It's the night-time that gets her. Once the room is blanketed with shadow and her head hits the pillow, the silence of her apartment fills with the low groans of the undead. When her eyes flutter closed with the weight of exhaustion, she sees him again-Joseph as he tumbles to the ground, his blood curdling screams drowning out the chirping of cicadas in the distance as hellhounds tear flesh from bone.
Kenneth finds her when she buries her face in the surface of her pillow. He lays there and waits, eyes glassy and unseeing as he gurgles, throat torn open by the ravenous mouths of the walking dead. If she stares into the darkness of her bedroom while waiting for sleep to eventually claim her, she hears the clicking of claws against her hardwood floors and smells the rot of Forest's half-devoured corpse.
Nowadays, she perpetually feels ill, and she's not sure if it's the lack of sleep or the T-Virus that's getting to her. They had all been forced into quarantine and thoroughly examined, but a more nervous part of her fears that the infection might have somehow been overlooked. On the nights in which she does manage to catch a brief moment of sleep, she inevitably wakes herself by clawing at her own skin in her state of unconsciousness. She had read about it in a diary somewhere, how badly it itches to become one of them.
Chris can't stand seeing her like this.
He watches her in silence, takes note of the inky half-moons that have stained the pale flesh beneath her eyes. Her once bright blue irises seem dull somehow, his view of them partially obscured by the heavy lids she wears as she stares into space, haunted by a specter he can't see.
Though she hasn't come clean about it, Chris knows the ghost is Arklay. It bothers him too when it curls up in the empty space of his bed and makes itself at home like a stubborn pet, but he's forced himself to ignore it. He's heard that negative behavior is just a cry for attention or some shit like that, so he leaves the memories to decay, pays them no mind when they tug at the hem of his shirt like a petulant child as he climbs into bed at night.
He wants so badly for her to do the same.
Jill feels her heart racing as she sits at her desk. The piercing pain that drives through the side of her head is something she's grown used to at this point, but the rapid heart rate is definitely starting to get on her nerves.
"Jill."
She thinks she heard her name, but she's not quite sure. Jill keeps her attention focused on the form in front of her and checks boxes that she can't really read, not with the blurring of her vision and the way she drifts to sleep every time she blinks.
"Jill."
Chris speaks sternly and she knows she can't ignore it this time. Looking up from her desk, she forces a lazy smile to acknowledge him, but it's not enough to placate him. She watches the way his brows knit together in a serious expression and she knows he wants to say something, but she doesn't want to inquire about it. Jill hasn't told her partner about the wraiths that visit her at night because she's sure that he has plenty of his own to wrestle within the walls of his own bedroom.
"Come home with me."
She thinks she's misheard him, so she doesn't say anything in return.
"Jill."
There's an insistence in the way he says her name and she knows he isn't going to let it go.
"I...have plans." She says, but her lie lacks enough conviction to even convince herself.
"No you don't."
Jill wants to laugh because he's right, but of course he is. Chris Redfield knows her even better than she knows herself these days and she's not sure if that's a blessing or a curse. He holds her stare with a serious expression, one that inevitably softens after a while.
"Jill, please."
She submits not because she feels it's the proper thing to do, but because Chris Redfield's puppy eyes are quite possibly the most formidable foe she has ever faced. With a reluctant sigh, she taps at the form she's been attempting to fill out for the better portion of the day.
"I just need to finish this first."
Chris rises from his chair and comes to stand beside her. He places a warm, broad palm against her shoulder and laughs good-naturedly.
"Jill, that's a coffee receipt."
She wrinkles her nose and pushes it aside, feeling the heat of a blush spill across her cheeks. Jill assumes that this is what she would have felt like as a child if she had a mother to catch her stealing from a cookie jar that her family never owned.
"No wonder I had so much trouble with it."
Jill tries to pass off her embarrassment as a joke and Chris plays along, ruffling her hair lovingly as he laughs.
She's grateful for him even as he insists on helping her to her feet. Jill's sure as hell not a damsel in distress, but she tells herself it's alright to accept his assistance this time on account of all the vertigo she's been experiencing when she stands. She doesn't notice the concern on his face as she sways on her feet, but he notices the way her hand tightly grasps his arm.
