“There’s bone marrow in the spine. Maybe...?” 

“Oh. That’s an idea. An awful idea, but sounds more on the right track. I remember reading that they were repeatedly infecting Jill when trying to make Uroboros, maybe it was through intraosseous infusion, it’d be a pretty easy and consistent way to introduce it to the body.”

They both sit in silence for a moment, Rebecca thinking about how much pain ten separate points of infusion or extraction would cause. The likelihood of Wesker using anesthesthetic on an Ex-S.T.A.R.S. member seems pretty low, so she can only imagine how badly it must have hurt. 

“Okay, say that’s true; why use her arm to access the marrow now when those already exist?” 

“The implants have heavy scar tissue, they’d be pretty tough to get through now. The points in her arm don’t look very well done, like whoever did it hadn’t had much practice, or just didn’t care.” Claire’s eyebrows pull down in an angry expression eerily similar to Chris’. Rebecca hurries to move the conversation forward before the Redfield temper has a chance to de-rail it.

“There’s something weird in her blood, too. Obviously I could really use a full lab, but I can still get a lot with this setup. I recognize the mutated T-virus cells from when Jill was inoculated, but they’ve been changed somehow. When I isolate just the T-cells they’re being-” she looks for a way to explain that Claire might understand better, “Piggy-backed by something else. Somehow it’s managed to mutate a second time. Or been spliced, but I can’t tell with what. It seems familiar though and that’s the most frustrating part.” 

“From Wesker’s work or newer?”

“I don’t know. If I could get Jill’s full file, it would say. I can try from my laptop here, but I doubt I’ll have access outside of the facility.”

Ten minutes and a ton of error message noises later, Rebecca gives up on the laptop.

“That seems to be a no.”  

“None of my codes are working for sensitive files.” 

“Okay, another dead end. We need more than this to go on.” Claire has her head down on the table and is speaking to the floor. 

“A lot of research gets shared between us, TerraSave and the DSO, maybe you can find something?” 

“What would I be looking for? We don’t have Jill’s file, she’s a B.S.A.A. operative. That’s not our information to have.”

Rebecca groans and digs the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to push out the beginning of a headache that is forming. 

“I don’t know. I’m just trying to think of something.” 

“I know you’re trying. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t doing enough.” Sitting up she looks at Rebecca with such a sincere expression it surprises her.

“You aren’t, I’m just really frustrated with myself. There’s something I’m missing. I can feel it, it’s driving me nuts.”  

Claire stands, stretches and yawns. “Don’t beat yourself up, you’re incredible. Let’s go for a walk, take Nia out and clear our heads, yeah?” When Claire says the word ‘walk,’ Calpurnia jumps out from under the table and beelines for the door. 

“Sure, I’ll go check on Chris and tell him we’re going.” 

Already by the door, leash in hand Claire turns and smiles at her. “Good idea.”

She tries to knock as quietly as possible, but it still feels much too loud. At Chris’ hushed, “Come in,” she cracks the door open and peeks inside. Chris is once again on the floor, leaning back against the bed near Jill. Now conscious, she’s sitting up with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders that she’s tightly holding with both hands. 

It’s very obvious that she’s interrupting but neither seem upset or impatient in any way. Jill makes eye contact and Rebecca feels a little frozen under the ice blue irises.

“Thank you, Rebecca. You stopped me before things got any worse, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Oh! No need to thank me, it’s all okay, really!” Her face is getting super red, she can feel it and the embarrassment rising. 

“You can take credit sometimes Beccs, it’ll do you some good,” Chris says fondly.

“Haha, okay, sure, I’ll keep that in mind.” Now to disengage with as much dignity as possible. “Claire and I are taking the dog on a walk, we’ll be back soon!”

They both wave goodbye to her and as she closes the door, they’re already back in their own world together. 

Chapter Text

It’s been almost a year working almost exclusively with Chris but it hasn’t yet lost its luster. Parker was likeable enough, dedicated, well meaning and passionate about his job. All qualities to want in a partner and she knew he had her back but she would never truly say they were friends-

“Jill Valentine doesn’t make friends.” Chris had commented shortly after they had first met. Now she realizes it was a joke to try and get her to open up, but at the time she had just found it insulting. Maybe it had stung because she knew she could be closed off and she was already struggling to find her place among the boys club of first the Army, and then S.T.A.R.S., or that she’d been working hard to be Chris Redfield’s friend. Apparently with little success- or so she had thought at the time. 

Quickly though they had learned to reorient themselves, understand the other’s quirks and eventually trust each other with most anything. Adjusting to each other as equal halves in their partnership. She could work with anyone else without issue, Barry, Carlos, Parker- all were people she trusted with her life (somewhat reluctantly at first in Carlos’ case but he turned out more than okay) but it was never the same. She never had to sit and wonder what Chris was about to do next and half the time she would be thinking the same thing. Never for a second doubted his intentions, they were a pair, a unit, a matched set, partners. 

Things were just easier with Chris. They had the same priorities and the time they had spent together since they started makes any other partner pale in comparison. 

When the Oswald Spencer intel comes in, they insist on taking the job. They both feel that they deserve to be the ones to find the Umbrella Corporation’s founder. Sure, maybe it’s for closure but hell if they haven’t earned it. The man needs to answer for a lot of things, and starting the global grab for bioweapons that have completely consumed their lives since they stumbled upon it is one of them.

When they arrive and the house is a silent, empty husk uptop its lonely cliff, she feels deja vu settle in uncomfortably. This is too similar to stepping into the mansion laboratory for the first time, right down to the layout of the room and the blood on the floor in front of the stairs. There’s an energy that he must feel too, the hairs on her arms raising as she gets goosebumps. They confirm that the bodies are in fact just bodies before they begin to clear the floor, going room to room looking for Spencer or survivors.  

“I’ve read this before.” Chris looks at her questioningly. “This was a journal at the Arklay lab, what- why would this be here?” 

“Good memory.” She shrugs at his comment, most of that night at the mansion laboratory is stuck with her presumably forever. He notes the date on the journal entry.  “Nineteen-ninety-eight? There’s no way that’s a coincidence.” She nods, can feel her face tense into a grimace she can’t seem to soften. This place is a living nightmare- one of her nightmares to be specific. There’s a lot of bad memories that fight to drag her down when she sleeps but the feeling of endless looping hallways with dead teammates’ bodies roaming in them is a frequent and unwelcome guest. 

Chris’ face says he’s right there with her in the memories of that night; they both get night terrors sometimes, so much worse than a simple nightmare- they linger and make it feel as if you were truly dying. On many occasions they’ve had to wake each other out of one, gentle soothing words that can’t dispel the fear completely, but she always feels safer with his hand on her shoulder telling her she’s alright, that he’s here and he understands. 

Maybe some people would think it’s ridiculous to still be afraid of simple T-virus victims with everything else they’ve seen, but they don’t understand how momentous and life altering it was, fallen comrades getting up and having to kill them a second time only to then be betrayed by their commanding officer was bad enough. Witnessing the lack of care for the sanctity of human life, the atrocities these people were willing to commit for money is a whole other bag. They don’t mention it to anyone but each other and the other two remaining S.T.A.R.S., a collective shared nightmare, but between her and Chris there’s never been the need for bravado. In a sick way that night made them who they are, both as people who have now devoted their lives to fighting bio-terrorism, and partners in survival. 

It’s time to put that aside for now but it’s easier said than done, the idea of this being the mansion all over again is sticking her boots to the floor and Chris doesn’t look like he’s doing much better. Shake it off, we have a job to do. Spencer, we need him. The goal, keep your eyes on the goal and try to sort out how you feel about it all after. The mantra she’s given herself since Raccoon allowing her to unstick her feet and reach out to him. 

“Let’s keep moving.” He pats the hand she’s laid on his forearm in gratitude then clears his throat. 

“Roger that.”

They move on. 

Who would ever choose to make nearly the same house more than once Jill doesn’t know, but it feels like stepping back into eight years ago but with jarring changes. 

“There should be a supply room around this corner- nevermind.” They both look at the blank wall that feels like it should house a door, she can picture it so clearly but it isn’t there. As similar as this place is to the mansion outside of Raccoon City it isn’t the same, she can’t decide if that’s more or less unnerving.

“It’s like a funhouse. A slightly different version from what we expect.” Chris comments and Jill feels the same, grateful that he’s just as disoriented. 

So much of this place is identical, even the ridiculous tricks and hoops it puts you through to progress. She hasn’t had much opportunity to play piano since all hell erupted and using a skill she’d lovingly cultivated as a child feels just as wrong here as it did in Arklay. The only thing making it tolerable is the small smile that Chris probably doesn’t even realize is there as he watches her play, listening and waiting as the door slowly descends. A rare moment where his laser focus wanes, even for a second. She could tease him about it but it feels nice, almost like a small, minute break from the mission that has them both on edge. Inside the home of the Umbrella Corporation’s founder, she plays not just as a solution to another inane puzzle, she plays for him. If she can’t stand to let this be a connection to her childhood at the very least she can let it connect to him. 

Despite being a near perfect replica, there is at least some new information to be gained. It would be best to read through whatever they can in this place but there’s not enough time, the bodies in the foyer spell trouble and that they weren’t killed with guns but through holes punched into their chests is worse. For now they’ll have to skim the ludicrous amount of rambling writing from a dying old man.

Jill leafs through one of the handwritten journals. “This one just has some crap about becoming the god of a new world. Psh, good luck.” Snapping it shut, she sighs and replaces it on the shelf. “Got anything?”

“Alex- Spencer has a kid?” Chris, notebook in hand, turns to raise an eyebrow at her and hands it over. Her stomach sinks as she reads another, more familiar name.

“Albert. That could be a coincidence, but…” Chris finishes the sentence for her.

“ When has our luck ever been that good.”

"Never, let's get into that computer.” While she punches in the codes they’ve found, he tries to read more. 

“Jill, it looks like they were adopting a ton of kids. From all over the world, I wonder why?”

When she looks at the list it goes on for pages:

Jonathan (5)

Michael (7)

Lily (6)

Allison (12)

Kieran (4)

Satoru (8)

Alejandra (8)

Stefan (10)

Dima (7)

Alyssa (4)

Kate (13)

Harrison (11)

There’s too much to read, she could guess it’s over three hundred names and various ages. 

“I have no idea, let’s check the files.” As the computer wheezes to life, she raps her fingers on the desk until he clears his throat pointedly. 

“Sorry. Oh, here we go.” 

Quickly, they get their answers. Project Wesker, a eugenics project designed to make superior humans from already exceptional children. Of however many hundreds of children they've been narrowed down to a list of only thirteen, of which there seems to be only one successful subject. 

Albert Wesker.  

“Great. Well, just confirms more of the same. He’s a crazed power hungry lunatic, now we know he was created by a crazed power hungry lunatic too.”

"Do you think the other kids….?" Chris shakes his head firmly, but she doesn't quite believe him. Doesn't put it past Umbrella's creator to be above killing children. 

"We should go." He touches her shoulder as he passes to the door, giving her a chance to gather herself and put the image of a mound of child corpses out of her mind. 

They're quiet as they move through the rest of the manor. Passing through the (thankfully mutant-shark-free) basement, they encounter the poor unfortunate souls who succumbed to their infections and dispatch them quickly enough. 

When they finally make it to the last locked door, there he is. The one and only Albert Wesker. Standing smugly over the body of Lord Spencer, calmly shaking the old man’s blood from his glove. The holes in the bodyguards outside now have a cause of death, somehow Wesker is now strong enough to punch straight through the human rib cage. 

They’ve lost all the potential information from Spencer and that’s a big loss. But at the very least, they can finally finish things with their old employer. Soon though, any confidence she had walking in that they could do anything to him at all is lost as well. Wesker is Matrix fast, seeming to teleport around the room in a disorienting pattern and they’re woefully unprepared for this fight. He disarms her almost instantly and when she pulls her knife- she’s better at close combat -she loses that too. Wesker fights both of them off as if they were children; he seems bored, like he’s playing with them. He has something sardonic to say as per usual and it’s just as infuriating as it ever was. Two of the world’s best combatants being defeated by one superhuman asshole. 

Air is pushed violently out of her lungs as she hits the bookshelf and she fights the panic as her chest spasms, desperately trying to regain her breath. She’s holding back the bile that rose from the blow, sharp and acrid in the back of her throat. Coughing, she makes her way back to her feet, mindful of the glass and holding her stomach when she sees them. 

Framed by the grand windows, they form a sick tableau, a gothic painting of one the worst scenarios she can imagine. Wesker has Chris by the throat, lifting him clear off the ground as if he weighed nothing at all. The closest thing she’s ever seen to a genuine smile is on Wesker’s face as he pulls a hand back and she realizes what’s about to happen before Wesker can even say anything. Her mind loops a single thought:

Not him,

Not him. 

They can’t fight Wesker, they just can’t. No way to win this. Nothing they can do with guns or knives can even touch him.

No way to win this. 

Not without casualties. 

It doesn’t have to be both of them though, one of them can walk away. 

He’ll walk away from this. Chris will be safe.

She’s halfway across the room before she can lose her nerve. Not realizing she’s screamed until her throat burns. 

The only way to win was by surprise. She can feel Wesker’s surprise as she crashes into him and locks her wrists. Burying her face into the god-awful coat to shield it from the glass -as if it will matter in a few seconds- she hears Chris yell for her. It hurts. She doesn’t want to leave him, and certainly not like this, but she’s too selfish to be the one that has to live without the other. Refuses to be the one left behind. 

The wind rips the cap off her head and takes her hair tie with it, her heart feels like it’s going to leap out of her chest. She’s scared out of her mind but half of her is content; Chris is safe and it’ll all be worth it to remove this bastard from the planet. Wesker is trying to pry her off of him but she twists herself closer. If she’s going to die, he’s coming with her. The only prayer she has is that it’ll be fast, that she won’t lie at the bottom of this cliff and drown, broken and in pain. If the universe could do her a solid for just this one time, it’s all she wants. 

The universe has its own sick plans for her though, it would seem. Wesker manages to turn them at the last moment and she impacts first. Nothing in her life could compare to this. Nothing could ever explain or voice the pain she feels for only a second as her shoulders hit the rocks. When her back hits, everything neck down is lost. But she’s not dead. Not dead, but might as well be. As she’s beginning to black out, she can see an arm fold over her in a cross chest carry, feel her hair halo out around her as she’s towed in the water to an unknown. 

Not dead. But should be.

Not dead. But would be better off if she was. 

-

Now

She's awake now, and after a brief check to see if she can still feel her hands and feet, she opens her eyes. Frankly, she's getting pretty tired of being unconscious but until everything is sorted out, it might continue to be a trend. She's been placed on her side, good shoulder down. The bicep aches slightly from whatever Rebecca injected her with. She can picture Rebecca's worried face so clearly; she'll have to thank her later for her quick thinking. The back of Chris' head is in front of her, dark hair just a little bit messy as it always is. At first she'd secretly thought he messed it up on purpose, going for a devil may care appearance, but she's seen him fight to flatten it down too many times now to know that isn't the case. 

He’s sitting on the floor, back resting against the bed close to her face. She can’t see his so she can’t tell what he’s doing, but he doesn’t seem to be asleep. Keeping guard? Maybe, or just waiting for her. She rolls onto her back to look up at the ceiling to take this moment to evaluate while he still thinks she’s out. 

Why not tell me about the fall? she wonders. It’s a big thing to keep to himself, and a very important piece that she was missing, a blindsiding event to remember so suddenly. If she’d had some warning maybe she wouldn’t have lost it. He must have his reasons. Still though, there’s a sense of hurt and slight anger towards his silence. 

He must have noticed she’s woken up, because he asks softly:

“You awake?”

“Yes.”

There’s a long silence and he doesn’t turn, like he doesn’t want to face her.

“What are you thinking?” He asks in an almost whisper.

“That you should have told me.” His shoulders hunch and she can see the muscles there tense. 

“Yeah. I should have.” 

“Why didn’t you?” She’s not trying to sound accusatory but it slips out and his head drops a couple inches as he takes a deep breath. 

“I’m not really sure.” 

“Bullshit.” He still won't look at her, so she sits up and tugs on one of his shoulders to get him to turn around. He does, but struggles to look her in the eyes. Eventually he gives in, letting out a big breath.

“It was selfish. I didn’t want to relive it. And, I guess in some way, you didn’t remember. So I wanted to let you not have to carry those memories for as long as I could.”

She takes that in and mulls it over. It doesn’t in any way forgive it, but she understands why he did it. 

“But they were still mine. My memories, mine. You had no right to keep them from me.” Finally, his eyes flick up to meet hers. 

“You’re right. I’m so sorry. I won’t blame you for being upset with me.” 

“I… I trust you. I do.” Pulling her knees in to hug, she continues. “But this makes me nervous. How do I know you aren’t keeping anything else to yourself? How do I know you’ve actually told me everything?”

He swallows hard and his eyebrows furrow a little. “I guess you can’t know.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a minute and she pulls up the comforter around her shoulders while she waits. 

“I’ll make you a promise then- if you’ll take it. From now on, I won’t hide anything else.” 

He’s dead serious, no trace of doubt or deceit in his face. As far as she’s remembered, he isn’t one to lie. Even in situations where he probably should have. It’s odd to have the manor memories back, to look him in the face and realize, I was willing to die for you. What does that mean for her now? Is he still that important to her?

Before she can get too in depth on that train of thought, there’s a small knock on the door and Rebecca peeks in at Chris’ welcome. She thanks Rebecca and waves her goodbye, preoccupied by the conversation with Chris. She's still a little uncomfortable around the scientist and the odd feeling of extreme anxiety over everything medical is persistent. She feels bad; she knows they’re comrades and that she should trust and be comfortable around her. Hopes that maybe that’ll come back sometime soon.

