Don't own anything. All belongs to Capcom, etc.

The night Jill went to Chris's apartment, as written in her diary from RE3. Angsty like WHOA. So if you don't like that, you probably don't wanna read this bad boy. Not terribly sexy. Sorry. I don't do sexy.

Chris is different now, Jill thinks. Not that she knew him before. Neither one of them had been in Raccoon City long before the Mansion Incident. There'd been some mild, slightly drunken flirting at Barry's July 4th barbeque, which was none-too-tactfully interrupted by the man himself. They sat back to back in the STARS office. There were smirks, the occasional wink, and more than just occasional 'God, this meeting is pointless' eye rolls exchanged.

Just because it wasn't solid, didn't mean it wasn't something.

August 15th

Midnight.

Jill wasn't asleep when he called. Dead tired, body begging for rest? Yes. But actually attempting to get that rest? No. She didn't answer the phone when it rang, just stood over the machine and waited to see who it was. Not many people would call so late. It had to be work. But who? Most of the team was dead. And the survivors...? Barry had a family; he probably wouldn't call at this hour. Rebecca either, just out of shyness and not wanting to ruffle any feathers. And Brad wasn't really there. It had to be...

Chris, who has been on a leave of absence for a "vacation", called me so I visited his apartment.

He sounded so strange, even considering the way he'd been acting lately. Both giddy and exhausted at the same time. Whatever this was, he didn't think it could wait any longer.

Work clothes Jill had just taken off were put back on in haste, and she left for Chris's place without even playing back the message that had invited her to do just that, or calling to tell him she was on the way.

It had been cool - especially for mid-August - and drizzly all day, and, come nightfall, it was downright chilly. The streets were nearly deserted. Raccoon City was a small town, after all, and it was late. More people were staying in these days, anyway, amid reports of crime being up. Crime of the violent, but "unexplainable" sort. Oh, it was explainable, just not necessarily believable.

Chris must've seen Jill pull up, must've been watching for her, trusting she'd gotten his message and waiting to see if she'd show, because the door was open and there he was, ready to usher her inside. He was a little scruffy, a little disheveled, but she had been expecting that. It was pretty much how he'd looked every day at work, since the incident.

Chris had only been on "vacation" for two days. Didn't look any better for it, but at least he didn't look any worse.

"Sorry I didn't call," Jill began, setting her purse down on the couch, as she watched Chris retreat into his kitchen.

He glanced back. "Sorry I did."

"Oh?" Jill asked, curiously.

A slow exhale, then, "You'll see. Beer?"

"Sure."

Chris returned to the living room a moment later, two bottles in hand. He twisted the cap from one and handed it to Jill, then did the same for himself. He raised his beer for a moment, as if to toast. "To...fuck it," he concluded, once he had decided he had nothing to toast.

Jill nodded her understanding. "Yeah."

What could they possibly be celebrating? Not being dead? Not being undead? Should they toast their dead and/or undead teammates? Dead, then undead, then dead again teammates - that was more like it. Raise their glasses, or bottles, rather, for their mutilated and in some cases, murdered comrades? Maybe they should, but...

They wouldn't. Not until they put an end to all of it. Not until they could say they'd done something about it.

Chris patted at his pockets, searching for something, and apparently, coming up empty. He seemed genuinely confused and it was kind of...cute. For a moment he looked like himself. Like the Chris Jill knew. The Chris she sort of knew, anyway. They really hadn't known each other that long. Not long enough for her to know what he was really like, but just long enough for her to be absolutely sure that whatever he was really like, the way he'd been lately wasn't it.

Chris snapped his fingers suddenly, then pointed at his jacket - the Made In Heaven bomber he wore all the time. He grabbed it from where it had likely been thrown down on the sofa and rifled through the pockets.

Gold lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He chuckled lightly, satisfied to have found what he was looking for and headed for the window without a word. He did gaze back Jill's way as he opened the window...and stuck a leg through.

Fire escape.

Chris kept his hand on the window frame - a silent invitation for Jill to join him. She complied, though not before shooting him a somewhat skeptical glance and crossing her arms. She uncrossed her arms a moment later and placed a hand over the jacket. She squeezed it gently, just to feel the fabric against her palm. Cold, and a little rougher than she expected.

"Knock yourself out," Chris said, simply, understanding her meaning. "Just be warned. It smells like...me."

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

"Are you coming out here or what, Valentine?"

Jill put the jacket on and pulled it tight against her. It was warm on the inside, and Chris had been right: it did smell like him. But Jill had been right too: it wasn't a bad thing. She took those few steps over to the open window. She faced Chris as she stuck her left leg through, bent over and brought her upper body through, nearly brushing against him as she straightened up and finally, eased her right leg outside.

Once he and Jill were side by side, Chris flipped his lighter open and lit a cigarette. He took a long drag, then, somewhat abruptly, announced, "I've been talking to this guy, Hamilton."

"Hamilton?" Jill asked. The name wasn't familiar to her.

Chris nodded, and inhaled, deeply. "Jack...?" He seemed to be asking himself. "Anyway, I sent some stuff his way, asked him to see what he could find out."

"About...?"

"Irons, mostly."

Jill shifted, uncomfortably. "The Chief?"

