Hello again! Oh boy, the creative vibes keep hitting me :) See how long it lasts. Another piece that takes place post RE5, with the thought of going back and exploring dynamics before RE1. Well, that's the plan anyway. As always, please be kind and drop me a review. Until recently, it's been some time since I've published things here, so I'm sure I'm rusty and the likes. And again, I'm not sure how the fanbase is, so if I've written something you don't like, my apologies. It wasn't my intent.
What is normal? What was normal? Before all this...whatever. She feels like she's back in her own bathroom sink in Raccoon City after the incident at the mansion - in what feels like another lifetime ago. Rain pings off the glass. It's steady. And it's dark. Because it's late at night. She couldn't sleep. Time change or not - she pulls herself up from the sink, shoulders begging for release from the strain and she stares at her own reflection.
She hates her look. She hates what they've done to her. They invaded her. Made her a puppet to control. He pulled the strings and made her do his bidding. Hate. Contempt. Will these feelings ever go away?
Angrily she grabs at her loose strands and tugs. This blonde mane...is not her. She swipes the box of dye sitting on the sink from the store, gripping it tightly in her fist. The box crinkles. She begged to go to one once they landed in Germany before heading to the military base. Beer or something stronger. Something to eat. Anything to make her feel like the nightmare was over - deep down she knew...it never was. Things only paused in the moment. When the play button was hit, well, that just depended on the players.
The hair dye she noticed on her way to the checkout. She stared at it so long that an associate asked if she needed anything. She jumped and declined. She was so on edge. She walked towards the cashier's checkout but something in her drove her back to the hair dye and she quickly picked it up and dropped it in the basket. So she couldn't think twice.
The rest of the day or was it evening? - passed by in a blur. So consumed with her struggle to remember what happened after she fell from the window with Wesker she was so entrenched within her mind that she nearly missed her name being called by Chris.
Chris…
Coming out of whatever that...trance, mind control fog was and seeing his face again made her elated. And then confused. Memories of their last mission together came back in pieces, but all she remembered was the sound of glass shattering. Wesker had Chris…a crushing darkness surrounding her.
Excella used to say to her that she'd hear her screams in the middle of the night. Try to keep them down, it's distracting, darling.
Fuck you too, Excella.
She sets the box dye down, unaware she's been holding it the entire time. Not now. Not yet. She lifts her eyes to the pinkish scar on her chest. She grits her teeth. They've ruined her. Destroyed her.
C'mon, having scars is supposed to make me look distinguished.
That's what Chris said when he emerged with Barry when they went back down to face those damned monsters, bleeding profusely from long claw marks on his back.
At least, it's supposed to get the ladies to notice…
She had smiled at that comment. Yeah she noticed. Noticed how, after so much initial animosity towards one another, he kinda warmed up to her then. Or was it before? God, the mansion incident seems like forever ago.
Chris went from being an asshole - no that word didn't describe him accurately enough - he was a dick. And angry. Angry at the world, angry at himself probably, life whatever but especially at her.
He didn't like being tasked with showing some rookie the ropes at RPD - especially a woman hired by Irons - the resident pig. Still makes her skin crawl the way Irons licked his lips when he spoke to her.
She found Chris...difficult to say the least. She remembered, after leaving her shift, sitting at home wondering why she couldn't have gotten paired with the others in their team. Normal ones. Ones that didn't have a personality that was defined by anger and rage and alcohol. Barry seemed perfect and for a while, she wished desperately that he was her partner instead of Chris. After all, why would one want to be around someone who was moody, often hungover and just plain pissed all the time at everything.
Their drive to their first homicide victim - a lot of them back in the day - was full of tension but she wasn't sure why. Why he was mad that day. He was late to work, of course, and still reeked of the previous night's drinks.
Let's get one thing straight, Valentine. I prefer to work alone, got that? So the moment I decide you're good, you're out of my fucking sight. Any questions? Good.
He always called her Valentine, spitting out her surname like it was poison to his tongue. She stopped fighting with him, pleading with him to simply call her by her first name. It wasn't until they were reunited at the cell in the mansion when he excitedly called her name. Her first name. And how...she rather liked it when he said it.
But how far they've come since then. He's her closest friend and confidant. Then they became more. Partners in every sense of the word. Just after the founding of the BSAA.
Okay, alcohol may have helped them get over the initial awkward phase.
Should we celebrate, or something? Chris had asked her after their initial proposition to the United Nations and their subsequent acceptance. Their ideas came to fruition. Celebration meant champagne or something expensive to drink. And they sure as hell drank a lot that night. Confessing their attraction to one another - the sexual tension, having been building for years, was palpable all night - culminated into rough kisses and, well, a lot more.
The morning after, she was certain he'd label a mistake - Chris hated making mistakes - and she vowed to continue on as professionally as possible. But he just kept coming round, and she just kept letting him.