Chris doesn't say much on the drive to his apartment-at least, she doesn't remember him doing so. She can't recall how she got into his car, but she knows it must have happened somehow because, the next thing she knows, she's standing outside his door while he fumbles with his keys and mouths an apology for whatever hides within the shelter of his apartment.
It's a little messy, but that's Chris; "controlled chaos," as he lovingly called it. She thinks it's charming in some strange way, how he hurries to the couch to straighten out cushions and pick up discarded laundry that's been draped across its surface. It's deafeningly quiet and it takes her by surprise. She had nearly forgotten what silence sounded like on account of the muted sound of Joseph's screams in the background.
"When's the last time you ate?" He asks her, not necessarily waiting for a response as he guides her into the small kitchen.
She doesn't offer an answer because she knows he doesn't need one. Chris somehow knows everything about her. He knew her before the mansion incident-how she likes her coffee, her distaste for silence on long car rides, the looped script of her handwriting-but he didn't know her quite like this before. Spencer mansion had changed them and she wasn't sure if she wanted to discover the ways in which it had.
The clunk of glass against the tabletop catches her by surprise and she finds Chris seated across from her, pushing a beer in her direction along with a plate of leftovers. Her stomach turns at the sight of food, but she gratefully accepts the alcohol, wincing as she downs it a little too quickly.
"Jill."
Chris sighs, lowers his head, and shakes it slowly. She knows what this is. He's trying to figure out how to put his thoughts into words and she doesn't think that she wants to hear them.
"Chris."
She smiles but he doesn't mirror her expression. Instead, he slides his hand across the tabletop to catch hers and she finds the warmth of his touch to be strangely alluring. His skin is foreign and strange - she's not used to touching him without gloves.
"You can talk to me about it, you know." His voice is soft like an apology and she doesn't understand why.
"I…" He grimaces and takes a swig of his own beer before continuing. "It still bothers me too, you know."
She catches her lower lip between her teeth and worries it a little too roughly. The metallic tang of blood lingers on her tongue even after she swallows, so she tries to wash it away with another sip of her beer.
"Every night, I dream about Forest."
His voice sounds far away now, like he's talking to her through glass, and maybe he is. She's been in her own little world for a while now, disconnected from the present and everything else in it. The walls she's unintentionally built are impossibly thick, but Chris is determined to get through to her because she doesn't need to be alone. They're all suffering with her.
"It doesn't matter how it starts. I can be dreaming about something as mundane as filing fucking paperwork, but he always shows up somehow."
She's not sure what it is she's feeling. It's not surprise because of course it affected him in some way, but she never knew how much. She never knew if he had managed to move on from it and hadn't confirmed he had ghosts of his own.
Really, she hadn't thought much about it because, even if she isn't aware of it, she didn't want to think about Chris suffering in any way.
"I see them all." Her voice doesn't even sound like her own. "At night...every night."
Jill swallows hard and idly fingers the base of her bottle as she continues.
"I don't even know why. It's not like I haven't been exposed to death before. I've lost plenty of people in the past, but…"
She shrugs and Chris rises from the table to fetch them both a refill.
"That was a lot more than just death, Jill." He returns to his seat and pushes her another bottle. "It's fucking trauma. Watching your colleagues get ripped to pieces and become zombies isn't something that a therapist can teach you how to handle."
Jill laughs a little. It's quiet and bitter, an acknowledgement that he's right. The few remaining S.T.A.R.S. may very well be the only people on the planet who have experienced the shit that went down that night.
"It's fucked up. Everything that happened is fucked up, Jill, but you can heal. We can heal. I don't know how it's gonna happen, but I'm going to stick around and figure it out with you."
It's not poetry, but it's sweet in a Chris Redfield kind of way, and his words make her feel strangely bubbly. Maybe it's because she hasn't eaten in a couple days and the alcohol is hitting her harder than it normally would, but she thinks that maybe she wants Chris to stick around in more places than just work because she hasn't heard Kenneth's gurgling or Joseph's screaming for a while now.
"I'd like that." She says and Chris finally returns her smile from before.
They're a few beers in and she's drunk enough to laugh at the Night of the Living Whatever that's playing on the TV. Whoever wrote it clearly hadn't been around zombies before and Chris is irritated by the half-assed gore.
"Brains don't even look like that." He sneers and she's burying her face in his shoulder to muffle her laughter because, god, they're so fucked up, but they're fucked up together and whoever produced that movie is a complete dumbass.
