Disclaimer: all the characters, settings, and nasty slimy icky monsters in the game and book series Resident Evil are owned exclusively by Capcom Corporation. They are being used here without permission, but with the hope that Capcom understands that this is a purely not-for-profit piece of work, and will be removed from the web should they require it. Thank you.
The More Things Change…
By Random1377
Part 1 – Just Hanging Around
Twenty feet off the ground, suspended upside down by a thin nylon cord and a heartfelt prayer, Jill Valentine decided that this was definitely not a good time to lose her cool. "Tell me again why I took this stupid job," she muttered into the small mic on her collar.
"Because there was a lot of money involved," the voice of Carlos Olivera crackled in her ear, "and because you're the best."
"Don't try to butter me up, you're still making the delivery," Jill grumbled, reaching carefully into the pouch attached to her belt and extracting a second diamond-alloyed drill bit, "and money isn't everything."
"Never said it was, chica," Carlos replied, his voice betraying his smile, "but it sure goes a long way towards putting food on the table and cars in the garage."
"I guess," Jill sighed, removing the shattered remains of the initial bit from her compact drill and fitting its replacement in with a grunt of effort, "now shut up and let me work."
"You're the boss."
Jill hesitated, considering the suspended safe for a moment with a small frown. The boss, she thought, never thought I would be The Boss – just a simple soldier, doing what I'm told… yeah, that's what I should be, right?
"Guess there's no use whining about it now," she shrugged, clicking the drill on and pressing it against the safe's 'sweet spot' – the space between the keypad and the hand crank, where no circuits or gears resided.
The whine of the bit as it chewed into the thick metal set her teeth on edge, but there was nothing to be done about it. Sure, there were other methods of cracking this type of safe – but Jill was in a hurry, both for the extraction deadline her client had given her and the guard-sweeping timeframe she had established last week when she had cased the plush mansion whose skylight she was currently hanging from.
Kind of a long way from S.T.A.R.S. now, aren't you? she thought sarcastically, But I guess it's true what they say – once a thief, always a thief… right Dad?
Her father, she decided, would have been proud. Not many could find a way into Douglas Delatet's mansion without his say-so, and fewer still would have had the skill to spot the location of his cleverly concealed safe, tucked neatly into a corner near the dining room chandelier and hidden by a thick, hanging Persian rug.
Of course, Jill was not most people – even before she joined the Special Tactics and Rescue Squad in the rural town of Raccoon city. Her father had trained her in all manners of thievery, ensuring that she could steal just about anything that she needed to, if she was so inclined. After joining S.T.A.R.S., she had promised herself (in a rather super-hero-ish way, she decided later) that she would only use her skills for good. And she still stuck to this creed.
Well, most of the time.
"Oooo, I heard that from here!" Carlos cackled in her ear as a sharp crack filled the air. "You in, chica?"
"Of course," Jill said modestly, "you know, for all this guy's money, you'd think he could afford a better safe."
"Maybe he thought the security system was enough," Carlos retorted, "or the armed guards, or the dogs, or the pressure-sensitive floor, or the poison gas dispensers."
Jill hesitated in the process of slipping a slender fiber optic camera through the hole the drill had made. "There's poison gas dispensers?"
Carlos laughed. "Gotcha!"
"Very funny," Jill muttered, slipping the camera in and pulling out a small flat screen monitor, "now be quiet."
A small joystick next to the screen allowed her to manipulate the miniature arm just under the camera, guiding it towards a series of metallic fingers on the back of the safe's door and letting her pull them, one by one, out of place.
"Movement!" Carlos's voice hissed in her ear. "Looks like Doug in the mood for some OJ – he's heading towards the kitchen."
"Damn it," Jill muttered, "how long?"
Carlos paused. "Ummm… four minutes, if he walks slow."
"So, three minutes."
"Sounds right, yeah."
"Super."
Jill took a deep breath, keeping her attention on the small screen as another of the small fingers loosened. "Any way you can distract him?" she muttered, "Call and pretend it's a wrong number? Play ding-dong-ditch? Anything?"
"Sorry chica," Carlos replied regretfully, "he has an answering service so the phone never rings past 11:00 unless it's an emergency, and by the time I moved the van close enough to ring the bell at the front gate, he'd be offering you a sandwich."
"Got it open," Jill whispered tensely, "pulling the goods now… God – this is going to be close!"
"Easy, chica…"
Jill nodded, keeping silent as she heard the approaching slap slap of slippers on marble. Ok, got what I came for… now…
Douglas Delatet, a broad, swarthy man with a strong chin and thick, iron gray hair, strode through the massive dining room with an air of one entirely bored with life. At 44, he had already conquered all that had been thrown at him. He had climbed Mount McKinley, swum with sharks, bought and sold several very lucrative businesses – to enormous profit – and traded in a 38 year old nag for a 20 year old model.
