Thank you to those who read and left comments - you are all awesome!

Onward!

Most of Jill's friends and family either lived out-of-state or were killed during the Raccoon City Outbreak back in 1998 so the turnout for her birthday dinner was small: Ex-S.T.A.R.S. members Barry Burton and Rebecca Chambers were more than happy to partake in any event that didn't involve hidden chambers in hidden basements that housed dangerous monstrosities, as was Chris' little sister, Claire. The typically scattered group met up at a cozy dive bar that was known for good food, good music, and excellent beer. It was the perfect spot to forget about their never-ending work against bio-terrorism and live like normal people – for a little while, anyway. Unfortunately, Rebecca had left rather early: the life of a medical professional didn't allow for too much downtime. A little over an hour after her departure, Barry rose from his seat and picked up his jacket: the life of a family man didn't allow for too much partying.

"Claire," he nodded toward the younger Redfield. "Always a pleasure." Claire gave a curt nod as she sipped her drink; she was pissed off about something Barry said earlier.

"Jill," Barry made his way across the table and stooped to give her a quick hug. "I'll see you later. Happy birthday."

"Aww, Barryyyy," Jill took the older man's hand in hers, shaking it back and forth, "Thanks for coming! And for buying drunks! Drinks!"

Chris stood up to shake his old friend's hand. "Good seeing you again, man."

"You, too, Chris…" Barry leaned slightly forward; Chris took the cue and stepped closer.

"What's up?"

Barry quickly glanced back at Jill: Although it was firmly established some years prior that the woman was able to handle her liquor, both men were exceedingly aware that she had consumed more alcohol over the course of the evening than either had seen her drink over the course of the last eight years. At this point, Jill's sobriety had to have been scientifically impossible.

"She's looking like she may have had one too many. You should take her home."

"Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing..."

Chris made to let go of Barry's hand; Barry, however, had different plans. He maintained his grip and leaned in a little closer.

"Take her home, Redfield," he said in a low and somewhat menacing tone, "but do not 'take her home.'"

It took a moment for Chris to register the meaning behind the comment, and when he did he thought that it must have been some kind of joke. It wasn't until he felt the pressure on his hand increase slightly that he realized his bearded comrade was dead serious.

"What the fuck, Barry? You know that I wouldn't –! Besides, I thought you knew that she was –"

"Yeah, yeah; I shouldn't have said that – you're a good kid," the older of the two sighed. "Just don't let her do anything… …drastic."

Now it was Chris's turn to steal a quick glance at Jill: She was finishing the last of her cake while laughing about something with Claire.

"She's my partner – I'll take care of her."

Barry finally let go of Chris's hand and patted him on the shoulder. "Atta boy. See you later."

Chris let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as he sat down – just in time to see Jill down another shot. He wondered how many of those things she had taken and started counting the small, empty glasses that littered the table. He made it to three before he caught Claire's eye and came to an abrupt halt.

"Hey, what was that about?" She asked.

"Oh," Chris nonchalantly waved his hand. "Manly chit-chat. Nothing to be concerned about."

Claire raised her eyebrows. "Riiiight. You suck at lying. You know that, don't you?"

Before Chris could offer any sort of rebuttal he noticed that Jill was leaning on the table, looking at him with a goofy smile on her face, steel-blue eyes slightly glossed over. It would have been hilarious – and it probably was to the casual observer (or Claire) – but somehow it managed to be slightly unnerving.

"Umm... what?"

"I love this hat," Jill placed a hand on top of her head: She had never once removed the cap that had been playfully dubbed George.

Chris chuckled. "I'm glad you – how many of those have you had?"

Jill downed yet another shot that seemingly materialized out of nowhere. "Hmmmm… Two? Maaaaybe four? They're really good!" Her speech was a bit slurred.

"I think that was number six," Claire cut in. "And that beer with dinner."

"SIX?!"

