Only Through The Pain

AN - I feel the need to apologise for the length of this chapter. I tried splitting it up but it just didn't feel right, I even tried cutting parts of it out but there was nothing that I deemed expendable, really. It's one of the most important chapters and I had a lot to get through. I actually applaud and bow down to anyone who can get through this beast in one sitting, lol. I promise that the next chapter won't be as painfully long but it's a busy fortnight for me so I might be a little late on the update. I'll try and make it worth it :). On the bright side, this story is now officially the longest story I have posted on FFN! Chapter title is from a song by Bullet For My Valentine.
I would like to thank Ryoko Metallium for an idea she gave me that really helped with this chapter. Thank you!

I also want to thank all my reviewers...Ryoko Metallium, Devil Rebel, JILLsandwiches101, Captain Fox McCloud, Alpha Pepper, Tek, Ultimolu, Tiger Snaps, C. Redfield 86, Smash King24, Keybladem, Sparkle Valentine, Aleu The Lunar Wolf, Lemon Turkey, Kenshin 13 and Rugbyfan. I don't know what to say that I haven't already said, other than thank you, thank you, thank you!

Chapter Ten - Tears Don't Fall

"There's always something different going wrong. The path I walk is in the wrong direction."

Chris could not remember the last time he had sat at the breakfast table in the clothes he had slept in. Mornings were always too hectic to relax and he barely had time to breathe as he would leap out of bed, into the shower then straight into the car and be on his way to work before Jill realised that he had even moved. It was nice to relax every once in a while but that morning relaxation felt like the furthest concept from his mind.

Every little detail was an annoyance. The freshly cut flowers he had brought home the day before emitted an odour that churned his insides, the distant voices outside were too loud, even his own head seemed too heavy to support. With a useless sigh he allowed his head to fall harshly onto the table. The toaster spat his crude breakfast into the air but he could not find the energy to retrieve it.

Mentally, he cursed Travis for letting him drink so much.

The only sound that could rouse him from his self-pity were the footsteps that shuffled slowly down the staircase. His eyes could not focus enough to provide him with a clear image but he still found himself groaning at the figure that plodded towards where he sat.

"You think you could walk a little quieter?" he moaned as his head fell back to the table.

"A little quieter?" Jill fumed, deliberately raising her voice and stepping towards him. "Have you seen the size of me lately? I physically can't do quiet! For the record, I have no sympathy for you."

"Could you at least pass my toast over?"

She groaned in mock-annoyance but he knew that she would oblige. Sure enough, the deafening scrape of a knife over the charred bread grated on his nerves and a few seconds later the freshly buttered toast was placed carefully next to his head along with a large glass of water.

"I didn't wake you last night, did I?" he asked. He could not for the life of him remember when or how he had stumbled home the previous night. The only memories that dared show themselves were of the growing pile of empty beer bottles and the drunken laughter of his poker buddies. The pain in his head had nothing on the guilt he felt, knowing that he would have likely made a lot of noise and roused his hormonally grouchy wife from her much-needed sleep.

"Actually, you didn't," she assured him as she lowered herself into a vacant chair and began to sip at a small glass of milk. "Junior was giving me a rough night again."

He noticed that she did not wear her pyjamas, dressed instead in a simple cotton maternity dress that he couldn't help but notice emphasised her slightly enlarged breasts. He shifted further over in his chair, pulling up close enough to place a hand on her impressive bump.

"Soccer player or kung fu expert?" he asked with a mouthful of toast. The sudden switch of focus seemed to dull his throbbing headache enough for him to register a sudden quick application of pressure against his hand. He smiled almost painfully and lost himself to the warmth that fell over him. It had been six weeks since Jill felt the first sign of movement but it never got old. Part of him still found it difficult to process the knowledge that he was a father to be, but moments like the one he was experiencing made the reality far clearer than his own thoughts ever could.

"Ah, that was a big one," Jill laughed, placing a hand over her husband's. "You know, I could swear they're stronger when you're around. Must be the sound of your voice."

Chris hummed with delightful interest before shovelling the last of his toast into his mouth and pulling his chair closer still to the two most important people in his life.

"We should probably start discussing names soon," he mused. It was a subject they had not even thought about, being far too caught up in making sure they knew all they possibly could about pregnancy, childbirth and what to expect. The nursery was coming along slowly but they had still failed to consider the most important detail: the name.

"I suppose," Jill agreed. "We can't call them Junior forever."

They both sat in silence, each one waiting patiently for the other to suggest something. When no words were spoken they both sighed simultaneously and laughed at their predicament.

"I'm sure we'll think of a good name," Jill promised. "We've still got a few months."

This revelation was as harrowing to Chris as it was reassuring. A few months gave them enough time to sort out their affairs before the focus of their lives switched but it also signalled how time was running out. Despite the huge leaps and bounds that they had made, Jill's condition was still nowhere near treated. She still possessed that painfully haunted look, still cried in her sleep and broke down when she thought he was not looking. For the most part she had succeeded in keeping her emotions in check but he could not help but wonder if she was merely bottling everything up and was not actually dealing with her feelings.

The progress they had made was astounding and for the first time in so long he truly believed her smile. He was hopeful in a way he had never been before and prayed that she was not far away from fully opening up to him. He could see that her mind was in conflict and she would drift frequently between two states of mind, as though she would venture out of her dark world for a brief spell but then be dragged back down into the depths of despair. If he was ever in any doubt that she had not been completely honest with him, that doubt was eradicated with these mood changes.

He downed the remainder of his water in one go, relishing the moisture it provided to his parched insides. As he placed the empty glass onto the table and pushed himself to his feet he leaned forward to press a kiss onto Jill's forehead. He did not know why he performed this simple act but when he saw the reaction that it gained he smiled proudly.

"I thought you were hungover?" she asked through her earsplitting grin.

"Never too hungover for a kiss," he replied as he boldly placed another on her lips. "Think I'll go see if I can wash it off. Don't go anywhere."

"Like I could," he heard her scoff behind him. He couldn't help but smile a little as his feet hit the steps and carried him up to their ensuite bathroom.

The smile he had brought to her face lingered long after she heard the distant hiss of water begin. She found it difficult to move from her seat at first, remaining lost in the normality of the moment they had only just shared. It was a brief reminder that her life was somewhat getting back on track. It felt truly great to breathe without the feeling that every breath was decaying her lungs, to know how it felt to be loved so deeply and to understand that feeling completely. Thinking back, she found it hard to believe that she had ever been in such a state as that which she was in shortly after their honeymoon. She knew now that she was a broken woman and was thankful that she had a partner as caring and as understanding as Chris. It would have been so easy for him to walk away and not deal with the emotional baggage she was trailing around.

It was thoughts like these that still caused her to feel ashamed and unworthy. She could not ignore the pain that still ate at her consciouness, and she could not forget the actions that had left her with a guilt so deep and profound that she still felt shame when she looked Chris in the eye. Her 'episodes' were not as crippling as they once were but they still persisted. Despite her promise to allow him to help her deal with them she chose to leave the room when she felt the tears approach. She could not think of a way to let him help that did not involve letting him in on her antics whilst still a slave to Wesker. No, she was not ready to slay that demon just yet.

Her darkened thoughts killed the mood that Chris had left hanging in the air and with a frown she drained the rest of her milk and made her way to the sink, ignoring how her movement reflected her pregnancy. Chris had not yet made a 'waddling' joke but she knew that one was not far off. He would not dare tease his almost-due sister with such an observation but he knew that Jill was approaching her ever-changing physique with a much more light-hearted attitude than the fiery redhead.

"Thank God it's Sunday," she sighed in relief as she heaved herself back up into a standing position after placing the dirty glasses and plate into the dishwasher. Despite the fact that Sundays signalled the end of the weekend, Jill had come to enjoy them simply for the time they awarded her to spend with Chris. Lately, each other's company had been all they seemed to need on this usually dull day.

A quick flutter of discomfort appeared in the depths of her abdomen and she groaned at the sensation. It was not dissimilar from cramp but it was not a feeling she had experienced since the early stages of her pregnancy. In response, she braced herself against the counter and waited for the annoyance to pass.

From somewhere upstairs she heard the water shut off and found herself mentally urging Chris to hurry up and join her again. If there was one thing her pregnancy had told her it was that his hands were capable of chasing away even the most persistant aches and pains.

Another pang shot across the resting place of that unpleasant sensation, this time more harsh and drawn out than the first. Her mind raced a mile a minute and she tried her best to calm herself with the reassurance that it was just minor 'practice' contractions that she had read about in the many pregnancy books she had ploughed her way through. A third, more painful ripple flashed as she began to move towards the dining table and a fourth brought her to her knees, clutching at her abdomen in a vain attempt to alleviate the pain.

When a fifth followed several long seconds later, she knew that something was terribly wrong. By the time a sixth seized her she could feel moisture in the corner of her eyes. Her pelvis seemed host to a turbulent storm, a strain so powerful it caused her to bite into her lip. It was agony, pure and simple. She let out a pained cry as it became too much to bear, but when the realisation of what was happening sunk in the pain meant nothing compared to the fear that pierced her recently-thawed heart.

"Too early," she gasped, the tears now raining down in full force. "Please, God no..."

Her whole body convulsed from the pain and unwelcome memories returned, visions of masked figures hovering above her, a black form storming in her direction with a violent fury.

"Chris!" she screamed with every breath that was left in her. Her voice came out loud and strangled, tortured in a way her mind was not able to comprehend. Footsteps thudded down the staircase but she could not focus on the sound; the only thoughts that graced her consciousness were of the activity within her body and the very real possibility that her child was slipping away from her. The only solace that she was provided with was the fact that her white dress remained unblemished; if there was no blood the problem must not be that serious...right?

"Jill?" she heard Chris's voice call as the footsteps drew closer. "Jill! Are you okay?"

As he bent down to her level, she reached up and grasped the neck of his T-shirt before he could even touch her. His hands moved quickly to her shoulders, one moving up to cup her cheek and she could feel the tremors that seized him.

"Chris," she gasped. "Something's wrong, something-"

The pain eased a little before striking her again with full force and she doubled over, her movements restricted only by the fierce grip that Chris had on her. She could not move enough to look him in the eye but she could tell simply by his stance that her behaviour was frightening him as much as it was her.

"Just breathe," he urged with a voice as tremulous as her body. "Deep breaths."

The fingers of the hand that rested on her cheek slid beneath her jaw and gently tilted her head upwards. As her eyelids slowly slid open he could see that her eyes were bloodshot, drowned by the moisture that continued to seep from the corners. It was not only pain that he saw in her eyes; he recognised the fear and knew that this was no minor complication.

"Can you walk?" he asked, to which she replied with an uncertain nod. "Okay, listen to me. I'm going to take you to the hospital and we're going to find out what's wrong. You need to keep breathing and just stay calm, okay? You're going to be alright. The baby's fine."

He was amazed with how calm and composed he managed to seem, despite the chaos that swirled within him. The soldier within kicked into action and all he could see was a solution and means to get there; emotions were set aside for the sake of completing the task at hand. All he was focused on was relieving her pain and he knew that getting himself worked up would only prevent him from being able to sensibly drive her to the hospital.

She did not bother to reply to his instructions and simply grabbed onto him in an attempt to haul her heavy form to her feet. It was no easy feat for her but fortunately Chris's muscle mass proved more than enough to pull her upright. With an arm rightly around her waist he reached for the keys to their car and began hurrying her out of the door.


For once the hospital was not submerged in the stench of cleaning fluids, nor was it host to the other tear-inducing odours that often permeated its hallways. Despite the fresh appearance of the corridors and the light that filtered in through the many windows, there had never been a darker setting to Chris at that moment. The door that seperated him from his wife seemed thicker than mere pine, more impermeable than was intended. He wanted nothing more than to burst through the barrier and hold her hand but the nurse's insistance that he remained outside until the tests were complete was enough to keep him rooted to the spot in fear of exacerbating the situation.

No sooner had they burst through the doors of the gyneocology and obstetrics department, they found themselves being rushed through to a private examination room by several concerned members of staff. It pleased him that it only took a few brief words describing their situation to alert the staff to the problem. No messing about, no mistakes. Despite this professonalism, it annoyed him that he had not received a single answer since stepping through those doors.

His fingers scraped the thin layer of stubble he had not had the time to shave off that morning as he glanced up at a plastic clock on the wall above the door and realised that they had arrived in the hospital barely twenty minutes ago. A fragmented groan escaped him as impatience settled in. It was amazing what worry could do to ease a hangover. He barely registered the door that opened for a few short seconds but the closing slam drew his attention to a female doctor that smiled sympathetically at him.

"Mr. Redfield?" she asked quietly. "I am Dr. Young. Your wife's midwife is absent in today so I am dealing with her case. Is it okay if we talk somewhere a little quieter?"

Chris nodded hastily, desperate for the answer she silently promised to provide. Without caring where she was leading him, he followed and found himself in a small room furnished only by a few comfortable chairs and a table. The morbidity of the setting did nothing to ease his worry; this was obviously a room designed for one-on-one talks the likes of which were never good.

Dr. Young signalled for him to take a seat and he did just that, his eyes glued to the folder that she carried beneath her arm.

"Is she alright?" he asked, unable to tolerate the silence any longer.

The doctor turned her attention to him and smiled unconvincingly as she placed the folder across her knee and turned the first page.

"Please, be honest," he begged, sensing a certain reluctance.

"Your wife is fine," she assured him. "A little shaken up but nothing serious. As of yet we have not determined the reason, but the pains she has been experiencing are likely to be contractions."

It was a simple word, one he was not unfamiliar with through his preparations for fatherhood. Had the situation not been so dire, he would have been amazed that such a simple word could instill such fear into the heart of a man who had spent the last ten years of his life living a nightmare.

"Contractions?" he repeated, hoping that he had heard incorrectly. "But she's only twenty-four weeks!"

Dr. Young looked down onto her file as though it provided a more satisfying answer than the one she had to offer.

"During pregnancy, most women experience what are known as Braxton-Hicks contractions," she explained. "They are often referred to as 'practice' contractions and they are completely natural and pose no threat to mother or baby. We are proceeding with the hope that this is the reason for your wife's pain but due to the severity of the contractions we must consider more serious situations. Your wife told us that she has been under a lot of stress lately and this, along with other factors, leads us to believe that she could be in premature labour."

The words made no sense to Chris. He had heard of Braxton-Hicks contractions but the descriptions he had read sounded a million miles away from what he had witnessed in their kitchen. No 'minor discomfort' could bring her to her knees the way he had witnessed, no 'natural occurance' could force upon her tears so desperate.

"If- if it is premature labour, what does that mean?" he asked, knowing that he did not truly wish to hear the answer to this question. His fears were reinforced as the doctor sighed before staring resolutely in his direction, as though prepping herself for revealing painful information.

"There are measures we can take to stop the contractions," she explained. "But these measures are not infallible and there is a chance that we will be unsuccessful. If that is the case, we will be forced to deliver."

"Deliver? But she's barely into her third trimester!"

"A fetus has roughly a forty per cent chance of surviving if delivered at twenty-four weeks," Dr. Young sighed. Chris could see that revealing this information affected her as much as it affected Chris to hear it. As inapproriate as he thought it, it brought a certain sense of reassurance to the mess of emotions that flurried within him; she empathised with them. "The child will be rushed to our neonatal unit and will be under intensive care possibly for months. However, statistics show that a child born at such an early stage is not likely to survive. If, and I must stress that word, the worst scenario becomes reality it is likely that the child will not survive."

The information was too much to process and Chris brought his hands to his face to hide the anguish that he knew was now physically evident. He always was optimistic but after everything they had been through he came to realise that the worst scenario was also the most likely. The ghost of Wesker seemed unwilling to relinquish its death-like grip on their lives and he knew that stealing their child from them would be the last act needed to throw them both over the edge and into a fiery abyss from which there was no returning.

"As harsh as this reality is, I am only informing you of it because I have a duty to," the doctor reassured. "Your wife does seem to be under a lot of stress and I am sure that this is making her problem seem far worse than what it is. I have faith in the best case scenario and you should, too."

Chris's shoulders slumped as he realised that this opinion was not exactly professional. Professional or not, it reassured him enough to speak again.

"Can I see her?" he asked.

"I don't see why not," Dr. Young smiled. "The tests should be completed by now and I'm sure she would appreciate your company. I should also mention that we took the liberty of conducting routine third-trimester tests while she was here. These will likely by the last tests she has to undergo before the birth."

Chris nodded in appreciation and thanked the doctor as she led him back outside.

"If you or your wife have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask," she added with a smile. "For what it's worth, you did the right thing by bringing her here."

This assurance offered little consolation buy he flashed her a smile out of courtesy as she continued down the hallway, leaving him alone once again outside Jill's private room. His thoughts seemed so much louder in the silence, echoing off the walls of his mind and further driving the doctor's words home. As he pressed down on the door handle he realised that he could not fake the smile he knew would make her feel better.

There was no sound to greet him as he stepped inside, no movement at all. Jill lay peacefully on the cot, still clothed in the white maternity dress and above the drab hospital sheets. Her eyelids covered the striking eyes he could sense were filled with despair at that moment but she did not display any outward signs of such anguish. In fact, he had never seen her look so peaceful. Her blonde locks framed her head against the white pillows and her skin was flushed ever so slightly.

Chris could not move as he observed her, enjoying her momentary solace vicariously. He wished that he could provide her with the comfort she found only in sleep but accepted that it was impossible. Nothing could erase what Wesker had done; their only option was to learn to accept that and to overcome the devastation he had left in his wake.

She looked so beautiful, so fragile. He could not understand why anyone would want to hurt her. No matter how hard he tried he could not remove images of what she had described from his mind's eye; battered and broken after Wesker took his anger at another failed experiment out on her because she dared to fight his oppression. So fragile it seemed, yet so strong. Looks could be deceiving and such a truth had never been more apt than at that moment. Even in her weakened state she could still kill a man before he knew that he was under attack.

Slowly, one of her eyelids opened and the other followed suit a moment later. Her eyes were not bloodshot and they opened with such speed that he knew she had not actually been sleeping.

"How are you feeling?" he asked as he took a seat in the chair beside her bed. She did not smile upon seeing him but she curled her fingers around that hand that found its way to hers.

"I'm not in pain anymore," she replied quietly. "If that's what you mean. It just seemed to fade out. I don't know if they did something, I wasn't really paying attention."

Chris sighed a deep sigh of relief and raised her hand to his lips for a brief moment.

"That's good," he breathed with a small laugh. He knew that no pain meant no contractions and no contractions meant no labour. It seemed, however, that Jill did not look on the situation with this much hope.

"I'm tired, Chris," she breathed as tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm sick and so fucking tired. I'm tired of dealing with some new problem every week, I'm tired of hitting a dead end every time I think I'm heading down the right path and I'm so damn tired of living in a cage. Nothing ever goes right for us, does it? It's always going to be this way, we're always going to be dealing with something, aren't we? Umbrella's gone, Wesker's dead and the viruses are almost eradicated. We're supposed to be free but I'm falling apart, our marriage is under strain and now I feel like I'm losing the one thing that gives me hope."

Her words struck a chord within Chris's heart and he squeezed her hand tighter, understanding her point of view but not agreeing with it.

"No," he told her straight, his jaw set. "We're not going to lose this child."

"Why?" she demanded through her tears. "Because I'm strong? Because-"

"Because fate isn't that fucking cruel!" he spat, his control slipping for a brief moment. In that momentary lack of composure, Jill saw straight through to his heart and swallowed her words.

Shame settled in as she remembered that it was his child that she was carrying. She could see the worry etched into his expression, a troubled aura surrounding him as he dealt with the pain in his own way.

"I'm sorry," she gasped breathlessly, pulling his hand onto her stomach as she felt a reassuring kick. It brought a smile of relief to her face and her tears began to dry up.

"Don't be."

She smiled again and pretended that she knew she did not have reason to be sorry. She had taken so much from him already.

Before she could worry about voicing these thoughts, the door to her small, miserable room swung open again. Dr. Young stepped into the room quietly with the same folder tucked beneath her arm but this time she wore a smile that could only be described as genuine.

"How are you feeling?" she asked politely. Jill forced a smile and replied as honestly as she could without mentioning too many personal details.

The realisation that the doctor's presence would provide the answers they had been waiting for was enough to distract them both from their grim thoughts. A quick glance over at his troubled wife told Chris that the damage had already been done and he sank back into the chair in resignation. He did not mind talking her out of an emotional episode, it was witnessing her go through one that still proved painful to witness. With the pain of the threat of losing his unborn child still hanging over his head, he did not know how he would cope with her tears.

"Is everything alright?" Jill asked as she pushed herself upright, worry still evident in her voice.

"Everything is fine," Dr. Young assured her, smiling as they both breathed a deep sigh of blissful relief. "There is no evidence that suggest you are in labour. We are certain that the pains you were experiencing were Braxton-Hicks contractions, a fact reinforced by their natural cessation. While it is unusual for Braxton-Hicks contractions to be so painful it is not unheard of. I suggest not over-exerting yourself in the next few months and if they occur as painfully again, make an appointment with your doctor or regular midwife and they will be able to prescribe you with some form of pain relief. However, if you experience any of the symptoms I described earlier or if the contractions worry you in any way, come straight back here. If you have any questions, I would be more than happy to answer them. Otherwise, I see no reason why you can't go home."

Jill thanked the doctor in relief and watched her leave quietly. She did not have any questions that she did not already know the answer to and quite frankly could not wait to get out of there.

Chris allowed his head to fall into his hands, his arms shaking from the weight of the situation until he could bear it no longer. As though out of nowhere, a warm hand was placed on his shoulder and he immediately felt his muscles relax. His hands fell away, revealing a face that reflected the anguish within.

"I know what you're thinking," Jill whispered. "I- I don't know how many more of these hits I can take."

He nodded solemnly in understanding. Fate may not be cruel but it had a sick sense of humour and Chris was sure that somebody out there saw their predicament as one big joke. He had never been an overly religious man and it was situations such as theirs that made this so; he could not have faith in something that toyed with the lives of innocents as though they were little more than plastic figuirines. He had seen devastation and death and those who suffered were real people with real feelings; innocents caught up in events they had no control over. After everything Jill had done, after all she had dedicated to make the world a better place it seemed beyond unfair that she should have to suffer as she was. Still, he knew that the man who continued to torment them was the result of playing God and not an agent of fate.

Without exchanging another word they both left the room, pausing for a moment beside a large Elizabethan-style window to collect their scattered thoughts.

"You're going to rest," Chris spoke suddenly, stepping close to her as a hand moved to her waist. "I'll make sure of it."

He accompanied this last announcement with a daring smirk and suddenly the tension between them melted. Jill laughed quietly and closed the distance between them, relieved as his arms moved around her.

"Yes sir," she replied comically.

His lips pressed softly against her temple and she sighed at the realisation that she actually would have fallen apart without him. Despite his own worry he always remained strong around her and she knew that he would always be there to make her see the brighter side of any predicament. She enjoyed the comfort of this knowledge but looked forward to the day when she was once again able to do that herself.

Before she had time to react to her thoughts, his lips moved and captured hers in one swift movement. It occurred to her that it may not have been entirely appropriate for them to perform such an obvious display of affection in the middle of a hospital corridor but at that moment she just didn't give a damn. He seemed to know what she wanted and, as usual, gave it to ger in abundance. He was not too rough, nor too gentle and he waited for her silent signal before deepening the kiss. It was all he could to to suppress a moan as her fingers gripped the back of his T-shirt tightly, fingernails scraping his skin even through the thin cotton.

"Chris? Jill?"

A familiar voice snapped them from their moment of passion and Jill's face flushed a deep shade of crimson as she sheepishly turned to face her friend.

"Carlos?" Chris asked, surprised that the man would be anywhere near a hospital, let alone the obstetrics department.

Carlos remained silent for a moment or two, seemingly amazed by the sight he had witnessed mere seconds earlier. He seemed torn between laughing and stuttering like a madman but all he seemed to be able to do was stare.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked, snapping from his reverie as his eyes were drawn to the obvious change in Jill's physique. "Dios mio, when the hell did that happen?"

Jill could not suppress a smirk as she looked down at her bump as though by instinct. The white of her dress did little to disguise the evidence of her pregnancy, neither did the shape. She had long since concluded that maternity clothes were designed not to accommodate or disguise a mother-to-be's expanding waistline but instead to emphasise it in a fashionable way.

"About six months ago," she smirked, more at the dumbstruck expression on her friend's face than at her current state. "Which explains why we are here, but what about you? Or is this where you pick up girls?"

Carlos merely rolled his eyes at her words, more than used to her teasing by now.

"I'm assuming you didn't get the message," he concluded, tightening his grip on the soda can in his right hand. "Leon's been trying to get in contact with you for the past half hour. Claire's in labour!"

Chris moved suddenly, startling Jill enough to warrant a small yelp of surprise.

"She's not due for another two weeks!" he exclaimed, switching from caring husband to worried brother in a matter of seconds.

"Try telling that to the kid," Carlos shrugged. "It wants out and it's coming fast. She's only been in labour four hours and she's already dilated five centimetres...at least that's what the midwife said."

Jill could sense Chris's anger before his outburst came, though it was obvious that Carlos remained oblivious.

"Four hours?" he snarled, keeping his voice low for the sake of the other patients. "And you only tried to call me half an hour ago?"

"Hey, don't blame me, I just got dragged here," Carlos insisted, raising his arms defensively. "She's been having a one-sided screaming match with Leon for most of it, the poor guy could barely tear himself away to call you."

Fortunately for Carlos this new information amused his much bigger friend and he smirked at the thought of the scene she must be making at that moment. It didn't occur to him that he was about to walk right into that scene until Jill's hand tugged on his arm and he found himself being led down the long corridor towards a larger, more open area of the department.

It was obvious that they had walked into the most important area of the obstetrics department as soon as they entered the waiting area. The walls were as white as the many other waiting areas the hospital had to offer and the seats were as plain as all the rest but the walls were decorated with many differnt brightly-coloured furnishings. One small wall seemed to be covered entirely with children's drawings, obviously created by the existing children of women who were delivering another, and another depicted several colourful child-friendly paintings. Amongst these paintings were several bookshelves containing everything from general literature to books relating to childbirth.

Jill couldn't help but wonder if the strategically-placed toys and child-drawn pictures were merely a tactful ploy to assure mothers-to-be that the pain would be worth it in the end.

"You made it!" Leon exclaimed joyfully, jumping up from his seat as soon as he saw them turn the corner. Before either of them could respond to his greeting he rushed forward and threw his arms around Jill, who he had obviously deemed the safer option of the two.

"She's been busting my ass for the past hour," he explained once she had succeeded in wriggling out from his vice-like grip. "Kept saying she wanted to see you. She didn't seem to understand that I physically couldn't contact you and hold her hand at the same time."

He continued to pant, completely out of breath, as he turned to Chris and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

"Run for the hills, man," he advised before turning to look down the corridor that they had recently appeared from, eyeing the 'South Wing Exit' sign beneath the 'Gyenocology and Pre-Natal Care' arrow. "I'm going for a drink, you'll need one too so I'll bring some more. Good luck."

It seemed that he could not exit quick enough and the three that he had left in his wake stared between each other in confusion.

"Uh, yeah," Carlos muttered. "She really wanted to talk to Jill, so I suggest you let her go in alone first. Barry and Rebecca are on their way so I'll just...I'll wait here."

Without another word, he cracked open his soda can and settled into the soft foam as though he had suddenly tuned them out of existance. Jill swallowed the lump in her throat and shrugged off the suddenly feeling of impending catastrophe that had fallen over her. She had still not fully come to realise how it was that she had came from lying on a hospital cot herself to standing in the waiting area, ready to comfort a friend who was about to give birth in the short space of a few minutes.

Worry suddenly settled in as she considered what Claire must have been going through at that moment. The pain she had experienced before was no minor discomfort and she knew that the real thing would be a thousand times more painful. It was enough to get her legs moving, carrying her as quickly as possible towards the door Carlos had pointed to behind a jutting wall several moments before. Despite being on autopilot, even her subconcious refused to allow her to step inside without seriously considering what she would witness on the other side. Whatever Claire was going through now, she knew that she still had to come.

The door opened slowly and ominously as she pushed, deciding that her friend's feelings were more important than her selfish fear.

The room was a lot larger than she had expected but still nothing impressive. It was a private room and from the looks of it was the best one available. Of course, with her fiancé's ties with the government, especially a senator who made regular generous donations to the hospital, the best was expected.

"You came!" Claire sighed when her friend stepped away from the heavy door. "I thought you'd be too busy."

"Are you kidding? I've been sat on my ass since Friday night," Jill smiled. Even in her pain, Claire remained as beautiful as always. Jill did not expect any less; she was a Redfield and Redfields had an annoying habit of smelling of roses no matter how much mud was flung at them. Even so, her red hair seemed matted and clung to the thin layer of sweat that covered her forehead and the light green of the hospital gown only highlighted the droplets of sweat that ran down her arms.

