The stench of burning corpses must stretch a hundred mile radius around the city, the heat from the flames is sweltering despite the winter air. Ethan's wearing a pinched expression, he keeps trying to look through work documents but it's clear he is unable to focus.
Jill says nothing, focusing her attention on the stitching of her gloves as if she'll find some secret within them. The truth of the matter is she's desperate to stay awake, she is thoroughly exhausted from the escapades of the night. It would be so easy to drift to sleep with the rocking of the carriage, but there is altogether too much to think about and so she refuses the temptation to drift to sleep outright.
The minute details she observes soothe her mind enough that a heaviness fills her. She's desperate for something to keep her awake; yet, she cannot bring herself to speak to Ethan out of fear he may change his mind.
She runs her fingers along the hilt of the sword at her hip. Yes, she is unabashedly carrying the weapon in public now that the danger of infection feels imminent. Her gaze avoids the hypnotic rivers of blood just outside the carriage window and the sight of soldiers hauling bodies towards various bonfires in the city streets. She'd spotted a soldier with a bag of severed heads and other appendages upon setting into the coach, it's such a terrible thing to think about.
Ethan hesitates to leave her off, once they arrive at the Redfield estate; but before he can move to comment on such a task, Jill is already beyond the gates and awaiting entrance. A single maid, sweet despite the shaking of her hands, beckons Jill indoors.
Once her outer garments are put up, Jill is lead to a portion of the home she is unfamiliar with. For a moment she's so confused she thinks that her mind is merely playing tricks on her. Until, of course, she enters a small study and there stands a frazzled looking Mr. Redfield. He's positioned beside the singular window, looking out at the distressed chaos of the streets.
He only turns to acknowledge her presence from the inbred memory of propriety, or so it seems with the disinterest in his gaze. There's something about him – the unkempt nature of his appearance perhaps – which endears her further. He still wears the clothes he'd worn in battle, his hair in a similar state disarray that she had previously seen in him. The only difference between then and now is the way sunlight glimmers off of his skin and the speckles of blood on his jaw.
They stand on opposite ends of the room, as if a wall of glass stands between them and any movement will shatter it. The maid leaves their presence, closing the door just audibly enough to jar Jill back into reality.
Hand reaching to adjust her hair, Jill speaks.
"I see you survived the battle."
"I did." He nods.
"That is… fortunate." She tries to resist the breathiness of her voice but cannot stave it off entirely.
"I must say the same of you." He clenches his hand, gaze suddenly unfocused. "You… I am sorry."
"What for?" She asks.
"Calling you here… You look quite tired."
"The same could be said of you, Mr. Redfield, we both fought long into the night." She notes, the dark ghosts of lost sleep hanging just beneath his eyes. "Perhaps you should sit."
He shakes his head, "I thank you… For your concern."
Again, a fragile silence falls on their shoulders as does the haze of heat emanating from the fireplace.
Jill takes one small nervous step forward, "What happened? After I departed?"
Despite the desperation she feels to ask after Claire, this tension surrounding them is far too curious. She cannot bring herself to wonder aloud what caused his urgency, it is so captivating, whatever this interaction is.
He rubs the bridge of his nose with his hand, dragging the already sunken skin down as he covers his mouth.
"It was a most strange occurrence… While we spoke, not a single beast approached us, as if we had turned to dust before them. Upon this realization, I utilized their distraction to attack. When you were gone from my side… I worried greatly for you, Miss Valentine."
"I am well, as you can see."
"Your safety is indeed a condolence from a night that had been so ruinous."
"I am… I am quite lucky." She admits feebly.
"Sometimes I think you are the most blessed being among us." He says, gaze just far enough away that it does not land on her. "You found Mrs. Winters, I take it?"
"I did… She is alive and has her health as ever before." Jill tries yet another step forward, taking notice of the untouched breakfast on his desk. Her own hunger and tiredness beginning to peak through the panic within her.
"Colonel Burton told me that you were on the field at dawn, did you truly spend so long in the fight?"
Jill nods slowly, realizing that his eyes have not left her this entire interaction. Her body suddenly burns with awareness, even the skin beneath her dress feels his scrutiny.
"I was needed." Jill says plainly.
"I do not doubt it." He finally moves from the window.
Unable to bear whatever could come from his mouth next, Jill asks the dreaded question.
"Your letter frightened me, sir. What was it that spurred you to request my presence?"
He gives a grimace, followed by a shaking intake of breath. "Claire…"
"What happened to Claire?" She begs the question, gathering the last of her courage in anticipation of the answer. Somehow his hand is in hers when she asks, she does not shy away from the contact, though the motion clearly disturbs and confuses him; for he holds off in silence whilst processing their linked hands.
Jill thinks she must have done this, taken hold of him that is, and she isn't sure why she does. However, the desperation within her allows the question to be discarded. She names the contact after her own need for closeness, convinces herself it was merely due to panic and nothing more. His low voice breaks her nervous thoughts and she is grateful to him.
"I can't say I know for certain… Only that when I arrived home this morn, our foreman had locked her in her chambers." The realization nearly leaves Jill faint as Mr. Redfield continues. "She's feverish, supposedly she's wounded… I cannot bear the thought of it."