And that was just this year.
"Hope you understand it was always business," he chuckled, wondering idly what his third wife (the nag) was doing for shelter. "Hey," she shrugged to himself, giving a cursory glance to the Persian hanging from the third floor railing, "I offered a good little chunk of cash… shouldn't have gotten greedy. Stupid bitch."
He stopped short, his lips compressing into a thin line as he squinted up into the darkness. Wasn't the rug just a little… off? Not a lot, but just the tiniest bit off-center, as if it had been thrown back, then hastily dropped into place. He took a step closer, his hands clenching into fists as he scanned the entire area.
Skylight's closed, he thought grimly, shooting a glance at a control panel on the wall, floor's still set to my weight… windows are all shut… security's all green…
He rolled his shoulders and looked at the rug. "Getting old," he muttered, continuing his trek towards the kitchen.
Even had he been standing with his ear pressed to the ceiling, he probably would have missed the soft, but quick padding of retreating footsteps as they lightly dashed across the roof, and he definitely would not have heard the soft whispering 'hiss' of gloved hands sliding down a waiting rope to the ground below.
No, had he not found himself suddenly occupied with other matters, it would have been many hours before Douglas would realize that he had, in fact, been robbed, and by that time, the papers in his small safe were halfway to a very secure location in France, the fee for their delivery paid in full.
Of course, had Jill not been under strict orders to leave the manila envelope's seal intact, she might have spotted the small, red and white octagon on the papers… and the call that came through to her small office the next morning might have had a very different tone.
**
"Call for you, Boss," Carlos called, holding the phone out with one hand and lifting the magazine centerfold closer to his eyes, scrutinizing it closely with an appreciative whistle.
"News should be on in about five," Jill commented as she strode into the main office of the Heart's Found Reclamation Agency, absently blowing on a steaming mug of coffee. "Turn on the TV… let's see if we made the first broadcast." She lifted the phone to her ear. "Hello, Julie Heart."
She was afforded a moment of thought as the caller on the other end of the line drew a sharp breath. Can't wait to get back to using my real name, she thought, her eyes idly scanning the magazine Carlos was reviewing, man, how long has it been since someone's said-
"Hello, Jill."
Carlos scrambled to his feet as Jill's cup of coffee poured across his magazine. "Hey, hey!! Watch it!!"
Jill did not hear him. All of her attention was focused on the voice at the other end of the line… a voice reaching out from the past she had tried so hard to free herself from and pulling her slowly, inexorably back. "You must have the wrong number," she said faintly, "this is the Heart-"
"Heart," the voice cut in smoothly, "Valentine… clever, Jill, but you had to know I would be able to find you."
"I never tried to stop you," Jill countered, ignoring Carlos's questioning stare, "it wasn't you I was hiding from."
"You hiding at all still gets me," the man chuckled, "I thought you weren't scared of anything."
Jill closed her eyes and leaned against the desk. "Lots of things scare me, Chris… but I'm not hiding from them, I just don't want to be bothered by newspapers and TV stations begging for an interview with a fallen S.T.A.R."
"Cute," Chris Redfield's voice snorted, "but you know… there are other people that wouldn't mind finding you."
"Umbrella's gone," Jill said coolly, "has been for over a year – don't you read the stock reports? They're belly-up, Redfield... why don't you just let it go?"
Chris sighed. "I know you're not that naïve," he said sadly.
Jill's nostrils flared – if there was one word she absolutely could not stand, it was naïve. "What do you want?"
"That mark you just hit," Chris said all-too-casually, "did you do your homework?"
"Always," Jill returned, feeling no real surprise that Chris knew what she was doing. If he was good enough to find her in the first place, he was good enough to keep track of what she was up to. "Ex-Umbrella… left the company right before the murders in Raccoon and went into real estate."
"You watching the news?"
Jill felt a chill wash over her at the change in her former teammate's tone. "Y-yeah," she said uncomfortably. "Why?"
"Watch," Chris said softly, "I'll bet it made top story."
Jill nodded to Carlos. "Turn it up," she said quietly, covering the mouthpiece on the phone with her palm. "Why would a simple burglary…" her voice froze in her throat as the news anchor came on the air.
"Our top story tonight," the lead man announced after a perfunctory introduction, "is the brutal slaying of local real estate magnate, Douglas Delatet and his wife, Victoria Delatet, in an apparent home invasion incident."
"What?!" Jill gasped, her eyes widening as the news shifted to a live shot of Delatet's mansion. The front window had been shattered – seemingly from the inside out – and even from the street, the dark red of arterial blood could be seen on the sill.