Was it love? Lust? She couldn't say. They never talked about it. And oddly enough, it never affected their professionalism towards one another.
Coming out of her memories she's surprised to see that she has migrated to the window. Germany is probably a beautiful place, but, kinda hard to appreciate it from the dark. Or from the massive amounts of barbed wire, bright, harsh flood lights and chain link fencing. Right. Military grade. They'll leave tomorrow to make the final leg back to the States. It'll feel good to be home.
Her reflection in front of her frowns. Where is home? What comes next? She glances to the bed. She'll not be sleeping any more. Which is fine, that bed was too damned firm for her liking anyway.
Canteen was...oh, right, this way. Her hand skims the wall as she quietly pads down the halls. She can hear the faintness of a radio playing. George Thorogood. Though, most of the lights are off. Good. She didn't want company. She doesn't know what she wants. Maybe the memories to stop flashing behind her eyes every time she closes them. She feels the air from Africa, hears the noises of the markets, screams of the experiments. She stops and opens her eyes. Fuck...she steadies her breathing. It's fine. She's not there anymore.
The canteen is shrouded in darkness. She nearly hesitates. What lurks in the darkness has been following her for years. But this darkness is not heavy, not stifling, as though it was breathing around her.
It's a relief when nothing jumps out at her. She gingerly walks to the cupboard and fishes around for a glass. Ah damn, she can't remember where she watched the one guy stash the premium stuff. She'll have to switch the lights on.
She reaches for the switch and hesitates before swallowing and flicks it on. She gasps and jumps at who's sitting at the rectangle table in the middle of the room. How, how long was he there?!
'Chris?!'
He turns over his shoulder. Eyes heavy with sleep but glazed because, yup, there was a bottle of open liquor.
'Hey, Jill…'
'You scared the hell out of me!' She insists and then sighs, trying to slow her thundering heart. 'Why didn't you say anything? What are you doing? Drinking alone?'
'I woke up from a terrible dream,' Chris responds and then absently points to the radio when Thorogood sings, Caught up my pal, Jack Daniel's and his buddy Jimmy Beam.
'God almighty, Chris,' Jill sighs and Chris notices the empty glass in her hand. Well, that needs to change.
'So, Jack Daniel's or Jimmy Beam?' He questions and Jill shakes her head. Not surprised in the least that he somehow has both of them out. That'll make the hangover awful tomorrow when they fly out.
'You're drinking alone. Isn't that the premise of the song? Not to have company?'
'I always want your company, Jill,' Chris tells her seriously and slides down the bench so there is room for her. God knows he's missed it. She obliges. Hell, he's always honest when he's a few glasses in.
Her shoulder touched his when she sat down. The electric feel he got...alcohol or Jill? He can't remember anymore. What her touch does to him. Alcohol certainly numbed that right out of him.
He always pours her too much. He'll down that glass in two gulps. She'll be nursing hers for hours. His tolerance is clearly higher than hers is. Maybe he's even gained more. She feels...small compared to him. Even though they're close to her they seem miles apart. She hates not being able to read him. She was so good at that once upon a time.
Silence is growing. Yet is not to the point where it's uncomfortable. Not yet. It's heading there. When she woke up from her little nap on the helicopter out of Africa in his arms, she thanked him profusely for not giving up on her. For saving her. He hadn't said anything then. There were too many people around. Maybe now, since he'll be more honest with himself and his feelings, she'll get an answer out of him.
'Chris?'
The way she says his name.
'Yeah?'
'I wanted to say, thank you-...'
'Don't have to thank me,' Chris interrupts, slurring his words a bit and Jill sighs.
'Yes, I do,' Jill insists, he shakes his head and she forces him to look at her. 'Chris, I do. God, you saved me from Wesker. Saved me from doing more unspeakable things. You never...gave up on me.'
Chris stares angrily into his glass. Wesker. Fuck him. That name is cursed. Fucking hell. He only wishes he did more to Wesker for hurting Jill. He squeezes the glass in his hand. He can't look at her yet. Not for any length of time...
Any time he does, he just thinks of the fight they had with Sheva. How she thoroughly kicked his ass, all the while maintaining this dead inside appearance while she fought them. Not flinching as she struck him - and holy fuck did she hit hard. Whatever Wesker used on her, amplified her already lethal combat skills. He's never seen her move like that before. It's not a fight he wants to recall often either.
His pleas to remember him or herself. Her screams when they tried to free her from the device on her chest. The pinkish scar that is still there. Mostly her screams.
The lingering tiredness is still in her eyes. The dark circles also give it away. She's still kinda pale. But those blue eyes...at least they look at him this time instead of through him like before.
Fuck Wesker. This shit better have died when he did. Chris knows that it's impossible to think that. They're in a new world now with these BOWs. Fuck what does this mean? Who is going to take the reins in this hellish fight? On either side?