Chris wasn't sure if he should be horrified or impressed: that was a lot of alcohol. Claire was about to say something else but was interrupted when Jill leaned so far toward Chris that she fell out of her chair, hitting the floor with a loud thud.

"OH, SHIT!" Chris immediately scrambled to help her up. "Are you alright?!"

Jill laughed as if she had just seen or done the funniest thing in the entire world. "I'm drunk! I'm so drunk right now! But I'm awesome!" She gave Chris thumbs up as he gently took her elbow and helped her back into her chair. She laughed so hard that she momentarily lost her breath and snorted.

"She's fine! Show's over, folks! It's all good," Claire called out to the various groups of people who were watching their table with a keen interest.

"Okay, no more drinks for you," Chris smiled weakly as Jill resumed staring at him with the same ridiculous grin she wore before her startling drop. There was a sudden flash: Claire had snapped a photo from across the table, earning a stern look from her older brother.

"What?" she said, "I'm documenting the night!"

Chris rolled his eyes. "Document my ass."

"Pffft. Mom already did! Haven't you ever looked in your baby book?"

Chris groaned. He had, in fact, flipped through the aforementioned scrapbook: Much to his chagrin it contained photographic evidence of a phase he went through shortly before his third birthday, wherein he decided that wearing bottoms of any kind for more than five minutes was a detriment to his health.

Unable to think of an appropriate verbal response, he raised his middle finger – which Claire promptly photographed – before turning back to Jill.

"Why don't we get out of here? You've had enough for half of the bar."

"Not until you dance with me!"

"You know I have two left feet," Chris fidgeted a little as Jill tried to pull him out of his chair. Smiling, he turned to his sister. "Why don't you dance with her, Claire-bear?"

Now it was Claire's turn to flip the bird: she hated when he called her that. Rising from her seat, she took one last sip of her daiquiri. "I'm game. Come on, Jilly-pants, let's show this big-eared bastard how it's done!"

"YES!" Jill enthusiastically took Claire's hands in hers. "Girl-on-girl action!"

"You have the same ears," Chris called as the two women moved toward the jukebox.

The scene that followed was one of the silliest things Chris had ever laid eyes on: He watched as his sister and his best friend danced rather clumsily, the latter somehow working up the coordination needed to maneuver without tripping on her heels – much. Some of their moves were a little on the suggestive side, which was a bit uncomfortable for him to watch, but he laughed in spite of himself. A good deal of the bar patrons were checking out the two women as they laughed and swayed with each other. Chris immediately felt his protective instincts kick in: He started counting the number of men who were probably thinking dirty thoughts about the pair and determined that he could kick all of their asses with ease should the need arise. Uppercuts, jabs and hooks... That big guy over there wouldn't stand a chance against a good body shot to the liver...

"Dude!"

Moments later Claire's voice snapped her brother out of his violent musings. "She is absolutely effing blitzed! Hell, I think she might have been coming on to me…!"

Chris choked on the water he was drinking, unable to think of how he could possibly respond to that. He was saved when Jill plopped down on his leg and rested her head on his shoulder.

Claire opened her mouth, closed it, and furrowed her brow. Frowning, she changed the subject.

"We're about leave, right?"

"Yeah," Chris gently nudged Jill. "You wanna go home now? Get some rest?"

"You're comfy. Kind of like a big pillow," she slurred. "With feet."

"That's… good to know. You two go out to the car – I'll be out after I pay the bill."

# # #

The walk back to the parking lot was short and surprisingly quiet. Jill's balance had abandoned her, yet she insisted on walking without help. Chris watched her carefully, ready to catch her at a moment's notice, while Claire trailed slightly behind the two, her motorcycle helmet under one arm and Jill's bag hanging on her shoulder. (Letting an inebriated person handle anything that contained a loaded firearm was never a good idea, even if the safety was on.)

Chris unlocked his car and Claire handed him Jill's bag. For the second time that evening her would-be dialogue was interrupted by Jill, who let out a loud shriek.

