"If I can't meet you again
I hope to forget you entirely,
right to the depths of my heart."

The room was small and dank.

She caught their scent before she saw them. There was something about their rotting stench that she could not ever compare to anything else that smelled rotten in the world. It made her gag a little, but she kept still; quietly breathing through her mouth to lessen what her nose would triple-fold. She felt wet from her own sweat, wet from slime that had come off onto her when she got caught, and wet and damp and dark inside where her trust in her squad had shone through. One of them was a traitor, the others were mostly likely dead because of him, she was just the last to follow suit.

She raised a hand to cautiously rub the swelling lump rising from her head; it was still very sore, and semi-wet from the thickening drying blood. In the dim light, looking at her hand, she was dismayed to see the amount of shining liquid that was smeared on it. She slowly, very slowly backed against the wall, sliding down slowly to a crouch, her eyes never leaving the door that she had barred with a small cupboard and a cabinet. The light-bulb started to flicker and suddenly she felt afraid, very afraid. It was so cold in the room and she did not want to die. Not yet and not like this.

The sudden banging from the other side of the door did not come as a surprise, but it made her jump up nevertheless. Fear spread as fast and cold as an approaching blizzard, making her blanch to a sickly white. Trembling she forced herself to ready, checking with an efficiency that bellied her fear, her guns and ammunition. A splinter of dread pricked her, she had barely enough to take half-a-dozen down, and there were many, many more outside that door. Die fighting, she thought. "Die fighting", she whispered aloud.

I am going to die…

Closing her eyes, she said a short prayer. The only prayer she knew. Inside, she prayed for a quick death. To die and rot in peace without turning into an undead cannibal, for her body to remain still after she had passed. She shut her eyes harder, and said the words louder to drown out the sound of the banging furniture as it escalated. Said the words faster and faster until she could not differentiate one word from the next, meshed them together, rolling them off her tongue until the last bang was heard, silence followed by an eerie creak as the cupboard fell forward with a loud crash, allowing the unhinged door to collapse inward, allowing a hand, a leg to get inside and other groping body parts inside first. Pushing, still pushing, the walking dead came soon afterwards, moaning deep in their throats.

She levelled the gun and took aim. The gun went off. One down, two, three, four, five, six – click, click, click. The sound of an empty gun trying to be fired would remain forever in Jill Valentine's memory.

Despite the horrendous nightmare she had last night Jane Miller awoke surprisingly refreshed. She decided to lie in bed for a while, enjoying the feel of the silk sheets that her body rested on, thinking of what she was going to do today to pass her time until her fiancée returned home from work. Shopping was so boring when you could buy anything your heart desired anytime, and she did not have many friends. She would have travelled, but she learnt right from the start that her fiancée did not approve her travelling alone and she had declined his offer to allow her to on the condition that she go with a guarded escort.

At times, she would have to admit she was lonely, but then again, that was only when he wasn't around. But, when she thought about it, she could find no reason to be un-happy since her life was perfect. She had an amazing man who she had only a bright future with, all the money in the world to spend… and… and… He loved her, just as she loved him.

The smile that was dreamily etched on her face wavered suddenly and just as sudden she quickly decided she would not think of things like that again. She loved him, she did. She was certain that she did. He made her happy.

Didn't he?

Lazily she slipped her legs from underneath the comforter, letting them dangle from the bed to the floor before she hopped into her bedroom slippers that were sitting a foot away from the bed. She sighed and shook her head, letting the hair fly in all directions. She walked softly to the vanity and sat down on the small stool, all the while staring at her reflection and her reflection with the same azure coloured eyes stared back steadily at her. She picked up the brush off the table and rhythmically brushed her hair, feeling oddly contemplative all of a sudden. But she was used to her odd feelings; they didn't bother her too much. At times it could be a certain happiness, and at other times a bittersweet sadness that she didn't understand herself. At times she was curious, but she had learnt over the months that it was better to just let them go.

She wouldn't allow it to bother her today though. Because today was the day she was to try on her wedding dress.