Jill's voice breaks through some of the red he sees.
'Let go…'
He's caused a stress fracture in the glass. Thankfully it didn't break. Last time, he was picking out glass for a couple of days.
'Shit. Sorry…'
'You're angry again. Well, angrier,' Jill observes. He says nothing, instead glaring at the wall. 'Chris? Talk to me.'
'I don't have anything to say.'
It makes her laugh a little. 'You may be a veteran at dealing with this Umbrella shit, and expert marksman but there is one thing you are not, Chris Redfield, and that is a good liar.'
Busted. He can't articulate what he's feeling because he was fucking stupid and numbed everything with alcohol. All of it. Every confusing emotion, every painful memory gets blurrier each drink he downs.
Her hand on his forearm. The other shitty thing about drinking so much? He's a lot more vulnerable. Especially around Jill. Scares the shit out of him.
God would you just let me in?! Let me in! Let me help you! Stop being so...stop burying things!
She screamed at him the first time they drank together. Heavily drank together. Jill was always so professional that any time she joined the squad at the bar after work, it was never more than two drinks. He thought her a cold, uptight bitch that needed to relax back in the day. Then again he was certainly one to talk. He is...was? Is? He's still an asshole. Still a dick.
After a particularly gruesome discovery of a young girl back in their RPD days, they all needed to unwind, the problem was the rest of the squad didn't want to be out late. They wanted to go home to their wives and families and forget. He and Jill didn't want to. He nearly invited her back to his place but fell short when he thought of Claire. So he was especially taken back when she invited him to hers.
More drinking meant more emotions and vulnerability. Jill made a comment about the case, god he can't remember what it was now, but it set him off. He snapped back and told her to fuck off. The stress coupled with the sexual tension that had been building between them pushed them over the edge.
She screamed those words as she was kicking him out. Fine. He hadn't needed her to keep the party alive. Yeah, cuz I drink alone...I prefer to be by myself.
'Can't talk about what I can't feel,' he mutters and reaches for one of the bottles. It doesn't matter that he can't read the labels anymore. He can discern that there's still liquid so he'll get drunk.
'I'm worried for you…' Jill responds and puts her hand on top of his. How can she be worried for him. What about her?
'Don't worry about me. I'm fine. I'm always fine.'
'You're a liar.'
'I'll get better at it,' Chris replies and carefully takes a quick look at Jill. She has her face in hands. 'Jill?'
He almost puts his arm around her but shakes the thought off. Probably shouldn't. She pulls herself upright and he's rather surprised to see tears in her tired eyes. The only time she's cried on him was the stress that had bubbled into anger about Irons and his sexual harassment of her.
She was a strong woman to deal with that type of shit on a daily basis. He'd been in the room when Irons was a crass, disgusting pig towards Jill. Everyone had their limits. She never let it reflect outwardly to any of her coworkers. Though late one night it just...hit her. She broke down in his arms in the stairwell. Told him how much she couldn't stand it any longer. But it'd fuck with her career if she didn't take it. That...pissed him off. Immensely.
They never spoke of that moment again either. And his visit to Irons the next day did quell that harassment for a while. How he wasn't reprimanded for threatening Irons that morning remains to be seen. Probably because he hadn't noticed Wesker there. For once, Wesker backed him up. In his own way.
Perhaps I can phrase it more astutely than Redfield. Jill Valentine is remarkably skilled. Which means I'll not have her quit because of your crass attitude.
She says nothing. And hastily wipes away her tears. He feels guilty. It's Jill and he can't let his guard down. Why? Every denial of her request breaks her. It's evident. She left out expert in body language when describing him. Can't lie worth shit but at least, hey, he knows he's hurting her.
'So...why couldn't you sleep?' Jill wonders and sips from the glass. Jack Daniel's. Shit. She'd have preferred Jimmy Beam. She's gonna have one hell of a headache.
'What makes you think I couldn't sleep?'
Jill smiles a bit and shrugs. 'I mean, I know why I couldn't. I dream things. I think they're memories but...you know. They aren't the most pleasant sometimes.'
Course she'd dream. Bad dreams at that. He can sense she wants to be comforted. But...he finds himself stuck. Unable to do that. Why?
'Jill…' he tries but the rest of the words die on his tongue. What can he say to her? She gives him an ironic smile and shrugs. She's clearly getting to her breaking point.
'I was going to ask what changed between us but maybe some things are better left unsaid,' she pauses and rises, taking another long drink from the glass. When she pulls it away from her lips her face crinkles as it always does when she drinks anything strong. He hides his smile.
'Jill, I-...'
But she cuts him off. She's putting them both out of their misery. 'Do know that I am forever grateful for you never quitting on me. For finding me and believing I was alive. I owe everything to you. Talk to me some time, please? