I'm back! Took so long trying to make sure my idea was working that I forgot to post it... oops. May take a while to update, but I'll get there. Thanks for reading! Some thanks: Leo5882723, Boss-Awesome, Special Agent FUNK. Some upcoming references to other stories: Christmas in September by Drew Skye, End of the Line by CJJS, and maybe more that I have forgotten. If you see a shoutout i forgot to mention, send me a message and I'll get it in.
The helicopter was one hundred feet away, ninety feet, eighty. Chris called out, extending a hand. The skids wobbled in the air only inches above the landing pad.
But Jill felt it right behind her, felt the pounding steps on cracked concrete, heard the hissing breath, wasn't sure if the heartbeat came from her or it. The Tyrant. Violent images flashed through her mind of its claws impaling the traitor Wesker, of it effortlessly tossing Barry to the ground. A claw raked the back of her shirt, and a fresh surge of panic-driven adrenaline pushed her faster. The helicopter pulled up, she leapt, and her fingertips barely brushed Chris' as she missed and was falling. Dead for sure.
Her knees cracked against the worn floor and she was in a dimly lit, badly wallpapered hallway, flashes of lightning illuminating the faces of shambling undead coming her way, hungry, moaning. She turned, and with a gasp of surprise came face-to-face with Wesker, the muzzle of his Beretta millimeters from her nose. He grinned and pulled the trigger.
"No!"
She sat up on the bed, her desperate cry still ringing in her ears. Thank God, just a dream. Chris, sleeping on the couch in their temporary residence, stirred and woke up with a sleepy grunt.
Jill had been plagued with nightmares ever since the mansion; that is when she was capable of sleep at all. Whenever she closed her eyes the memories came back, even the smell. A smell similar to that of rotten fruit.
"You okay?" Chris asked, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes and squinting at the clock. Two in the morning.
"Yeah, just another nightmare. I still… I just… I need a beer." She began to get up.
"You need a beer like I need to take up smoking again." He looked at her, concerned. "We're gonna be okay, I promise."
"I guess."
She pulled the covers back over herself, and Chris did his best to get comfortable on the small couch again. "Chris, do you think anything is ever going to be normal again?"
He looked at her, did his best at a reassuring smile before just sinking back into a rather sullen expression, and answered, "I hope so."
"So what do we know about the G Virus?"
Chris watched Jill's eyes avert. "Absolutely nothing. Our one lead disappeared, and we've been trying for almost a month to get the FBI to investigate. Chris, we're running out of people we can trust, places we can go, time."
"I know."
She looked back up, a pained expression on her face. There's nothing I can say to make it better, he thought as she did her best to hold her emotions in. That realization hurt worse than anything. In the last month, they had lost almost everything – their friends, their jobs, their safety and security. Who knew when Umbrella would send someone to silence them? Jill regained her composure and took a deep breath.
"You have to go to Europe this week. We can't hold it of any longer."
"What?" He was a little startled. "But I thought we were staying to try to sort stuff out here."
"I'm staying, you're going. You need to make your move before Umbrella catches wind of our plan, or it'll be all for nothing and we can't risk that."
"I won't leave you," he said. "We need to stick together."
"Barry has to be with his family up in Canada and Rebecca doesn't have the experience required for this stuff, which leaves you and me. We can't be in two different places and together at the same time."
She was right, as much as Chris hated to admit it. But he couldn't bring himself to leave her; she was his partner… maybe more.
"Dammit, why does it have to be like this?"
"I'll meet you in Paris by early October, I promise." She forced a smile. "And don't forget the paperwork for your sidearm this time."
"Hey! That was one time, and I didn't even know we were going on a plane," he defended with a chuckle.
They sat silent for a moment, old memories replaying in their minds. Not long ago, the two former S.T.A.R.S. members would never have believed this possible. It was all like a nightmare, and Chris just wished it would go away.
Jill had a knot in her stomach the entire two-hour drive from Raccoon to Denver International. She wanted him to stay as much as he himself did, but knew there was no other way. He tried to joke around a bit, but ultimately neither of them were in the mood.
"You're sure you have everything, the money, your clothes, snacks for the plane? Your friends will be there to pick you up?" she asked, waiting next to Chris in the line to check luggage.
He smirked. "Yes mom."
She punched him in the arm.
Once his suitcase was on its way to the cargo hold, it was time to part ways. He placed a hand on her shoulder and said, "I'll see you in a month. Be careful. Oh, and I left something for you on the bed." He opened his arms to give her a hug and she did something even she hadn't anticipated. Her lips met his in a kiss. Jill pulled away, a bit embarrassed and angry at herself. Both their cheeks burned red.
"I, uh, Chris, I didn't-"
She was cut off as he wrapped his arms tight around her, silencing the apology before letting go.
"Don't sweat it. For a first timer, that was pretty good."
He grinned mischievously at her before she punched his arm again. She tried to smile and managed to choke out a goodbye.
"Goodbye Jill. Take care of yourself."
He turned and walked away, sparing a final look back before heading through security. She was sure she saw tears in his eyes.
Chris arrived in Charles de Gaulle Airport around twelve hours later with a headache from someone's perfume and a grumbling stomach. First order of business, however, was to find Josh Carmichael. He was supposed to be at a nearby café. The two were old Air Force buddies, and it had been easy to convince the spontaneous mechanic to help out. Josh was also an innovative prankster, and the skills required for such a title may come in handy, as well as his French-speaking girlfriend. She would be a necessity to have around. He believed her name was Elizabeth. He snatched his suitcase from the luggage carousel.
Meanwhile, a few streets away, Josh sat at a small, glass table and took in the scents of food and coffee. People bustled about in their various colors and fashions, bundled up against the cold. It was frigid for September, and Josh watched little white clouds puffing from the mouths of passers by. He rubbed his hands together for warmth.
"When is your friend supposed to get here?" he heard Elizabeth ask, one of few English voices in the café.
Josh checked his watch. "Any time now."
Elizabeth watched him from behind a steaming cup of coffee, her thin fingers wrapped around the ceramic mug. She brushed a lock of blonde hair out of her face with the other hand.
Josh looked back up to see some one making their way towards them, a man in his mid-twenties with short brown hair and a leather jacket. Chris. He waved the tired looking Redfield over.
"Long time no see! Man, you kinda look like death."
"Right back at ya, Carmichael. You're Elizabeth, right?" he said, looking at her and extending a hand. "Chris Redfield."
"Elizabeth Puget. Glad to finally meet you, I've heard plenty of stories about the legendary Redfield." She smiled, bright white teeth shining brilliantly as she clasped his hand and shook it.
Chris sized her up. She was rather attractive, slim but tough from the looks of it, and there was a certain sparkle in her pale-blue eyes. And, judging by her lack of an accent, she was American. He turned back to Josh. "There anywhere private we can talk?"
"Yeah, sure, we'll head there right away. Hey, you still haven't told us what this is all about."
"That's why we're going elsewhere."
Josh nodded in understanding. "Rule number two."
Chris grinned. "Never ask questions.
"Just like old times."