"How are-" she began, pausing for a moment as her face contorted into an expression of acute, intense pain before easing as she drew in a deep breath. "How are you?"

Jill laughed incrdulously and stepped forward, perching herself on the side of Claire's surprisingly large matress.

"Says the girl who's in pain," she pointed out, raising an eyebrow comically. "I'm fine. How about you? You obviously didn't expect to be giving birth so soon."

"Maybe not," Claire groaned. "But I was due in...ten days. Not too bad, all things considered."

She offered an encouraging smile as the light in Jill's eyes faded and she turned to look away from her companion. Contact between the two had been lax in the two weeks since their talk, with Claire slowly digesting the information but in the six weeks since then she had taken to visiting or simply calling every few days to check up on her. Jill felt foolish that she had ever doubted her friend's commitment to her word.

"Have you spoken to him yet?" Claire asked quietly, lest unwanted ears pick up her words. "I mean...about everything?"

Jill met her eyes for a brief moment, sensing the hope behind them. The answer hung on her lips, ready to be spoken when Claire let out a muffled cry of pain and discomfort, though she tried to conceal it. The words melted into nothing before the contraction had passed.

'She's having a baby,' she thought, as though the concept was new and unfamiliar. 'She has enough to worry about now.'

Although her help had been greatly appreciated, Jill knew that Claire could not be burdened with her troubles any longer. It was bad enough that Chris's mood was slipping, she did not want to bring another mother down to her level.

"Yeah," she lied as her eyes darted to the colourful blanket beneath her. "We're okay."

Claire breathed a sigh of unadulterated joy, tears trickling down her cheeks as she signalled for Jill to move forward and embrace her. The guilt that lingered from her well-meaning lie settled into the older woman's heart but guilt was no stranger to her those days and she was able to keep it in check as she thanked Claire for all her help and assured her that her job was over now.

"Is he here?" Claire asked through her tears of happiness.

Jill nodded nervously. Of course she would want to see her brother but should a word be spoken out of place, her whole plan would fall through. Claire would be disappointed with her for lying and in her weakened state would likely reveal all that she had striven to keep from him. On the other hand, she would have to deal with Chris's anger over imposing such an emotional burden on his pregnant sister. She had dealt with enough upheaval for one day.

"He's outside," she told her, ignoring the tremors within her soul. "But please...don't mention any of it to him. He doesn't know that I told you before him and I don't want to upset him."

Claire nodded knowingly, agreeing with her faked sentiment. She was not given a chance to respond verbally before Jill turned to open the door and shout Chris's name. Despite Claire's silent promise to keep schtum, she could not help but feel a certain sense of nervousness as he stepped into the room.

Another pained grunt from Claire's direction caused Chris to flinch unwillingly and dash towards his sister. In an instant Jill witnessed the girl's expression change, no longer soft and gentle.

"Sorry we didn't get here sooner," he apologised. "Are you okay?"

She glared at him through narrowed eyes, a hatred he had not witnessed before seeping through the small gap in her eyelids. He could not swallow his words quick enough but even as he did, nothing rushed forward to replace them.

"Why don't you go trap your balls in a hydraulic press and ask me that again?" she seethed, keeping her voice smooth and calm. Jill could not mask her amusement. It was obvious that the mere presence of testosterone riled her in a way that lifted her natural temper to unprecedented heights. She did not envy Leon at that moment in time.

Despite her irritation, Claire managed to remain at least somewhat civilised and signalled for Jill to join her brother at her bedside.

"I need to ask you something and if I don't do it now I know I'll end up asking the first person I see after the birth," she breathed as another contraction seized her.

Chris sidestepped nervously around Jill, sensing that another outburst was imminent. She noticed that despite his movements, his arm remained around her waist the entire time. It was a possesiveness that had begun to worry her.

"I've known you for about twelve years now," Claire began, her eyes fixed on Jill, a softer expression becoming her. "You've always struck me as a woman who doesn't take shit from anyone. I'd say that we were similar in that way but you're so much better at it than I am. You're strong, independent, capable and you have the morals of a saint. I know that I can trust you to make the right call in difficult situations and to treat those around you with love and respect no matter how much they wind you up. If, God forbid, anything were to happen to Leon or to myself, that's the kind of person I want to raise my child. And Chris...you're an ass but you're a lovable one. We talked about this and we want you to be Godparents."

Words failed both halves of the stunned couple. It was an offer that had not been extended to them before and promised a situation that they weren't sure they were prepared for.

"These last few months have proven that you guys can cope with anything," she continued. "I wouldn't want anybody else."

Neither of them responded, still too dumbstruck to comprehend the extent of what she was asking. Sure, neither of them expected her or Leon to disappear anytime soon but the gesture alone was enough to provoke serious thought.

Jill glanced nervously at Chris, who blinked himself from his stupor and turned to face her. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn't quite sure how to react. His eyes flitted momentarily to the bulge in her dress and suddenly she understood. The pain she had blocked out the moment Carlos had announced Claire's labour seemed startingly recognisable in his eyes and it only served to deepen the guilt within hers.

She did not know how she would cope with her own child, let alone with somebody else's. Theoretically their marriage was solid but she could still feel the wounds that had not quite healed. She knew that in a few short months everything would change for them and right then she feared that it may not be for the better. There was so much guilt that she had yet to deal with, that she still could not accept. The burden it imposed on her already fragile mind assured her that they were not out of the woods just yet.

Chris? She dared not think about the cracks she had begun to witness in his composure. She knew that his frustration was beginning to overwhelm him and even so, she could not bring herself to reveal her guilt. With him she stood a chance at pulling through, but alone...

'I can't keep this up forever'.

"Claire...I don't know," she breathed, feeling Chris tense beside her as she spoke. His arm fell from her waist and she turned to throw him a questioning look, one which he chose to ignore. She had been so sure that he would have felt the same way.

"That's okay," Claire smiled, sinking back into her damp pillows. "Take some time to think about it."

It was obvious that she expected them to accept her offer, even if they initially declined. To her they were a recovered couple; one who had returned from a long vacation in hell with smiles on their faces.

'If only it were that simple.'

The truth was that they were not the couple that Claire wanted as Godparents. It was a painful reality, but one that she was forcing them to live.


The cool night air drifted in through the electronic doors. Even as it raised the hairs on Jill's arms she harboured no desire to move away. She was exhausted and hungry but was adamant to see the night through. Even the nap she had returned home for earlier in the day did little to ease her fatigue.

Despite the hasty start to Claire's labour it had dragged itself out over eleven hours. It all became too much for Jill to bear when she witnessed her friend's screaming form being wheeled down the hall towards the delivery room just before midnight. The pain, the sweat, the tears...it brought with it the urge to vomit.

"Chris?" she called into the darkness, beginning to worry about her husband's absence. They had barely spoken all day, their contact limited to superficial physical reassurances. She knew that her admission to Claire had left him wounded but she still could not for the life of her think why.

It had always been him who would berate her for being dishonest and taking on more than she was capable of handling. Yet the one time she was brutally honest, he chose to fall into silence and disappear completely when she needed him the most.

Despite the effect her near-decline of a role as Godmother had on him, the silence had not settled in until Rebecca gleefully announced how happy she was that they were back to normal. It seemed as though the suggestion of normality offended him for a reason that was completely beyond her.

She did not have it in her to blame him. Her heart was still reeling from the scare they had faced the previous morning and she knew that he would be in the same position. It was the one thing that annoyed her about her husband; he never openly discussed his feelings. She knew it was his damn male pride and no matter how much she poked and probed, she could still not seem to break past his mental barrier.

A sudden movement on the corner of the nearest building caught her attention and she slowly began to step into the shadows, her eyes adjusting from the glare of the hospital lights to the dim subtlety of the car park illuminations. A figure rested pensively against the wall of what appeared to a crude smoking shelter, shrouded in a thin veil of smoke. It alarmed her that the hospital would actively provide a venue for smoking on its grounds but it did seem to keep people from smoking next to the entrance.

The figure did not seem to sense her presence as she moved closer still and it took a deep drag from a lit cigarette before its other hand came up to its face, seeming to pinch the bridge of its nose. It was then that she recognised the muscular physique and casual stance.

"Chris?" she asked, barely a foot from the man in question. He did not seem startled by her voice but his eyes widened in shock as he frantically stubbed his almost-spent cigarette out against a nearby trash can.

"The hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, gently yet firmly taking her arm and guiding her away from where he had just been standing. "You know you can't be anywhere near smoke."

"And what about you?" she snarled, throwing his arm away. "I thought you'd quit!"

He did not reply, only gazed at her mournfully, as though he expected as much but did not want to deal with it.

"Twice," he confirmed. "I only get the urge when I'm stressed, I swear-"

He ceased his assurance when he witnessed her downcast eyes and stepped forward to place a hand on each of her arms. She dutifully noted that he did not make any attempt to embrace or console her.

"Six hours," she breathed restlessly. "Six hours we've been sitting in this hospital with nothing to do and barely a word said between us and you still choose to smoke your stress away?"

He did not have a reply for this accusation and his guilt was as evident in his stance as it was in his expression.

"You know I hate you smoking," she continued, hoping to strike a nerve. "I don't want to watch you slowly kill yourself."

"Oh, but it's fine when the situation is in reverse?" he accused, unable to hide the emotional strain his heart placed on his words.

Jill froze, rooted to the spot as she tried to understand what he was trying to suggest. It seemed as though she had stumbled across him at a weak moment and she was torn between exploiting this and running away.

"Don't give me that look," he begged. "I know that you're aware of it. Do you not trust me? Is that it?"