When it’s just the two of them again and the silence has almost reached the point of awkwardness, she answers his promise.

“I’ll take it. And hold you to it.” His relief is clear on his face. Expression calling back to the earnest twenty something she met for the first time, no trace of the hardened Chris she’s seen before present in this moment. 

“What else am I missing?”

“Uh, well, I’m not exactly sure. What do you want to know?”

She thinks on it and decides, “How’d you find me? What is this from?” gesturing vaguely at her chest and the sores that itch and ache there every time she thinks about them.

His eyebrows lift and he takes a deep breath, settling in for the story. As he recounts it, she can tell how hard he took her “death” and how much hope he still had that she was still out there. 

“I had gotten some intel that there was some trace of you in Africa, there was already talk of a mission in Kijuju close to where the intel said you would be. It seemed the most likely place to get some answers so I volunteered. We were lead on a stupid as hell chase by Irving, leading to us disobeying orders because I’d seen your picture on his phone. I had to find you. We caught up to Excella and Wesker-” 

She’s only half listening as she lives through the memories along with his narration. Being forced to help that toad Irving out while trying to only follow orders at the bare minimum, trying to hurt the soldiers as little as she was allowed. Hiding her face behind her mask to hide it from Chris once she realized it was him following her. Not only to hide what she was being told to do, what she had become, but also in the hopes that if he didn’t know it was her that he would eventually give up and maybe be spared. 

“When Chris Redfield arrives, you will restrain him until I give you the signal to stop. You will stop at nothing to succeed in this and if I give you the signal, you will kill him and his partner if you can manage it. No finding a loophole in this one, my dear. You will do everything in your power to incapacitate them.” 

If she could cry she would, and a stubborn tear makes it way down her cheek despite the limitations she has at the moment. All she wants to do is fall to her knees and sob, tell them no, she won’t do this. Kill him and Excella both if she could, but she knows she can’t, has tried enough times in these past few years of hell to know it would be a useless attempt. 

Wesker tuts and wipes the tear away with a gloved hand, patting her cheek mockingly then reaches up to pull the mask back down over her face and her hood back up. 

“No time for tears. We have to get ready for the big show. Ready for the big reveal.”

So she waits for her cue, nothing else she can do but be a bystander in her own body. Trapped in her mind to watch her hands hurt Chris and his new partner, feel how overwhelming her new strength and speed are to them. Wesker lets them try and fight her before an accidentally well aimed bullet hits the beak of her mask and rips it from her face. She hears the quiet snap of his fingers and retreats to his side as told while he gloats to Chris. 

She tries to keep her eyes down; she doesn’t want to see his face when the recognition hits. But at his small, incredulous, even hopeful - “Jill?” she can’t help but look at him, can’t believe the borderline joy she sees in his face before it drops back into focusing on the situation at hand. Her heart cracks a little more each time he entreats her to stop, that it’s him , as if she doesn’t recognize him. She can’t even tell him she’s here, that she knows he’s here and that she’s sorry. Can’t even make an expression that gives it away: stone faced not by her own choice. It’s worse because she would give anything to not have to witness this, his destruction at her hands, but part of her wishes he would win and kill her. Put her out of this misery and save himself from her. 

Of course, he won’t though. He blocks her frustrated blows instead of hitting back, doing anything he can not to hurt her. She would scream if she could. Beg him to save himself, not her. Unfortunately, she lands a well timed kick to his partner and incapacitates her for just enough time to get Chris in a hold she knows he cannot break. His hand is desperately scrabbling at her knee, trying to remove it from his windpipe, and the idiot is still trying to call out to her. Wasting what air he has left. 

Twisting his arm until it’s about to snap, she watches his face. If she has to do this she won’t shy away from it. Take the full blame and shoulder the whole of the guilt, keep this memory of the horror she’s inflicted. She won’t be a coward and look away as much as she wants to. Wesker gives her the cue and she leans down harder. The mental pain she feels is so loud, all she can hear is the blood pounding louder and louder in her ears when she feels it-

A hint, a flicker. The p-thirty is wearing off just in the knick of time- wearing off or she’s able to fight it better than she thought. The second she has her hands and feet back, she lets go and stumbles away from him. It’s not enough to stop the pain in her head, but she at least has her voice again to say no. 

It’s enough time for Chris to get back to his feet, and that’s all she can hope for as Wesker brandishes the fucking button at her, one last taunt  thrown their way before he hits it. The device on her chest quietly clicks and she can feel the drug rush deep into her chest with an excruciating icy chill that worms through muscles into arteries and throughout her body. With the last seconds she has in control of her hands, she rips the suit open enough for them to see; if they know it’s there, they’ll hopefully know how to stop her. 

They do, and it’s more than she could ever dare to dream. Years of hoping someone would find her warring with wishing she could just die. Die, rather than watch them use her blood for their sick project. Die, rather than have them turn her into a helpless weapon and send her off to kill people. 

Chris winces almost imperceptibly every time they have to throw her to the ground. She wishes she could help by staying still, but the orders she still has and the pain when they tug at the device is so blinding she can’t help but struggle. 

When it does slide free from her flesh it’s the weirdest and worst sensation. It hurts, yes. But the sensation of the tubes sliding free from where they were embedded in her body leave behind a slithering feeling of emptiness in their wake. It’s an unsettling creepy feeling-

“You still here?” She blinks and realizes she was staring at nothing at all, completely checked out while reliving everything. Now, she’s looking right into his eyes while he holds her face, hands calloused but a welcome distraction from thinking too hard about everything. “Still with me?” 

“Yeah, I’m still me.” She pulls her face away and pushes his hands down. 

“Where’d you go?” 

“Just… Remembering things from my end.”  Remembers the way he held her close with both hands- protective, like if he didn’t she’d disappear. His reluctance to leave despite the stakes. 

“Hey, actually.” She drops her voice to imitate him. “‘Well yeah, but.’ What the hell was that? Whole world at stake and that’s what you have to say?” He starts, then looks embarrassed, the back of his neck rapidly turning red along with the tips of his ears. 

“Really not my finest moment. I’ll own up to that one.” When she quirks an eyebrow at him, his face somehow gets redder.

“Okay, it was pretty bad. I know, I know. I was being pretty blind.” 

She relents and cuts him some slack. “I get it.”

“We did it though, we finally got him. For good this time. I’m not sure if you remember but-”

“Wesker is dead.” She says with sheer relief. The fear around the man and the things he’s done may linger, but for the first time she feels free of him. 

“Yeah.” His smile mirrors hers, co-conspirators in enjoying that somehow they’ve made it and the seemingly invincible Albert Wesker has not. 

The silence that falls now is far from awkward, just a lull in the conversation. Companionable. Eventually they hear Claire and Rebecca come back. Claire (presumably, Rebecca is overly polite while Claire is familiar with Chris’ house and clearly cares less) bangs around the front rooms, doing who knows what. 

They sit there for ten or so minutes anyways, enjoying the relative peace in their space before Chris groans and gets to his feet. 

“We should probably go see what they’ve been up to.” She nods and follows him out.

On the table in Rebecca’s neat handwriting is a list of everything she’s found on Jill. The list is intimidatingly long, but she’s drawn to it with morbid curiosity.

Jill Valentine

-Injection sites (Potential blood marrow extraction/infusion point, recent)

-Mild laryngeal trauma (Potentially from intubation, recent)

-Spinal implants (Spinal support from possible past injury, potential blood marrow -extraction/infusion point, past)

-Necrotic wound on chest (Scabs show signs of necrotic tissue, impeding healing, current)

-Dislocated shoulder (Reset, recent)

-Dog bite (Recent)

-Cracked fingernails (x2, recent)

-Various minor bruising (Recent)

-Dehydrated

-Malnourished

Running her finger down the page, she tries to process it all. It’s… a lot. She feels like shit but having it all laid out like this makes it harder to ignore than it has been. If she had found this list with someone else’s name at the top, she’d feel pity and concern for them; it’s detailing someone who’s been through an tremendous amount of abuse, and it’s difficult to connect that to her own self. She covers the list with her palm for a second to hide it, then pulls it away to move further into the room. Chris is watching her from where he’s resting a hip against the doorway to the kitchen, giving her space. Calpurnia is sitting on his feet, as close to him as she can get to keep guard , surveying the scene with her owner.

In the tiny dining room, Claire leans on the back of Rebecca’s chair while they’re both focused on her laptop. A webcam has been attached that Claire continually reaches over to adjust until Rebecca stops her quietly with a hand on her wrist. They’re faced away from Jill and there’s a barely audible voice coming from the tinny speakers that she can’t make out, but whoever it is, they have the other two women engrossed in conversation. A lot of medical terms are being thrown around, and it takes a second to realize they’re discussing her. 

“I’m not sure you should be breaking into her office. It’s risky,” Rebecca says anxiously as Jill drifts closer.

“She volunteered,” Claire comments and Rebecca shoots her an exasperated look. “She can make her own choices.”

“It’ll be okay... Ivanov … out right now.” There doesn’t seem to be a steady connection it’s cutting in and out. Rebecca chews on her fingernail, clearly a stress habit. 

“ Please be careful, Alyssa.” 

“Got the file… send it soon…” Jill joins them at the laptop, right as the figure on screen seems to make eye contact with her, and Jill is startled before she realizes that she must be looking at something behind the camera. “Have to go!” the figure says. While Jill is still trying to make out the blurry pixels and get a better look at her, the feed goes black, leaving a charged atmospheric silence behind her. 

Chapter Text

Rebecca is stuck between panic, surprise and shocked silence. Her hands wave uselessly around the computer screen and begin hitting buttons to try and restart the video call.

“-Lyssa!” She finally manages to choke out and it breaks the stillness of everyone else. 

Pushing off of the door frame, Chris joins her- to do what he doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want to just stand there. Over Rebecca’s shoulders, he and Claire make eye contact before she leans down to try and sooth the frantic scientist.

“Hey, Rebecca, it’ll be okay.” She rests one hand on Rebecca’s trembling shoulder and crouches down next to the chair she sits in. “We’ll give it a bit and then try to call her again, okay? She’s probably just fine but if she is in trouble we don’t want to make it worse by raising suspicions.” 

“She was in that office for us! What- We-” Rebecca puts her face in her hands and takes a few deep breaths. When she reemerges her face is still ghostly pale but she seems more put together. “What if there is something terrible happening in the B.S.A.A. and we just got her caught? If there’s already cover up about what they’ve been doing to Jill, what’s going to stop them from hurting a random scientist who was snooping around? We’ve all seen how much people care about scientists when bad things start happening.” 

Chris adds his hand to her other shoulder, hoping it helps at least a little. He doesn’t know what to say in the slightest, he doesn’t want to say anything that will make Rebecca feel worse and to be honest, he’s concerned too. The situation is too much of an unknown and Rebecca’s worries are justifiable. 

“We can’t do anything immediately. But we'll do whatever we can, alright?" Claire continues.

He chimes in. “If she doesn’t make contact in an hour, we’ll call, and if she still doesn’t answer, you and me will head back and check it out in person. Sound good?” 

Rebecca looks so relieved, he has to smile at her and after a second, she smiles back. 

“Thank you, really. That means a lot to me.” 

“Anytime, Becs.” 

Across the table, Jill looks terribly small, arms pulled tightly to her chest as she stares at the floor with her shoulders hunched. She doesn’t seem disoriented or confused, the expression on her face guilty, sad- remorseful? It clicks and he frowns; she feels responsible somehow for the situation. In his borrowed clothes that dwarf her and with her white blonde hair loose and wispy around her downturned face, she looks so vulnerable. 

Without a second thought, he moves around Claire and Rebecca towards her- Claire has it covered, there's nothing else he can add that'll help anyways. He wraps his arm around Jill’s shoulders and pulling her into his side, he tries to clear her conscience. 

"Hey. This isn't on you," he tells her quietly. She starts, looks up at him before her mouth twists into a rueful smile. She doesn't agree, but before he can start arguing, she leans into him for a brief second then pushes on his chest to free herself. He let's her go but hates the way she pulls her hair over one shoulder to hide in it while saying in a small voice:

"A lot of things are on me." She looks at the ground by their feet and he can't tell what she's thinking, wants to pull her away from this train of thought that is pulling her down. She shakes her head once slowly before meeting his eyes again. "But thanks, I appreciate it." 

She retreats to the living room and curls up on the couch again, legs tucked underneath her. Chris follows- if Claire comes up with something, she'll let him know and call him if she needs him. 

His shitty coffee table should hold his weight- it groans ominously when he sits, but he wants to be directly across from her. He can tell she's paying attention to him even as she's resting her chin on her palm and absentmindedly picking at loose threads on the arm of the couch.

"Chris." It's a warning, she doesn't want to talk about it. 

"Becs' friend, maybe getting in trouble isn't your fault." He'll start small, she'll want to argue and then maybe they can get somewhere, to whatever is actually bothering her. She narrows her eyes at him, onto his plan. 

“If-” She starts, then looks mad at herself for answering him. Her hesitation calls back her words ‘I… I trust you. I do. But this makes me nervous.’ It makes him wonder if her reluctance to speak now is because of that fuck up. 

“If what.” 

“Nothing. It’s stupid.” Her forehead furrows and she gets a stubborn set to her mouth.

“I can handle stupid. Been called it an awful lot throughout my life.” 

She doesn’t laugh. 

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Say it anyways.” 

Tsk -ing, she shoots him an annoyed look. “You’re just not going to leave it alone, are you.” 

“No, ma’am.” He lays it on thick, still trying to get her to laugh. She doesn’t, so more seriously he says, “If you really want me to, I will. But I think you should talk about whatever it is.”

Sighing, she takes a minute to gather her thoughts. Only after she tugs too hard on a thread and it makes the small hole in the couch fabric larger does she make a face and start. 

“It’s not only Rebecca’s friend- see, she’s just adding to the pile. My pile. Of things that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t gotten captured that night.” 

The hair on the back of his neck prickles. He can’t see exactly where this is heading, but he already doesn’t like the start. Jill continues:

“Uroboros would never have gotten so far, Kijuju could have been spared, I almost killed you- if I had just died -”

He’s heard enough.

“Stop.” He feels sick and his blood is cold, she can’t honestly… Of course she can. He had sort of known she’d be on this train of thought, but hearing it outloud is something else entirely. 

“No, it’s all true. Everything that has happened and everything I’ve done since has just hurt people, and you can make excuses for me all you want to, but you’ve let me hurt you and I can’t, I just. I don’t want to be responsible anymore for people getting hurt or even dying because of me-”

“Please stop.” Dropping his head, the carpet is swimming and it takes until a tear falls to realize he’s teared up at all. He can hear her quiet gasp and her hand reaches for his cheek. 

“I made you cry?! ” She sounds so surprised. Gently he pushes her hand away and wipes his face with his arm. 

“Yeah. You just don’t get it.” She doesn’t know the hole she left in his life when he thought she had died. Doesn’t understand how many people missed her when she was gone. She can’t know how much joy he’d felt when he’d found her alive because she didn’t know how empty he was when she’d left. 

“Get what-” 

“You- you’re, so dense sometimes.” She’s rolled up onto her knees to reach out to him, expression somewhere between being offended at being called dense and concern about him crying. He ignores her, clearing his throat that has become tight from tearing up. His voice comes out rough anyways.

“You can feel… that way about it, but it doesn’t change anything. Wesker would have found a way to make Uroboros eventually. They were already in Kijuju, we did all we could for it, you didn’t place Tricell there.” 

“Yeah, sure, okay. But you don’t know about all the soldiers I killed-”

“If I had to bet, you tried to make it as quick and painless as possible. Wesker and Excella would have killed them in some other way if you hadn’t, and you know they wouldn’t be merciful.” 

“That doesn’t excuse murder!” Jill is on the verge of yelling and the quiet conversation between Claire and Rebecca in the other room pauses in response. 

“No, I’m not saying it does. Just that you need to accept that some things are out of your hands.”

“A lot of it was quite literally in my hands.” 

“Okay, but you weren’t in control of them at the time, so I know it’s awful but it wasn’t your fault.” 

“None of it would have happened at all if I had just-”

“Died? Yes, it would have. You’d be dead and Wesker would still have developed something to launch into the atmosphere, only in that scenario you wouldn’t have been able to tell us anything or help us at all. We probably would have died too and the world with us.” He’s getting mad now too, matching her intensity. 

“You can’t honestly think that I was what tipped the scales for that-”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been saying? If you had lived or died it wouldn't have changed anything big in the grand scheme of things.” Just the course of my life. “It doesn’t really matter either way, you didn’t die. All those things happened, yes. But they weren’t your fault and you need to figure out how to forgive yourself.”

She doesn’t answer. Maybe she doesn’t know how to, what else to say. He hopes she’ll think about it and learn how to let it all go. He wants to tell her how much it meant to him for her to still be alive but can’t find a way to word it that doesn’t sound too… intense. 

After a beat she quietly asks, “Why do you keep letting me hurt you? What, where is the limit here?” 

“For you, I guess there isn’t one.” It’s the honest truth but she doesn’t have to say anything for him to know she doesn’t like that at all.

“Don’t say that, it’s unhealthy. You can’t keep excusing everything I-” 

“When you’ve blacked out, did you plan on hitting me?” That pulls her up short. 

“No, but-” 

“Do you plan on having these blackouts?”

“ No -” 

“If you did, then it would all be different. I’m not saying I want you to hit me -I’d really rather you not actually, but I’m not about to blame you for everything that’s been done to you. It’s out of your control.”

“But that doesn’t mean you have to put up with it either.” He doesn’t understand why she seems to be so determined to argue this point. 