"I don't like it."

"But Miss –", the younger girl wringed her hands together, "He chose it specifically for you."

"But I don't like it. It's so… it's too… it's just…" Jane murmured mainly to herself, looking at her image in the large panelled mirrors. The dress was beautiful, certainly, with a very traditional feel about it, with long sleeves and a full skirt that was held up by many, many layers of chiffon and silk. The neck was buttoned primly up high so that there was no exposure of skin from the chin downwards.

Something inside her just said no. It wasn't her. She wanted something subtly sexy that was short and simple and without so many frills, and for the life of her she could not think why.

"At that moment, I remembered it all.
When I see those memories, they seem so small.
You're far away in a place I can't reach…
I cannot wait for these words of love to be said."

Claire Redfield was up early today.

Looking at the still dark sky from the condominium's balcony, she felt as if the gloomy weather was somehow allowing her to wallow in her memories. Had it really been two years? Two years ago since her awful adventure at Rockfort Island? It still was fresh within her, those memories. The feeling of being alone, left behind that finally gave her a determination to go out and search for a missing family member – her only family member. It led to something, Claire could tell you that. A gruesome search in a terrifying place with only a stranger who didn't exactly want to stick around.

Steve...

And Steve… It just made her so darned sad to think about him that she rarely did. But she felt even worse when she did. But then again, to not think of him at all would have been the ultimate sin in her eyes to his memory. She liked to think that she liked him then, even loved him. That she was aware of those times he watched her, secretly longing for her. The cold truth of it just left her numb. That she hadn't been aware of his feelings for her, had never known and that at that haphazard time she had never held any romantic feelings towards him. The feelings came afterwards, after that damned afterwards. And it was too late. There was no turning it back. It was just too late. Period.

Claire lets out a long sigh. The sky was turning pinkish-grey now. Chris should be up soon, she thought. She slowly walked back inside, heading to the small kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. Thinking that Chris might want one once he wakes up, Claire decides to make two, just in case. Chris' moods weren't the best in the early mornings and prevention was always better than cure.

The aroma of freshly made coffee is one of the simple pleasures in my life, Claire thinks as she brings the mug close to her face and smells it. She closes her eyes for a little while, thinking of what she has to do today. It is the same thing that she has had to do for the past two years.

Looking up at the clock, she notices that her brother has slept in again. A regular annoyance. Picking up the other cup of coffee, she heads over to his room, softly knocking before turning the door knob and entering.

Claire glances down at the form of her sleeping brother and sighs at what she sees. She bends down and rearranges the thrown coverlet, tucking him in again, deciding from the peaceful expression on his face to let him sleep some more rather than waking up him up. The expression and the ridiculous snow cap that he must have worn to sleep since it was still on his head, tightly pulled across his eyes, made Claire wish that his sleep was truly as peaceful as it looked. She knew where that snow cap came from, and she could correctly guess the reason he was oversleeping this morning.

He must have spent last night awake. Thinking… of her… again...

Claire left the room, feeling as empty as she had coming into it, leaving the cup of coffee on his bedside table.

This is what it has done to him… to me… to everyone…

"Whenever I breathe, I'm reminded of you."

Chris Redfield woke up tired, to the sound of running water and footsteps along the corridor. Obviously his sister was already awake. Rolling over on his back, he stared at the ceiling, occasionally rubbing his eyes, all the while trying to gather his thoughts together before starting off the day.

He had thought of her last night. It wasn't a regular thing. Snatching off the snow cap he wore, he sat up in his bed, suddenly cursing. Damn, his scalp was already twitching. People would think he had cooties if he scratched his head often enough. Smelling the coffee from his bedside table, he picked it up and sips at it. Claire must have left it for him earlier.

Chris grimaces. That means, she'd have seen the cap… and later she'll probably ask me if I'm alright… and sit me down to talk to her about it… I will then reassure her that I'm fine and at long last she'll back off when she's satisfied I've persuaded myself into believing that I am. Damn, thought Chris. This is the longest dead end loop we've both fallen into.