The weight of his words suddenly hit her and she shrunk back from the impact. Her lack of respose only infuriated him further and he turned with a frustrated cry to storm off in a nicotine-fuelled rage.

She did not know what else to do but storm after him, her footsteps echoing around the empty parking lot as she chased him into the darkness. The wind whipped furiously around them both, teasing the exposed skin of her arms until goosebumps appeared. It was harsh and unrelenting but so was she and with her last burst of energy she spun him around and pushed him backwards into their black SUV as he attempted to force his key into the lock.

The deep stench of tobacco was overpowering and she wondered just how many he had smoked in the hour he had been absent. That was not all...something else lingered around the pungent odour of the one habit she had never learned to tolerate, something bitter.

"Oh, please tell me that's not beer," she begged furiously. "Your sister is in labour and you disappear to get drunk?"

"I had one pint, alright!" he defended. "And for the record, Barry was with me so it's not like I went out there just to spite you."

He sighed in defeat and gently pushed her hands away from where they gripped his T-shirt, obviously dropping the furious act he was trying to put on. Jill could see that he was battling with something internally and the way he looked at her as he smoothed her hair back did nothing to dispel her confusion.

"Chris, what's wrong?" she asked in a softer voice than what she had previously used. "It's not about the contractions is it?"

The fear of the experience returned with a vengeance as she spoke the words and Chris sighed as he recognised the emotion in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he spoke, his voice breaking once again. "We've been kidding ourselves these past few months. I know that our relationship is fine but, Jill...you're not. I thought that maybe it was just me, maybe I was just being pessimistic, but how do you explain the Godparent thing? I know that you know it, too. If that is true then why won't you talk to me? You yourself admitted that it felt a hell of a lot better to share what he subjected you to...why can't you tell me the rest?"

Her hands moved to her arms automatically, hoping to chase away the chill that his words had sent deep into her core. She felt completely exposed; vulnerable and afraid, just as she had back in Africa. What frightened her more than the memories that his well-meaning insistance had teased to the surface was the sheer rapidity with which her mood had shifted.

"I-It's different," she stuttered. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me!" he requested, moving forward to seize her arms again. He could feel her trembling and mistakenly assumed that it was because of the cold. In true gentleman fashion, he removed his jacket and placed it around her shoulders, rubbing her arms beneath the fabric for extra measure.

Jill found it difficult to accept this gesture as graciously as she perhaps should have and tried to ignore the deep scent of tobacco that seemed to be beaten into the fabric. Despite her hatred for the damn things, cigarette smoke always reminded her of him back in their S.T.A.R.S. days. For the briefest of moments it succeeded in distracting her from the matter at hand before she hurtled back to reality.

"It's not that simple," she revealed, her tone lowering to a level just above begging.

She could feel her resistance weakening and fought against it, an act which astounded her. She had always told herself that she would open up completely when she knew that she was strong enough to carry on with out him. He would break as Claire had and remaining with her would prove too difficult. He would leave and she would be left alone, open and vulnerable. There was not a cell in her body that believed she was capable of making it on her own, not just yet.

"Everything is simple, Jill," he pressed with an irritating determination. "You don't know if I will understand until you try me."

"But you won't!" she insisted, gripping on to her emotional barrier as it slipped further and further away from her. The woman within that had given her so much strength as of late had never annoyed her so much as it had at that moment. She screamed and kicked, fighting hard against her protests.

"Yes I will," Chris continued, sensing progress but not the danger that it would bring with it.

There was so much ground to cover, so many feelings to convey. A cold parking lot in the dead of night was not the setting she had in mind when picturing the moment she finally came clean. Their home was not far away from the hospital but the journey home was long enough without the chill of silence following them. She could not last another hour if he chose to collect his thoughts the way Claire had; she was already struggling to stay awake.

Rationality began to cloud what she assumed was her better judgement as the third person in the equation came into play once again. Reality was closing in fast, tearing her defenses further away from her. It was not her own sanity that worried her anymore; it was the wellbeing of her baby. She could do little more than curse her damn maternal instincts as she attempted to seal the break before they succeeded in forcing any small detail out.

A simple reassuring kick from the child within her was all it took to make the final finger slip and the barrier zoom far out of reach.

Deep inside she screamed in protest but even as her mind fought the effects of the chemical she could feel his fingers curl against the back of her head, pulling down her hood and exposing her shame to her partner.

She had hoped and prayed that he would rescue her, that he would find out that it was her behind the mask. But not like this...

Without its disguise, her face twisted in determination, her body boldly moving forward as though poised to attack.

"Jill...?" she heard him speak. If the tone of his voice was not enough to break her already wounded heart then the expression that fell upon him did. His eyes softened as he lowered his gun, his face almost alight with hope and happiness. No amount of screaming could alert him to the danger. His hope was misplaced, his happiness misguided.

He looked good, that much she would admit. His muscular body bore little resemblance to that which she had made love to only the night before they had last met. His hair remained as messy as always, his skin burnt by the harsh African sun. Blood coated both his clothes and his arms and heavy bags rested beneath his eyes. It was obvious that he had not rested in a while and she knew him well enough to see that he was not about to let something as trivial as exhaustion stop him.

She met his ecstatic gaze with one of disinterest and silent fury. It took him only a matter of seconds to realise that she did not react to his presence the way he had hoped.

"Jill, it's me...Chris!" he offered, assuming that she had merely grown absent-minded in the time they had spent apart and was thrown off by his altered appearance. He did not seem to connect her presence to the figure that had brutally attacked him only moments before.

"What?" asked a startled woman to his side. She was petite but athletic, dark skinned with even darker hair and a scowl that almost matched hers. Chris's new partner? Sheva? "Are you sure that's her?"

"The one and only," Wesker taunted, his voice seeming to give her a silent command. Before she could protest the thick material of her cloak surrounded her, her body tilting backwards as she propelled herself forward and slammed her feet into something hard. Bullets whizzed past her and more blows were sent in various directions. Somewhere behind her a gun clattered to the floor and moments later her thighs wrapped tightly around the head of the African girl as her body used its own weight to throw her across the room.

With the girl out of the picture, her attention turned to her ex-partner. Everything happened so fast, she barely had time to process her actions let alone react to them.

Chris did not move, not even as he turned his attention away from Wesker to observe the figure that sped towards him. Even as his eyes widened in shock he made no serious attempt to raise his weapon. Had he been focused she knew that he could have easily gunned her down before she reached him. They grappled for a brief moment, Chris trying to seize her wrists while she forced his arm across his chest, a hand moving in quickly to grip his neck.

Afraid of what she would do next she screamed louder, thrashing about inside her shell, doing anything she could to smash through her invisible restraints. The wounds she had inflicted ran deeper than bruises and in that one brief moment she felt a guilt more profound than she thought possible.

'Chris...I'm so sorry.'

Her knees collided painfully with the tarmac, skin splitting against the rough texture. Chris could not react quick enough and simply dropped to the ground himself, fearing the worst.

'Next time we might not be so lucky,' she thought as her thoughts drifted to her earlier scare. Every thought that had flitted through her mind since discovering her condition weighed on her with immeasurable force.

"Jill!" she heard his voice cry, loud and clear through her maelstrom of emotions.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, her eyes dry but her words desperate. "I'm sorry for everything I've put you through."

The usual denial came fast and hard, but she tuned out his words as he hauled her to her feet, lest she find herself agreeing with them. The jacket that had fallen from her shoulders was replaced but she refused to allow herself to be pulled into the warm comfort of his embrace. Instead, she embraced the anger that suddenly surged through her at his refusal to truly listen.

"Hit me!" she demanded, hardening her expression in the hopes that he would ignore her apology. "And mean it."

"What? No!" The idea was absurd and sickening. Not only was she his wife, but she was pregnant. He had no respect for scumbags who knocked their partners around, a sentiment that had earned him many harsh reprimands from Wesker during his S.T.A.R.S. days when left tackling cases of domestic violence. More often than not he would be unable to keep his cool and if the guy was lucky all he got were a few choice words roared in his direction.

"Hit me!" she insisted, shoving him back against the car to give her words extra weight.

"Even if you weren't my wife and it wasn't my child you were pregnant with, I still wouldn't!" he growled, keeping his voice low to avoid attracting unwanted attention. "Even if you were just some girl on the street who had pissed me off I wouldn't. Now calm the fuck down!"

"You can't even conceive the idea, can you?" she asked, essentially showing him that she had never expected him to obey her. "Just think about it. Imagine holding my throat and squeezing, imagine kicking me so hard my ribs break. Imagine beating me to a pulp while I refused to fight back, screaming at you to stop, to recognise me."

"Jill, stop!" he cried, his expression disturbed as the images were forced into his mind. His eyes moistened as his head shook furiously in an attempt to chase them away, to pretend that he could not hear her screams.

"Imagine that I can't stop," she continued, her face mere inches away from his by now. "Imagine having no control over yourself. Im- Imagine screaming at yourself and still being ignored. To you it's just a scenario, to me it was real."

His eyes did not soften, though they opened slowly. She could see his mind begin to process her words, connecting them to actions he had long since forgotten about. As these memories were dragged from the depths of his consciouness she could see that they brought with them affectivities that were less than pleasant.

"Jill, that wasn't your fault!" he spoke slowly, faltering as she rolled her eyes at him. "We went through this already, before we even left Africa! You know that I don't blame you, neither does Sheva."

Her faux anger dissipated, all of her energy depleted by the act of holding back all that she wanted to say.

"I know you don't," she whispered. "But I can't stop blaming myself."

There was no reply to her miniature confession but she could see his arms move out of the corner of her eye. No attempt was made by her or by him to push her fallen hair away from her face. She welcomed the physical barrier, wearing it as a mask of sorts that she could hide behind until she was ready to face the music as Jill Redfield.