“Well I’m not going to toss you out now, if that’s what you mean.”

“It’s not… I guess I mean emotionally too, I’ve done all sorts of damage to you and it bothers me that you don’t seem to care.” 

In truth it’s because he doesn’t care, he’s so grateful to have her back that the rest doesn’t really matter. She doesn’t want to hear that though, she’s looking small again with her knees pulled up. 

“I need your help, and I’m grateful for it. You just don’t have to be so kind about it.”

Rather than answer immediately he thinks her words over, tries to figure out how to say what he feels. 

“I’m not ‘putting up’ with you because I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I know you’d do the same for me-” He cringes at the mental image of his hands around her neck and that gives him a bit more insight. “If it were me, you’d be telling me over and over how it wasn’t my fault too. You wouldn’t give up on me and I won’t give up on you.”

He doesn’t add that he never did. Never, ever, gave up on her.

She doesn’t seem entirely sold, but gets it enough to drop it.

“If after all this you decide to become a vindictive monster, then yeah, I’d be done with you. But I doubt that’ll happen so until you tell me to go, we’re stuck together.” That does get a small half smile out of her and he’ll take that as a win.

“So, are you done thinking you’re the world’s worst monster, or do we have to yell it out some more?” He’s only half joking, he’ll keep telling her again and again that it isn’t all her fault if he has to.

“Not done, no. But.. working on it.” She studies his face for a long time, eventually making him almost self-conscious but before he can awkwardly say something she asks another question.

“What made you cry?”  Internally he winces, this isn’t something he really wants to talk about, but can’t bring himself to not give her the answer she wants.

In a slow voice, not meeting her eyes he says, “When I thought you had. Died,” The word coming out little more than a whisper, ”it was one of the worst things that had ever happened to me. One of the hardest points of my life, I was so sure I’d never see you again that finding you alive was so surreal, how could I be so lucky? So you saying that you wish that you’d really died there was- a lot. To say the least.”  

“Oh.” She doesn’t seem to know what to say so he continues. 

“When my parents died I had to be there for Claire, it was six months before her eighteenth birthday and during everything else that had to happen there were court visits to talk out if she could even stay with me. So much had to be taken care of outside of trying to figure out how to live without them there wasn’t a ton of time to sit with the grief and mourn. Suddenly it was just the two of us trying to figure out how to exist in a world without our parents and I had to be the leader of our two person family. I figured nothing else in life would be harder than that-” He laughs without humor, “emotionally anyways. I thought I’d understood how far grief could go, what else could be worse? But with you… There wasn’t someone looking to me to hold their world together this time, I had to hold my own world together instead.”

He stares at his clasped hands instead of her, leaning his elbows on his knees he takes a deep breath to keep going. Feeling the internal fight of trying to be open and honest against the fear of being vulnerable. 

“Now I know how lucky I was to have Claire. I had told myself that I was the supporter, that without me she would have crumbled, in hindsight that’s completely untrue, she’s always been tough. But we supported each other, we were the two people who truly understood the loss we were going through. We both made it because we were going through it together and had someone to lean on. After the manor, you were missed. Deeply, Barry barely made it through the funeral, and it was so clear the difference you had made in the world by the people that came to say goodbye, but- But none of them were… shattered like I was.”

Smiling to try and defuse the intensity of his words he knows it’s a shaky sort of thing so he clears his throat loudly.

“Anyways. Claire tried her best but this time it wasn’t the two of us who understood helping each other, she was trying to hold me up by herself, doing her best to try and understand what was going on with me. It was rough to say the least. People die in our line of work all the time and in horrific ways, it seemed like the general consensus was that ‘Well, she went quick. It's the best we can hope for when we go’ and no one could understand why after a year, then two years I still wasn’t...” 

Her hand comes down over his and squeezes. Taking a deep breath he places one of his hands over hers and smiles at her. 

“I know that’s a lot.”

“It’s not too much. Thanks for telling me.” He looks at their hands and she squeezes again. “I’m sorry I upset you. There’s so many ‘what if’s’ you know?” 

“There sure is.” He wonders if she’s thinking about the ‘what if’ of if they had found her and saved her before everything that happened. Where would we be?

“I don’t want you to take anything I tell you as pressure to remember everything, and even if you do, remembering everything after it happened can change your view on things, I get that. I’m not- I don’t know. Expecting anything.” His ears are hot and he knows his neck is red. Now is really not the time. He means it, he’s not expecting anything and he’s acutely aware that the whole situation probably feels incredibly strange to her and he hopes that’s been made clear.

“I know. But thank you for saying something anyways.” 

A light rap of knuckles on the doorframe startles them both. 

“Woah, sorry.” Claire is in the doorway, “Didn’t mean to scare you guys, but Alyssa checked in, everything is okay. She also sent your file.” 

The coffee table creaks in relief when he stands. “Any sort of explanation in it?” 

“Rebecca is still combing through it now.” 

“Good, maybe we can get somewhere.” 

Claire makes a noise of agreement but she seems distracted, calculating. She’s watching them both and it’s not hard to guess that she might have been listening to their conversation at least a little. She’s always been nosy, it’s an annoying trait but like most things she means well and at the very least she isn’t a gossip. He shoots her a look to let her know she’s been caught but she pretends not to see it and turns back around to leave. 

It’s a little late in the day for coffee but he makes it for everyone anyways (Claire skipping coffee to go for hot chocolate instead, apparently she had dragged Rebecca to the grocery store while out). They all gather with their mugs across from Rebecca who seems nervous for a beat then looks surprisingly at ease, like a professor waiting to give their lecture. 

“So, for the first month or so there’s no discrepancies. There’s detailed reports of withdrawals and treatment plans outlined which I would say seems normal. The black outs are mentioned but the aggression we’ve witnessed doesn’t seem to match in intensity. After that, very suddenly the reports get less detailed and claim that things are going suspiciously well. There also was a sudden change of staff in charge of her case, and some of the names I can’t find in employee records, especially the lead doctor.”

She pauses to sip her coffee and he gets the feeling she’s also giving them the opportunity to ask any questions. 

“The biggest issue from the switch is that now we can only speculate on what went on, we know that there was little attempt to treat the sores on your chest, and that there wasn’t much effort towards accuracy in whatever they were extracting or injecting. We also don’t know what they were injecting or extracting.” With one hand Rebecca shifts the papers in front of her and he’s impressed to realize she’s taken detailed notes, at least three pages. 

“Good news though, or, better I guess. I think we can trust the initial intake forms and there’s some good information in there. Whatever it is that I just found in the blood sample wasn’t present at that time, meaning we can take a guess at what they were doing.” she nods towards Claire, “I finally figured out one of the elements that was confusing me earlier. I think they were trying to combine the T-Virus antibody cells with P-Thirty to have it generate both at the same time. Which honestly is fascinating, it implies that P-Thirty is it’s own dormant-” Abruptly she stops herself and her face tints pink slightly, “Never mind, anyways, that could explain the increased aggression but it’s hard to say for sure. Or explain what the trigger could possibly be, if it’s just stress that’s one thing but I wonder if there’s a catalyst, something more specific?”

“What do you think they were trying to make?” Claire asks before Rebecca can get too far off topic.

“Well, there’s a third combining factor that I don’t recognize, but from the two I do know, I would assume since the T-cells regenerate quickly that by piggybacking them with the P-thirty you could make a consistent supply. It would bypass the need for a device to maintain levels-”

Quietly next to him Jill says “Constant control.” and sets her mug on the table, resting her weight on her hands on either side of it. 

Softly, regretfully, Rebecca confirms.

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

The fake woodgrain of the table and the last dregs of her coffee are focusing and unfocusing in front of Jill’s eyes. Whenever she tries to get everything back in order Rebecca’s revelation repeats itself, it was a joke to assume she’d be truly free from what happened. 

Is that it then? She’ll always be one word away from killing someone without wanting to? Living a life in fear that she’ll lose control at any time when someone decides they want her to do their bidding?

“We don’t know what that means though,” Rebecca is scrambling to recover. “What can really happen now that Wesker and Excella are dead? There shouldn’t be anyone else with any say over you.” 

“We don’t know, that’s the problem.” Even she can hear the odd note in her voice, she squeezes her eyes shut tight. 

“Was there some sort of, I don’t know- word or phrase maybe, that they said that was the trigger?”

“I- I can’t think.” Simultaneously she feels like she’s left her body but also rooted to the ground. Chris rests a warm hand on her back and she can feel Claire close to her on the other side. The realization that they’re both preparing to restrain her sends another wave of distress through her. Is this what life is going to be like, losing it on people she cares about at the first hint of a bad feeling? 

No.

She believes them, that she almost had it last time, she can fight this off. She’s stronger than this and she’ll break this feeling. It would be helpful if she knew how she almost did it last time but she can’t pull up anything right before being unconscious other than a vague notion of Chris talking to her.

That’s fine, she’ll just have to figure it out and do better this time. 

One minute passes, then two,

Her hands are trembling so she clenches them into fists, slowly straightens her back and rolls her shoulders, ignoring the twinge in the left one to stand tall with shoulders squared. Taking a couple deep, even breaths, she pulls all her loose threads forcibly back together and opens her eyes.

Across the table Rebecca is watching her warily but with a clinical look, body angled towards the kit she brought with her, a hand loosely reaching towards the syringes she has neatly organized at the top. 

In just above a whisper Chris begins to say the breathing exercise again, “In for four… hold for four… out for six.”

In for four, hold for four, out for six.

In for four, hold for four, out for six,

In for four…

The tightness in her chest loosens it’s hold and she can’t help the small smile of triumph from spreading. 

“Hey! There you go.” Chris says with pride, his hand on her back pats once before dropping. 

It’s not gone completely, the icy feeling that threatens to overtake her limbs is still there, just less pressing. It pulses once back to life as she turns to smile at him and though she manages to lock her arms in place it’s still a disheartening sign. Chris notices but pushes it behind his expression of encouragement quickly. 

A smaller, softer hand touches her wrist and when she turns to look Claire is smiling at her, not the big, full face smile from the picture and memories but it’s still warm and familiar. 

“That was amazing Jill, you did so well.” There’s no way Claire didn’t pick up on her little lapse, she knows that Jill doesn’t have it all together, she’s too sharp not to, but is choosing to ignore it. It feels a little like being talked down to but she knows that’s not how Claire means it and Jill isn’t about to let her pride get in the way of kindness. 

Rebecca still seems on edge but gives her a smile, staying in place by her kit on the far side of the table. She writes something quickly in her notes then gathers all the papers together, taps them to the table to straighten them and tucks them away under her laptop. 

“Well. It’s late but I think we should eat then get some rest, it’s been a helluva day.” Claire says with cheer that feels only slightly forced. 

There’s something to be said about the Redfields, they can make the mundane meaningful. Claire orders pizza and plays a mix of hostess-part-babysitter, herding them into the living room with their slices (Chris’ complaints about junk food having been shot down immediately by one look from Claire) she gets everyone seated and fends off Calpurnia from sneaking a bite. The siblings argue lightheartedly about what to watch while Rebecca and Jill settle in on the couch and enjoy the comfortable energy. They may all be in their thirties but it feels like being kids at a sleepover all over again and though it’s silly, it’s nice, taking a break from the seriousness of the world for a short moment. 

Claire brings out the goofy side of Chris and Jill thinks it might be intentional on Claire’s part, playing up the role of the youngest sibling to distract him from it all. If that is her intention Claire is doing well, he’s laughing despite himself, one hand trying to wrestle the remote from her while the other is holding his plate out of reach of the opportunistic dog. Rebecca is smiling fondly and Jill thinks she might be too; they’re watching the scene unfolding at their feet, separate but not othered. 

The room contains four people who have faced more than most ever do, their careers- if you could call them that, are filled with horror after horror. They’ve lost almost everyone: family, friends, comrades. There’s very few people left who understand and most are in this very room. All of them keep going back into the fray in their own ways, Jill and Chris keeping with the more offensive direct action, Rebecca with her research, and Claire with her humanitarian efforts. 

It’s familial, Jill realizes, the people in this room were her family. 

There's a proverbial hole alongside the very real ones in her chest that aches around the edges at the thought. They can be again, you can have this. It feels hollow but she promises herself that the sentiment is still true. 

When everyone is comfortably full and sleep is itching at Jill's eyes- how she could possibly be tired after feeling like she's been asleep for the better part of two days she doesn't know, but it's there all the same- the only sound in the room is the staticky buzz from the muted old CRT TV and their slow breathing, the smell of coffee breath strong in the air. Claire rouses herself, still playing hostess apparently, and shoos them all to bed. 

"How exactly are we going to do this?" Rebecca asks slowly with a yawn, shaking her head slightly she adds with more clarity. "What if you get a night terror again?"

With that, the air of a sleepover is broken, the reality of the situation flooding back in.

Uncomfortably, all of the focus in the room is on Jill and it makes her want to run. She knows she's dangerous, with Claire giving her an appraising look and Chris with the tick back in his clenched jaw, and though Rebecca is right it still makes her sad all the same. Before she can answer Chris cuts in,

"How about you two take the bed. We'll stay out here, if that's okay with you?" He directs the last bit at her and she nods, grateful. 

“I’m not about to say no to sleeping in a real bed, but are you sure?” Maybe Claire has been thinking about childhood too because she asks, “We can pull everything out here, make it comfortable and all be here together?”

"We've got it, Claire, thanks." 

With a slow "Okay then, goodnight." The two women disappear, Claire patting her leg to call Calpurnia to follow. 

With the TV turned off and it's hum finally dead, Chris is on the floor again, closer this time. She could lean down and touch him from her spot on the couch if she wanted to, could reach out a hand.

There's enough light seeping in from behind cheap curtains that she can almost see him clearly. He's on his back, hands folded- she remembers a small moment, years back, teasing him about sleeping like a corpse and smiles; he looks less tired than he did the day before, maybe it's his sister or Rebecca or just finally getting to sleep earlier but she likes this look on him now. He isn't asleep and can probably feel her watching him but he doesn't comment. 

Just as the previous night, the chain with their tags has slipped from underneath his shirt, resting fanned out near his neck on the floor. Repeating the same motion she reaches down and traces the tag with her name on it, freezing when her knuckles accidentally brush the bare skin on his neck and his breath catches, eyes opening to look at her.

"You kept it." Is what she says, locked into place by his eyes.

"I did."

"Why?" Though, really, she already knows. He half smiles, turns his head to see her better, her hand now dangling near his cheek. 

"It was the only thing we could find. Well, that and your hat. A diver pulled it up and without it I felt like there wasn't any proof that you ever existed. They buried that stupid hat but I couldn't let this last piece of you go into the ground with it."

She contemplates the absurdity of a nearly empty coffin for a moment, then thinks about him taking her tag, settling it right next to his own and keeping it safe for five years by his heart. 

"I really did a number on you." 

"No. It's always- it's always us. You and me. That's how it worked, I never minded for a minute."

"You and me." She echoes back softly. Carefully she holds his eye and traces his jaw with her fingertips, rough stubble rasping in the sudden stillness. 

His warm breath drifts across her fingers as he breathes, "Jill?" 

She doesn't pull away but offers a half-hearted, "Sorry."

"You don't-"

"I know." She reassures quickly. "You're right though. 'You and me.' I came to you when I didn't even know who I was, I think that counts for more than a little."

"I'm," he swears low under his breath. "That means more than I can really say but, Jill. Seriously, you've been through too much, I can't- won't, put any of this on you right now."

"I overheard Claire talking to you about it. I think she's right, 'God laughs while the rest of us are making plans' and all that, you never know how much time you have. Honestly, ‘us’ feels more like an inevitable thing at this point. I may not have every piece back but I know this, this thing we've been dancing around, it isn't nothing. I don’t think we can avoid it, It really is always you and me, isn't it?" 

"I guess so." He says reflexively, still watching her closely, pushing up onto an elbow to be face to face. "I want to- ugh. How cheesy would it be to say 'I want to do right by you' right now?"

"Very." Jill laughs.

"Well, har-har. But… It's true. I don't want us , or this 'thing' as you put it, I don't want it to be because we're scared that one of us is going to die. I don't want it to be because you feel like the old you would have- or should have. Not hours after I kept some of the biggest events in your life secret and you- rightfully- told me you weren't one-hundred percent sure you could trust me." 

Maybe he’s right, that maybe she does feel some sort of obligation somewhere in her fractal of a psyche but it also feels right, an inescapable, unavoidable outcome. And she’s tired of fighting.

“I’m su-” She’s cut off when he puts his hand lightly over her mouth.

"I don't want to argue about this, it feels pretty stupid for one, and for two, well." He hits her with a confident, cocky smile that throws her way off kilter. "You're not going anywhere you don't want to be going anymore, I'll make damn sure of that. So, please, we have time."

She licks his hand and he laughs, she joins in quietly. "I guess this is a first though."

"Hm?"

"I don't know for sure but, I think this is the first time we've ever even said anything out loud. Claire is right, that would be annoying." 

" Claire is annoying." There's no heat, just a soft expression as he looks at her through the dim light. His quiet laugh is light, almost nervous, beautiful. "Thirty-six and still hesitating telling my best friend I might like her." 

"' Might like her.'" Jill snorts. "How about: Thirty-four and needing literal amnesia to get over myself and admit I maybe, might- have a crush on my partner-slash-best-friend."

"'Crush'! Ridiculous." He chuckles. What exactly is ridiculous, she doesn't really care. She's feeling giddy as a school girl but can't bring herself to be embarrassed. 

All her thoughts are scattered like rabbits as Chris leans forward and she finds out exactly what she had wondered about earlier as he cards his fingers through the loose strands of her hair to push it away from her face. She can’t help but lean forward into his hand and it seems like he’s leaning in too, she’s holding her breath, eyes wide- then he pauses with a teasing half smile before pressing his lips to her forehead. “We’re here together, we don’t have to rush.” He whispers against her skin before pulling back. 

“Does that seem fair? Can we wait at least until we find out what’s happening at the base?”

“Rude!” She swats at him but she’s smiling despite herself, any notion of playing it cool is far, far away. “I guess that’s a fair request, I can live with that.”

“You’ve only been back for two days."

"Honestly? Feels like years." And despite the fear and uncertainty she feels more secure than she thinks she may have felt in a long time. She tells him as such and he smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear before settling back onto the ground.

"Good. You're home, if you want it to be."

-

The page with Rebecca’s notes glows, pulsing faintly in the low light. The list rearranges itself before Jill’s eyes, swimming and refocusing in turn. When she reaches out to steady it her arms flex uselessly against a cold metal surface and her breathing begins to quicken. 

Injections... The paper whispers with Rebecca’s voice and Jill gasps as points of pain scatter up and down her arms. 

Intubation… Choking around plastic, her hands can’t lift from their restraints to pull it free.

Necrotic… What she can see of her skin grows dark as her veins engorge and pulse unnaturally with a sickly purple-black and burning pain as it travels.

Rebecca’s disembodied voice continues down the list, seemingly endless as it swirls around in her ears. There’s tears streaming from her blurry eyes as a figure approaches, shifting from tall and broad shouldered to slight and lithe and back again. She can recognize one of them, she thinks, having a name for him now. Wesker. The other she can’t name, sees only the white blonde hair- much like her own now, and hears the hint of a soft voice. 

Though the pain remains her perspective changes, gazing at herself on a cold metal table. Approaching herself as she shivers, sees the wild panic in her own eyes. Whoever’s perspective she is temporarily borrowing reaches out with slender, feminine fingers and moves the hair off of her forehead gently before reaching for something she doesn’t have a name for but registers the sharp object with a renewed surge of fear.

The Jill on the table strains, screams muffled as she leans in.

Gasping for air she twists and writhes, panic sinking in further at the realization that something is still holding her hands down. Straining her neck and back, eyes wide and unseeing for a moment before things take blurry shape in the half-light. 

"Can you hear me? Nod-" And even though Chris’ voice sounds far away she nods, panicky.

"Okay, okay. You're okay. You're safe here, you're safe with me. Can you take a deep breath for me?" 

Yes, she can do that, now that she can finally hear clearly. That inky, anger filled darkness threatens to drag her down again once she can finally make out his features, but her frantic, aching breath pushes and pulls shakily until it eventually gets the job done and the fog mostly clears.

Everything feels heavy and weighed down but she still throws her arms around him the second she can, pulling him into what would be for anyone else a crushing hug and cries into his neck. He's whispering soft things into her hair, still counting to anchor her on this side of consciousness. 

He’s here, he’s warm, and all she can say in between ragged breaths is a constant stream of thank you’s. The remainder of the fear, that surge of adrenaline, is easing into relief and before she can truly think it through, desperately seeking to ground herself further and to feel safe, she takes his face in her hands and pulls him into a kiss. It’s not a long kiss, more an extension of her thank you. Thank you, for being here. Thank you, for helping me through the nightmares. Thank you, for being a safe harbor. Thank you.  

Gently he pulls away after a moment and kisses her again lightly on the forehead before relocating her down on the floor with him, settling her against his chest. 

"I've got you, brave girl, I've got you." 

-

In the morning there's time to be embarrassed but thankfully no time to talk about it as Claire stands over them with a barely concealed smile. 

"Hey, you two. It's nine-thirty, were you planning on sleeping all day?” She doesn’t wait for an answer before turning around and leaving, bouncing red ponytail disappearing through the doorway.

Chris groans, which turns into an unexpected yawn. Using the arm currently not under Jill’s weight to cover his eyes, “Ugh. I told you, Claire is annoying.”

“I heard that!” The woman in question yells from the kitchen and Chris smiles. 

Jill pushes up off the ground and Chris looks like he’s expecting her to say something but she doesn’t know what to say so instead offers a hand. He doesn’t need it, but he holds her hand softly anyway as he stands, following her into the kitchen, only letting go when she does.  

Rebecca puts a hand over her mouth when they enter the room, saying around her mouthful, “G’mornin’.”

“So, what’s the idea for the day?” Claire asks, hands wrapped around a mug for warmth.

“I’d like to go back to the base and see if we can get more information on what happened and who did this to Jill.” Rebecca offers and Chris hums in agreement next to Jill.

“Well. I think we should take advantage of the long weekend. There will be a lot less of the everyday staff around so Beccs and I can get a good look around without being interrupted.”

“What about us?” Claire thumbs between herself and Jill.

“I think you guys should stay here.” He puts up a hand when both women start to protest. “Listen, okay? Claire, you aren’t a part of the B.S.A.A. but people know you, Rebecca and I blend in. I can cover for the two of us much easier than having to explain why a TerraSave employee is there.

Jill, I don’t think it’s the right move to reveal your location. We have the advantage of whoever the perpetrator is not knowing where you are, it seems stupid to blow that.” 

It makes sense, as much as she hates the thought of being left behind. Claire looks angry but doesn’t seem to have any arguments. 

“What if things go wrong?” Jill challenges. 

Rebecca surprises her by chiming in, “We’ll be okay. There’s all sorts of fail safes built into the building, we can get word out in seconds if something goes badly. Besides, Barry lives close by, he’ll come get us if we need him.”

There's nothing left she can say, Claire makes eye contact with her from across the table and Jill recognizes the same unhappy defeat in her eyes that must be in her own.

-

Ultimately, they decide that Chris and Rebecca will leave at noon, catch a flight and check in when they land. Using a private airline for the B.S.A.A. means they can cut the trip down to a little under three hours.

Chris’ tiny space is filled almost immediately with the chaos of preparation, four adults and a large dog in a one bedroom place makes for a cramped space for so much movement. They re-pack all of Rebecca’s kits and Chris and Rebecca debate upon leaving some of the tranquilizers behind for Claire just in case and there’s a pang in Jill’s stomach. The idea of being left alone with Claire is vaguely anxiety producing, being alone with Claire and potentially hurting her is another, fear-filled thought. 

Claire, of course, notices and retrieves her pack, pushing it into Jill’s arms and steering her towards the bathroom.

“Borrow whatever you want, it won’t be perfect, but at least you won't be in my brother’s PJ’s anymore, right?” 

The door closes with a quiet click and away from all of the commotion Jill takes a deep breath, I can do this. Digging through Claire’s (sort of) neatly packed things she finds something suitable. Soft jeans that don’t fit quite right, Claire is taller so she has to cuff the hem once and if the woman owns anything other than jeans and tank tops she didn’t bring any with her. Still, she’s grateful to be in clean, semi-normal clothes that almost fit. She feels like a person again as she pulls back her hair.

When she opens the bathroom door Rebecca is standing there holding some medical supplies she doesn’t recognize in her hands and looking like she wants to ask a question. Chris, also in clean clothes, passing by from his bedroom pauses and lifts an eyebrow at the scientist. “I’d like to get some skin cell samples to see if the sores are something that could be treated regularly with a steroid or if it’s something we might need to look into further. If that’s okay with you, I’ll bring them back to the lab with me now.” 

Chris looks concerned but Jill can tell there’s something the woman wants to talk about so she gives him a reassuring smile, "I'll be good, pinky swear." He snorts, unimpressed but leaves anyway. 

“Let’s do this.” Jill mumbles, hopping up on the counter.

The silence quickly falls into awkward, especially with the scientist's face inches from her chest, staring with an intensity that feels almost comical.

"What did you-"

"How did it feel when-"

Now Jill just feels foolish, Rebecca was clearly about to ask about her wound, maybe she'd been imagining that the other woman wanted to talk about something else. 

"Sorry. What were you going to say?" Rebecca asks, politely leaning backwards out of her space.

"It's nothing. It wasn't about the device at all, don't worry about it. Entirely unrelated." 

With a slight tilt to her head that makes Rebecca look more like a small dog than she already kind of does, eventually she shrugs and leans back in, a sharp, ominous looking tool in hand. 

"It might be a good distraction to talk. This will probably hurt so you could use it." Looking up briefly she grimaces in a sympathetic way. "I'm all ears if you need me to be."

"Yeah. Okay." Talking. Leaning back further on her hands, Jill steadies herself and gives a nod. There's a slight scraping sound and the sore Rebecca is doing- something , she's not about to look to see what - to begins to itch and burn. "It just seemed like there was something you wanted to talk about."

"... Oh." The scraping pauses and Jill exhales in relief. "I did… it's just, you might not like it, I could be totally out of line-"

"Don't worry, I won't lose my head. Just a distraction, right?"

"Sure…" Jill closes her eyes as the scraping starts again. 

“I’m not sure if this is true, but I figured you might be a little worried about being left alone with Claire, that you might hurt her, and I had a theory that might ease your mind but…

"It's just, well. From what I've observed and what Chris has told me, I think there may actually be a trigger for your… hm," Jill smiles without humor as Rebecca tries to put it politely, "your episodes." 

"Okay, just like you, I'm all ears."

"I think maybe that last order you got from- uhm, him , might still be affecting you. That's why I don't think you'd hurt her even if you black out, I'm not sure you would even black out with her, honestly-"

Rebecca hurriedly pulls back as Jill pushes up and fixes her with a hard gaze, afraid to understand what she's hearing, "Last order as in the 'kill Chris Redfield', order?" 

"Yes, I think so. It's truly just a theory, I have no concrete proof other than he seems to be the target and well-"

" Well what."

"Haven't they all happened after he's spoken to you? Or you've seen him?" 

Her voice is quiet but to Jill she might as well be shouting. Taking a slow, deep breath she tries to look at the facts objectively.

"Okay." Another breath. "Okay. Say you're right, that would align well with the reintroduction of the P-thirty." Sadly Rebecca nods in agreement with a grimace.

"So." and here it is, the worst possible conclusion, "I didn't come here to seek help and shelter, I came here to kill him."

It's always us. You and me. How desperately she wanted to believe those words, and maybe in a twisted sort of way they're true; they were always meant to be this way, this horror show replayed over and over. 

Gently Rebecca sets her hand on Jill's feather light, as if expecting her to recoil. "That might have been it, or maybe it's not so black and white."

"I want to believe that-"

"Then believe it. It's easy to get lost when all you're thinking about is the potential negatives." Jill moves herself to protest but closes her mouth with a click as Rebecca fixes her with an unexpectedly fierce stare. "I'm not talking like the people who wave away real problems by saying 'think positive!' What I'm saying is: maybe you came all this way following some order from that- that dickwad, that seems like it could be true. But, it doesn't take away from the fact that once you were here you found yourself again." 

There's fifty ways to sunset Jill could argue just like she did with Chris the day before, but, “Okay.” Is what she says, if only a little shaky.

Life is what you make it. She’s pretty sure she’s heard that somewhere. She’ll make this bad situation better, somehow. And even though this newest revelation still hurts, Rebecca is right, Jill feels more like herself as the hours pass. Of which no small part is owed to Chris. 

“Okay.” Rebecca echoes with a nod. “Now please, I don’t want to perform an accidental biopsy  so hold still.”

-

They pack up Rebecca’s things and load them into Chris’ truck and all too soon it’s time to part ways. Reluctantly Claire gives Rebecca a hug and they say their goodbyes as Chris reels Jill into his arms.

“I don’t like this.” She mumbles into his chest. “But, I understand. You’d better understand though, if we don’t hear anything from you, we’re coming to get your sorry asses whether you like it or not.”

Wrapped up in his arms she can hear his heartbeat, loud and steady by her ear, feel him kiss the top of her head softly and his lips moving against her hair. “Loud and clear, Valentine.”

He looks like he has more he wants to say when he lets go and she feels like she does too but can’t find the words, there feels like there's too much left unsaid with no time left on the clock to say it.

Claire squeezes her brother into a tight hug and punches him lightly on the shoulder. “Be safe, please.”

When the truck’s taillights are out of sight Claire sighs and turns away from the window, retreating to the couch to join Jill. Calpurnia whines by the door for a few minutes before returning to them, resting her head on Claire’s knees. 

They both feel it but Jill feels like she needs to say it again anyway. “I don’t like this.”

“Me either.” Claire looks uncharacteristically grim but they both settle in to wait regardless.

Chapter Text

Antsy, Claire pets Calpurnia’s head, scratching behind her ears as she bounces one leg, it’s only been twenty minutes and the combination of both of their anxious energies is stifling. Another minute passes then Claire’s phone dings and she grabs for it before she smiles at the message. 

“Barry’s daughter, Moira? She’s joining TerraSave soon. It’s pretty cute how excited she is, she’s been texting me constantly.” She explains, grateful for something to talk about.

Jill can’t pull up a face to go with the name at all so instead she just smiles politely.

“I guess the Burtons are on vacation to celebrate?” Claire’s smile slowly fades. “Wait…” 

“What is it now?” Jill says warily. 

“Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to jump in, but if Barry isn’t nearby, that was Chris’ backup plan.” Claire gives her a look that screams of concern for her brother and it’s seeping into Jill too.

Reflexively Jill says, “They won’t need help.” shaking her head to gather her scattered thoughts, “That was only in case things went really south.”

Claire’s face is stubbornly set into a frown, “Sure, but things always go south. Jill, please.”

She doesn’t have to finish the question, Jill knows that the Redfields are close, Chris is all the family Claire has left.

“I’m not sure,” But she can feel any semblance of resistance fading. 

“Whenever things go wrong for us, we- we’re never near each other, you know?” Claire says desperately, leaning forward with elbows on her knees and Jill absentmindedly wonders if Claire knows she’s copying one of Chris’ poses. “If there’s even a chance he needs help and I could be there but I’m not? That's unacceptable. I’ll go on my own if I have to.” 

Well Jill isn’t about to be left here by herself.

“No.” Jill says. “You’re right. I want to go too, I’m just-” She waves a hand vaguely trying to put it into words. “The whole thing feels off. How do we get there?”

Wordlessly Claire holds up her phone and hits a number on speed dial.

“Hey, Neil, yeah, hi, I’m good- listen.” Claire’s foot taps on the carpeted floor in an erratic staccato beat as she listens. “Yeah, sounds good I’ll take it, but right now I need a favor, I can’t explain why but I need a plane to Wisconsin like, now.”

She hammers out a few more details before hanging up and standing.

“Okay. All set. There should be Chris’ old helmet in the hall closet, I’ll get my stuff.”

“Who was that?”

“My boss, Neil. He’s good, he’ll ask me questions later but I can count on him.” It’s not the time but Jill notes the fond tone Claire has when speaking of the man. “Chris will still have a head start but we shouldn’t be too far behind them.”

Jill wonders if forty-five minutes will make a difference. 

The other woman moves to the back room while Jill heads to the hall as directed, she doesn’t have any other personal things to gather, she doesn’t even have her ID- just the lock picks. 

In the closet there’s old blankets that seem to be handmade, a thick winter coat, and to her surprise something she recognizes. The brown leather is worn, the embroidery in the back starting to fray but it’s the same jacket he used to wear on the daily back in the 1990’s, “Made in Heaven” still bright and legible.

Jill can't help but bury her face into the soft, worn material. It smells strongly of old cigarette smoke and suddenly she so clearly can think of Chris, right around when they first met, standing outside the R.P.D. smiling at her with cigarette in hand, framed by the curling smoke. 

Embarrassed when she can hear Claire behind her she clears her throat and straightens the jacket. “I didn’t think it’d still smell like that, not after all this time. He quit-”

She thinks of the two of them, miserably sharing a pack of gum, commiserating together. She’d felt very sorry for herself at the time but the memory now makes her feel fond, turning to Claire with a slight smile, “He quit a long time ago.” 

"You used to smoke too." Claire comments quietly, leaning on the kitchen door frame. "You guys decided on quiting at the same time actually, on totally different missions, halfway across the world from each other. He laughed when he told me. Said, 'opposite sides of the globe but still sharing a single thought'."

Jill snorts, “Wow. How cheesy of us.” 

“Definitely. But hey, if you’re both into it…” Claire smiles mischievously and winks once before beckoning Jill to the door. Choosing not to comment when Jill, following a whim, slides the jacket off its hanger and shrugs it onto her own shoulders.

“Wait- Calpurnia?”

“In her crate. I talked to the manager of this place, he’ll take her to a ‘doggie hotel’ later today.” Claire laughs at the term then taking in Jill’s uncertain expression, more seriously adds, “Really, she’ll be okay. What are we going to do, take a seventy-pound dog with us? She’s not going to fit on my bike.”

“You’re right.” Feeling stupid Jill drops it. It’s ridiculous, with her arm still bandaged that the she could be a source of comfort for her but she is. The big dog is a reminder of Chris and already familiar in her own way.

Claire seems to pick up on her mood, surreptitiously giving her looks as she locks the door and heads down the pavement, giving her space as she checks over her bike before confidently swinging a leg over and offering Jill a hand. Settling in she tucks her hair into the back of the jacket and shoves on the old helmet, wondering briefly if it’s still up to safety codes-

“It smells like stale cigarettes and hair gel in here.” Jill comments, wrapping her arms around Claire’s solid waist as the other woman laughs.

-

"Well, this isn't creepy at all." Rebecca mutters. After dark the building always was a little spooky but Rebecca had always chalked it up to being traumatized in abandoned facilities, unfortunately more than once. “I’ve come in on the weekends before to check on experiments but there’s usually lights on. Maybe since it’s a holiday?”

