AN - Again, apologies for the late update. I've still been struggling a little with block and, well who isn't busy over the holiday season? This is the penultimate chapter of part two of the story (which ended up being pretty much a filler part ^_^; ), and the action kicks off and emotions are cranked up again next chapter. Part three is where Billy's role becomes larger, so bear with me on that one -_^ . This chapter does feel a little rushed, and I apologise for that. Hopefuly the wait for the next won't be too long. Chapter title is from Time To Waste by Alkaline Trio - which I think fits quite well with the whole of part two.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed since the last update: Badger, Ultimolu, Kenshin13, x-Artichoke-x, 86, Afro Spirit, .-SnipingWolf, Black Metalmark, Ryoko Metallium, USWeasilGirl, xSummonerYunax, tek, Kimmy, leinad312, Ninja-Gnome, Keybladem and Green Macadamia. Your support truly means a lot; thank you so much!
Another reason for the late update is that I finished the last of my planned oneshots ^_^. It's pretty much a direct sequel to Mea Maxima Culpa for those of you who read it, and it's called Silhouette. It's also another prequel for what will hopefully be my next story and another C/J (with elements of W/J .), so please check it out if you have the time ^_^. Happy new year! I hope 2011 is wonderful to you all.

At Eternity's Gate

Chapter Thirteen - They Watch From Their Windows

'These creatures are waking up in these dark trees.
They're waiting like vultures,
And eyes roll back, turn white in time to feed.
They salivate in hunger...'

January 22, 2010. 12:00pm. Arlington, VA.

"You got enough there?"

Jill raised an eyebrow, considered throwing a fry his way. But a fry thrown was a fry wasted, and she was far too hungry to be wasteful.

"You really are a hypocrite if you're teasing me about my size again," she shot back through a sneer. "I have a little person inside of me; what's your excuse?"

Chris glanced with a smirk to the biceps she was sure had grown larger since her return. With the amount of time he spent in the gym these days, she wouldn't be surprised.

"I don't know why you're so touchy about it," he laughed softly. She knew that he did not mean any offence. "Big is good; big means healthy. And for the record, I've never found you sexier."

"And that's not creepy at all..."

His leg touched hers beneath the table and she laughed, lost in eyes that were momentarily unshielded. Love was always shown or spoken, but she knew that she had barely touched upon the depths of that which he held for her. But in moments like this, she felt it. She understood that the intensity of her own feelings did not go unmatched.

"You are amazing, do you know that?" she smiled. Her hand found his on the table, pressed gently against tanned skin. "How the hell did I get so lucky?"

He seemed startled by her words, but chuckled softly anyway, entwining his fingers with hers.

Neither was heavily into PDA, but at that moment, in that crowded burger bar, she felt so isolated, so lost in a world that encompassed just the two of them. She would have reached over to plant a kiss on his lips had a fellow diner not knocked her elbow as they passed.

Momentarily distracted, she turned back to find that the pile of fries on her tray was significantly smaller than before. Chris tried to disguise his movement, but failed when it came to hiding the evidence. With one fry protruding from his lips, he froze, and she gasped incredulously, deeply offended.

"What the hell?" she growled. Food had become an extremely touchy subject. But insult failed her, and she instead reached forward, collecting most of his fries in her hand and depositing them on the top of her own pile.

"Because that's fair!" he complained.

He made another swipe for her food but she batted his hand away, shielded her lunch protectively.

"I'd say it is," she grinned.

"Oh come on, I only stole four of yours!"

"And you stole my shapely figure," she retorted. He laughed, leaning back in his plastic chair.

"Yes, I got you pregnant out of pure spite," he agreed sarcastically.

She was about to snap back amicably, until realisation snowed down upon her.

Things had been tense lately; friendly but little more. She could not remember the last time they had carried on like this, had teased each other as they used to before love and Umbrella changed their lives. Truthfully, she did not want the moment to end. Free from paranoia, from the hurtful knowledge that he would rather believe she was crazy than believe her.

But she knew where his denial stemmed from. There was no evidence to support her claims, and her medical history did not exactly work in her favour. She did not honestly know if what she saw, what she felt, was true. Doubting herself was perhaps the lowest she had sunken since her treatment. But if she truly was crazy, she was not going to go without a fight, not this time.