"I recognised you the moment I jumped through that window," she continued in one breath. "At first I wasn't sure what to believe, but when I saw you on the dock, I knew..."

She drew a deep, shuddering breath but to her delight, Chris did not step forward to hold her. He had, it appeared, learned from experience and waited patiently for her to finish. Physical contact was a distraction that she found hard to snap away from. If he did not touch her, if he did not speak to her, then she could pretend that he was not there and pour her heart out with less effort than it would take to speak to him directly.

"It was the first true sense of hope I had felt in a long time," she sighed. "I knew that you could stop Wesker and maybe, just maybe you could liberate me. When...when Wesker found out that you were out there he decided that he wanted me to kill you. I thought that I actually would. I carried out some horrible tasks but nothing hurt me as much as fighting you did. I didn't want you to see me because I felt so ashamed. Ashamed of my involvement in the production of Uroboros and... I knew that you would kill me if you found out what I had become. It would have been so much better for you to think I had died with honour, not lived in degradation."

Chris moved forward, holding her in a gentle part-embrace as he threw all caution to the wind and ignored the rules he had accepted without question. Loathe as she was to admit it, she enjoyed the comfort that he offered and held on for several long seconds before moving back again, waiting for the old tears to dry up before she continued.

Illumination suddenly swooped by them, momentarily casting a blinding light onto their forms as a dull whir interrupted their moment. Within seconds the car had veered into an empty space and the lights and engine were cut off, plunging them both into relative darkness once again. In that brief moment of reality, Chris witnessed the damage the night had already inflicted upon Jill. Her knees were bloody and grazed, goosebumps prominent in the artificial light and bags under her eyes that even her hair could not hide.

"Come on," he whispered, taking her arm. "Get inside the car, it will be more comfortable."

He guided her carefully around the front of the oversized vehicle and held the door open as he helped her into her seat, thankful that he had listened to her and bought the lower BMW rather than the monstrous Land Rover he had his eye on. She barely had time to settle into the seat before he jumped into the other side and closed the door, shutting out the last of the background noise.

The vacuum within the car frightened her, leaving her with little to drown out her inner screams. She had never expected herself to be pushed into a corner, not tonight of all nights.

"Keep talking," he urged when she made no attempt to break the silence herself. "I want to know everything."

"No, you don't," she exhaled. "Not really."

Her eyes were drawn down to her knees and when she witnessed the extent of the damage she ran a finger along the superficial wounds, removing the minute chunks of dirt that had become embedded in her skin. She did not have to ask for Chris to reach for the first aid kit she made him keep beneath the passenger seat and before she had thought of the idea herself an antiseptic wipe was held infront of her.

"Thank you," she accepted, folding it between her fingers before swiping it along the graze in one swift motion. A sharp hiss escaped her in response to the sting that followed.

"Jill, I don't care what he made you do," Chris insisted. "You don't have to suffer through this alone. I want to help."

She knew that there was no use in fighting now; she was open for what was likely to be the only time and was desperate to reach out and close the one remaining gap between them. Having said that, she knew that he still would not be able to tolerate the truth. He despised Umbrella and all that they had done; the acts she had commited herself were no better.

"You read the report," she acknowledged as she dropped the blemished wipe into the small pocket on the passenger-side door. "You know that it was my blood that made Uroboros viable. I was as much to blame for the completion of that virus as he was. I watched as he infected countless people with that damn virus and each and every one of them would mutate. When...when Excella told him that the BSAA were on their way he sent me out with a sample of Uroboros. He sent me into the village with Irving and... The villagers were too afraid, they'd witnessed what I had done before. They just watched as I dragged that poor man off the street and I couldn't do a damn thing when I held him down so that Irving could inject him. I just...stood there. He was screaming for help, begging me, but I couldn't- Even after he started to mutate he reached out for my hand, for some comfort."

Images of the villager's face floated before her. His screams were as real to her then as they had been that day.

"Chris, that man killed Alpha Team!" she told him, sneering so he would realise that she spoke the truth. "I watch the thing he became tear them apart. I knew those men..."

She turned slowly to gauge his response but his face remained expressionless, his eyes lidded as he devoted all of his attention to her words. The information could not have been easy to process; she had witnessed his shock at discovering what was left of Alpha Team and the carnage that Uroboros left in its wake. Had he spoken a word at that moment, she knew that she would have found some shred of disappointment or even hatred in his voice but she was left with only silence to analyse.

She reached for his hand, actively seeking the comfort she knew would cease her confession but it never came. Her fingertips traced small scars on his knuckles, the only remaining evidence of his last fight with Wesker. Sheva had been lucky enough to escape with no lasting reminders of her terrible ordeal, but Chris had not been so lucky. However, despite the morbid significance of these marks, Chris wore them with pride. Not only were they a sign that his enemy had finally been defeated and his friends finally put to rest, but it was also significant of his triumph over an entity far stronger than himself. As long as he wore those scars he knew that he was capable of anything.

Before she truly understood her reasons for doing so, Jill began to speak. There was no taking back the words that left her with such reluctance, no erasing the events that they described. She spared no detail, describing how she had forced the first parasite into a lone villager and witnessed Las Plagas overtake Kijuju, how Wesker would pull test subjects from their tubes for an execution she was forced to carry out...and many more that she dared not dwell on for too long. She could not control her words, nor the tears that accompanied them. All the while, he remained still and silent and after ten long minutes she began to wonder if he was truly listening to the words she spoke.

By the time she had finished there was no breath left within her to cry or to agree with any accusations he may throw her way. As she waited for a verbal response, his head turned slowly away from her, the hand upon which her fingers rested unmoving as she slid them beneath it.

The strength that had fuelled her words left her and the feeling of deep shame and regret that she had expected settled in. She had never expected him to take the new information easily, to readily accept that his wife was a tyrant with almost as much blood on her hands as the man who had held her leash.

The frantic beating of her heart seemed to fill the car, the sound driving her to the brink of her sanity. Still, he did not speak a word. It amazed her that her heart still beat at all.

She reached for the door handle, shivering from the cold that rushed into the vehicle as it was flung open with great force. Her feet hit the ground suddenly as she closed the door behind her, seperating his world from hers if only for a brief second. When the door remained firmly closed she felt the first tears drip from her lashes and her legs began to carry her away from the car. Where to? She didn't know, and neither did she care; she simply had to get away.

In the dark empitness she could hear her flats slap against the tarmac, echoing around her in a way that disguised the distant heavy slam of a car door. Forceful footstepps sounded behind her but she kept moving, shoulders hunched over as she cursed herself for her stupidity.

"Jill!"

His voice was enough to cease her progress but she did not turn to face him, not wanting to expose more of her shame to him. Her hesitation was recognised and he closed the distance, moving into her line of vision so that she didn't need to respond.

"Where are you going?" he asked, remaining a safe distance away.

Jill looked around and realised that she had no idea and her head dropped in exasperation at herself. She couldn't even bring herself to look at him.

"Jill..."

'So fucking stupid, why didn't I think?'

Warm fingers appeared on her cheeks, sliding back to her neck as his palms came to rest on her cheeks and he tilted her head back. In the sparse light that surrounded them, the tracks of her tears glowed a painful shade of yellow. She could feel his thumbs move to catch a few droplets as they slid down the same old route and suddenly she saw a glimmer of hope.

Even so, she once again felt like a prisoner in her own skin as she physically refused to reflect her inner thoughts. She knew that his sense of righteousness would not allow him to excuse what she had done. A terrifying future played out in her mind; he would leave, they would divorce and he would be awarded full custody of their child on account of her instability. Perhaps it was for the best that way?

"I told you that you didn't want to know," she said, voicing the only semi-positive thought that came to her mind.

To her complete and utmost surprise, he laughed.

All she could do was stare at him in confusion and to stumble a little when he pulled her into him.

'What the hell?' she thought. 'This wasn't supposed to happen.'

His laughter continued, muffled by her hair as he turned his head in an almost-nuzzling motion. Before she knew it, she too was laughing and the tears that fell were for once tears of joy. In their hysteria they silently acknowledged that nothing had changed between them, contrary to what she had convinced herself had happened.

"I thought-" she began hesitantly as the laughter faded. Even with this light-hearted interruption of her thought patterns she still could not bring herself to face such a scenario.

"That's your problem," he told her. "You think too much. I don't want you to ever think that I could leave you over something that wasn't your fault. You're the love of my damn life, girl. One day I'll make you see."

His smile chased away her worry; it certainly was not the reaction she had expected to witness. She was the reason for his nightmares, the devil by his side...and he didn't care. Finally she understood that which had eluded her for months. It was love, it was always love. How else could he accept her position so easily when his sister had been deeply troubled by what she had said. He seemed to take her torture more to heart than her violence.

"Jill, look at me," he ordered, his tone changing drastically to one of fierce determination. "What you did, it wasn't your fault. It was Wesker's doing and you need to accept that. You need to move on."

In her delirium, Jill nodded readily. She would have agreed to anything in that moment of time. There were no scathing thoughts of how she had been trying to do that all along, no voice screaming that he didn't understand. She remained impervious to all the truths that swirled round her conciousness. Chris was still by her side and to her that was all that mattered, it was all that had ever mattered.

"I hope you don't mind," he grinned sheepishly as he pushed her damp hair out of her eyes. "But I called the BSAA when you were sleeping earlier. I told them we had a scare and you were told to rest and they agreed to give you an extra two months' maternity leave...starting tomorrow. Well, today but you get the picture. They're giving me two days off a week on top of that. Got to love being popular."

The euphoria that surrounded her ebbed away as she took in this new information but she smiled gratefully. She knew that she did not have the energy to work and had a hell of a lot of reading to catch up on. Still, something niggled in the back of her mind, something the giddy elation had been masking. She witnessed it staring back at her as she locked eyes with Chris but could not quite discern its origins or its identity.