"What's wrong?!" Chris quickly withdrew the Beretta from the bag and pointed it in all directions.

"Zombies?!" Claire dropped her helmet and pulled a knife from her jacket pocket.

"That!" Jill pointed to something that was just outside of Chris's field of vision. "That is the most beautiful car I have ever seen in my life! Claire-bear, get your camera!"

"Wait, Jill," Chris tried to grab her arm, but she had already made her way passed him to enthusiastically eyeball a 1969 Chevelle SS that sported a freshly waxed purple paint job. Chris admired the vehicle from afar as he placed the handgun back into the bag. It was a nice car, though he wasn't particularly fond of the color.

"Come on!" Jill called. She reached the car and stooped to look into one of the windows before straightening up. "It's so… majestic! I have to have my picture taken with it!"

"I… have to agree," Claire had replaced her knife with her digital camera.

"What? There's no way –"

Chris began to protest but it was in vain: his drunken colleague placed a foot on the front bumper and dramatically threw an arm over her head. Claire laughed and immediately took a photo. Jill shakily took her foot down; she moved over to the side of the car and slowly bent herself over it. The whole thing had a 1950's pin-up calendar feel to it.

"What do you think, Chris?! Would you hit it?!" She laughed and suggestively wiggled her hips.

Chris buried his face in his palm. "What I think is that alcohol makes you creepy. Can we knock this shit off and go?" The possibility of the car's owner showing up at any second and catching some strange, intoxicated woman using his or her investment for an impromptu photo shoot while her sober buddy watched was extremely unappealing to the straight-laced operative.

"Gimme 'fierce', Jill," Claire called out. She turned to her brother and hissed, "How on earth are you not interested in her? And what the hell with the 'creepy' line? She's gorgeous!"

Chris couldn't deny that Jill managed to look quite lovely despite the stupid grin plastered on her face, but any physical attraction he may have felt toward her had vanished years ago: they were partners and friends, and that was all. He wouldn't want it any other way, and neither would she – even if certain preferences didn't exist. However, Claire, who had a tendency to be oblivious at times, thought that they were perfect for each other. To an extent, they were. Just not in the way she envisioned.

"As far as I'm concerned, she's a gorgeous dude," Chris replied matter of factly. "Furthermore, haven't we already had this conversation?"

"Good one, mama," Claire called as she snapped another picture. Rolling her eyes, she said, "Yeah, yeah. You're 'partners' or whatever - but, still! I just don't get it..!"

"JILL!"

Chris's horrified exclamation effectively ended the dialogue with his little sister: Their friend was unsteadily climbing onto the hood of the car. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"You should get down," a wide-eyed Claire added. "Like, right now!"

"You guys are laaaame!"

The instant Jill said that she slipped, and her heel knocked the front bumper – hard. An extremely loud alarm sounded as she slid off the car and landed bottom-first on the pavement. Chris ran to pick her up as quickly as he could. She held onto him, laughing hysterically as he made a mad dash for his jeep.

* First off, yes, the Jill in my head-canon is a lesbian. Initially it was only going to be something that was implied, but whatever.

* The dive bar is inspired by the Texas Chili Parlor. Blame Quintin Tarantino's Death Proof – I was watching that when I began writing this.

* On the subject of dive bars, please note that not all dives are shit-holes; they are merely a type of bar or pub.

* I imagined Jill's shots to be these cute little drinks called a "Dirty Girl Scout." They consist of one shot Bailey's Irish Cream, one to two shots vodka, one shot White Creme de Menthe, one shot Kahlua. For all you non-drinkers, vodka will fuck. you. up.

* Alcohol count: one beer, six shots (see alcohol content above), and a sip of Claire's girly drink.

* "Big eared bastard" - Chris's ears are pretty fucking big. (Check out any of his character art or in-game models...) Claire's are, too. Go look at the Code Veronica Cover, you'll see.

* As usual, don't be afraid to let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!