She’s talking to fill the silence but when she turns to ask Chris, his eyes are sharp, watching. He isn’t ignoring her, he’s on high alert and the realization makes the dread she was trying to ignore sink down to her toes. Feeling silly in her tennis shoes and armed with only her security badge and a few pages of notes she feels less prepared than she did that first day as a member of S.T.A.R.S. Especially next to Chris, as fit as he was when they first met and even though he isn’t fully suited up, short sleeves sans Kevlar but still with his signature pistol at his side, she feels particularly small.

The plane ride from Colorado was quiet. When Chris picked up on her anxious silence, instead of trying to placate her- it would have been pointless, and she would have felt bad about him wasting energy anyways- he dozed off in the seat next to her. Leaving her to stew in her theories. There’s too much to think about, what they might find when they get there, she hasn’t heard anything else from Alyssa and that’s adding to the already significant pile of things to worry about.

Outside the B.S.A.A. building it’s a pleasant enough day by Wisconsin standards, there’s even several cars in the lot, sitting innocuous and empty in their stalls. Inside though, it’s dark and the shadows feel threatening. The coffee cart is gone, though obviously not open on weekends, its empty spot adds to the liminal feeling- a transition into something more ominous. 

“I thought after O’Brian we were going to be clear of this kind of stuff here.” She says to his silence, keeping her flashlight beam steady. O’Brian’s betrayal and schemes at least made sense and he didn’t end up being a total villain in the end, something tells her that this time around there won’t be such a benevolent betrayer. 

“Yeah, me too. I guess you can’t be a big organization without becoming a target, though. We have too many dangerous and unstable things here, we’ve got a lot of things people want.” For such a big man his footsteps are light and she tries to match his movements to quiet her own, she hasn’t been a field operative in a long time and unfortunately it shows. 

“I guess, but most of the really valuable stuff is in Europe, why here? Even Uroboros is kept there. The American branches are basically barracks right?”

“Jill was here.” Is all Chris says as they fall back into the tension filled silence. 

They move past the empty security booths, the lights unlit except for a dull red glow signaling the metal detectors are off. There only seems to be auxiliary power keeping the overhead lights at half-brightness, meaning the elevators are off-line, forcing the pair up the several flights of stairs up to Rebecca’s laboratory. 

Huffing quietly as Chris takes the lead, Rebecca tries to brainstorm to stop focusing on the growing stitch in her side-

"Wait a minute… a handwritten journal!" Chris looks down at her, beyond confused and she's almost too excited about her realization to explain but manages to get out, "Claire, she made a joke about finding a journal saying exactly what's going on but I know where one might be! It might not be anything, but at least it's something."

Being mindful of the noise she hurries past him with new energy to her floor and down the familiar hallways, uncomfortable with the eerie stillness in the usually bustling spaces, Chris ghost-like at her heels.

The door to Ivanov’s office is standing partially ajar, the temporary signage declaring the room belonging to “A. Ivanov” dangling, held in place by one stubborn corner. Chris ushers her behind him as he pushes the door further, scanning each corner before moving inside. Rebecca pauses a second, waiting for him to give her the all clear before hurrying to the desk and rummaging through all the drawers. 

There’s a single drawer that’s locked and Rebecca wonders if Chris is also thinking about how useful Jill would be in this situation, before she grabs a letter opener and tries to break into the stubborn wood. After a minute (and with Chris’ help) she gets it open and finds her prize. The journal, which she last saw being written in by the mysterious scientist is sitting alone. Rebecca perches on the edge of the chair, Chris leaning over her shoulder as she reads. 

Unfortunately most of it is in Russian. 

Drawings cover most of the pages: a bird's eye view of an island, a T-virus victim, what looks like the progression of a failed Uroboros patient, an unfinished portrait of a woman. Tables of genetic sequences, some combinations are crossed out, from what Rebecca can gather of the sequences there’s only a couple testing conditions Alex has left to try. Flipping through them she’s trying to find one that matches anything she found in Jill’s blood.  

“When did this woman get here?” Chris says, startling her out of her study. 

“Uhm, maybe three months ago. I’ve been here for about a year, but most of our staff rotates around. My friend, Alyssa, got here with a bunch of other people right around the time you transferred back to The States, right after the South Africa mission. People coming and going isn’t usually that weird.” 

Sifting through the pages a note with lines of series of numbers on it flutters to the floor, curiously she picks it up but it means nothing to her. Handing it over to Chris he eyes it for a moment before a look of recognition passes his face.

“They’re codes for doors, I think. See, that’s the code for the vehicle hanger- one-two-six: it’s on the first floor, second hallway, sixth door.” 

“Wow.” She’s impressed but he shrugs, gesturing to the notebook.

“Can you get anything else from that?”

“Not a lot. I don’t see anything that matches exactly right but I’m going off of only memory, it’s hard to be sure.” Rebecca hands it off to him to take a closer look.

“Three months.” Chris muses, flipping through the book once more as if willing the pages to spill its secrets. “Would that be enough time?”

“For Jill’s experiments? I mean, maybe. She’s a pretty brilliant scientist, the timing would be pretty tight though. It’d be hard to get that much done in such little time unless she had a team working on it twenty-four seven, even then that would be really pushing it. By herself I would estimate it at closer to five or six months, or longer. Do you really think it’s her?”

“Don’t have any other leads, this is all we have to go on for now.” He taps the book one last time before closing it, without a bag or deep enough pockets it’s going to have to be left behind- gesturing to her to follow as he exits the room. 

-

Whatever connections Claire has bypasses even the need to identify Jill, instead she gets labeled something she doesn’t quite understand but gathers that Claire has said she’s a protected person being hunted- which isn’t that far from the truth. Still it’s weird to be treated as if she doesn’t exist, communicating only through Claire.

They’re shuttled onto a small private plane and when she shoots Claire a questioning look she shrugs, “TerraSave owes me for a couple things, I cashed in a favor. A big one, but hey, what’s the point of having it if I don’t use it.”

She doesn’t elaborate further but her fingers tap against her thigh as if remembering something, and since Jill has very quickly grasped what horrors they’ve all seen- if not in great detail, she can guess Claire is thinking about some such event so she doesn’t press further.

There’s only the two of them and one flight attendant on the small plane for the two hour ride, Claire eventually pulling out her laptop and typing away on it. With nothing to do Jill finds herself picking at her nail beds, trying and failing to think of nothing at all.

Claire eventually leans forward and uncharacteristically shy gestures to her laptop, "I have some old photos scanned on here if you want to see some of them." When Jill nods in agreement she quickly shifts from across to her to at her side, propping up the computer on her knees so Jill can see.

“Wait, hold on, here I just found this one,” with a couple clicks she pulls up a picture of Chris that she laughs at. He’s in a tailored suit that has a military cut to it, the B.S.A.A. badge is pinned to his chest, along with his name and rank. He looks a little stiff and uncomfortable, like he’s not sure if he should be smiling or not. 

“I like it.” Jill defends, but cracks a smile when Claire snorts.

“I think he looks like a five year old on his first day of school, I love it.” Claire says with a big smile.

It’s true, and it’s funny, despite the altitude and mad rush across the country, worrying wont make the plane faster so she’ll take whatever lightness Claire decides to share. Jill watches her open a file labeled “Family”, scrolling through photos of the two Redfield siblings as kids, photos with their parents, on vacations, until she pulls up a photo she actually recognizes. It’s the same one Chris had face down on his bedside table. 

Now that she knows more and knows better how she feels she looks at her younger self’s face and posture, how she leans into Chris’ embrace, her sly but fond smile. “Almost fifteen years…”

“Sure feels like it, huh?” Claire looks like she’s bursting to ask a question and Jill has a feeling she knows what it’s about, but Claire is clearly trying not to pry. 

“I’m not one-hundred percent sure, but I don’t think I’ve ever had to ask someone to kiss me before.” Claire’s surprised laugh bursts from her and Jill smiles. Even though it’s personal, everything about Claire is warm and familiar, just like her brother. It makes her mind less to share.

“You? I doubt it. Did you ask Chris to kiss you? Oh, I am going to tease him forever if you did and he didn’t do it.” 

“Not exactly, no.” Claire’s laugh and mischievous smile is everything a younger sibling can be trying to dig out dirt on their older sibling. Jill leans into it, grateful for the distraction. “I didn’t, but I might as well have.”

“Ugh, he was all polite ‘I want to do things right’, wasn’t he?” Jill can’t help the laugh that escapes her when Claire imitates her brother, nodding, “That’s so like him. What a doofus.” 

Jill just smiles.

-

Together they narrow down the areas where Jill could have been staying. 

“I think it would have to be near enough to where I was told she would be. Just in case they needed to prove she was still here.” Rebecca concludes, pointing to the small medical facility on the map near the elevators. “In case someone insisted on seeing her in person.”

Rebecca feels a sharp sting, she hadn’t bothered to go see Jill in person past her initial arrival. She could have, but didn’t. She doesn’t have the excuse of being a field operative to hide behind.

Chris hums in agreement, indicating slightly to the left of the medical wing. “There’s renovations going on near there, it’d be an easy place to keep someone, off the path from everyone but contractors. You could buy out the construction company to leave a room alone.”

He insists on taking a small detour to his rarely used office, unlocking the gun locker inside and handing her a small handgun, small enough to fit in her jacket pocket. 

“Just in case.” Is all he says. “If you’re comfortable with having it.”

It’s heavy in her hands and though it’s been years she mechanically checks that the safety is on before nodding and slipping it into her pocket. Its weight is unfamiliar and adds to her ever increasing anxiety that she’s trying so hard to shove down. But she can’t fall apart here, Alyssa could still be here somewhere. Hopefully still- 

“Let’s go.” She says firmly to Chris, nearly fleeing the room from her thoughts.

The construction site smells like saw dust and plaster, plastic sheeting on the floor and covering doorways softly crinkling under their feet. It’s maze-like with its near identical walls and nearly every door off its hinges to allow for painting. They pass by each open room, they’re empty and exposed, not what they’re looking for. Down a dizzying amount of hallways till finally coming upon a lone closed door far near what must be the back of the facility. It doesn’t have hinges, the only airlock door they’ve yet to see with a keypad to the left.

Chris, who had been muttering under his breath- Rebecca thought it better not to interrupt to ask- pulls out the note with the codes on it and begins to decipher it. Trying three codes finally the third works and the door slides open with a quiet hiss. 

It’s a relatively small room, just enough space on the narrow counter for a centrifuge, computer and basic set up, a small file cabinet, and a fridge keeping samples at a stable temperature. Most of the available space is taken up by a hospital bed; it's stripped bare with restraints dangling off the sides. An IV pole and ventilator sit beside it. 

“Seems like we’re in the right place.” She and Chris share a somber look before Rebecca begins to dig through the cabinet, Chris trying to get into the computer. 

“Whoever it was was very careful not to leave anything handwritten…” Flipping through the flies it’s all stuff she recognizes, these are Wesker and Excella’s research notes on Jill. “We’re definitely in the right place, I think you’re right, this is where she was being kept.” 

It would have taken someone one each level on the chain of command to pull this off, from contractor up to near site supervisor. 

“This is a lot of stuff on Wesker, all of his research files they could recover- Chris, look.” She holds the page up to him to read over her shoulder. “There’s even a picture of him.”

It’s an old photo of a group of children. All light haired, dressed identically, serious expressions on the faces still visible. Someone has crossed out ten of the thirteen faces, leaving a boy and two girls. The boy, though barely in his teens, is instantly recognizable. Albert Wesker, staring down the camera with the same intense gaze Rebecca remembers from the man. The girls aren’t looking at the camera, the taller one closest to Wesker is looking to the side, casting her face in partial shadow as she looks with a bored expression beyond the camera’s scope. The other is staring at her shoes, she’s the smallest figure and presumably the youngest, every other person in the picture literally overshadowing her down-turned face. The back of the photograph only denotes a photographer, O. Spencer.

“This must be the project that made him.” 

“Why would it be here? All of his research, sure, but pictures?” The room seems to grow colder as they both come to the same realization. Chris still says it aloud.

“Maybe they knew each other.”

The files are headed “The Janus Project” and the notes indicate that it’s nearly progressed to the human testing stage. The goal, it would seem, is to combine several known variants of the Progenitor virus to create the perfect willing soldier; it pulls heavily from Wesker’s master race ideology with traces all the way back to samples of the leech queen and James Marcus. From there most of it is encoded, Alex, or whoever it was wanted to be sure that things couldn’t be copied. The tables are well thought out and though the specific details she can’t immediately understand the math seems nearly perfect, lines of genetic sequences feeling so familiar she could kick herself. 

Not much else to do without her own notes to compare, she sighs, folding her own notes on Jill’s blood in with the project notes she can’t help feeling that she won’t get much more from this room without knowing more. On the final page there’s several numbers corresponding to the vials in the cooler and one syringe. Carefully Rebecca pulls free the syringe and one vial and pocketing them, it feels like maybe leaving a syringe full of volatile materials for someone else to grab might not be the smartest idea.

“I have to get this back to my station, I can better determine everything there, follow me.” But as she finishes her sentence, one foot out the door, the safety lock engages with a click and she has to skip out of its way. “Chris!”

She can hear him trying to open the door on the other side, first through the keypad, then by force. Rebecca is stuck frozen on the other side, the sudden adrenaline rush catching her breath in her chest before she too tries uselessly to get the door to open. 

“Chris, are you okay?” She calls through the thick metal. “The code isn’t working! I think it’s a kind of containment precaution.”

“I’m fine.” His muffled voice replies. “We’re not alone here, please be careful Beccs.”

“I-“ She hasn’t been in a situation like this for ten years and that familiar fear is sending her into a panic, she’s alone out here, what can she possibly do? “What about you?!”

“We’re both gonna be fine, is there something in your lab you can use to call for help?” His voice is calm, whether or not it’s put on she doesn’t know, but she holds onto it anyway.

“There’s an emergency phone- in case of contamination, it would get out to biohazard control.”

“Okay. Go there first. If it’s somehow not working I need you to go to the security control room, it’s a lot further than your lab but it should have a secure radio, something that can’t be interfered with.” When she doesn’t answer immediately he shouts, “Understood, Chambers?” and whatever training is still left in her brain responds. A mission, orders, she can do this. 

As she’s turning to leave inside the room she can hear the hiss of air and fears the worst, “Chris? Is that gas?!”

“Go, I’ll be okay.” He shouts back and even though she’s near shaking she steels herself and hurries towards her lab. 

-

The wind is colder and sharper when they arrive in Kenosha, the tiny airport only a short ten minute taxi ride away but they’re stymied almost immediately at the darkened entrance to the B.S.A.A. facility.

“Damn!” Claire slaps the flat of her hand against the double doors, willing it open. “The power’s been cut but you still need a badge? There isn’t even a lock for emergencies just this- fucking keypad. How stupid is that. How do we get in?” 

She backs up and looks up, as if contemplating a scheme to get to one of the many balconies before watching Jill begin to walk slowly around the building. “Hey-”

Something is telling her this is the way- “The hangers are over here.” Is all she says as Claire catches up and touches her elbow.

“Oh. How you got out?” She drops it as Jill simply nods.

Around the back of the building the hangers themselves are just as impenetrable as the front doors, Claire aims a swift kick at the metal grating before turning to Jill. “Any other ideas?”

“No, sorry.” Claire is all kinetic energy, pacing as she thinks while Jill feels rooted to the asphalt. The growing feeling that something is wrong is only building with every step of Claire’s boots, eventually spurring her into movement as well.

“There has to be a door I can get through.” She says, tracing the walls of the building around the corners and angles, searching for anything without a mechanical lock, Claire following closely behind. 

“Wait, here.” Claire says, standing next to a shutter Jill had passed, assuming it to be as impossible as the hangers. When Jill joins back up with her she explains, “This says it’s for supply chain, look-” The locks Claire points out are standard, three along the bottom and one on the side that all look easy enough. “It should lead to all sorts of things, the kitchens, store rooms, even the morgue. I know there’s a small one at this facility.”

“Why would they all lead here?” Jill asks, “How do you know it’s not just a dead end?” Still doubtful she crouches down and gets to work anyway.

“Well, there’s a cafeteria, so that must lead to the rest of the building somehow. Everything should lead to here because bodies, boxes, food, all need to be dropped off or taken away, it’s easiest if it’s all the same place.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I spent a couple months volunteering in a hospital before I signed on with TerraSave, you get bored and ask a lot of questions pretty fast when it’s that boring.” Well, that definitely sounds like something Claire would do, if not a universal experience. 

She’s right though, once the heavy padlocks are in a small pile and the shutter is heaved up, they’re standing in a stark utilitarian hallway. Two doors down on the right are labeled Kitchen, warning any trespassers on the necessity of a hairnet. The third door down on the left is marked Morgue and Jill can’t help the morbid curiosity that leads her to push the door open. She’s not sure what she expected, the worst of which is her mind imagining that Chris and Rebecca both will be lying cold on the metal tables- as unlikely as that would be. What she wasn’t expecting as the shock of frigid air washes over her unprotected face is that the room would be full. 

The smell of chemical preservatives is as cloying as she remembers, several memories arise at the scent, rivaling straight decay in its own unique way. There’s gurneys double parked against the metal drawers, each body carefully covered with what look like tablecloths. Behind her, Claire makes a sound Jill understands as someone who expected this but is deeply sad all the same; Jill agrees but moves further in the room as if possessed without comment. It feels disrespectful to these people, whoever they are to ignore, she feels an obligation- or any previously felt morbid curiosity- to understand why these people died.