"Thanks, Jill. Mind if I ask what the occasion is?"

"Does there really need to be one?" Jill says.

"Well, no, I guess… if you put it that way… I just thought I missed out on something." Chris rubs the back of his neck, still thinking if he's missed something.

"No, you didn't. Don't fret. Just a gift, from me to you."

"Want to come in and have a beer or something? Or did you just want to drop off this no-occasion present and leave?" Chris jokingly asks, opening the front door wider.

Jill finally breaks a smile. "I thought you'd never ask."

They are standing in comfortable silence on the balcony. Jill likes the view, and is lighting her next cigarette. Chris decides to break the silence.

"Seriously, man… Did you actually think that I'd wear this?" He asks her incredulously, looking at the garish colour of it. He can't decide whether to thank her sincerely, or joke about it and laugh it off because for all he knew, it mighthave been a humorous sort of gift, and it certainly could have been – he can never tell with her. But standing next to him, looking over the lights of the city at night, Jill just shrugs, letting the question roll off her as if she couldn't have cared less. She takes a deep drag of her cigarette.

"Well, it looks somewhat useful, I guess…" Chris mutters, turning the cap inside out and inspecting it for some sort of brand or something. It wasn't that it was ugly or anything, thought Chris… but it's red, for one thing, and secondly it's wool. And wool makes my skin itch. But that's not her fault, he quickly tells himself, he had never told her about his allergy to wool. Only Claire knew about it. From the corner of his eye he could see a ghost of a smile hovering on Jill's lips as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

"You might need it you know, maybe. For situations and times where you might feel cold," she says absently as if making up a reason, this makes Chris look at her curiously. Jill isn't the type to indulge in idle talk much and could hardly be called relaxed – even on off days when they were having a beer together at a bar, there would always be a kind of nervousness or cautiousness which Chris's 'I've got your back, partner' never worked..

"And then you'll remember my ugly snow cap and wish you had brought it along." Jill finishes with a wry grin looking up at him, her eyes sparkling with rare humour.

Chris wishes she could be a little more like this more often. Rare is an understatement when it comes to Jill smiling. Looking down at her and smiling, and then at the view that his balcony lent them, he decided he sincerely liked his present: itch or no.

Of course, at that time, he had never known that she had knitted it herself. Hell, who could have known that the cool Jill Valentine knitted. She was so shy… No, Chris corrected, shaking his head, she was very reserved, but never really shy. Everything about her screamed caution: caution before she spoke, even when she spoke, caution before any action was decided, caution before and during action. He should know, how many times had she warned him of being more cautious? Many, many times… He found her fascinating. Instead of jokingly labelling her a prude like some other squad members did, he often went out of his way to be with her, enjoyed her quiet company. And more over partners, there was a deep affection that was apparent between them, they were more than good friends, but neither ever sought to tread over that.

He should have never left her to pursue Umbrella… if he had known their last talk together would have really been their last talk… he would have… would have…

Asked her why she made the snow cap from wool... for one.

Damn Umbrella, damn Nemesis. Their unresolved relationship would never have a chance to anything now. Not when one half of it was missing and believed to be dead these past two years. It gave him a twisted feeling deep inside. It was just wrong. Just one of those many unjustified things in the world that you can't put right no matter what.

Anyhow, she had later revealed that strange piece of news much about her knitting, much later after she had presented him with that strange present. It was when they had thought themselves trapped inside a nightmarish mansion and assumed death would be the next best thing rather than being infected and undead. It took that much immense pressure of the hopeless situation for her to finally admit a lot of things.

It was also then that he realised just what an idiot he had been all along.

"Are you cold?"

"No…"

"You're shivering."

"I'm not cold."

"You'd have to be…" Chris says, looking at her bare legs as if for the first time. They are scratched and blood is clotting in a small wound on her inner thigh.

"Come here." He says, opening an arm out to her.

"No." The answer is quick.

"Why not? It makes sense. And I don't bite."