She was snapped from her reverie by the touch of a damp finger to her nose. She blinked, confused until Chris's fingertip disappeared between his lips, ketchup that had stained it removed.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed a she wiped the red condiment from her face. But further complaint fell from intent as she caught sight of an older couple at the next table, rolling their eyes and shaking their heads in shame.

It was anger that surfaced next, but she held it back. As childish as their behaviour may be, what right did they have to judge?

'I'd wager our relationship is far more satisfying than theirs,' she told herself. Because without fun, love was simply a painful emotion.

"How do you feel about a trip to Manhattan on February twenty-first?" he asked. "We could make a vacation out of it."

The thought of going away with him was wonderful, but physically she felt far from able. She was thirty weeks pregnant, would be even closer to her due date when February came around. Some days, just walking to the park on their estate was a chore.

"Amy set a date," he explained. Of course; his only unmarried cousin, beating them to the post. "February twenty-second; the whole family is going to be there."

Guilt prevented her from immediate denial, but the necessity lingered. Her heart beat towards acceptance, wanting him to be with the family he had neglected since her return.

"Chris...the baby is due in March," she sighed. "Even just to Manhattan is...it's too far. I can't sit still for that long and it would take forever with all the bathroom breaks."

The smile he flashed was genuine, but his words stung.

"It's okay. We don't have to go."

"You do!" She did not miss a beat. "Baby, go without me." She sensed the refusal before he could voice it. "I'm not taking no for an answer! I'll be fine on my own; Rebecca lives ten minutes away, so it's not like I'll be completely alone."

He sighed heavily, and stole another fry from her plate. But she did not care, simply let out a little huff of her own.

"Okay," he agreed. "But I'm coming back the day after the ceremony. And I want you to call me if anything happens, as soon as it happens."

She assured him that he would, but knew that it was unnecessary. The baby was fine, as was she. Previous lack of activity was no longer an issue, was missed in actuality. She did not know what the girl was doing in there, but there was rarely a moment of peace.

'And you will feel better when she is here,' she assumed. 'The hormones will die down, the paranoia will vanish and you will be able to hold her in your arms. Just two more months. You and Chris will have the family you dream of.'

But even now, she felt that it was hope rather than knowledge.

January 22, 2010. 12:09pm. Location unknown.

He had taken refuge at the bar that night, clutching his cell. It was not fear that gripped him, but the sense that this was a mess he did not wish to be caught up in. How was he to know that she was engaged? She had not worn a ring, had not mentioned a fiancé. Of course, they never did.

Billy rubbed his bruised jaw, the knowledge that it was not a fight lost all that comforted him on the long walk home.

But comfort was soon lost, spiralling away with the plume of smoke that rose behind the deli. His legs carried him faster than he willed them to.

And they gave way as he came to the corner of the block.

A thick cloud of black ash blew around his apartment building, choking those who stood to watch, sweater necks clasped against their mouths. Fire-fighters trained numerous hoses on the upper floors, fighting back flames that spat out of broken windows.

Amidst the chaos, paramedics pulled still bodies into ambulances, police wrestled with a furious figure.

And Billy's chest twisted, the Scotch he had frittered away his wages on spilling against the pavement. He clutched his stomach as he retched again, a bulging black bag wheeled past the police car.

The cops pushed her fiancé into the back of their vehicle, and she screamed mere feet away. Whether at them or at him, he did not know. He did not think, only ran.

The silence woke him, unusual in its emptiness. There was no drilling, no hammering. Where was everyone today?

Memories of ash remained in his mind, of charred corpses wheeled away to their resting places.

And it was all his fault.

He drank what remained of his water, choking on the liquid. Nothing tasted the same anymore. And he could barely lift himself from the hard mattress, every inch of his body agonisingly stiff.

But he succeeded in dropping to the floor, shimmying over to the grate on the right-hand wall. The lights were off in the neighbouring cell, but he could see the silhouettes the renovation had left behind. It could have been a high-end hotel room, complete with bureau and carpet. Why would they alter a cell? They never cared about their prisoners, had residence quarters for guests.

'Maybe it's for you?' he considered, but knew that he would perhaps be the last intended resident for this room.

'How long is this going to continue?'