Claire follows her lead, gently removes the cloth from the face of a corpse near the door, then spots a box of gloves and dons a pair, tossing the box to Jill to do the same. With careful fingers Claire turns the man’s head as if looking for a wound. The man seems to have been in his late middle age, uncovering the body further reveals calloused workman’s hands and what seems to be a contractors uniform. 

Jill is carefully uncovering the body of a woman wearing a lab coat when Claire startles her, “Here, I found something.”

She’s still examining the man closest to the door and when Jill joins her she points out a small needle mark, visible only through the drop of blood that leaked from it whenever whatever had been injected.

“I can’t find anything else wrong, well, without you know-“ Neither of them want to strip a body. “Let’s see if there’s the same thing on anyone else.”

Unfortunately that theory holds true as body after body has a similar mark somewhere along their necks. 

“How could you get this many people at once?” Claire wonders aloud. “No one would line up and just wait once the first couple people dropped.”

“Maybe they were already unconscious.” Jill grimaces at the thought.

Shrugging off her backpack Claire begins to root through it, “There’s probably some sort of system built in on the off chance there was something infected loose in the facility, a safety protocol or something.”

Finally she finds what she’s looking for, a thigh holster that she quickly straps on with practiced ease, sliding a small pistol into it. “There’s not much we can do about any sort of gas, but it would hurt to have these just in case there’s something more tangible.” 

She offers a similar piece to Jill who shakes her head, “I don’t want to be armed if something happens and I lose myself.” 

“Fair enough.” Claire accepts easily, checking the safety before tossing it back into her bag. “Let’s get going, we’ve gotta find the others soon.”

-

The phone line is droning and she doesn’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing so she decides to wait to see if it gets patched through before she leaves. Two minutes, she decides, if it still hasn’t gone through she’ll abandon it to go to the security station. It already took too long to get here: doors were locked, familiar routes blocked off, reminding her of… well. Just a reminder. She’s already lost almost twenty minutes and who knows what is happening to Chris-

Shaking her head she tries to focus. The security office is further down the now maze-like corridors, the phone working here would be so, so convenient. As if things are ever that easy. She sighs.

Antsy, she puts the files she’s been clutching with a death grip on her desk along with the vial and syringe to stop them clinking in her pocket, searching through her own notes for her files on known bioweapons to compare to the familiar sequence she can’t place. Finally one does match. 

“Wait… This is G!” Rebecca announces to no one, leaning forward and squinting at the data though she knows to her bones she’s right. 

“… Becca?” A small voice calls out from deeper in the lab. Startled, she whips around looking for the source, slipping the syringe in her pocket. 

“Alyssa?" The woman is crouched hiding under a desk but quickly dislodges herself once she sees Rebecca’s outstretched hand. Pulling the taller woman in for a tight hug Rebecca can feel her shaking from fear as she clings to her. “Oh my God, are you okay? What happened?”

“I-“ Alyssa is struggling to keep her voice steady, and under her hands Rebecca can feel her thin frame holding back sobs. “I stayed behind when the others went to lunch, then- then the lights went out and it started to smell bad. Like… Like alcohol. When I woke up I was still by myself and I was too afraid to leave so I just hid.”

“You haven’t seen anyone else? Was Dr. Ivanov still here with you guys?” At the mention of their department head Alyssa’s fingers tighten on Rebecca’s arms and she trembles there before pulling back just enough to look Rebecca in the eyes, the pupils in her blue eyes barely pinpricks with stress. 

“She was, but I- I haven’t seen her since the lights went out, Becca, why are you here? How’d you know something was happening?”

“I was already heading back here when we found it like this.” The door closing on her at just the right moment has made her wary about being listened in on so she keeps it vague. “Chris and I got separated, but he’s here too.”

“Chris? Chris Redfield?” Alyssa hugs her again, burying her face in the crook of Rebecca’s neck, “Everything got so messy and scary so fast, how did it go so badly so quickly?”

“Okay, it’s okay. Everything is going to work out fine.” Rebecca soothes, “Here, this phone isn’t going to work, Chris said there’s a backup at the security room. We’ll go together.” 

Alyssa, still trembling, takes her offered hand and lets herself be led out of the lab.

Chapter Text

Making their way to the main lobby, Jill follows Claire into the open space warily, the shadows feeling dangerous. She can’t help feeling like she’s about to get a needle in her neck, continuously looking behind her just in case. Claire’s flashlight and the automatic safety lighting guiding them through the secretarial side of the B.S.A.A.

Chris’ portrait is on the wall next to several other prominent officers, she follows Claire but looks at them curiously as she passes. Mostly they’re people she doesn’t recognize, there’s a man that feels familiar, the nameplate reading “Burton” and she can vaguely remember him a few years younger smiling at her. It shouldn’t have been a surprise but near the end is her own picture. Her hair is a dark brown here, pulled back neatly and she’s almost smiling, not smug or smirking. Aloof. To Jill, she stands out next to these people, but she can’t word exactly why she feels that way. 

Catching up to the other woman who is studying a directory next to a set of off-line elevators, she waits for Claire to decide where to next, distracted by more pictures of the facility staff- smiling a little at a picture of Rebecca.

“Okay, I’m not sure how… but there should be a way to use… security office. Or at least that’s my best guess.” 

Jill can’t process Claire’s words, too focused on the picture she’d found. A group photo of Rebecca’s lab, the woman flanked by two taller blondes: Lab C, Supervisor Alex I., Head Researchers Rebecca C. and Alyssa W.

Like the swooping feeling of walking in a moving elevator Jill’s stomach sinks somewhere beneath her boots, suddenly so cold despite the sweat pooling at the back of her neck. Her fingers are numb inside the oversized jacket sleeves, the leather on her shoulders too heavy.

“Jill?” Claire says warily, approaching with one hand out. “What’s happening?”

She can’t answer, her vision tunneling, it’s not that feeling that’s surfaced so many times the past few days… a panic attack, she realizes belatedly, foggily, with no way to communicate that to Claire as her breathing is out of control. 

“Fuck. Okay.” She feels Claire’s hands steer her, sit her down somewhere, the floor below her is spinning and she’s having a hard time focusing on anything, the fear she feels drowning out everything. “This is the best I can do. Stay here please, this is the only place I could think of. I have to find the others, I’ll come back for you the second I find them, I promise.”

Anything else she says after that doesn’t get through.

She doesn’t know how long it takes to come back but eventually the fear fades enough to realize she’s wandering. She isn’t sure where she is, her slow footfalls carrying her somewhere that her brain is too slow- but sharpening quickly- to understand. 

Watching herself as if from a distance, she realizes with a disembodied jolt of fear, exactly like the years when she wasn't in control of her own body- she drifts down the halls. A backwards journey from her freedom to where she was kept. The tarp closing off the construction zone brushes her shoulders with a crinkle of plastic, the only other sound other than her own footsteps and harsh breath. 

How often had she tried to escape? Tried to plan her way through the halls to freedom- she doesn’t have all the pieces, everything unclear and fuzzy. But she knows when she’s at the right door. The code she spent weeks trying to memorize comes to her after a moment of staring at the keypad. It asks for a second admin code and mechanically she types in the number that comes to mind.

A sharp smell still lingers in the room as the door hisses open and lets whatever is left of the sedation gas out of the room. It’s not strong enough to have any real effect other than an acute pain in her nose. She coughs once, semi-grateful for the pain as it sharpens her mind. Moving past the doorway she has to fight the rushing in her ears at the sight of the small room, the site of so many months of disoriented torment. 

She has her hands on her knees, trying to get a hold of herself and her roiling stomach, fighting off another panic attack or whatever else is trying to take her, when she hears a groan. There’s movement to her right and instinctively she turns to fend off anything coming her way. 

It’s only Chris, she realizes after a moment of trying to decipher things. He’s pried the vent from the wall, maybe hoping to find escape from the gas filtering in from the ceiling only to be too big to fit through. His shirt is over his nose, buried in the crook of his elbow in an attempt to protect himself, but the way he’s looking at her with bleary, unfocused eyes it must not have worked that well. 

He starts trying to say something only to start coughing, curling in on himself, spurring her into movement, kneeling at his side, trying and failing to ignore how close she is to losing herself. His heartbeat is faster than she thinks she’s ever seen a human’s pulse be, his breathing rapid and shallow. He flinches slightly at the cold press of her fingers against his neck but he doesn’t shrug her off, doesn’t fight as she guides him to his feet and half drags him out of the room, pulling him along with an arm over her shoulders. He’s heavy, footfalls slow as she tries her best to support him, her teeth clenched together against both the effort and feeling like if she tries to speak she’ll fall to pieces again; she can’t afford that, either a panic attack or blackout, either would be disastrous. 

There’s only so far she can carry someone nearly twice her weight, despite her best efforts; stumbling, she stubbornly keeps trying to pull them forward, her left shoulder screaming and all the muscles in her arms and legs shaking from the strain. The plastic below her boots is loose enough to trip her, sending them both sprawling to their knees. 

Running on tired and burning legs, desperately scrambling around a dilapidated roof from that first Tyrant. Every time Nemesis threw her to the ground, the gravel grinding in her back and the air knocked from her lungs. A violently rocking deck beneath her feet making her unsteady as dark waves loom.  

There’s always a moment in times like these, a fleeting thought, It would be so much easier to give up. And it would be, would be so easy; all she’d have to do is lay here, let the chips fall where they may or however that goes. Could let fate decide what happens now instead of her tendency to swim desperately upstream.   

Just stay down.

Don’t get up. 

Get up.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Stand up.  

In the fresher air Chris seems to be doing better, taking slow deep breaths he pushes himself to standing on his own. Whatever grit she has that forces her to keep going he always meets measure for measure, now is no different. He nods to her, squeezing her outstretched hand once before taking the lead.

- 

Outside their lab the door to the conference room is ajar, the space brightly lit from within. Rebecca could have sworn it wasn’t that way when she had passed earlier, immediately on alert. An emergency lantern is glowing with blue LED light in the center of the table, a large folder sitting at the chair nearest the door. Rebecca drops Alyssa’s hand and ushers for her to stay back, pulling the small gun from her pocket and creeping forward.

“Is that a gun?!” Alyssa whispers, Rebecca ignores her. 

The room is entirely empty, nothing under the table or hiding in the corners. Just the folder that Alyssa is now examining, face somehow even paler.

“What is it?” Rebecca asks quietly, now there’s no doubt that they’re not alone.

“It’s uh, a presentation?” Her face is hard to read in the blue light as she flips through the first couple pages. “A research presentation.”

“For what?” Rebecca tries to peer around the taller woman’s shoulder to see, after a pause Alyssa holds out the thick binder. The cover page says The Janus Project and even though it isn’t exactly a surprise to her it can’t mean anything good. The report is carefully presented in a way that Rebecca recognizes as a pitch, trying to get someone else on board. The way it’s almost lovingly formated, expensive leather bound binder and thick paper, means that this mattered to someone. “Oh boy, this is getting even- I don’t know exactly what’s going on but I have a feeling it’s basically what we’ve seen before. Someone thinking they can play god or whatever goes through their minds.”

Rebecca goes to put it down, exasperated and tired of the constant dread. Before it hits the table top Alyssa quickly snags it, holding it close to her chest, defending when Rebecca takes a beat in confusion,  “I don’t think we should leave it, it’s evidence.”

“You’re right, that’s a good idea.” Rebecca smiles at her, trying to keep in mind that Alyssa hasn’t been in a situation like this like she has. She doesn’t know that sometimes you have to leave stuff behind, there’s only so much one person can carry; but it’s not like she expects the scientist to fight when it comes down to it, so there’s no harm in letting her keep it.

Feeling some kind of deja vu, Rebecca reads the maps scattered around the facility and leads them to the surveillance room, her pace quickening at each stop, frustrated at how long it’s taking: Chris needs help, like now.

The room is lit with emergency lights that buzz faintly, the ON lights next to the dials looking like red eyes watching them. Thankfully that means they’re functional and Rebecca breathes a sigh of relief, “I don’t know much about radios but I’m sure we can get this to work.”

“I know a bit,” Alyssa offers, then freezes at a sticky note attached to the intercom microphone. Rebecca only gets a glimpse of it before Alyssa crushes it in her hand her hair falling into her face as she leans her hands on the desk.

“Were those numbers? Who was that for?” Rebecca asks, putting a hand on her back then withdrawing when Alyssa shrugs her off.

“They’re coordinates.”

“Alyssa.” Rebecca swallows hard dreading the worst. “Alyssa, what is that.” 

The woman’s voice is as tight as her shoulders as she faces away from her. “It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing-“

The door bangs open, startling them both. Claire hurries through, eyes sweeping across the room before acknowledging them, “Oh thank God, you’re here. Where’s Chris?”

“He needs help, he’s stuck in a room towards the basement, I’m trying to get a radio out to Barry or anyone- We need to get the power back on and get Chris out. How’d you get here? Are you alone?” Claire moves past her to look at the monitors, sparing a glance towards the still frozen Alyssa before messing with switches, hopefully knowing what she’s doing.

“No, I had Jill with me but she had a- I don’t know, I put her in the janitor’s closet in the lobby.”

“What? Why?”

Claire throws her hands up in frustration, turns face her, “She was looking at some pictures then freaked out-“

“Which pictures?”

“The ones in the lobby, there was one with you in it, I don’t know if that’s what caused it but-“

“Maybe she recognized who was responsible!”

“I think so too but I also think we have more pressing problems, there’s a ton of bodies in the morgue, we gotta get out of here.”

“Bodies?” Alyssa finally says, turning around, the shaking in her hands coming back full force. Rebecca tries to reach out to hold one again, feeling the crinkled note against her palm before Alyssa pulls sharply away. Claire eyes her curiously before turning back to the console. 

“Yeah, so let's get a move on.” 

“Bodies,” Alyssa whispers. 

“Yeah.” Claire says, puzzled and slightly annoyed. “Seems like every employee unlucky enough to be here today were casualties.”

Looking at her friend the horrible conclusion hits Rebecca’s stomach like a brick, Everyone except for you.

“Uhm, Alyssa?” It feels so wrong to accuse someone she thinks she knows, let suspicion set in, but that’s the thing, isn’t it? Does she know her? Rebecca isn’t sure anymore, and she hates that years of betrayal lets the suspicion set in so easily. Claire catches her tone, giving her a questioning look over Alyssa’s shoulder as she turns, “Alyssa, what are those coordinates?”

Trying to stay calm, trying to stay smart, Rebecca moves to reach for the scientist’s hand again, sparing Claire a glance and sending her the smallest of nods, praying she understands-

-

“… So it was you who killed everyone? … Gassed and poisoned them?” Claire’s angry tone is drifting towards them as they head towards their goal. Curiously Chris shoots her a glance to check in with her, Jill shrugs, confused but nods to let him know she also thinks they should keep quiet.

Distantly she can hear someone answer Claire, voice low and pleading. It doesn’t sound like Rebecca- Jill can hear someone shout “no!” before there’s sounds of a blow and something heavy falling.

“Claire!” Rebecca’s panicked voice echoes through the hallways and both of them break into a dead sprint, Jill reaching the open door of the security room first, skidding inside as her boots slide on the slick floor while she tries to take in the scene as quickly as possible. 

Claire is a crumpled heap on the floor at the feet of Rebecca and a woman that at first glance she doesn’t recognize. Before Chris can make it into the room the stranger sweeps Rebecca into her arms, holding a small pistol to the woman’s head. 

“Stay right there!”

It’s the voice that does it. Jill can almost hear the click of the pieces falling into place. This woman- this woman is her captor, her tormentor, the thief that stole her life away, turned her again into a monster.

“YOU.”

Her voice startles even herself, whipping out of her chest like a blow. The pale woman flinches.

“Alyssa, please.” Rebecca pleads, trying to loosen the hold on her neck. “Stop!”

Behind her, Jill can feel more than hear Chris pausing at the doorway to gather more information on the situation until Claire groans from the floor. Steel faced and voice filled with authority he moves past where she’s glued to the floor with his weapon drawn but Jill can’t truly hear him.

No. A vicious wave of contempt and rage is countering her impending blackout, she’s fighting not out of motivation to calm herself and protect people, she’s fighting with equal intensity from the hatred she feels down to the infected marrow of her bones. Programmed against Chris she may be, but with her captor here, so much more vulnerable than Wesker had ever been- she couldn’t tear him apart but this fragile wisp of a woman? It would be easy.

“What is this.” Jill interrupts, “This was your big move to get me back here?” 

Claire pushes to her hands and knees, accepting Jill’s help up while Jill holds eye-contact with her cornered captor. Alyssa makes no move to stop her, shifting back half a step and pulling Rebecca with her, looking less like a cornered animal and more like someone truly realizing for the first time how far out of their depth they are. 

“You wanted me here? Fine. I’m here. They have nothing to do with it,” Gesturing between the others and then stabbing down with a pointed finger, “the people you murdered had nothing to do with it. It’s you and me, let’s-“

At ‘murdered’ there’s finally some sort of steel behind her eyes, “I didn’t kill any of those people, I really didn’t. I- I closed the doors but I didn’t know what was going to happen, I swear. I covered them and moved them but... No one was ever supposed to die.”

“Bullshit, and even if it isn’t, who would’ve done all of this to cover your ass? Enough, enough with all of it; what the fuck were you working on, who sent you.”

“No one sent me, the project was all mine, always mine.”

“-why?” Rebecca manages.

Before she can answer Jill cuts in, “I’d ask why me but that’s stupid, it had to be me, but what could be so important- what do you think is worth so much?” 

"I realize now I was far too focused on results, I could have gotten so much further if I had been kinder and we worked together. That was where Albert and Ale- it seems to be a common mistake, could you forgive me?" Alyssa’s hands tremble and there’s a slight wobble to her voice. She sounds nervous and strangely sad, like a small child worried about being left alone.