Jill shakes her head, never before has she seen a man express such raw emotion. Things of that nature are reserved for ladies and fools, but the terrible circumstance warrants his reaction.
"Has a doctor been sent for?"
"Of course, but you must know that doctors are stretched thin looking for those who could be turned. It could be hours yet before one arrives, and worst of all she could be… could be…" He shakes his head, features pinched together as if to act as a barrier against the emotion within him. A futile measure, Jill can see him so plainly the shock of it cannot be rightly expressed even as he turns from her.
It is a rash decision, one that is unwise in every meaning of the phrase, but wisdom has never been a virtue of Jill's. Turning on her heal she reaches for the door, Mr. Redfield's voice wavers as he speaks.
"Miss Valentine, please don't leave."
"I am sorry, Mr. Redfield, I've a friend's health to look after." She says.
It takes him a moment to register her meaning, but when he does, the young man is following her into the hall.
"You can't just-"
"I very much can and I will." Jill says sternly, turning towards him in time to catch the disbelief in his eyes.
He shakes his head, "Absolutely not! Even with your stubbornness you know better that to be in the same room with one potentially turning."
"Someone must perform such a task and I will have to suffice in these trying times." She insists.
"I forbid you." He says, clearly uncertain what else to say.
"Then it is a good thing I do not report to you." She says with finality, hurrying towards the room in question. The door is locked, as is the protocol with those potentially turning, but Jill has always had a knack for unlocking. It is a talent she picked up from one of her father's trainees and utilized for childhood pranks, mostly. Now, however, she uses such a tool to swiftly allow herself entrance to a dangerous rink.
Therein lies the young miss, breath heavy and sweat slicked forehead, Jill's heart aches at the sight. Jill is quick to the young girl's bedside, immediately holding Claire's fevered cheeks in her hands. For a second, Jill feels a hitch of fear in her chest that this could be the beginning of her dearest friend turning against them.
With Mr. Redfield's presence looming by the door, Jill takes to performing her own examination of Claire's body. No blood seeps through her night dress, the girl does not flinch at Jill's touch even in her slumber, nor does she wake. Indeed, the only indication of any injury is her right hand, wrapped loosely in linen and stained red.
Jill hesitates for only a moment before unraveling the cotton fabric, what she finds is a bloody gash in the hand of her friend. It is an injury she is familiar with, for a moment, the familiarity nearly crushes her entirely.
"Thank God." Jill sighs upon the realization.
"Miss Valentine?" Mr. Redfield takes a half step closer.
"She'll be alright." Jill nods, "She's only in need of a new pistol, hers looks to have backfired. And I believe she must have been well on her way to a cold before this incident."
Mr. Redfield takes his face in his hands and lets out a sound that is reminiscent of a sob, if men were the type of creatures to do such a thing.
"Are you certain?" He asks.
"I am, please have a pitcher sent up and some fresh linens." Jill rolls up her sleeves as she moves to close the curtains.
He hesitates and stands staring at her for a moment longer as if trying to discern what has just transpired. When he does finally move, it is awkward, stiff motions that take him from the room.
Jill returns to the bed muttering to herself about how everything will be fine from now onwards. Perhaps she does not trust in her own abilities to detect infection, it could be her exhaustion, or the terrible looming sense of dread that has plagued her in this city. Regardless, she shoves those thoughts away, in the hopes of settling her still frantically beating heart.
A small group of maids walk into the room moments later, the requested items in hand. They are slow and unsure in their approach to the bed, Jill does not act in kind. She is practically brazen in her cleansing of Claire's wounds and then tending to her fever.
It is not so arduous a task, especially with Claire deep in her slumber. There would be no complaints from Jill herself, were it not for her own pressing tiredness, her hunger, and the cold still stuck beneath her skin. It must be close to noon when she sits at the foot of the bed, nearly faint from exertion.
"Are you alright, Miss?" Mr. Redfield's voice startles her slightly, though she has not near enough energy to jump. He stands by the door, freshened up from his earlier state. Even with his appearance put together as normal, his voice retains the uncharacteristic softness from before.
"I am… tired, Mr. Redfield." She admits.
He nods, "I must say, I am surprised that you tended to my sister personally."
"Of course I did, I would have acted similarly for any I call friend." She states.
"You honor my family, Miss Valentine." He says, biting his lip nervously before allowing a smile. "You… you never cease to amaze me with your admirable spirit."
"Do remind yourself of that from time to time." Jill manages to chuckle.
She hears him let out a laugh of his own, soft and tired as it is.
"Perhaps you would care to dine with me? I doubt if you've not had a moment to sleep you could have made pause for a meal."
He holds out his hand, and she surprises herself by taking it.
"Thank you, Mr. Redfield. I think I will."
They have a second between them of disbelief at their current circumstance, and yet, neither moves to break the air about them. As if they can retain this sense of understanding, they might be able to finally reach some kind of peace.