Years could have passed, and he would not know the difference. The only comfort was the knowledge that they had not yet pulled any innocent souls into his hell. But he knew better than to assume it was because of the belief that he had not passed on the data to another. If they truly believed so, he would not be here...or at the very least, he would no longer be human.

'You should have sent it straight to the BSAA,' he realised. 'You should not have...'

He could not rest, knowing that it was out there, knowing where it was. Had it been handed on yet? Was it with the recipient or still in limbo?

One way or another, this was the last thing he had wanted.

He could not remember the last time he had visited Virginia. Yet here he was, walking the streets of Arlington. Well, traversing a hospital car park.

The wind was icy, but he pulled his scarf up around his neck, hiding his face out of habit. And then he checked the name of the wing, saw that he was on the right track. The reception area was warmer, so he moved silently, stealthily inside.

'You're early,' he told himself. But he was like a child on Christmas morning; far too excitable to wait.

'Will she remember me?'

Immediately, he scolded himself. So many years had passed. But if he played on her mind half as much as she played on his, she would not have forgotten.

He would have been here years ago, chasing the only soul who had shown him kindness in his darkest years, had it not been for the charges from which he ran. But now he was free, was an everyday citizen once again.

And there was so much he needed to thank her for, so much he needed to say.

He recognised her the moment she stepped through those doors. She was older, hair a little longer...but he would know her anywhere. The smile that twisted his lips confirmed suspicion. He barely possessed the restraint to remain seated, to not run up to her and reveal his freedom, reveal his survival.

He rose, but so too did a man to his left. She looked over, smiled as pale cheeks flushed a dark shade of pink. And then the man moved, placed a chaste kiss on her lips when they met.

"You made it," she sighed. But that was all he heard, and her smile was all that he saw.

She was successful, and he could see now that she was happy. It was more than he expected, more than he could have wished for. But she was young; young enough to put her past behind her and forge some semblance of a normal life.

'I can't do this,' he realised. Because his heart drew him back into his seat, kept him still as they left.

Their past was chaotic, the one night they had spent together nothing short of terrifying. He did not want to remind her of such a dark time, not now.

And so he stayed. And he said nothing.

His decision had been pretty final at the time. So why had he involved her now, why had he dragged her back into this world?

'Because she is the only person in this world you can trust.'

But what would this trust cost her?

What price would he force her to pay?

January 22, 2010. 12:15pm. 504 Tower View Apartments. Washington, D.C.

The phone continued to ring but Leon ignored it, threw the covers over his head. It would be work again, calling to know where he was.

Memories of the previous night were hazy, but bruised ribs told a twisted tale of their own.

"You really think you can drink me under the table?"

"Are you saying I can't?"

Laughter.

"Kid, you have no idea what you are getting yourself into."

"Then humour me. Fifty bucks says you can't."

"Leon, I have a pregnant wi- fiancée back home, who will kill me - actually kill me - if I stumble home drunk."

"Well, if your liver is as resilient as you say it is, you won't have to worry about that, will you?"

"Two hundred...game on."

He remembered Chris's jibes, remembered his smirk as he considered aloud how much his daughter would love the toys his two hundred dollars were going to buy her. He could not remember much after that. A lot of stumbling occurred, much singing, and a collision with a staircase that he was beginning to think had snapped a rib or two.

Rolling over groggily, he caught sight of a note on the nightstand, of a large glass of water, plate of plain white bread and a smaller glass of water next to a sachet of Alka-Seltzer.

'For the head,' read the note in Chris's printed letters.

With a groan, he opted instead to reach for his cell, checking the time. He was never such a late riser, felt thoroughly ashamed of himself for sleeping through the beginning of a working day. But he was in no fit state to be in uniform.

New Messages (3).

Every movement was painful, and the glare of the screen hurt his eyes. But he was hopeful as he opened his inbox.

'Hope you're feeling better this morning,' read the first message, sent by Chris. 'Just take it easy. I don't blame her for walking away, but she does love you. I've yet to meet a Redfield who has given up on love.'

'You spoke to - ouch - him about Claire?'

At least his drunken tongue had been favourable, he deduced. Had even one word been spoken out of line in front of Chris, he would have woken with a lot more than bruised ribs and a paralysing migraine. Truth be told, he would have been lucky to wake at all.

'Where are you today?' The second message was from Hunnigan. 'I told them you called in sick, so just take the day off and let me know that you're okay. xxx'

And all hope that Claire had contacted him faded with the last.

'Thank you for going out with Chris last night,' Jill texted appreciatively. 'He really seems to have enjoyed himself :). Are you free this weekend? Want to meet up? It's been too long. J xxx. P.S. I love you too sweetie, but you're just too good for me :P.'

He groaned again as hazy memories washed over him, warped images that made little sense...but just enough to offer some semblance of understanding.

"Give me the phone," Chris demanded. "Give it, Leon. I'm not-"

"I need to call her!" he slurred. "I need...let go of me!"

Why did he protest? She was his sister, and there was an apology on the tip of his tongue. Why did he deny his own flesh and blood what he truly wanted?

Leon told him so, but he was sure the words had not been spoken as intended. In fact, he was not sure that what left his lips was much more than an incoherent sound.

"Hey!" Chris growled, finally ceasing his attempts to steal away the cell.

"But I love her! She needs to know!"

"So you're going to call her drunk at quarter to one in the morning to let her know? That's worse that keeping quiet, you moron."

He failed to see the logic. But he made no attempt to dial, drunken heart sinking.

"How long did you keep it from Jill?" he sighed. "She didn't care! She loves you. Maybe...maybe Claire doesn't love me that much. Maybe she doesn't love me at all...she just thinks she does."

His cheeks were wet now. How were they wet? His sight was impaired, the only image in his mind that of the redhead who refused to do anything with him these days.

"Oh God, I'm going to die alone," he cried, slumping against the side of the road.

Chris laughed as he tried to pull him to his feet, realising eventually that it was simply not worth the effort.

"Buddy," he sighed, choosing to join him instead. "You are so young. There are plenty of-"

"How did you do it?" he demanded. "How did you find an amazing woman and...make it work? How did- How didja-"

"Well, for starters, I wasn't a coward. I never hid the fact that I love her."

Leon did not bother to explain himself. If Claire did not understand, then neither would her brother.

"I would do anything for Jill," Chris told him. "Perhaps to my detriment. If you can't spare a few words for Claire... Maybe she was right; you need to sort yourself out before anything can happen between the two of you."

But he did not know what it was that he was supposed to 'sort out'. Was it alcohol-induced amnesia, or just plain ignorance?

"I have to..." he muttered, and his fingers moved across the keypad of his cell.

"Your funeral," Chris sighed. "Because I will kill you if you hurt her again."

But he was immune to threats, found her name and dialled.

"I love you!" he gushed, before she could even say hello. "And I'm sorry, for everything. I need you."

There was silence on the other end, the shuffle of bed sheets.

"Leon?"

The voice was not Claire's. The cell slipped from his hands, caught only by an over-attentive Chris.

"What happened?" he demanded, anger flaring. Leon did not know what would be more harmful; the truth or fabrication.

"Please don't kill me."

Chris raised the Blackberry to his ear, spoke into the receiver. Caught somewhere between amusement and fear, he shook his head shamefully.

"Jill?" he breathed. "I am so sorry. You're lying; I know he did. Yeah, he's in a whole other world right now. We're on our way- Of course I'm gonna make sure he gets home. No, he's not staying at- Because you're pregnant and he'll keep us both up all night! About half an hour. No, don't wait up! Dammit- Alright, alright; I won't argue. I love you too."

With a firm hand, he smacked Leon upside the head.

With Claire's name in mind, but Jill's on the tip of his tongue, it had been the latter that he had called, and he knew now that perhaps it was for the best.

How long had it been since their relationship ended? Some days it felt as though it had never truly began, that it was simply some wonderful dream that he had lost himself to.

Others...he wished that the pregnancy had been little more than a scare.

The idea of children, of becoming a father, terrified him, but deep in his heart he knew that it was a future he wanted with her.

'Sort your shit out, Kennedy,' he urged himself.

It was the job he loved that proved the biggest obstacle. It took him all over the world, but that aspect no longer appealed to him. For wherever it took him, she was not there. But he knew that he could never leave. Too much good came from what he did.

'And you're scared to tell her that you love her because one of these days you may not come back?' he pondered.