“Forgive you?” Jill asks, near laughter from the audacity. Every nerve feels like they’re jangling around in her body in restless energy, she wants to fight, scream, do something, and for a moment she wishes she had taken the gun from Claire just to have some sort of control. “Like Hell, not after what you took from me, what you made me into. I was finally free and you stole that from me!”

“I didn’t take anything! We’re both technical failures! But our creators were short sighted and didn’t see how to use us to our full potential. I built myself up past their expectations and I’ve made it further than any of them! I’m better because they gave up on me, and I made you better too. 

“It’s always been you! And it’s always been me, we’re made to succeed despite the odds.”

“I don’t want to villain monologue at you…” Calming herself she speaks again in a softer, pleading tone, “I’ve worked so hard on this, too hard on this, please. I really am sorry, I understand now this wasn’t the way, this is where Albert went wrong too. I don’t ever want to be like him again, I’ve made something useful- something worthwhile.” 

“How did you know Wesker?” Chris inches forward almost imperceptibly slow. 

There seems to be some sort of internal struggle before with a sad smile she shifts the still struggling Rebecca in her arms, Chris coming to a halt. 

“I’m a Wesker too.” 

Somehow the room seems colder, or maybe that’s just her blood. The Wesker they knew all too well not being alone, that there could be more of them… But then, there was that list, all those years ago, maybe they were wrong to assume that the rest of the kids had died. It’s all even bigger than they thought, and that thought is threatening to crush Jill beneath its weight, she almost misses Alyssa’s next words, “I’m not the Wesker, but I made it, I lived when almost everyone else didn’t. I’m still here, despite being tossed aside. Every test, every punishment, every trial, I passed too. Until the one that mattered the most, only Albert- Albert may have been the crowning glory, but,” 

If Jill could summon any sympathy for the woman it would be at what she says now: “I matter.” 

The expression on the rogue scientist’s face implies that she doesn’t quite believe it, though.

“Then surrender, drop your weapon and let Rebecca go,” Chris says in a steady, low tone, his negotiator skills kicking in. “You'll be treated fairly and humanely, and once your trial is over we’ll see what happens with you and your research. It won’t go to waste.” 

There’s a moment, one brief hopeful moment where it seems like for the first time their adversary will be reasonable, then her expression drops somewhere into hopelessness and she shakes her head once resolutely. Jill can see the tears start to trail down her cheeks.

“I won’t live that long, I’ve been found out. Being discovered was always going to be a death sentence for me, I knew that.”

“We aren’t going to execute you.” Chris says, confused.

“I know. But Al- I can’t continue now, I’ve said too much. Even if you arrest me I’ll die horribly…” Alyssa tips her head back, blinking rapidly to try and stem the tears as her breath hitches into a sob. “She was here to watch me, to see if I could be valuable. I told you about me so at least someone would know who I was. That- maybe I could be remembered…. I really am a failure.”

Rebecca’s expression turns from a grimace from the pressure on her throat to sadness and pity, her eyes flicking up towards the other woman’s face though she can’t see it. 

Then all hell breaks loose.

If she could break it down in slow motion there would be several key points:

Alyssa’s defeated posture straightens into something with purpose; if Jill could get out a coherent thought it would be that it seems like the scientist is going to shoot Rebecca then herself, relaxed gun hand tensing, moving upwards-

Chris must be on the same thought, shouting, Claire echoing him-

Rebecca makes a break for it in the distraction, elbowing free and ducking low out of the way-

And finally, she herself is charging forward, tackling Alyssa. The gun goes off as they go down, it’s a wild shot, misses Jill by a mile. For good measure Jill makes sure she will be incapacitated by grabbing her face and slamming the back of her head down with extra impact as they fall. 

All that adds up to a horrible conclusion as Jill stands and turns, blood rushing in her ears.

A worst case, an unacceptable outcome. A wild shot, but landing with unlucky accuracy. 

Chris stumbles, an expression of confusion on his face as he presses his hand to his neck, his blood quickly seeping through the fingers as he’s forced to take a knee, eventually slumping on his side as the three remaining women are too shocked to move. 

Jill is the first to break, Rebecca quickly follows suit, guiding her hands to where the pressure needs to be put to hold down the arteries without choking him. His pulse is pushing blood between her fingers and over the back of her hands with each beat and the sticky heat of it makes her gag. Claire, somehow still level headed enough for reason, walks to the console with stiff steps, getting the emergency message out.

“Captain Redfield has been shot.” Her voice breaks on the last word as the enormity of the situation seems to become impossible to push off. Stiffly, words fracturing with barely restrained sobs, she thanks the operator and falls to her knees beside Jill, silent.

“… no no no no no no,” Jill realizes she’s repeating frantically and Claire begins to echo her, Rebecca emptying her pockets, tosses a syringe to the side and stands, ripping off the first aid kit from the wall, face grim as she digs through the meager supplies. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go, I’m supposed to go first! You can’t leave me here alone.” 

“Rebecca,” Claire pleads, “do something.”

“I’m doing all I can.” Rebecca says with the false calm of a medic in a losing situation, still she shrugs off her jacket and folds it neatly, instructing Jill to lift her hands briefly to slide it under them. “I’ll do everything in my power-“

They all know it isn’t enough. 

Chris is staring up at her with eyes that are beginning to fade to glassy.

The syringe sits innocuously and Jill catches Rebecca looking at it- “Rebecca. Can that save him.”

“I don’t know.”

“I need you to know, Hell, guess. Can it save him.”

“Maybe. Or it could turn him into a monster, there’s no way to know-“

“Rebecca.” She doesn’t have to say anything else. 

“I’d be violating every ethical code in existence-“

“I don’t care, if there’s a chance, we’re taking it.”

“Jill, I want to save him too, but I wouldn’t want you to do this. I-“ She swallows hard and looks at the needle in her hands, “Wouldn’t it be kinder? We would be robbing him of a peaceful death, who in our line of work can expect something like that? That they passed surrounded by people who love them? I don’t want to kill him if he turns, do you?”

“Who fucking cares,” Claire shouts, leaning forward to grab at Rebecca, “we have to try!”

Rebecca’s words have shaken Jill. This isn’t the same as talking about letting millions die, but Rebecca is right. Very few in this lifestyle get to die surrounded by the people they love in a comparatively painless way. It’s terrible to do this to him without asking, but she won’t be left here on this earth alone like he once thought she’d done to him.

“Chris, no no no no no.” Claire wails, resting her head on her hands that are clutching at Chris’ shirt like a child. 

This is beyond selfish, there’s no calling herself a decent person after this. 

“I won’t let you go.” She promises to the dying man under her white knuckled fingers. 

“Rebecca, do it.”

Chapter Text

His voice is hoarse as the last bit of air in his lungs is expended on her name. There’s glass puncturing through the palms of his gloves as he puts all his weight on the shattered window’s frame, leaning as far as he can out into the rain. The lightning is the only light source and it’s inconsistent, hurting his straining eyes- an impossible task to search for a speck of blue at such a distance but the shock is settling in right next to panic and the tiniest familiar pang of premature grief.

Jill.

She can’t be gone.

Not her, not like this. 

There’s no way down the cliff in time but he runs anyway. As if in a nightmare it seems like everything is slowed down, he half remembers radioing into base to tell them about Jill’s fall. Other than a brief confirmation of help on its way all he hears is his own harsh breathing and the pounding of his footsteps as he makes it to the bottom of the road and attempts to force his way through the foliage to the river. As he crashes through the brush and into the water he finally gets enough sense to stop before he’s swept away, flashlight beam desperately searching until sets of hands wrestle him from the water. 

The pressure in his chest is building, not to be relieved until nearly five years later.

-

Her hands are clamped to his clavicle, feather white and feather light strands of hair that have come loose from her braid brush his face and half lidded eyes. Her eyes, so light there’s barely any blue- so familiar except for the panic in them, are inches from his. He’d thought he’d seen every expression she had but this is a new one, she’s whispering, or maybe shouting but not much is getting through. He’s been hurt before, badly, almost died too, but this feels like maybe he’s gone too far- this one finally might be it. 

“Chris, no no no no-“ Claire, too is shouting for him, Rebecca’s high voice somewhere behind his head is stammering. There’s a lot of arguing he can’t process, cold beginning to seep into his fingertips. 

“I won’t let you go.” 

Jill, determined and teary eyed, swears as his eyes slide closed.

-

“She isn’t eating.” The orderly says as they look through the one way glass. Inside the tiny room, the cell rather, Alyssa lies as still as a corpse on the bare bed. Considered a danger to herself and others, she’s restrained to the bed and a guard is posted inside with her constantly. “She hasn’t tried to harm herself since that first night, but since then she’s refused any food we’ve given her.”

“What are you going to do?” Rebecca asks.

“If this continues we’ll have to look into tube feeding, but in reality the strength of will it would take to commit to starving yourself until you die would be pretty difficult. She’ll probably break sooner than that.”

“Oh.” Rebecca picks at her nails, wincing as the nail-bed bleeds. “I’d actually like to talk to her.”

“We can’t do that.” The orderly looks concerned. “We’re not authorized for that kind of thing.”

“I am, though.” A gruff voice says behind them. 

“Barry!” The big man in question pats her on the head and as much as she doesn’t really like that she’s grateful to see him. 

“Hey, kiddo.” He still calls her and Claire that despite both of them being almost fifteen years older than his oldest daughter. He laughs when she wrinkles her nose. “She can go in. I’ll take responsibility.” 

Grudgingly the orderly calls the people necessary and gets the correct authorization. Barry pats her on the head once more as she mouths thank you at him before entering. She sits as directed in a plain plastic chair two feet away from the bed. Alyssa watches from the corner of her eye as the door opens, there’s a flash of surprise and something else that Rebecca can’t place in her eyes when they meet. She doesn’t return Rebecca’s greeting, turning her face to the wall.

“I’m not going to tell you anything.” She says eventually, in a small, hoarse voice.

“I figured.”

“Why… Why do you still care?”

“I don’t know.” Rebecca admits, shoulders curving forward defensively.

“It’s stupid. Probably why it was so easy to get close to you.”

“I just-“ Rebecca’s hands curl into fists, Alyssa’s watches from the corner of her eye with something like surprise. “Everyone thinks I’m naive. And it’s true- I guess, but I want to believe that people can still be good, and I’m not stupid enough to hope for everyone to suddenly stop being self-interested or anything, but I do think that people can be dealt extraordinarily bad hands in life and still make the choice to be better-“

Straightening her back she looks her former friend in the eye. “I’ve met people who were framed, people forced to make choices that hurt people, but I don’t think that makes a person evil until they themselves decide they’re too far gone.”

“I’m not some Billy Cohen, Rebecca. Being framed and being raised- whatever. It’s not the same. You should go. You’re right. You are naive, we weren’t even friends, you were a means to an end. You’re stupider than you sound if you believe we were anything else.” Alyssa turns her face back to the wall. “I probably won’t see you again, say your goodbyes and leave me alone.”

Trying not to look as wounded as she feels she swallows. Standing to leave Rebecca turns to her before she goes, thankfully her voice stays strong as she says, “you can still make a difference, do something better. Help us, please. You’re too- please. Don’t count yourself out yet. The world could use a mind like yours with the good guys for once.”

And she tries not to feel any spark of hope when for a split second Alyssa’s mask of indifference slips.

-

It’s been a nightmare.

  Vulnus sclopetarium in the superclavicular fossa. 

The clinical, insane way to say getting shot in the not-quite-neck. Not quite the neck proper but above the clavicle, millimeters from more important things, a hair's breadth away from beyond saving. Chris isn’t beyond saving now. He’s here, in the small government hospital given to the B.S.A.A. where she also is staying. Out of quarantine after five days he’s been moved to general populous and out of the ICU. Claire, with nothing but one stitch carefully hidden beneath her hair, is fine; the pair of them, Claire and herself- wait daily for Chris to wake up completely. For the doctors to finally stop sedating him. 

If he was going to turn he would have done it by now. Is what Claire shouted after the first day, echoed by a more polite argument from Rebecca. Jill doesn’t argue, doesn’t know what to say. 

If he was going to turn- 

“He didn’t. He won’t.” Is what Claire says. Rebecca says nothing at all by ways of words of comfort or reassurance. Rebecca does seem to agree, but Jill can guess why she doesn’t offer any platitudes. I wouldn’t want you to do this. She had said. And she’d meant it. Jill can’t look her in the eyes though, and she doesn’t know if it’s guilt or anger at the judgment she’s sure she’ll see in them.

What if- Is a horrible thought. What if it just takes awhile… She’s had dreams, all the nightmares re-emerging from the corners of her tired brain showing her all of the what ifs, what monster she could have been responsible for. Nightmares that leave her screaming and cringing away from the night nurse. 

The Uroboros-Tyrant-Chris lives in her nightmares as a horrifying what if. Across from her the real flesh and blood not-nightmare stirs.

Jill has waited days for this and yet the moment Chris opens his eyes, takes stock of where he is and half-smiles at her sleepily she feels like sprinting through the door. Running away from the reality of all that has happened, he almost died, she almost made him into a monster and he doesn’t know that- worse still the idea that he wouldn’t mind, he never minds and the weight of her own selfishness hits her hard like a punch to the gut. Breathless she stands, startled into stillness as Chris moves himself towards wakefulness. 

Before he can say anything she un-glues herself from the floor and nearly sprints out the door. Claire, shitty coffee in hand, blearily looks at her as she almost runs headlong into her.

“He’s awake.” Jill says brusquely.

Claire fumbles the coffee, swearing when some of the scalding liquid spills over the back of her hand, “He’s awake!” any questions she was about to ask Jill are forgotten as she half-jogs half-runs towards Chris’ room. 

-

The first time he wakes it’s only for a moment, hazy lights in a plastic world that his brain can’t make sense of. There’s a monitor that’s making an obnoxious amount of noise somewhere to his left and as he’s trying to understand why he’s in a hospital it all fades.

The second time he wakes he’s in a normal hospital room, somewhere in his neck pain is throbbing in a distracting rhythm and in the muted light coming from underneath the door he finally realizes the shape crammed in the chair near him is Claire. Consciousness doesn’t last long when the IV pole hisses and releases something that makes sleep come fast. At least it gives him good dreams.

There’s a comforting weight against his shoulder, pressure nestled into the crook of his neck and soft ticklish breath on his neck. Sleepily he looks down at the head of white hair and smiles. Wherever they are they must be alone, Jill is curled up close, legs tangled with his as she curls against his chest. Her fingers are twisted into the fabric of his shirt, as if even in sleep she wants to guarantee he’s with her. The rest of the scene doesn’t matter as his eyes slide closed again. Totally at peace.

Finally, he’s aware of light behind his eyelids as his brain catches up to reality, whatever dream he was having is fading quickly. When he finally decides to open his eyes and blinks the room back into focus- she’s there, still wrapped in his old jacket.

All Chris sees of Jill for days is her staring at him with a caught expression and her back as she flees.

He won’t admit to sulking, but his mood worsens the longer she stays away, Claire is his near annoyingly constant companion. She’s curled up in the uncomfortable armchair as the nurse tries once again to hook him up to an IV. 

“Her project only half worked.” Rebecca says sadly the next day when she visits. “It didn’t linger in the bloodstream long enough to do anything but stabilize you, though you might be T resistant now, like Jill. Honestly, the fact that the G strain didn’t cause any problems- it’s so volatile, that really was a feat of bioengineering….” 

Chris is trying to understand Rebecca’s grief, with mixed success. From what he’s gathered the stabilized G virus closed up the wound in his neck enough to keep him alive until real medical help could arrive. The wound is still tender and not fully healed, the trade off of not turning into a horrible monster was less rapid regeneration, a fair enough trade in his opinion. 

The scientist responsible, Alyssa “Williams” is in custody, though she’s gone quiet for now; near catatonia as Claire describes it- and they haven’t been able to get any new information out of her. The way Claire and Rebecca tell it she’s still waiting for someone to come kill her in secret, shaking at any newcomers.

“I doubt you’ll have elevated healing like this for long, but that’s why they have to keep sticking you, they’re worried it’ll grow into your skin, sorry.” Rebecca says.

It’s been four days since he woke up, Rebecca visiting daily, Claire barely sleeping, and still no sign of Jill. He must be scowling because once the nurse leaves Claire, who he had thought asleep breaks him from his thoughts.

“She’ll come ‘round.” She yawns and unfolds herself, wincing as seemingly every joint pops. 

He’s in no mood for this conversation, “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’d be hurt too though, if it were me.” She leans forward, elbows on knees to consider him. 

Seems like she’s determined to talk it out. “Want me to find her?”

“No.” Scrubbing his hands over his face he ignores the pressure of hard plastic in his arm. “I just wish I knew what was bothering her, you know? What is she telling herself, she’s determined to feel bad about everything already.”

“Maybe she needs to work some of that out for herself. You can’t always be there to take everything hard from her.” He starts to protest and she cuts him off, “No, I don’t mean that you’re stifling her or whatever, or that you don’t think she’s strong enough. Just that Jill is… intense. She always seems to feel things intensely too, so even though you guys have that weird mind-meld thing going on she probably needs to figure this one out on her own.”

-

Jill has her own hospital room, a temporary thing since she has nowhere else to go at the moment- that she barely sleeps in. Curling up in the stiff armchair rather than feel exposed on the hospital bed, managing a doze at best as she starts at any sound outside the door. She retreats there now, she has nothing else to do and that itch to exercise her ability to go wherever she wants now that she has the freedom to is a blessing even if she doesn’t need it currently- she's looking for somewhere to hide, actually, when there’s a tentative knock on the door.

