Disclaimer: Resident Evil and Resident Evil characters are the property of Capcom. This is nonprofit fan fiction.

No Flowers for Jill Valentine

by Salysha

In the end, Chris called Barry.

A girl's voice answered, and he mumbled for Barry. She demanded more information that he wasn't able to provide. They were getting nowhere, until he heard the receiver switch hands.

"Who is this?"

"Chris... Chris Redfield." Chris' voice came muffled, like a greater distance away than a regular phone line.

Barry's voice warmed instantly. "Chris! How're ya?"

Barry's voice was warm, carefree. It made Chris feel like a heel. "Barry—"

Barry sharpened instantly. "Chris, what's wrong?"

Chris was breathing heavily, and Barry's blood ran cold.

"Jill's dead."

No. Barry's heart twisted.

"It's Jill. She's dead." Chris repeated dully. He wasn't sure if had said it intelligibly the first time.

"How?"

"Wesker. She— we tracked down Spencer in Europe, and Wesker was there. They both took a plunge out of the window."

"Window?" The odd detail distracted Barry momentarily.

"Window beside a gorge."

Chris' voice was strained. It sounded like he was struggling to get every word out.

Barry couldn't blame him. The joyous, dedicated Jill Valentine, whose heart had love and mercy even for the undeserving... "I am so sorry—"

"They called off the search after three months. The BSAA kept looking for her, and Wesker, but they couldn't find anything. They set up her grave today. If you'd seen it, you'd know there wasn't hope. No one comes back from a fall like that."

Barry listened as Chris struggled to get the words out. He made a small sound to show he was listening, and said nothing. Chris kept so much bottled up. Maybe it was good for him to unload.

"We're the last ones left." Barry tried not to flinch, but Chris kept talking, "Nine down, three to go. God."

There were no more words, as Barry clutched the phone, breaking at sound of the uneven gulps. On the other end of the line, hacking for breath, Chris Redfield was crying.

At his end, Kathy saw his look and took the girls out of the room. Barry pressed a hand to forehead and listened as the coughs subsided. "Chris, what can I do?"

"I... I just wanted to call you." Chris said dully. "And there was something. I wondered if you'd do something for me. Do me a favor. My sister, Claire. If I'm not around—"

"Don't talk like that," Barry said sharply.

"I have her number here. Could you call her sometime and make sure she's okay?"

Barry frowned, looking distractedly for a pen and paper as Chris started reciting the numbers without waiting. Chris was trying to take care of things.

That's what people did when they wanted to leave a note.

Christ. It suddenly hit Barry. It suddenly hit home, and he had to keep the alarm from taking over his voice. "Chris, where are you calling from? Where are you?"

"I..." Chris was hesitating. Not because he was suspicious, but he sounded confused. "It's a pay phone, outside of town."

Barry's thoughts were racing on overtime. He hadn't even finished the thought when he started talking.

"Hey, Chris. I need you to do something for me. I want you to call me tomorrow night."

"I don't think I can," he said feebly. Chris Redfield's hold on the phone faltered as he stared at his hand and the gun in it. He stared out to the strand, murky and uninhabited. Slight waves in the ocean. It beckoned to him.

"Promise me. Promise me you'll call."

"I..."

"It's important. I won't forgive you if you don't. C'mon, buddy. Go home, and I'll talk to you soon," Barry said. He'd extracted lukewarm mumble from Chris by the time he closed the phone and started looking for his wife to tell her he needed to book flights.

BSAA
Jill Valentine
1974—2006

The woman looked at the grave thoughtfully. She pursed her lips and tilted her head.

Delicate and ashen blond, she was a wisp of a woman.

"She doesn't get many visitors, that one."

The woman turned and locked pale eyes on the caretaker who had spoken. He was an elderly, slouching man. The spirit of the graveyard and an old soul long before his time. It made her wonder if being around the dead long enough made you one of them. He had been cleaning a gravestone not two graves away.

"I see," she said noncommittally.

"Except one. Tall man, brown hair. Serious. Comes, can stay away weeks on end, and then comes back. Must be the husband."

She appeared amused.

"Jill Valentine isn't married," she said.

He didn't notice the mistake she had made. "Partner, then."

"Partner," she confirmed, although they weren't talking about quite the same thing.

The caretaker was looking around. "That's him."

On the outer edges of the burial rows, a man was hovering in place. He shoved his hands in his pockets and moved on his feet. The woman took one more look at the gravestone and then took off, leaving the old caretaker with the dead. He didn't let go of her yet; he watched in the distance as the man came to meet her. They left off together, arms around each other.

"I never want to see the wretched thing again."

Chris nuzzled the woman's hair and held his arm tighter around her. "Me, neither."

THE END

Thanks to Gypsie (Gypsie Rose) for the proofreading!

Published October 31, 2013.