"I just… no." Jill says, moving out of his arms reach.

"Why are you being like this?"

"I just am, damn you." Jill says, without any real anger in her voice. She sits down crossed-legged near him, but still out of his reach.

She leans her head back and closes her eyes. Jill inhales and exhales, deep breaths – an attempt to calm her down. She's always hated cold places, dark places… Because…It reminds me of my life before S.T.A.R.S., Jill muses to herself. Lifeless, colourless… with death close at your heels if you did not run fast enough, or hide well enough. We're going to die. I don't want to die. Not yet… There's something I still really want to do. Something I want to know.

During this length of silence Chris takes the opportunity to look at her. To really look at her. Her clothes are bloodied, rips at most places. Her eyes are shut tight. And she's trembling, really shaking… But she won't let him near her. Has never allowed him near her. Even when she was down on a mission, she'd never take his hand that he'd offered for assistance. She would always quickly get up on her own two feet on her own with a smile. And still thank him nevertheless. At times her coolness was intriguing, but mostly it was perplexing. He just didn't understand her… but they worked well together, fit well together.

"What is it?" She suddenly asks without opening her eyes.

Chris's mouth gapes a little before he snaps it shut. "No… it's nothing. I was just…" His words trail off.

"Looking?" She finishes questioningly, her eyes now open and looking at him raised eyebrows. Then Jill smiles; "Then, do you like what you see?"

Chris grins in answer. "I do."

Jill says nothing and closes her eyes again, but her smile is a little wider. She hears him move a little, in her direction. She opens her eyes to see him crouching before her, one knee up with an arm resting on it. He's getting something from his back-pocket and unfolds it before her. Her eyes widen as she recognises it as her red snow-cap. "You want this? I'll lend it to you… It's pretty warm." He puts it on; wincing a little as touches his forehead but smiles at her as if he has just accomplished some great feat and expects a kiss from mommy. Instead, all he gets is a soft, muted but unmistakable snort.

Chris laughs it off as well, thanking their dark surroundings that is hiding his reddening face. But his laughter dies abruptly as he feels a cold hand brush his brow, gently rubbing where it makes contact with the cap.

Jill's voice is soft. "It itches doesn't it?"

He sighs, thinking of all the rare times they made skin contact. Even handshakes were rare, with Jill preferring to nod her greetings. "How did you know?"

"I read up on your profile. When we were assigned as partners, remember? We were given each others files to read up."

He frowns, remembering that he hadn't bothered to do that.

"If you had read up on mine," Jill continues, "You would have known that I knit."

Chris looks at Jill with an odd expression in his eyes. "That ugly thing you're wearing is proof." Jill says, with a smile. Beside her, Chris feels a pang of remorse and something else stirring, slowly breaking the barriers between his feelings for her as a comrade… and his feelings for her as a woman. "Jill, I never said your cap was ugly. You did."

"I know." She says, as always ending the trail of conversation. But this time Chris doesn't want this conversation to end. At the same time, he does not know how to be confrontational with her since Jill is the only person who he knew who is dangerously placid.

"Jill…."

"Yes?"

"Lean on me a little."

"Why?"

"Do it for me." His tone is strangely strained. He realises that that should have been his line all along. It dawns on his with increasing clarity that she cares for him, and not in the way of partners. Stupid, Chris, real dumb, he thought to himself… with Jill it's always caution isn't it? And looking at her looking at him, he realises how stupid and futile it was to only realise this now… now when they were both most like to die.

He watches her now, knowing she'll come. Wanting her to come to him for once – just plain wanting her in his arms. There's something he wants to know, and he wastes no time beating around the bush. He touches the snow-cap, and looks at her with an intense curiosity, "Are you cold?" He repeats his earlier question, his tone leaving no room for doubt to what his meaning is.

Jill studies her hands before finally raising her eyes up to meet his dark ones. "Yes."

"Then so am I..."

"What?"