After a tense minute of trying to tell herself there’s no need to dive under the bed or try to escape out the window she gets out a strained, “come in.”

Rebecca makes her way inside, shutting the door behind her and standing almost flush against the wall, seeming as if she is also considering running.

“Whatever you want to say, you can just say it.” Jill says eventually after awkward eye contact.

“Okay. We weren’t exactly friends before, not like- well. Anyway, I get it. I don’t know exactly what I’m trying to say. I’m not apologizing for saying what I have, or haven't- but I am sorry that I’ve made you feel worse. I don’t know what it would be like if I was in your situation, I don’t have anything to compare it to, someone I care about in that way.” She looks just like a deer before it decides to run and Jill feels a little sorry for her. Rebecca sighs deeply and tucks her hair behind her ears, “I’m rambling, I just came here to say that I’m sorry for making you feel like you’re a bad person for saving someone you care about.”

There’s an uncomfortable beat of silence before Jill relents, “Accepted.”

Rebecca looks so relieved as she fumbles for something to say, stuck between waving goodbye and something else she flaps her hands for a second before settling on a double thumbs up before laughing at herself and Jill can’t help but quietly join in. 

Before she leaves Jill says, “I’m sorry if you think I don’t like you.”

“Oh, uh,” Rebecca says, confused, “you don’t have to- you know, it’s okay.”

“If it helps, everything I can remember about you is positive, I guess past me took it for granted that you would just know that.”

“’Positive’,” Rebecca laughs a little. Shaking her head when Jill tries to reword, “No, it’s okay. I understand, I didn’t exactly make the effort to be friends either, you’re just so-“

She waves her hands around again and whatever she means by it is lost on Jill but she lets it go with a laugh. “Like two ships in the night.”

“Yeah, exactly.” And maybe this is a spotlight of communication between those two metaphorical ships, because even though this tiny woman is so wrapped up in almost everything wrong with her life at this moment, Jill feels fondness for her.

“I care about you.” Rebecca says with a small, awkward smile. 

“We’re not exactly friends, but we care about each other.” Jill offers, and it’s the truth.

-

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Rebecca whispers as he’s on the edge of sleep. 

Claire across the room hums, “I’m trying to be fair, but it’s pretty hard.”

“I know. Jill is upset with me too, even if she won’t say it. I get it.” Rebecca sounds sad but surprisingly strong. “I think it’s a miracle it worked, and I still stand by that I wouldn’t have wanted you to do it for me. I’m not going to apologize for voicing that.”

“I get it, or I think I do. They could take your doctorate away-“

“That’s not what matters to me.” Claire for once is silent. “What matters is that we as scientists have to toe the line and find balance between what we can do versus what we should do. That’s the whole point of ethics; Alyssa broke that code, everyone from Umbrella broke that code, Wesker, TriCell, all of them. Playing God hurts people. Just because this one time it worked out doesn’t mean that I’m not a part of that now.”

“… I’ll think about that.” Claire promises, making eye contact with him as he wakes up fully. She pats his hand on the way out the door.

This is the first time he’s been alone with Rebecca and she sits in her chair next to him with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Look, Chris, I’m- I’m sorry.”

Though he’s pretty sure he already knows, “For what?”

“For arguing against saving you, for not bothering to see Jill when she got here, for being friends with the person responsible and not even noticing-“

“Rebecca, I’m… hm. I’m not going to be mad at you for wanting to see the good in others, in wanting friends.”

“There’s no way you don’t blame me.” 

“I’m trying not to.”

“I appreciate it.” A strained silence falls until he gives her a break.

“Did you find anything else out? While I was sleeping.” It’s the nicer way to put it and her mouth quirks up at the polite wording. 

“The journal was gone by the time I remembered to look for it. Same with the notes for Alyssa’s project, the picture, all of it was gone. Alex Ivanov is gone too, and I doubt that was her actual name, so it’s not hard to guess what was going on.” Rebecca says, “but… someone, Ivanov I guess, left her coordinates to scare her. They’re for a graveyard in Estonia. We haven’t found out if anything important is there, but I think it was probably just a threat.”

“Some intimidation tactic.”

“It’s working.” Rebecca’s voice is small. “They’re going to have to put her on tube feeding tonight if she still won’t eat anything.”

-

Jill manages to avoid Chris’ room for five days with her own appointments; tense, teeth gritting affairs as that dark pool of rage simmers just under the surface. Rebecca shows up as support every time, inserting herself into Jill’s case and refusing to back down. Jill knows she’s trying to make up for feeling like she dropped the ball the first time around so she lets her stay, grateful for the champion. Eventually though she can’t dodge any more questions from Rebecca who clearly wants to know what is going on, why she hasn’t seen Chris, and she can’t stand the feeling of being a coward. She’s always prided herself on being able to face her mistakes, she can face this one.

Chris is awake and expectant when she enters, patting what little room there is to spare on the hospital bed and silently curls his fingers towards her. Reluctantly she takes his hand, smiling slightly despite herself as he reels her in to sit next to him.

“Good to see you.” His voice is rough and even though he isn’t accusing her of staying away it still makes her feel worse. He hasn’t let go of her hand and he squeezes once when she stays silent, staring at the floor. “You good?”

That spurs her into action and she stands quickly, pulling her hand free, the anger filled place that feels at home in her chest rises and she takes a step backwards shaking her head once to clear the feeling. “God, Chris, really?

“Please, please, don’t ask me if I’m okay. Not when you’re here, not when-”

“Alright.” Chris says quietly. “I won’t. Come back, please.”

 She eyes the door again feeling the urge to run again.

“Jill?”

“Stop.”

“I’m not doing anything.” His serious face cracks a little as the corner of his mouth lifts. “You can go if you want to, of course you can, I’m not going anywhere soon. But I wish you’d tell me what’s hurting you.”

The retort comes easy, she wants to deflect, to leave, not to deal with any of this. But this is a moment, a moment of faith, of trust. How much does she trust him with the worst parts of her? With a sigh she takes his outstretched hand again and sits. 

“I’m not sure I want to talk about it.” She says finally. “Or if I’m ready to, to put it better.”

“Whenever you're ready, then.” He sounds sure, causal, but Jill can tell that he doesn’t want to drop it. Wants to keep pushing the subject until it’s all hashed out and over with. Only thing being, Jill’s not sure everything that has happened can be untangled, be talked through as easily as that. He goes to adjust the hospital bed, mouth quirked in mild frustration as the buttons seemingly do random things. Taking pity on him she leans over to help, reaching past him to try her hand at the control panel only to be also thwarted, Chris laughing and trying to swat her hand away before his knees end up at his chest. His hand connects with hers, sending it to hit right on his bandage and he freezes, clear pain in his eyes as he sucks a breath in through his teeth.

“Oh, fuck, sorry-” She reaches for him trying to find a place that won’t hurt him further, ending up with a hand on his jaw in attempted comfort. Chris’ eyes are closed, trying to push the pain away- 

-the sharp metallic smell of blood on clean laboratory floors hits her, she’s not in the hospital room anymore, she’s holding his neck closed as his blood pours between her fingers. The familiar inky darkness filled with pain and anger blooms suddenly and overwhelmingly. 

His hands are on her wrists as she holds his head between her hands; they’re still not hers, her breathing is too harsh and she’s terrified for a second that she might have the strength to crush him- 

No, I won't. Her eyes are closed as she tries to loosen her grip on him but they fly open in shock when he pulls her in firmly by the back of her neck and kisses her. Really kisses her. The fingers she has twisted into his short hair tighten reflexively before she forces them to relax. 

“That was so stupid, I could have killed you!” She exclaims when he pulls away and she's calmed enough to speak. 

"Yeah." He laughs softly with a small smile.

"That is hands down- that- that was worse than Prague!" He laughs at the shared memory of a comedy of errors on an otherwise serious mission involving a cartoonish chase pursued by feral dogs.

"Well, I hope it wasn't 'worse'." He jokes then sobers. "Should I apologize?"

"Apologize-? No, maybe just for your poor timing. Your gamble paid off. I'm still here."

“Good to have you with me.” And that phrase alone has weight. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear before adding with confidence, “I’ll ask next time.” 

If now is the time to be stupid- quickly she tips forward, resting a hand on his sharp jaw and kissing him thoroughly, enjoying his surprise for a second before he smiles against her mouth and despite being a completely new experience, kissing him feels just as easy as everything does with Chris. Easy and familiar. 

"You don't have to ask. Next time I mean," Settling back she pats him once on the chest with a laugh that bubbles up from her chest unexpectedly. "I think we're past that."

“Yeah?” And when he smiles at her, it’s as if it’s ten years earlier and nothing has changed. There’s a pleasant quietness now, the promise of “next time” hangs joyfully between them. 

-

“I’m sorry, sir. There’s no excuse, but she’s gone. We have no surveillance, nothing. She vanished. Nothing in the cell was broken, no one was harmed, she’s just… gone.”

The room is cold and quiet as the officer Chris introduces to them as Piers finishes speaking. Rebecca feels a chill go down her spine. Claire has both hands clasped at the back of her neck, one finger tapping the base of her skull as she takes it in. Chris and Jill have locked eyes, some sort of communication happening silently between them, all the while Chris is sitting too straight and Jill is holding herself in perfect defensive stillness. 

“Thanks, Nivans. For letting us know.” Chris says eventually, a clear dismissal that the overeager officer takes well, saluting both Chris and Jill before leaving. It’s not the time to laugh, but still Claire catches her eye and they both have to hold it in at being snubbed.

“So.” Jill says, directed at Chris. “We can’t have assumed this would be over just like that.”

“But now there’s another piece.” He finishes the thought.

“Someone got in,” she gestures to herself.

Chris follows, “And got out without anyone seeing anything.”

“So what now?” Claire butts in.

“We wait,” Rebecca says before anyone else can answer. “We don’t have any proof of insider activity, just, well. Strong suspicions. We wait, see if we can find out the truth from the inside. Keep going like nothing is wrong until we know what’s happening.”

“It could take years for someone to show their hand, like Wesker and Birkin, all the way back in the eighties.” Jill counters with a frown.

“Maybe, but we can take those years too, do some real good with them. Scrambling to chase after rumors isn't going to help.” Rebecca is firm, “Let’s help the people we can and get ready. We’ll wait.”

-

Every day she’s getting more and more of her pieces back. She spends a long lunch with Barry, talking for hours, pouring over old times like drinking buddies. Acute stress, along with side effects from sedatives- is finally the solution given to her by doctors who seem to be guessing just as much as she is as to the source of her amnesiac episode. They assure her it most likely won’t happen again, that everything lost should eventually come back. It’s an okay answer. She’s trying to come to terms with it and the anger that seems too much a part of her now. It’s just as nebulous as her memories, she’s furious: at the world, Wesker, Excella, Alyssa, TriCell, Umbrella, all of it. A pointless, aimless rage that will take just as much time to work through as the time it took to happen. Years of her life were stolen from her. It’s not an easy thing to let go of.

Chris is angry too. Jill can feel it. It radiates off of him sometimes just like it must off of her, a matched set even in this. Still, he seems to be able to compartmentalize it better than she can. Maybe one day they’ll talk about each hurt, each injustice together; for now she can barely contain her own, let alone try and help his.

He’s given clearance to walk the grounds and they’ve turned it into routine, time together underneath the shelter of the trees. Far enough away down the winding path there’s a bench that is isolated and peaceful, they always make an effort to make it there and sit, sometimes talking and sometimes in companionable silence.

When they arrive and sit, softly he takes her hand and traces patterns into her palm in a soothing way.

“We’re quite a pair.” When she meets his eyes he smiles again, “you’re stewing on something, I can tell. Can we talk about it now?”

It’s an overflowing dam finally breaking loose, “I could have turned you.” 

“I’m still here.”

“Don’t do that. We both know you never would do something like that to me, Rebecca was right, I stole from you a peaceful death.”

“That’s stupid.” She snorts but doesn’t pull away. His hand tightens around hers and she sighs, meeting his eyes.  “It is. There’s no telling what I would do if it were you, but I know that I would do anything I could if it were you or Claire; if there was even a chance that you would make it, I’d take it.” 

And there’s the man who ran across South Africa chasing after a whisper about a dead woman. It’s hard to argue with that kind of conviction. She’s about to protest out of reflex, the guilt of everything she’s done in the last five years hard to shake, when he taps her on the temple, startling her.

“If I wanted to guarantee a ‘peaceful death’ for myself I would have found a way to quit years ago. But I haven’t just yet, and I’ve come to terms that for now when I go, it might be awful. Just like everything else we’ve seen together.” He tucks a strand of fallen hair behind her ear, sliding his hand across her neck and leaving it there, a comforting heavy weight with his thumb softly at the corner of her jaw. “I’m not going to claim I’m any better at this whole ‘emotions’ thing, but you’re here. I’m here. Because of you. I found you- you saved me. That’s what we do. Even if we end up with crazy super strength sometimes, or healing, or whatever else. We’re still us.”

“What if I’m not sure who ‘me’ even is anymore? What choices would I have made if I hadn’t… What if I hadn’t jumped? I don’t need the amnesia excuse anymore to realize that I don’t recognize myself anymore.”

“Jill?” She shrugs, pulling away, staring at her shoes. “You aren’t what Wesker made you be. That was never you. You-” He taps her again on the temple then taps her breastbone, right above her heart. “You are here. And always have been. I’m glad you saved me, it was the call I would have made too. I know I would. You can start to try and let that go now, along with everything else.” 

It’s not so simple as a weight lifted from her shoulders, there’s too much time, too much pain put into the guilt she feels to be completely gone. But, to her surprise she does feel lighter. It’s a start.

Blinking back tears she sniffs once and wipes her nose with the back of her hand, laughing wetly at Chris’ mostly joking grossed out expression. “Okay. I’ll work on that. This was supposed to be your ‘talk it out, get emotional’ moment. What happened.”

“Oh, I’m plenty emotional.” And he’s not joking, he’s smiling but there’s an undeniable roughness to his voice. “We’re here,” He holds her hand again, pressing a gentle kiss to the knuckles, “it feels like it might be almost over, you know? You’re finally back, you’re here."

“It’s not the end,” Jill warns. Chris shrugs in agreement.

“Yeah. I doubt it is, but… I think I’m ready to start thinking about retirement.”

Shocked, Jill moves to stand in front of him, “Are you serious?”

“I think I am, yeah. That kid, Piers, he’s got a lot of potential. I think I might start training him to replace me. It wouldn’t be for awhile, at least a year or two-” When she bends down and kisses him hard he pulls her as close as she can be standing between his legs, his hands at her waist holding her steady.  

“A real date, when I get out of here, like normal people. How’s that sound?” 

-

They go on that date. 

They get away and back to Colorado to some semblance of a new normal. A month later Jill can confidently say that Calpurnia is now just as much her dog as Chris’. Her pictures and memories are displayed right next to Chris’, it’s not his place anymore, it’s theirs. 

Turns out her hair is now permanently white, any attempt to dye it back to brown ending up a colossal waste of money, so instead she cuts it short to get some control back. She’s getting used to it, this ghostly version of herself, recognizing her reflection. Blackouts are rare, and they have a system down now to handle them. She's getting better every day; she’s learning how to manage her occasional elevated strength, unfortunately the P30 isn’t going anywhere- but at least she can stop worrying about breaking things when she’s upset. As far as she knows everything she forgot has returned, and if there’s little things still gone they matter way less compared to the life she has now. 

Calpurnia, too docile for military work ends up being a perfect candidate for a psychiatric service dog, and though usually dogs are picked and trained as puppies the local service dog academy makes an exception. She’s excited every time Jill takes them to their weekly appointments, learning quickly and enthusiastically the behaviors tailored to Jill’s needs.  

Chris still leaves on missions, but they’re shorter, and she always has a way to contact him when she’s left behind. She’s beginning to think he might be serious about retiring. 

It’s a quiet night, and despite Chris’ grumbling at letting Calpurnia up on the couch her weight is comfortably crushing Jill into the cushions as they’re both dozing when Chris wakes her with a gentle hand on the side of her face. It’s amazing how feeling safe keeps some of the nightmares at bay, how six months of stability means less and less starting awake at the slightest noise. 

He smiles at her when she opens her eyes, “Hey.”

“Hey. How was Australia?” She asks, sitting up and dislodging the disgruntled dog as she does so. 

“Ugh.” Is all he says, and he looks exhausted. Calpurnia shakes herself before trotting off to her crate and Chris watches her go. Jill stands, leaning up on her toes to kiss him once before tugging on his hand to lead him to their bedroom.

“Rebecca is fine, she came back with me.” Chris says eventually, pulling his shirt over his head, wincing as the motion pulls on his left shoulder where a clean bandage is tied. His back is to her and he starts reflexively when her cold fingers trace one of the scars along his back, looking over his shoulder to give her a questioning look and a half smile. Jill shakes her head silently, content to just listen as he continues his story, unpacking his bag. “Nivans did well. Really well, actually. I… I talked to him about being my replacement.” 

Jill stops tracing a large scar that tears through his bicep and rests her head in between his shoulder blades. “What’d he say?” She finally asks, winding her arms around his waist.

“He took it seriously, had a lot of questions. I think he’ll agree though. It wouldn’t be for at least another year.” He pats her clasped hands before turning in her arms to look down at her. “What do you think about it?”

In his voice is an unspoken, Would you come with me? 

“It feels… weird. To quietly walk away, for both of us.” Chris hums in agreement. Honestly she’d thought they’d both be killed before retiring ever became a possibility. 

“… I’m tired. I don’t know, maybe it’s selfish to leave when we both can still contribute, when something could still be going on… but- maybe it’s time to let other people try.” 

They’ve saved the world enough times, right? 

-