"I'm standing outside the spacious Delatet estates," the newsman reported, his face grim and somber, "where local businessman and philanthropist Douglas Delatet and his wife of three months, Victoria Delatet, have met with a most untimely demise. Details are sketchy at this time, but it seems that sometime around four this morning, an intruder broke into the estate and confronted Mister Delatet in his kitchen, overpowering and killing him before making their way to the master bedroom, where Misses Delatet lay asleep… and murdering her as well. At this time, there is no evidence that anything has been stolen, and the motive for the murders remains… a mystery." The newsman looked more somber than ever as the camera refocused on him. "Needless to say, this is a terrible loss to the community, as…"
"Impossible," Jill whispered as the man rambled on, outlining Delatet's many humanitarian efforts, "I was there at four! My partner saw him heading towards the kitchen! There's no way he would have missed-"
"Shh," Chris cut in suddenly, "look at the security guards."
Jill frowned, squinting at the TV as the camera panned once more over the ruined front window of the estate, showing a small contingent of black-clad security officers, clearly doing their best to prevent their deceased employer any further embarrassment. "I don't see-" Jill hissed sharply as one of the guards happened to glance towards the camera, a look of unearthly calm on his sunglass-hidden face.
"Wesker."
There was no mistaking the man's broad shoulders and sharp, pointed chin – and even through the television, Jill could see the small, ever-present smirk the man seemed to wear, as if he was saying, 'You're all beneath me… you're all pathetic.'
"Delatet wasn't former Umbrella," Chris whispered grimly, "he was current Umbrella. I've recently gotten information from a reliable source that says that not only was he in Raccoon up until the last day – he was actually in Arkalay when we were!"
Jill sat down hard, all of the strength draining from her legs like water.
"Looks bad," Carlos said suddenly, nodding to the television.
"God, of course…" Jill whispered, half tired, half disgusted as her old S.T.A.R.S. picture was displayed onscreen.
"Police believe this woman," the anchorman was saying, his tone becoming disapproving and stern, "Jill Valentine, formerly of the disgraced, Special Tactics and Rescue Squad, is involved somehow. The police are basing this information on an anonymous tip received by phone at-"
"Turn it off," Jill said quietly, "just… turn it off."
Carlos reached over and snapped off the television, then leaned back against the desk and waited for further instruction.
In the ensuing silence, Chris murmured, "I'm coming to pick you up, Jill… can you still trust me to save you?"
"I can trust me to save me," Jill replied without venom, "but yeah… I wouldn't mind a hand this time."
Chris sighed deeply. "Ten minutes," he said coolly, "gather whatever you need – but definitely bring your bag of tricks."
Before Jill could ask why, the line went dead.
"Good thing you don't look like that anymore," Carlos said after a long moment of quiet, nodding to the woman's bleach-blonde hair, "should give us a little edge."
Jill let out a gusty breath. "Oh they know right where we are," she said tiredly, "otherwise they wouldn't have put my face on TV – they would have just said they had a lead. No, they're hoping we'll panic and lead them to our buyer."
"Or maybe they're just playing with you, chica," Carlos said seriously, "my face wasn't up there."
For this, Jill had no reply.
**
Precisely nine minutes later, Jill and Carlos were standing outside Heart's Found's front door, looking for anything out of the ordinary as they counted down the seconds until Chris's arrival. "Man on the corner with a newspaper," Jill whispered, moving her lips as little as possible, "woman with a baby stroller…"
Carlos nodded. "Hot dog vendor," he chuckled, shaking his head, "it's funny how they think we wouldn't notice these people standing around on a side street that's almost always empty.
"They know we know," Jill said calmly, "and they can probably hear us."
"Hola," Carlos said easily, nodding to the hot dog vendor – though the man should have been well out of earshot. "I'll take two with everything."
"I'm not hungry," Jill said dryly, spotting a black Nissan Pathfinder making its way down the street.
"I wasn't offering," Carlos replied.
"Pig."
"Puta."
"Hey, that's just uncalled for," Jill muttered, nodding to the woman behind the wheel of the Pathfinder as she guided it to a halt.
"D'you call for a taxi, ma'am?" the woman asked quietly.
"Sure did, we-" Jill cut herself off as recognition set in. "Claire…?"
The woman behind the wheel nodded, but did not smile. "It's been a while, Miss Valentine."
Carlos stepped forward and opened the back hatch, leaving the two women to talk as he hefted a pair of dufflebags into the SUV.
"You look good," Jill offered after a moment's hesitation.
"I don't feel so hot," Claire countered smoothly, "see, I've got this poison in my blood, courtesy of a certain pharmaceuticals company," she shot a dark look at the man with the newspaper, "and no matter what I do, I can't seem to get rid of it. We've found some medication to keep it in check… but we can't get it to go away entirely."
Jill's jaw clenched. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said honestly, trying to reconcile her memory of a smiling, carefree teen, laughing and flirting with the other S.T.A.R.S. at a Raccoon City Police Department Christmas party… with this grim-faced young woman with eyes that refused to stay focused on one thing for more than a few seconds.
Five years, Jill thought suddenly, how did she get so old so fast??
"Chris told me to try and get you to leave your friend," Claire said softly, her eyes flicking to Carlos as the man slammed the hatch and brushed the dust off his hands, "but I'm not going to waste my breath."
"Good plan," Jill nodded, "so… how are we going to give our little friends here the slip?"
For the first time since arriving, Claire smiled. It did not make Jill feel comfortable.
"You'll see. Get in."
Jill nodded as the younger woman rolled up the power window. "You can stay behind if you want," Jill said as Carlos came around the back of the vehicle to stand by her side, "I'm sure the road I'm about to head down isn't going to be smooth… and it wouldn't be that hard for you to go underground if you wanted to."
"And miss the fun?" Carlos grinned. "No, chica, I promised to protect you, remember?"
"That was a long time ago," Jill pointed out quietly, "and we were… closer then – you don't owe me anything anymore."
Carlos pulled the back door of the Pathfinder open and gestured for Jill to get in, bowing slightly as he whispered, "It was never about owing, Jill… and even though we're not together like that, I'm still behind you no matter what."
"Thanks."
They climbed into the SUV, Jill in front, Carlos in back, and buckled their seatbelts. "You ready?" Claire asked, shifting the car into drive and hitting the door lock.
"No, but go anyway," Jill replied, giving Heart's Found one last look, "before I start getting nostalgic."
Claire nodded, edging the Pathfinder away from the curb and casting a quick glance at the three ill-concealed agents on the sleepy street. "Sit tight," she said lightly, "this will only take a second."
Jill's jaws dropped open as Claire hit a button on the steering wheel and a small heads up display blinked into existence on the windshield, displaying the street in a grid-like pattern, with glowing red targets corresponding to the agent's locations.
"A one," Claire whispered, "and a two... and a shoobity doo!"
Abruptly, the sound of gunfire erupted from the top of the Pathfinder, breaking the quiet of the street like a brass band in a library. Tires squealed as Claire hammered the gas pedal to the floor, sending the vehicle barreling forward as the three agents dropped to the ground.
"You… you killed them??" Jill sputtered. "Claire, they were just innocent pol-"
"No one is innocent," Claire cut in smoothly, clicking another button on the steering wheel, "and no, I didn't kill them… just scared the hell out of them."
Jill's response was lost to amazement as the Pathfinder rounded the corner… and changed color. "What the…?"
"Chameleon paint," Claire grinned, hitting a third button, "and now the finishing touch."
Small whirring sounds issued from the top, front, and sides of the car, and as they reached the next corner, Jill realized that they were now traveling in a maroon Xterra.
"Damn!"
Carlos's exclamation summed Jill's feelings up rather succinctly. And we're on our way, she thought, suddenly feeling very old, just when I thought I could sit down and relax… it's time to start running…
"We should be ok," Claire said after a moment, "But we'll change the car again in a mile or two, just to be sure."
Jill just nodded, leaning back in her seat and watching the scenery roll past. Chris, she thought tiredly, do you look as hard as your sister? God, what am I getting myself into? Finding that she had no answers, Jill simply sat back and waited, hoping that whatever her old teammate had planned was not too extravagant.
She never would have been able to guess.
Continued…
Author's notes: well, I've wanted to do a Resident Evil fic for some time, but I never really had a good plot idea for one until I read (somewhere or other – probably the Nemesis novel) that Jill used to be a thief before becoming a S.T.A.R.S. member, and I immediately thought, 'hey, once a thief, always a thief,' and bingo – I had a plot line. I plan to make this somewhere between 5 and 10 chapters, roughly 10 pages each. I know that's a pretty big range, but I'm honestly not quite sure how long it will take me to describe everything I want to describe, so I figure I'll leave myself open to options. :P
One last note: I was going to title this fic, Once a Thief, but I found (much to my disappointment) that there is already a fic on fanfiction.net called Once a Thief, Always a Thief, by an author named Aran, and while the subject matter is pretty different (as far as I can tell, I haven't really read it all yet) I still felt I should change the name to avoid confusion and hurt feelings/thrown objects. _
Pre-read on this chapter was courtesy of Adiabatik, a much more dedicated Evil fan than myself, and a damn good author. Big thanks, chica. ^_~
Feedback is always welcome at random1377@yahoo.com or any site this story is posted on that has the ability to accept reviews.