An expected kiss effectively ended the discussion of her confession and she remained surprised that it was over so quick and with so little effort. It was then that her mind snapped back to the reason they were at the hospital in the first place.

"Claire."

In the time since exiting the ward she had completely forgotten the sight of her friend being wheeled into the delivery room. They had waited over eleven hours for her to finally give birth and at the last minute it looked as though they had been waiting around for nothing.

They could not dash back towards the glass doors quick enough. Quite literally in Jill's case as her waddle-in-training slowed her down considerably. She also discovered that it was not a good idea to power-walk with a twenty-four-week-old fetus pressing against her bladder. Nevertheless, their re-entry into the hospital was swift and to their delight Rebecca, Carlos, Barry and Kathy remained seated patiently in the waiting area.

"Hey, we were wondering where you disappeared to," Kathy smiled as they maneuvered around the seats and scattered toys.

"Oh my God, what happened to your knees?" Rebecca exclaimed. Carlos's arms shot out as she pushed herself up from her chair and attempted to dash towards her.

Jill was thankful for the concern her friend showed, worried sick that she still harboured ill feelings towards her for her actions at the barbeque several months ago. Rebecca cared deeply about her friend and despite the lack of contact between them since that fateful afternoon, she would call Chris every now and then for an update. It seemed, however, that the man in question neglected to reveal their good news and she had been visibly stunned upon witnessing her friend a considerable way into a pregnancy she had denied in anger during their last meeting. It came as a surprise to both girls when no medical advice was offered; just a simple hug.

It was a moment that revealed just how much Jill meant to her friends and it was enough to bring the hormonally imbalanced woman to tears; she had never asked for their support and in her despair had done all she could to alienate herself. Not once did they turn around and declare that they were sick and tired of her lack of communication and the verbal abuse that would come with the little they did have. No, they knew that she needed time, space and the benefit of the doubt and they were all willing to give it.

Jill shook these lingering thoughts of appreciation away and glanced down at her raw knees.

"I got a little light-headed," she shrugged, forcing a smile as Carlos gripped Rebecca's arms and forced her back into her seat.

"You should really go home," she urged once she resigned herself to the fact that her hispanic friend wasn't about to let her move. "You need rest."

The thought had occured to her on many occasions throughout the past few hours but she couldn't bring herself to leave when Claire was so obviously thrilled with her presence. Aside from that, she had hoped to fire off a few sneaky questions about the birth before she was thrown into the same situation herself.

"You might want to wait a few minutes," a voice announced from behind them. They all spun around in synchronicity and Jill found that Chris's grip on her waist tightened considerably. When her eyes followed the gaze of her friends' she knew why.

"I want to introduce you to someone," Leon announced, movement stirring within what she had initially assumed to be a bundle of blankets. "Everyone, this is Katherine Elizabeth Kennedy."

A sudden flurry of movement whirled around him as the congregation jumped to their feet, smiles stretching across their weary features as the blanket moved again, revealing flushed pink skin.

Chris and Jill remained rooted to the spot, the energy to fight through their friends apparantly spent. Barely a few moments passed before Leon looked up and locked eyes with Chris. He looked spent; exhausted from hours of running around after his screaming fiancée. Even so, he radiated an aura of pure happiness that neither of them had witnessed in him before. It was inexplicable and it was beautiful. No material possession could produce such a response and no attainment could force such blissful adoration into his expression; it was the look of a man who's dream had come true in a far more spectacular way than he had anticipated.

When the others noted their lack of movement they stepped aside, allowing a gap big enough for Jill to squeeze into. Chris was happy enough to position himself behind her, a hand once again finding its way to her bump.

Katherine lay still in her father's arms, an arm occasionally moving within her soft white blanket. Jill marvelled at her size; despite being born ten days early she was big, healthy and oh so beautiful. She found it hard not to gush as she took in the minute details of her face and the way her eyes would tighten ever so slightly as though she were trying to sleep but could not quite acheive this goal.

"She's beautiful," Jill breathed. "Really. Congratulations, both of you."

Leon smiled appreciatively at her but could not seem to tear his eyes away from his daughter for more than a few seconds.

"Is Claire alright?" Chris enquired.

"She's fine," Leon assured him, smiling down at the baby in his arms as her eyelids fluttered back to reveal irises that matched his both in colour and intensity. Barely a second passed before they closed again, the light proving too much for her weak eyes. "Exhausted. She, uh- doesn't want to see anyone. She's a bit of a mess. I'm trying to talk her round but don't hold your breath."

Jill could hear Chris laugh quietly to himself. Even at thirty years old she remained the same little sister he had always known. A quick turn of her head revealed to her the adoring smile that he wore and suddenly Claire's offer drifted back to her with an answer not too far behind. She could not think of any other way to respond to her request and, looking down at her niece, Jill could not think of a better job in the world...at least for the next three months.

"Leon," she spoke, clearing her throat when her voice came out as little more than a whisper. "Tell Claire...tell her that we said yes."

It was the first time she had witnessed him look away from Katherine for more than a few seconds. It was obvious that he understood what she meant and just when she thought that his smile could not possibly get broader, it did.

"I will," he spoke through his earsplitting grin. "And thank you. Truly. You don't know how much this means to us."

Jill once again looked at Chris for approval she perhaps should have sought before she spoke. However, she found no resistance in his expression, only pride and utter happiness. She still did not understand why they would want her to take on such responsibility but she accepted the honour graciously.

"We should probably get back now," Chris yawned as his eyes fell upon a brightly-coloured clock on the far wall. "We should have been in bed hours ago."

Jill nodded in agreement, satisfied that they had seen the night through and also that it had ended on such a high note. She did not know what tomorrow would bring but she knew that it would be brighter than the day that had just faced.

Leon agreed with Chris's announcement and bid the couple goodbye but showed no signs of moving. It was endearing to say the least.

"Let's go," Chris whispered, slapping Jill gently and quietly on the ass. It was an act he had performed many times before but she had never felt her heart sink as hard and fast as it did right then.

A wink accompanied the slap, as did the lopsided smile that usually made her knees weaken considerably. But not this time...

It all came flooding back, every detail of their confrontation in the parking lot. She could feel his desire to know the truth, sense his inability to answer after the truth had been revealed and the indifference he had shown mere moments later as he chased her across the parking lot. Now, he seemed to expect them to go home and fall into bed together, after all that had happened. Using sex as a form of comfort was not unfamiliar to either of them; the sheets of their bunker on countless missions knew that well. Even so, she knew that he saw this as a celebration of sorts.

'He doesn't understand...'

It did not take a genius to figure out that he was in denial. Part of what she had witnessed was the effect of her words; the silence and distance she had feared so much and found herself fleeing. In some sick, twisted sense of the word, he seemed to have chosen to 'help' her by hearing but not truly listening. He was stubborn and would deny the truth until the bitter end.

All of the euphoria from their moment and the ones that had followed it was torn violently away from her, leaving her naked and exposed once again. Even her eyes closed in regret as she remembered the promise she had made. She had lied to him and in her eyes that made her equally at fault.

She knew that she needed to make him see what Wesker's control had done to her. Her whole world had been torn asunder, her morals defiled by the body that had striven to uphold them. How could she forget the countless innocents that had died because of her actions?

He could never understand because to him they were just statistics.


The journey home had been quiet, though not voluntarily. Chris had attempted to strike up a conversation many times, more often than not involving his newborn niece, but Jill could not spare enough thought to pay much attention to him. She knew that their brief introduction with Claire's daughter had left him in a mood elevated far above what he had been putting on since her confession. It almost broke her heart that she was about to shatter this mood and drag him out of the clouds and down to her level.

The warmth of their home was less than comforting and she felt a daunting sense of reluctance at stepping inside. Chris remained oblivious to her hesitation and shrugged off his reclaimed jacket, depositing it on the sofa in a less than orderly fashion.

Once the front door closed behind her he turned with a weary smile that she knew she did not deserve. He never smiled this much...

"Chris," she spoke quickly, hoping that the urgency of her tone would reach past the barrier of blissful ignorance he had hidden behind.

As was expected, he mistook this urgency for panic and sighed in resignation. He was too tired to deal with such an upset and so was she but she knew that the moment would not last much longer. It was something that she needed to do while she still had the strength and right frame of mind.

"Chris, I can't," she admitted painfully. "I'm sorry that I lied to you, but I can't let go, I can't move on. It's not that easy."

It amazed her how so much could change within the space of a few short seconds. Even the air seemed to change; suddenly hot, humid and too heavy for either of them to bear. Behind the superficiality of the moment she could see that she had reached him on some level. She was unsure if it was the confession of a lie or the content, but it was progress she was willing to work with.

"Jill, you-" he began, his eyebrows furrowing in dismay. His sudden change in attitude only confirmed her suspicions; his acceptance had not been entirely genuine.

Jill threw up a hand to silence him, her heart beating furiously against her ribcage. No amount of planning for this moment could put the words she sought in her mouth.

"I lost two years of my life," she tried, hoping that she could drive the point home with ease. "I was tortured and I was manipulated. Everything he made me do went against what I believe in. He essentially turned me into what we had been hunting. You- You can't understand what that feels like, you can't understand what I did."

She watched him move hastily towards her but chose not to react, not even when he gripped her arms tightly. She could see in his eyes that he was tired, but she also saw a fierce determination that she knew could either help or hinder her efforts.

"I listened to what you told me," he promised. "I know that what happened to you was...it was indescribable, but you can't keep all this pain inside. You have to let go."

"I want to," she sighed in exasperation. "Trust me, I do. I just...oh, God."

The futility of her words sank in even as she spoke. She knew that the conversation would only go round in circles; she would voice her feelings and he would urge her to let go, she would tell him she couldn't and so on and so forth until they were both so frustrated and exhausted that they lost the will to argue. He meant well with his approach but well-meaning was not enough.

It occured to her that she had nobody to blame but herself; months of secrecy and avoidance had rendered him incapable of feeling much more than happiness and relief following her confession. He had seen a destination and now that they had reached it he had forgotten the purpose of the journey. Her feelings were still too painful to voice and she knew that she could not revisit all that she had told him. The window of opportunity was slowly closing and in her desperation she thought of the one solution she had hoped never to consider.

It took less than a heartbeat for her to pull away from him and reach into her light handbag. Her fingers met every obstacle known to woman on their search for the intended item but soon enough they touched the fabric of her purse and she tugged, ignoring the lipgloss and band-aid that fell to the floor. Chris questioned her intentions but she tuned out his voice and made her way to the china cabinet, depositing her purse and handbag on the dining table as she passed.

The cabinet rattled ominously as she forced the lower doors open and searched through the crowd of bottles until she found the small wooden box that she had not touched in weeks. The texture seemed almost unfamiliar to her as she pulled it from its resting place and dropped it carefully onto the dining table, noting that the lock remained intact. It was an old box and she had worried about the wood rotting around the metal furnishings and thus dislodging the lock. She did not have the heart to smash open a box that she still did not accept belonged to her. Her mother had barely been fourteen years old when she had carved her name into the lock; it was an age she had never witnessed her daughter reach, her life tragically stolen by illness when Jill was only seven. It therefore disturbed Jill that she had chosen such a sacred keepsake as the resting place of her darkest, most dangerous memories.

Without noticing her husband move closer towards her, she opened her purse and carefully slid an ornate iron key from the folds. It was not a large key but it had looked too out of place on her keyring and she was terrified that she would lose it. The lock clicked perhaps louder than it should have as she slowly turned the key, not bothering to remove it once the job was done.

Her throat closed painfully as she opened the lid a mere fraction of the inch, as though the air inside was archaic and too toxic to breathe. Her fingers trembled as they rested on the ornately-carved lid and try as she might, she simply could not bring herself to reach inside.

"Jill?" Chris questioned as she slammed the lid and turned to face him. He could see the anguish that had enveloped her and longed to rush forward and hold her but remained as he was, lest she decline his advance.

Her eyes returned to the box, eyes following the carved lines as she toyed with the idea of locking the box once again and fighting against what needed to be done.

"When I began to have flashbacks, I started writing them down," she explained, fingers remaining firmly pressed against the hard lid. "I- I thought it would help to write down what I happened during those two years and how it made me feel. The flashbacks, they...they made me feel like I was back there, like I was living the moment again. What I wrote down is far more accurate than what I could describe now."

She paused for breath, closing her eyes against the pain. She had tried to read her writings herself on many occasions but found the raw emotions that they conveyed too potent, too overwhelming for her to tolerate. It was as though she were reading the works of another; a woman so consumed with pain and anguish that she was little more than a slave to her own self-destructive emotions.

Carefully and slowly, she pushed the box along the dining table, towards Chris. He did not seem to understand the significance of this action but he moved forward anyway.

"I want you to read it," she explained in a quiet voice. "It's not everything, but it's enough. If you want to help me then you need to understand why I can't just forget it all."

She watched with bated breath as his eyes fell from hers to the box and without hesitation he pushed the lid back and reached inside. The papers had not been touched in so long and Jill no longer remembered exactly what she had written. Even now she could not bare to so much as attempt to read her own desperate words. This reaction only reinforced the realisation that she was still nowhere near 'cured', only avoidant.

But not anymore.

"I'm going to bed," she told him as he began to leaf through the crudely-torn paper. "I- I'll understand if you don't want to join me when you're done."

She did not wait for a response from her otherwise occupied husband, nor did she think that one was necessary. He continued to pull paper after paper from the box, making no attempt to read the carefully inked words just yet. Sorrow fell upon her, chasing away the false hope that she harboured. She had no desire to expose him to her pain but she knew that it must be done if they were to have any hope of a happy future together. So long had been spent concentrating on their relationship that they had lost sight of a plain and simple truth; they had no hope of a healthy relationship if they themselves were troubled. She did not want to fool herself any longer and was so sick of rose tinting her own world.

She approached him with caution, waiting until she was sure that he would not push her away before she reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. The papers fell to the table as he melted into her kiss, not knowing the true purpose behind it. She savoured every touch, committing his taste to memory with the knowledge that it may very well be the last time that she felt his warmth.

"Whoa," he muttered as they pulled apart, his eyes still closed from the momentary pleasure. "Hell of a goodnight kiss."

She smiled bitterly as she backed off, her eyes catching a cluster of words as they scanned the scattered papers.

'...fear, I couldn't breathe. My own blood never tasted so bitter...'

Her breath hitched as the accompanying memory returned. Before the memory could turn into something more sinister, she turned on her heel and left him to what she knew would be a long night.

She dragged her feet along the carpet as she reached the master bedroom, exhausted from the simple walk upstairs. Her whole body ached to the point where she longed to be able to slide into a warm bath, but all she had the energy to do was sleep.

Thoughts of Chris drifted in and out of her conciousness as she slowly changed into her pyjamas. She couldn't help but imagine just how their next meeting would play out and she did not think that she wanted to know. Would he take her writings as the memoirs of a troubled woman or as the confessions of a tyrant? Her heart sank at the thought and she longed for an option that would allow her to take a leap towards recovery whilst retaining Chris's high opinion of her. After all, he was not just her husband...he was her best friend.

She did not know exactly how much time passed from the moment she slid under the sheets to hearing the first signs of movement downstairs. The dim LED display on her alarm clock told her that it had been over an hour but it had seemed like so much longer. Despite her fatigue, she seemed unable to drift off peacefully. Her heart continued to pound a heavy beat into the silence and the restless child in her womb seemed unwilling to settle down. She only hoped that as time went on and it continued to grow its movements would be somewhat restricted and would not trouble her as much.

The unmistakeble groan of the staircase caused her chest to seize up painfully and she closed her eyes firmly, hoping that he would assume that she was already asleep. She did not think that she could deal with the aftermath just yet. The footsteps grew closer, beating a track to their bedroom door until there was silence once again. She waited, the pounding of her heart intensifying as she heard the handle creak and the door brush lightly against the carpet in a drawn-out sweep.

The light from the hallway spilled into the bedroom and the darkness behind her eyes was suddenly tinted red. There was no movement, no sound, but she could sense his presence lingering in the doorway. She could feel his eyes on her supposedly sleeping form and to her complete and utter shame she found herself mentally begging him to join her and hold her, to reassure her that he was willing to work with what he had learnt and not run from it.

After several long minutes the light dimmed as the door retracted and the footsteps sounded again. This time it was despair that set in as she realised that they were on the wrong side of the door. No longer feeling the need to hide her state, she allowed tears to fall dramatically and turned her face into the soft pillow to muffle her sobs. She had prepared herself for the possibility of events transpiring this way but nothing could have prepared her for the sheer misery that snaked its way beneath her skin and began to tear her apart cell by cell.

Her sobs wracked her whole body with an agonising intensity. Her already aching muscles could not cope with the strain and before she knew it the convulsions had ceased and she found herself too numb to move against the thin sheet that enveloped her.

The foosteps sounded again, following a short hiss that sounded a lot like water. She bit her lip to stifle her cries and clung to the iota of hope that she found cowering in the depths of her mind. Sure enough, the footsteps drew closer to the master bedroom and when the door opened again there was no light from the hallway. The door slid closed silently, though she could not sense further movement from him.

Just as before, she could feel his gaze upon her as he remained at the foot of their king-sized bed. His breathing was heavy and conveyed his troubled emotions in a way she was certain was unintended. He moved just as suddenly as he had appeared, maneuvering around the spacious bedroom. She could make out the quiet rush of fabric against skin as his T-shirt was peeled off and slung to the floor, his belt jangling audibly as his jeans followed suit.

The sense of foreboding Jill had felt the moment he pushed open their bedroom door remained and she was still not convinced that his reappearance signified forgiveness and acceptance. Even as the mattress dipped beneath his weight she noted that he kept a safe distance from her.

She was so sure that he could hear her quiet sniffles but still he remained resolute in his composure...or so she assumed. She barely registered his weight shift against the coils as he turned over, close enough to her that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. Never before had she experienced such comfort from unbearable heat.

When his fingers brushed softly against the bare skin of her back, her body reacted as it always did and she knew that her fakery had been discovered. It seemed that he had not been aware of her alertness, fingers retracting when he felt the shiver that they envoked.

It was enough to coax out the tears once more, though he did not sense her discomfort. His breathing remained ragged and unpredictable and it was obvious to her that he was still dealing with what he had just read. She did not expect him to forgive her so readily...but she also did not expect to feel a rise in temperature as his body pressed against hers and his arm wound around her, holding her to him gently. She could sense the pain and inner turmoil that refused to relinquish its firm grip on him and she knew that things had changed, that he finally understood; it wasn't as simple as letting go, not for her. She still was not sure if this was truly a lucky turn of events. He obviously had difficulty being near her, a fact reassured by the hesitation she sensed in his embrace...but hesitation was not all.

Strange though it seemed, she still sensed hope. He chose to return to her even after wading through painful recollections of the dirty work she had carried out in the name of Albert Wesker. She did not know what tomorrow would bring, but she knew that he would be there. His embrace told her that he was not staying solely for the sake of their child, that their child was not the primary reason for his concern.

The arm did not rest as it usually did around her waist with a hand on her bump; it rested across her chest, his fingers entwining with hers reassuringly.

He was not holding them, he was holding her.

AN - Please review :).