When the stillness is too much to bear she moves to exit the room, only to feel the tug of his hand still in her own. She turns to face him, eyes landing on their locked hands to avoid whatever expression he gives her. She thinks on how familiar his hand feels in her own instead of honing into the silence, it's a strange thought that has her voicing a concern she did not know she held.
"Do I make you uncomfortable?" She asks.
"I do not believe I can answer such a thing in confidence." He admits, walking to meet her and tucking her hand neatly into the fold of his arm.
"Should I be insulted?"
"I do not believe I possess the current strength to insult you, madam."
"If only such were always the case." She chuckles
"If only." He agrees.
"You've the power to make it so."
"You've the power to be insulted by less." He retorts as they reach the dining room.
"Indeed." She finds herself agreeing as he pulls out her chair. After thanking him, she takes the offering and wonders why she feels her cheeks burning crimson.
They eat in silence, she thinks such an incident should be awkward and unsettling. But that tender air between them remains, it is quiet and reverent as a church organ from blocks away. Something crucial is in the silence, but Jill is frustrated to find she cannot name the feeling.
"I should send word to Mr. Winters." She says as the servants take to cleaning the table.
"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Redfield asks with a soft chuckle.
"I… I made a fool of myself last night, I'm afraid." She shakes her head at the thought.
"Nonsense." Mr. Redfield approaches, hand outstretched to her once more.
She accepts once more and they take to walking, where their destination is, she hasn't a clue. However, they are not in any rush, their steps are slow, calculative almost. As if to stretch the time they have to speak.
"My host fears that there is still a great plethora of danger in the city. He does not want me traversing the streets alone any longer."
"I am sorry that I find myself in agreement, that the streets are not safe." Mr. Redfield clarifies.
She lets out a bitter laugh, placing a hand over her sword. "I can handle myself."
"Be that as it may, I for one will not oppose your statement, I too worry for the immediate safety of London."
"Do you believe another attack is imminent?" She asks.
"I would be a willfully ignorant buffoon to believe otherwise."
"These are dark times."
"If it is any consolation, I fear for my male friends as much as I fear for the women in my life."
"You care greatly for your friends?" She doesn't know why she asks, but the words are awful in their immediacy.
"I do, I have lost many a great companion to the horde…" He shakes his head and somehow, they've ended up in the ballroom.
The wide expanse of the empty dance floor is haunting and eerie in its temptation. Part of her wants to dance, just as she and Mr. Redfield did previously, in quiet bliss without a vicious war just beyond. On the other hand, she feels impulsive, she wants so desperately to know where Mia was, why the undead did not attack her, and how unmentionables can have one mind.
Mr. Redfield notices her faraway gaze and clears his throat to regain her attention, "You have not told me why you wish to send word to Mr. Winters."
She shakes her head ruefully, "He has insisted that I have an escort."
"Might I inquire what spurred such a request? Other than the battle."
"I disobeyed his wishes by leaving his household last night… Twice. I treated him most abhorrently and I am ashamed of my actions. He insists that I be accompanied to and from the house from now on."
Mr. Redfield takes in a soft breath before speaking, "Perhaps I could escort you."
Jill balks at the suggestion, taking a step back from him. "A young man and a young lady, unmarried, walking the streets unaccompanied and in broad daylight? It is an outrageous notion and you should be well aware of that."
"You are right of course." He shakes his head as though irritated with himself.
"I should be returning to Claire…" Jill says at a loss for anything else to say.
"I will have word sent at once to Mr. Winters." He takes a step away from her before bowing courteously.
Once he has gone from her presence, she gathers what is left of her wits and treks back to Claire's room.
Jill very nearly collapses, from her own exhaustion and the innate stress from interacting with Mr. Redfield. Though, the state of distress in which she found him earlier had… dare she admit such a thing? That she was endeared by the softness of it all? And that he had retained such a tender air about him during all of their interactions this day… it is so strange to ponder.
His gentle intonations had endeared her, though. How could a man so bold and callous be nearly reduced to tears for the sister he treasures? Had this been the first time he spoke to her without a cloak of masculinity to hide his true nature? Had she finally seen him truly?
Before Jill can answer any of these questions, she returns to Claire's room to find it vacant except for the girl attempting to sit up.
"Jill?" She asks, voice rasping and tired.
"Hush, save your strength." Jill says, pushing the young girl's shoulder gently back towards the mattress.
"Why are you here?"
"Can't a friend care for another without question?" Jill asks as if the answer is clear.
"But… the fighting?"
"It is over now, we're all quite safe, I assure you."
"Chris?"
"He is well, aside from his immediate worry for your state."
Claire looks at her for a moment, a small fragile smile breaking across her face. "You are… perhaps… more than a friend."
Jill smiles tentatively in return. "That would be an honor, but please, do rest easy."
Claire continues to push her questioning, and Jill does her part to keep the younger girl placated. Eventually, the redhead returns to the land of dreams and Ethan arrives to collect Jill. It is a bittersweet moment, she does so hate to leave a friend in a sorry state; however, upon her arrival home she is sent straight to bed.
It is such a splendid rest she has, finally giving in to the demands of her body. Empty sleep is such a soothing solace, and the only place she has to escape the madness of the world.