"Yeah, Jill. The Chief. Brushing this all off like it's nothing, refusing to conduct any kind of investigation? More than half our unit ends up dead and he turns the other cheek? You've gotta be kidding me."

"You think he's in on it? You think Irons is one of them?"

"He was."

Wesker. There was no need to speak his name.

"What have you found out? What did this Hamilton say?"

Chris shrugged, taking the cigarette from his lips to flick off the ashes. "Nothing yet. Just that he's on it. Unless anything's come to the station for me...?"

Jill shook her head. "No."

"Well, if it does-"

"Of course."

Chris smiled; loyalty was invaluable, after all, especially now. Jill watched him smoke, until he'd inhaled everything but the filter. He tossed the butt and turned away from it before it had even hit the ground. His attention was now awarded to Jill. His smile was gone, replaced by a look of sheer determination.

"There's more." He extended his hand. It was his way of telling her it was time to go back inside.

She maneuvered her way back into the apartment, then stood there, next to the window, as Chris did the same. That was where they remained, perfectly still, for a moment, eyes meeting ever-so-briefly, before each looked the other up and down. Then they backed away from one another, almost simultaneously, to the tune of awkward throat clearing.

Jill removed the jacket and placed it back on the couch, as Chris said, simply, "Bedroom."

As soon as I walked into his room he showed me a couple of pieces of paper. They were part of a virus research report entitled as simple as "G".

Jill read over the reports, vaguely aware of Chris, to her side, leaning back in his chair. She'd taken a seat, cross-legged, on the desktop itself, and had the papers in her lap. He didn't say anything, just sat there and watched her.

Reaching the end of the last report, Jill reorganized everything, sure to put every last sheet of paper back exactly the way Chris had had it, then holding onto the stack tightly. Realizing she was creasing the papers from gripping them the way she was, she surrendered them to Chris, who straightened up to take them from her.

He shuffled the papers, then put them down on the desk, right next to her, on top of the yellow file folder he'd been keeping them in.

Jill did what she could to keep her breathing even, to quell the nauseous feeling that was slowly building up inside of her, but very quickly overcoming her. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't shield her eyes from the sights of that night, or her ears from the sounds.

It was vivid as ever. Joseph, as he was torn, limb from limb, by a pack of dogs. Or Kenneth, as that monster bit into his neck, and all the blood that gushed from the wound, and the gurgling sound he made as he bled to death. Richard, as that huge snake devoured him whole. Forest, as he wandered toward her, mindlessly, cuts everywhere, chunks of flesh missing. Enrico, injured by a Hunter, but killed by a bullet to the heart, for trying to tell her the truth. They were all there - the images burned into her eyelids, the tortured, strangled cries forever ringing in her head.

To read that there was something superior to the virus that had caused all of that...

Jill wasn't sure how much time had passed before she was aware that Chris was standing now, and touching her. Shaking her, to be exact. A hand on each shoulder and a concerned look on his face, he repeated her name until she registered what was going on.

"I'm fine. Just..."

He turned his head away, to avoid her gaze, but didn't let go of her arms. "I know."

She reached for his shirt and pulled a little, willing him to come closer, or to at least look at her again. "How did you...? How did you find all of this out?"

"All of this?" Chris snorted. He clearly, wasn't as impressed with his findings as Jill was. "This is nothing."

"It's something."

"It's nothing. A few files. Jack shit for proof. Nobody'll talk. By the time we know enough, it'll be too late."

Jill shook her head. "No."

"Even if Irons isn't in their back pocket, half the town is."

Then Chris told me that, "the nightmare still continues".

Jill put a hand on Chris's face. He turned away from her touch, but didn't back away. "It's not nothing." She lifted her other hand, to cup Chris's other cheek, force him to face her. She ran both thumbs over the stubble that had accumulated. Then she moved her hands up, to rake her fingers through his hair, nails catching just slightly, where some gel still remained.

"It's something. You know it's something. You wouldn't have called me over here for nothing."

Would you?

Jill was caressing his face again, trying to catch his gaze, to get some sort of recognition out of blue eyes that only looked bright now because of how they stood out against the dark circles surrounding them. She took her hands from Chris's face, suddenly, and put them down on the desk, to her sides. Palms down, she pushed herself upward, putting most of her weight on her arms, and having just enough height to pull it off, gave Chris a light kiss. He backed away, licking his lips as he did.

He reached out, but not to Jill, rather, the papers on the desk right next to her, straightening the already straightened stack.

That was what she was there for. It was what he had called her over for, after all. And apparently, that was it.

He went on to say that "it's not over yet".

It was a quick trip from the bedroom to the front door, silent except for Jill's murmured excuses for leaving, and Chris's for not inviting her to stay.

Chris opened it for Jill, as she scooped her purse up from the couch by its strap, pulled her keys from it, and slung it over her shoulder.

A soft, uncharacteristically gentle, "Hey, wait," found its way to Jill's ears.

She was sure to make eye contact with Chris, but did nothing more than swallow and give him a little half-smile, not knowing what to say.

He didn't say anything more, either, despite looking, for just a moment, like he wanted to. He merely leaned against the door frame and let her walk away.

Ever since that day he has been fighting all by himself without rest, without even telling me.

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