Chris reaches out and touches her face, lightly trailing his fingers through her short hair. His fingers stopped at her chin where he kept a hold of it with his thumb and forefinger, preventing her from pulling away. "If you are, then I am. If you aren't, then I'm not." He said, searching her face for some sort of sign to prove what his instinct screamed. "But I think you do… and I know now that I do too."

Jill sighed, "Why are you talking in riddles?"

"Jill, you are a riddle." Chris said. "But at least I think I know what the answer to you is."

Another snort and a roll of her eyes caused Chris to smile a little.

"Jill."

Still looking up at him, her eyes flew wide open as he suddenly lowered his head and kissed her.

If he had known what hell would unleash in the immediate following moments, he would have said so much more. If someone had asked him what his most hated word is, he would have answered 'if'. The word and its meaning has made his life a living agony.

Not for the first time, he curses himself again for being such a moron for so long. He rolls out of bed and heads to the bathroom. He has a feeling that today would be a long day.

From the kitchen table, Claire eyes her brother as he emerges from his bedroom, he looks terrible.

"Morning," she says. Chris grunts in reply and thanks her for the coffee. "How are you feeling?"

"Ace." Chris replies, lighting a cigarette, causing Claire to wear a look of disapproval on her face. It was a habit he picked up from Jill.

"Want to talk about it?" She presses, watching him finish quickly off the cigarette with a few long drags and stubbing it out in the ashtray on the coffee table in front of the couch. The smoke is still billowing around, she notices with a downward tilt to her mouth.

How can someone who's dead have such a long arm?

Claire knew she was thinking stupid thoughts. Why did she think of Steve? Some things are just pointless to wonder about.

"No, I'm fine." Chris says a little testily. "Why must we always go through this?"

Claire shifts around on her feet. "Just because…"

Chris snorts. Claire frowns again – another habit picked up from Jill.

Frustrated Claire goes over to the couch and switches on the television, absently flicking through the channels for something to catch her attention and distract her from her emotions. From where she is she can hear Chris going about the living room, most probably searching for his keys and jacket.

"You're not going?" He calls out.

"You go first… I am an unofficial worker remember? A volunteer of sorts." Claire says, referring to the fact that she isn't really S.T.A.R.S. With their regrouping, she often lent her brother aid in with mostly research and the occasional back-up when needed, which was rare since her brother hated to put her in harm's way, even if it was a necessity.

"Right… See you later, sis." He says, seconds before he closes the front door, as if suddenly remembering that he is an official worker and that he is late. Claire listens to his footsteps fade before she turns back to the television. The news is on, there is a story about some aristocratic fop's fiancée. She grabs the remote again. What kind of prime-time news is this? This is called news? Why not just honestly say it's tabloid? Wouldn't hurt anyone, would it?

Fumbling with the remote, Claire accidentally switches the television off, but not before she sees a face that she would never again see in her lifetime. Gasping as the screen goes black, she quickly presses buttons to make it come back on again. Her heart is thumping so hard it feels like her body is moving with each beat. The face is gone by the time the television comes back on. But Claire knows something is very wrong, she can feel it in her bones… slowly she sits up and walks over to her room. Trembling she sits down on her bed, thinking for long moments.

After a few minutes have passed and her heart rate has slowed down a little, she picks up the cordless phone that is lying on her bed. She dials a number she knows by heart and is comforted by the voice that comes though. She can hear the sounds of voices and in the background as well as a steady stream of clicks from a computer keyboard. Claire doesn't waste any time with idle talk, she gets straight to the point.

"Leon, tell me I'm delusional."

She can hear soft laughter on the other end. "Why?"

"Just say it!"

"You're delusional. Always have been, always will be. That ok?" Leon smiles as he hears the sigh of relief come through the line.

"That's good." Claire says. Leon can tell she's smiling over the phone. "It's good that I am. I'm not sure what would happen if I wasn't."

Leon is getting a little concerned and confused. "Claire, what's wrong?"

"Would you believe me?"

"Depends…."

"Ha – ha. I wouldn't believe me…"

"Try me."

"I think I just saw Jill Valentine on television…"