The migraine flared, the warmth of his sheets becoming uncomfortable.

'Coward.'

January 22, 2010. 1:05pm. Arlington, VA.

They were watching her. All eyes, behind the shades. She could feel the stares, boring through to the bone.

Why were they here? Of all places, why here? How had they known where she would be? Were they following her?

'It's more logical that you are imagining it,' she assured herself. 'Heavily pregnant women tend to draw wandering eyes, as do biceps the size of Chris's.'

"Jill?" Chris asked, stopping them both so suddenly she was forced to grip him for support. "Are you okay?"

'Am I?'

She looked to the suits, watched them as they watched her. They would turn if she pointed them out, normal to his eyes. And then they would argue, he would sleep in the guest room again...

'They aren't real!' she reminded herself. 'And they won't go away until you learn to ignore them.'

"I'm fine," she said with a smile, as wide and genuine as she had ever flashed. And then she waited, turned her head but a fraction of an inch.

They were gone.

'Told you so.'

"Are you sure?" The tone of worry to his voice was so genuine that it made her heart bleed.

"I'm with you," she laughed. The only remedy she knew to his pain; a swift stroke of the ego. "How could anything possibly be wrong?"

The smug smirk told her that it had worked, and her own worry assuaged.

"Okay, I'll let this one slide," he chuckled. And he did, but the protective arm remained around her as they made their way to the mother and baby store, Jill fumbling in her pocket for the hastily-scrawled list.

"We're good for toys," she read, counting on his arm to guide her. "But we do need some mom stuff, a stroller, a car seat and...well, I think the shower will take care of the rest."

"That's all we need?"

Jill rolled her eyes, wishing that they were both so prepared.

"No, it's all I could remember this morning. I'll be remembering things we have forgotten right up until the last moment. Oh- Baby-proofing! See!"

He ushered her inside the shop, laughing still when he plucked the list from her hands.

"I don't think we need to worry about her crawling into anything for a while," he told her, elated by the simple realisation that their house needed to be baby-proofed.

She scanned the store first, settling where the strollers stood. She had researched as best she could, but was still clueless as to what exactly they were looking for. A stroller was a stroller, regardless of design.

But one in particular caught her eye. It was black, simple...beautiful. And as she drew closer, she saw that it was suitable from birth, that their daughter would not quickly outgrow it. The structure was sturdy, the handle soft enough to not hurt the hands. And there was enough space within to cover the girl to comfort and still leave room for any toy she may become attached to.

"This one!" she told Chris, grinning deliriously. "This is it! Can't you just see her in there?"

Enthusiasm drained as quickly as it had appeared when she caught sight of the price.

"Well, that figures," she sighed, annoyed to find that tears welled in her eyes. "We can't afford that!"

As usual, a dream - as momentary as it had been - scuppered. But still, she touched the lining, scrutinising it to find even the smallest design flaw. She found nothing.

"Hey there," greeted the assistant. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

She twisted her face, knowing the answer she had to give.

"We'll take this one."

She froze, speechless. Chris waved a hand towards the stroller, smiled reassuringly.

"W-We can't afford this!" she hissed quietly. "It's a nice gesture and all, but-"

"Consider it Leon's offering for the shower," he winked.

"Please don't tell me you stole from him last night," she gasped, colour draining from her features. "Chris, that's low."

She honestly did not expect this to be the case. Since she had refused to allow him to pay for anything following his admission of footing the bill for her treatment, he had begun to find new and inventive ways of spending. It was entirely likely that 'Leon's' money was in fact his own.

"I won it fair and square!" he protested. "Don't look at me like that; I never would have taken it if I didn't intend to spend it on her anyway."

She wanted to argue, but the mother within sided with the selfish desire to buy.

"Okay, okay," she relented. "We'll take it."

The assistant waited for a further nod of confirmation before she left, and when she did, Jill turned to her fiancé, wrapping her arms around his waist as they waited.

"It looks so comfortable," she noted. "You think she'll like it?"

Chris hummed in reply. They both knew that she would barely pay an iota of attention to anything she owned, but the sentiment was sound.

A hand fell unconsciously to where their daughter slept and she smiled as she held her, comforted by her own warmth.

'She will be okay,' she found that she needed to remind herself.

"Chris!"

The voice stole her from the threat of poisonous thought, and the moment was broken, both halves of the couple pulling back, adjusting themselves in mild embarrassment.

"Did you take your number out of the phone book?" asked the girl as she navigated display stands to join them.

"We value our privacy," he told her, stunned. "Hello, Gabriella."

And Jill hummed in acknowledgement. She may have been older, taller and lacking the fractured English that had once coloured her speech, but there was little doubt that it was the same little girl she had once tucked in at night.

"It's nice to see you again, Jill," she smiled, as genuine as her lips had ever bore. "You look well."

She thanked her, with a smile of her own, and looked curiously to Chris. As a child, Gabriella had always been somewhat attached to him. He had never treated her with anything less than respect, had never underestimated her intelligence. The memories alone were enough for her to feel the ache of impending parenthood.

"I've been trying to find you for ages!" Gabriella revealed. English. Jill realised that the new tone to her accent was English, though from which area o the country, she could not tell. "I've been reading the papers, and I...saw some things that worried me. So I've been doing a little digging and-"

"Gabriella!"

"Oh shit."

Three sets of eyes turned to the store entrance, to the man who stormed through the door, perhaps a heartbeat away from fury. Jill recognised him immediately, as did Chris, but his eyes were not so keen. He gripped Gabriella's arm, turned her roughly to face him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he seethed. "You don't just run off like that! You were supposed to be looking after your brother!"

"Like the little shit didn't run off and leave me!" she defended.

He inhaled deeply, shook his head in shame. And then he turned to them, eyes apologetic.

"I'm sorry about this," he muttered. His accent had changed also, diluted from a heavy Scouse twang to something else entirely. "She-"

Jill smiled as silence struck him, nodded in anticipation of realisation.

"Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine," she confirmed, before the question was asked. "Nice to see you again, Matthew."

"How are ye?" the man nodded, offering a hand to be shaken. She took it warily, became more enthusiastic when she noted the expression of pure ease that had fallen upon Chris's features. He would not have allowed any man to touch her had he not been sure of their benign intent.

He now acted with her as he did with Claire; treating her as part of the family. But the smiles that he offered were anything but benign, transmitting all that she knew they must deny. With Raccoon little more than a crater of rubble and ash, Umbrella's repertoire of destruction was only growing larger. It was with Umbrella that their focus must lie, not with one another.

"Matthew Stockard, this is Jill Valentine," Chris spoke. "Jill Valentine, Matthew Stockard."

Matthew had a kind face, despite the scar that sliced through his hairline. If there was but one thing she knew about herself, it was that she was a good judge of character.

"Nice to meet ye," Matthew acknowledged. "Maybe now you're here, Chris will give it a rest with the stories."

She did not miss the warning glare that her friend shot his way. But inside, she was proud...and glad. Through the lonely months, she had been terrified that part of him would forget who they were, would forget what had happened between them and what had been promised. Evidently, this was not the case.

"Is Martin around?" Chris asked.

"Nah," he sneered, and then turned to Jill. "I'd stay away from him if I was you. Complete bell end. Not a girl 'round here he hasn't groped...or at least tried to."

She smiled, laughing through her fatigue.

"Well, you seem to be well versed in the dos and don'ts around here. Care to give me a tour?"

"Well I'll be damned," Matthew laughed. And then his eyes fell to her bump and another wave followed. "Double damned. Nice to see the two of you worked things out."

"And you and Alejandra, I see," Chris retorted.

Alejandra was the one who had brought the group together, recognising Chris from stolen Umbrella surveillance data when he had rescued Gabriella - her young daughter - on the streets of Paris. Jill had admired her very much, for she reminded her of her late mother. Strong, proud, willing to do anything for family. She had a heart of gold and nerves of steel, bearing the scars inflicted upon her by Umbrella's hand with pride; they were scars that had saved her daughter's life, and she was far from ashamed of that. At the end of the war, when they had parted ways, Matthew returned to England to assist in the foundation of the European branch of the BSAA. A wartime fling between the two turned into marriage, and now she assumed that the two had brought a son into the world.

"She's not causing you any trouble is she?" Matthew asked. Gabriella squirmed beside him, huffing in annoyance.