"Maybe horror movie production is our actual calling. Fuck this law enforcement gig."
He laughs at her commentary this time and, when he turns to look at her, he forgets the witty response he had conjured up in his head because she's looking up at him with those wide blue eyes and he thinks that he can't remember the last time he was this close to a woman outside of work.
Jill Valentine is pretty - always has been, if he's being honest, but he's really noticing it now. A dusting of pink spills across her nose and cheeks and those powder blue eyes are focused so intently on his face that he wonders if he should be feeling as self-conscious as he suddenly does. Her lips are full and parted just slightly and he wants so badly to tuck the strands of hair that have fallen out of place and into her face behind her ear, but he doesn't know if she wants him to.
Chris Redfield is handsome - always has been, if she's being honest, but she's really noticing it now. His dark eyes are heavily lidded as he looks down at her and she wonders if he'd look at anyone the same way. She loses his stare as his attention sidles down to her lips and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, she wants to find out if his own are as soft as they look.
His fingertips are hovering just above the side of her face now and he hesitates before pushing her hair back and away from the side of her cheek. He's warm, warmer than she remembers from before, and she catches herself wondering if the rest of him burns just as hotly as his hands do.
The only sounds she hears are their breathing and the thrumming of her own heart with no screams or groans of the dead echo in the background. His palm is still close to the side of her face and she involuntarily leans into his touch, eyes slipping closed as she relishes his warmth.
Chris doesn't know how, but he's suddenly kissing her. He has her jaw cradled in his hands and he's kissing her like his life depends on it with a firm, careful press of his mouth. Her fingers are tangled in his hair and she's pulling herself closer to him, slipping her tongue into his mouth and tasting him in the way she's just now realizing she's wanted to since the day they met.
He shudders when her tongue finds his and he opens his mouth, submitting to her exploration as he lets out a quiet groan of approval. Jill tastes like cheap beer and something sweet, a flavor that he's never before tasted but already can't get enough of. He wants to savor it, savor her, so he does - he angles his neck and tastes her more fully, his tongue sweeping hers in an intimate gesture as their ragged breaths intermingle with one another's.
Her fingertips are trailing along the surface of his chest despite his t-shirt and he's suddenly burning hot, desperate to peel it off and feel her against him. With regret, he breaks off the kiss for a fraction of a second, just enough time to tear the fabric away from his skin and toss it elsewhere into the darkness of the room.
Jill gasps into his mouth when it crushes against hers once more, but it doesn't deter her in any way. As her palm sweeps over his newly exposed skin, fingertips searching every groove of toned muscle that he has to offer, she wonders why she hasn't done this sooner.
Chris pulls back, his breathing coming in staggered pants as he presses his forehead to hers. His hand rises to cradle the back of her head and he opens his eyes, searching her face for something he can't quite define.
"Jill, I…"
He wants to say something but fuck, it's so hard to think when she's looking at him like that with her flushed, swollen lips and bedroom eyes.
"I want to forget." She whispers, lips barely brushing over his as she speaks. "Please, Chris…"
She doesn't have to ask him twice - in fact, she can barely finish her plea before he's lowering her to the couch and fumbling for the hem of her shirt. His hands slip beneath the fabric and glide along the flat plane of her belly, rising to the edge of her bra and hesitating momentarily before pulling her shirt away from her body.
Jill is more than pretty he thinks as he looks down at her. Her skin is smooth and pale and fucking hell, he never would have pegged Jill Valentine as the type of woman to wear intricate lingerie, but he's pleased as hell to discover that she does.
He buries his face in the side of her neck and lets out a hot breath before his teeth gently graze over sensitive skin, his tongue following in their wake. Jill whimpers and arches her back, pressing her body to his, and Chris finds it hard to concentrate on the worship he's giving her.
His palm curves around the side of her ribs with ease as he snakes down the length of her body to brush his nose over the swells of her breasts. He nuzzles her briefly and ghosts his lips over her skin, earning a hiss and a moan from his partner.
Chris doesn't hesitate in finding the clasp of her bra. Once he's peeled the fabric away from her skin, he sits back to admire her, overwhelmed by the beauty of the body she's been hiding all this time. She's curvy and lean and damn, how did he not realize it before?
Jill's breath hitches in her throat and she curves her back once more, pressing her breasts more fully into his hands. He kneads her slowly and carefully and, when she mewls, Chris thinks it might be the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.
He leans over to press a soft, quick kiss to her throat and then he's at her breasts, licking and nipping and making her squirm and gasp beneath his mouth. Her nails rake over his back and she bucks her hips, brushing her pelvis against his. The action compels him to suckle harder, to tease her nipple with the tip of his tongue as he continues to knead the other carefully.
She's whimpering and writhing beneath him and he's loving every minute of it. He doesn't want to leave her skin, so he doesn't. Instead, he trails his lips down the smooth expanse of her belly until he hovers at the waist of her pants.
Her hands are shaking as she undoes them herself, lost in her lust. She pushes them down with her panties in one quick motion and kicks the garments onto the floor unceremoniously, eager to be free of their constraint.
His hand wastes no time in finding the heated junction between her thighs and he groans as he discovers just how much she's enjoying him too. The delicate flesh of her inner thighs is damp, but her center is practically dripping with anticipation for him. He can't help but to kiss her again, a nonverbal expression of appreciation for her body before he slips his fingers deep inside of her.
She's so deliciously tight and hot that he thinks he could lose it right then if he's not careful. He nips at her neck as he begins to work her with his fingers and when his thumb finds her sensitive nub, her hips jerk forward so forcefully that he chuckles and presses his lips to the shell of her ear.
"God, Jill…" He murmurs, his teeth catching her earlobe for a moment, "You're perfect."
Her lower lip is caught between her teeth and it's getting so hard to focus, so hard to keep from coming undone in his hand. Chris works her body like he was born to do it, as though he's done it a thousand times before and knows it better than she does. He's already found the most tender parts of her, the ones that make her shiver and twitch with pleasure as her vision starts to fade and that familiar, white hot heat begins to build.
She doesn't want it to end like this - no, she wants him to feel it too, so she pulls away from him with great remorse. He's a little stunned when she knocks him back with just a mere thrust of her hips, evidence of the strength that's hidden within those long, toned thighs of hers. It's exciting, he thinks.
Jill is on top of him now, awkwardly fumbling with the button of his pants. It's strange to see the deftness of her hands slip away, to watch her tremble and struggle to undo something so simple. She's picked so many damn intricate, high security locks in the past, but she can't manage to undo his pants?
He thinks it's flattering and he laughs before pressing a kiss to her temple and draping his hands over hers to guide them. Together, they manage to free him from his fabric confines, and he shivers at the feel of the cool air against his slick member.
Her palm is warm and soft around him as she gives him a slow, languid pump and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to maintain silence. She runs the pad of her thumb along the tip of him, smearing his pre-cum along the sensitive head of his dick, and he shivers in slow motion as the resulting sensation creeps along each vertebra of his spine.
"Jill."
It's a warning probably, but she doesn't heed it. She instead hums quietly and continues to stroke him - once, then twice before lowering her head to trail the flat of her tongue along the underside of his shaft, following his length from base to tip. Chris knows he won't be able to withstand her torture and he's the one to buck his hips this time, flipping her onto the back and pinning her between his body and the mattress.
Jill revises her previous thought. As she lies beneath him and studies his heated stare and the way his shoulders and arms flex as he braces his weight against the mattress to lean over her, she realizes that Chris is probably the most handsome man she's ever met. Most likely, she's always known this, but has been too prideful to admit it all this time. Chris is her coworker, her partner, the other half of her...climbing into his bed is somehow both the best and worst thing she could ever do.
As his palm envelops the side of her ribcage and trails along the curve of her body, she wonders if it truly is such a bad idea after all. It's hard to remember that anything else in exists in the world but them, that anything has ever happened besides this. She thinks she could get used to it because, after all, S.T.A.R.S. really isn't a thing anymore and who's to say she can't date her former coworker once it's all said and done?
Chris trails thumb along the crest of her hipbone as he studies her face, his expression soft and almost pained. It takes every last bit of restraint he has to hesitate as he looks her in the eyes and asks, "Are you sure about this?"
Jill doesn't know if she's ever been to sure of anything in her life.
She lifts her hips and presses against his hand, her sultry gaze holding his. He knows the meaning behind her action, hears her unspoken insistence, and the final reign he's managed to hold on himself comes undone.
He kisses her hungrily as he pushes forward, his own hips situated between her thighs. One of his hands meanders along the length of his body as the other cups the side of her face tenderly. Once his opposite hand reaches her hips, he takes himself in his grip and angles for entry.
She feels the cool, firm brush of his head against her slick entrance and she inhales sharply, eyes fluttering closed as she braces herself. Chris rests his forehead against hers and nuzzles his nose against more, hesitating briefly before sliding into her.
His own eyes slip shut upon entry and they hiss in unison as his length slowly disappears inside of her. They fit together so perfectly that he selfishly wonders if she was made for this, made for him. She's so snug around him, even as her body stretches to accommodate him, and he doesn't know how long he can endure.
She gasps once he's buried in her as deeply as he can manage. Jill can't remember ever feeling so full, so strangely whole, but she thinks it's a feeling she could get used to. Her hand fumbles at his chest and he takes it within his own, pressing his palm to his and entwining their fingers together.
Chris presses a slow, soft kiss to her forehead before he begins to move. Jill whimpers when he does, tilting her hips to give him a better passage, and he grunts at the feel of her. He pumps his hips slowly and carefully as he takes caution not to hurt her, but when her hips begin to rise to meet his mid-thrust, he loses himself.
He slides in and out of her with ease, pistoning with long, assured strokes. Her hips rise each time he pushes forward, causing him to bottom out inside of her at the peak of each thrust. He loves this, he thinks, watching her moan and pump her hips beneath him.
Chris thinks he might love her, but he doesn't want to confess this yet, not even to himself. Jill fits him in every way, mellows the worst parts of him and brings out the best. When they're together, everything seems to work out so effortlessly…
...even now, as they're really together, with him between her thighs and her taking every inch of him that she can. Her lower lip is caught between her teeth and she's struggling to keep quiet, only allowing muted, soft moans to slip past her teeth. She's clenching his hand so tightly, rocking her hips from below him with enough force to cause her breasts to bounce with each movement. Her eyes are closed and her cheeks are flushed and she's making these fucking sounds and fuck, he's about to cum.
He leans forward, muscle rippling as he moves, and he all but growls against her ear, "Jill."
She knows, so she opens her eyes as she thrusts her hips particularly hard, causing him to let out a surprised moan. He's buried so deep inside of her, movements growing clumsy as he tightens his grip on her hand so hard that it might break.
Chris gasps as he cums, his frantic thrusting slowing as she feels him start to fill her. It's hot and thick and she feels it dribble down her thigh as he pulls out of her, collapsing on the mattress beside her in a heap of tired muscle and sweat-slicked skin.
She doesn't expect him to turn onto his side, and she certainly doesn't expect him to pull her flush against his body. He's burning hot and she can feel his member pressed against the back of her thigh, but her mind grows silent as though as switch has been flipped the second his hands are between her thighs.
He works her effortlessly with his thumb and the thrust of a finger inside of her. She feels it building, feels the pressure low in her belly, and she can't swallow the whimper that threatens to spill free from her mouth. Jill feels dizzy as her hips jerk back and forth with his touches and she grabs his forearm tightly as her own orgasm overtakes her. She writhes in his grip and he holds her against him, murmuring against her ear and pressing kisses to her skin.
When she's coherent enough to move, she twists in his grasp so that she can face him, and he's watching her with a sleepy sense of adoration. There's nothing to be said really, not when they can both hear the praise of relief that their bodies are singing.
So she buries her face in his chest as he envelops her in his arms, holding her there as he hears his blood buzz in his ears. He allows his fingertips to dance along her back, memorizing smooth skin and ridges of bone until he feels her grow heavy and limp in his hold.
Chris feels a sense of pride well up in his chest. No, he hasn't solved the world's problems in a single night, but he managed to put Jill Valentine to sleep, and he thinks that's commendable in its own right. He doesn't know what comes next and he doesn't know what is to become of them in the morning, but when his eyelids grow heavy and his mind fades to white noise, he knows doesn't see the specter of Forest coming at him with vengeance.
Instead, he hears Jill's quiet breathing and feels her shiver against him in his sleep and he knows that this is enough for him.
Chris Redfield sleeps without regret that night and Jill finds that even ghosts must eventually find rest.
It just takes a special person to put them down.