"I resent that."

"Gabby, I'd be worried about you if you weren't causing trouble."

Jill laughed, raising her eyebrows in Chris's direction. And she knew that he saw Claire in the girl, too. She was too free-spirited to be restrained. It was best to let her roam free and hope that she would wear herself out or tire of whatever idea had crept into her head before someone got hurt.

"I hacked into TriCell's account system," she explained, ignoring the groan of her step-father. "I've been following the story in the papers and...I know that something is wrong. I don't think that Kijuju was an isolated incident. I don't think that Gionne alone was to blame, or that it was all corruption at the hands of Albert Wesker."

Jill felt Chris's hand touch her own. The name used to frighten her, but now...now she did not even flinch.

"My roommate is good with computers - really good - and she helped me hack into their corporate account through the personal account of a TriCell employee," Gabriella continued. Jill deduced that she did not wish to know exactly how she had come across the employee's personal details. "Millions of dollars are being siphoned into a department referred to as 'Surplus Engineering'. I have checked the tax records, the output data...everything. All of this money is being poured into a department that is producing nothing, that doesn't exist in terms of legality. Doesn't that sound familiar to you?"

And it did. Frighteningly so. Umbrella had utilised a similar tactic to conceal the illegal research that had continued for decades. Even Excella had manipulated the system as such; lying about the intent of the funding that was sent her way.

But if TriCell were operating as Umbrella once had, why had Excella shielded her research from the rest of the company? They never questioned her activities, but they never knew the truth. When executives would visit, they would be shown the less incriminating areas of the facility, and Excella would dress her in uniform, enough padding to disguise the device hidden beneath her clothing. Why go to such lengths if the company was equally as corrupt?

'Excella was greedy,' she reminded herself. 'She would not share her money or her research with anyone. And she sure as hell would not have shared Wesker with the world. If word got out that he was still alive...'

"She's been a fan of conspiracy theories these past few years," Matthew sighed, snapping her from consideration. And then he turned again to his step-daughter. "Don't you think you should show a little more consideration?"

Jill sighed, irritated by the reminder that her 'resurrection' had reached the British media. The whole world knew of what had happened to her, when she herself could barely stomach the memories.

"It's okay," she felt the need to say. "But, Gabriella, if you truly stumbled across something this big, shouldn't you be telling all this to someone with a little power. The BSAA, perhaps?"

Gabriella sighed and pushed Matthew's hands off her shoulders.

"You think I didn't try that?" she admitted with a downcast expression. "They laughed at me. Who would believe the word of an eighteen-year-old girl? They knew of my past, thought I was making it all up. I asked to speak to both of you, and they told me that you were still on leave, so…here I am."

Jill did not know what to believe, but she could see that the girl's intent was pure. She believed in what she had supposedly found, so much so that she had gone to the effort of tracking them down.

"So I suppose this is why you agreed to visit Aunt Harriet?" Matthew realised. "Did you make a record of what you found?"

Gabriella nodded, despite the fact that he was obviously merely humouring her.

"Screenshots, but...not much else," she explained. "We had to get out of there quick before they got a lock on us; their security is...hardcore. As for the other data, it's public information, albeit heavily edited public information."

"If you give us what you have, we'll see what we can do," Chris told her. Jill could see that he had already placed trust in the information. After all, not only was Gabriella intelligent, but she was also persistent and honest to a fault. She would not let this go if she truly believed in the idea; so much like her mother...so much like Jill. "We have a friend who works for the government. He can poke a little deeper; if there is anything to uncover, he'll find it."

Somehow, she doubted it. Leon was in no fit state to do anything these days. Constantly distracted, she was amazed that he had survived so long without a formal warning.

'All because of Claire,' she realised with a frown. She truly did not know which side to take. While she firmly believed that Leon was an ass for the way he was handling the love issue, Claire knew what she was getting herself into when she allowed herself to fall into the role of his girlfriend; it was not one that came without its fair share of issues.

A man could not be changed unless he was willing, and Leon was just as stubborn as she. Even Chris had inadvertently hurt her in the early days of their relationship, but he learned from his mistakes, as did she, and seven years later they remained together, with marriage and a baby on the horizon. All that held the other couple from achieving happiness was stubbornness she had hoped that they would outgrow.

"I hope I'm wrong about all this," Gabriella admitted. And her eyes were on Jill as she spoke these words.

Because the work of Albert Wesker was of interest to any corrupt medical body.

And for two and a half years, she had been the embodiment of that work.

January 22, 2010. 9:00pm. St. Mary Hope Hospital. Arlington, VA.

"Another late night?"

Rebecca jumped at the sound of Connolly's voice, tired eyes barely focusing on his features.

"I guess you could say that," she laughed.

The V-17 vaccine was in its final stages of preparation, perhaps only a month or two away from launch. After almost a year of false endings and failed trials, sleep barely seemed to be a priority anymore. This vaccine was her life's work, a goal she had reached towards since she was eighteen years old. The potential was beyond anything she had previously achieved.

Effectiveness against the T-virus had been proven, as it had been with Uroboros, the Progenitor virus the G-virus and every derivative of the aforementioned viruses that had emerged in the last decade. All that remained was the T-Veronica strain. Results were promising, and tomorrow she would know for sure.

Bioterrorism as they knew it now would cease to exist. With the eradication of the viruses, they would be sent back to the 1990s, to an era where zombies and monsters existed only in movies and nightmares. Thousands upon thousands of lives would be saved.

"That's enough for me. If this happens, if...if this can save someone, just one person...then it was worth it."

Jill's words remained with her, the tears that had presented as she broke the news still flowing in her mind. Because the vaccine had been borne from her blood.

It was the moment she realised that her friend had truly healed, had won the final battle. No matter which way they looked at it, they could see that something wonderful had come from her years of captivity. In forcing vengeance down upon her, Wesker had seen the end of Umbrella's legacy with his own hands...as he had seen the end of his own.

"You promise you'll still be my friend when you win the Nobel Prize?"

She laughed and waved a hand bashfully.

"You don't have to wait around for me all the time you know?" she pointed out, hoping to change the subject. She could talk for hours about her work, but knew that she had begun to bore people with the same old story.

"I do when I drive you here," he laughed. "Otherwise, how are you supposed to get home?"

"A cab, perhaps?"

A lift did sound appealing, but she so desperately wanted to finish her report early so that she did not need to rise so early the next morning. But Connolly did not often take 'no' for an answer.

"Just go," she urged him nonetheless. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He frowned, hummed, and then sighed, knowing that arguing with her was futile now that her project was drawing to a close.

"Call me when you get home," he told her. It was more of a demand than a request. "If I hear nothing by eleven, I'll send the cops 'round."

And she knew that he would. So with a final assurance that she would indeed call, he finally left, and she was able to gather her files in her arms and finally retreat to her office.

'Why don't you just go home?' a soothing voice urged. 'You'll only make a mess of it and end up rewriting it all tomorrow.'

Alas, progress was never made by procrastinating. She knew that she would feel more alert once she was seated in front of her computer with a coffee in hand.

But when she came to her office, the seat in question was already occupied.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, shifting her grip to maintain the grip on her files.

The question was redundant; she recognised the man almost immediately. While no words had ever been exchanged between the two, she knew that his name was Lloyd, that he was an orderly within the hospital.

What business did orderly have in her office? What business did anyone but she have in her office?

"O-Oh," he stuttered, catching himself. "Sorry, ma'am. I just needed to send a quick email and...the door was open."

She remained in the doorway, scrutinising him with wary eyes.

"You have no right to enter my office," she reminded him. Work was personal to her, and this was a violation of everything she held dear.

He apologised again as he stumbled to his feet.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Chambers. It won't happen again."

He was gone before she could press the matter, but discomfort remained. And she moved swiftly to her computer, checked her inbox, history, and everywhere else she knew footprints would have been left.

Nothing.

She found that her hands trembled as they moved to the files, and suddenly it was her cell that she grasped for. Fear twisted her stomach, provided a boost that caffeine would not have matched.

"Have you left?" she asked, relieved when Connolly assured her that he had not. "I...I've changed my mind. Can...Can you drive me home?"

Begging him to hurry, she reluctantly ended the call. And she reached for the antique stationary knife on her desk, grasped it in a clammy hand.

And then she waited, instincts screaming, begging her to remain aware.

They had never failed her before.

AN - Please review :)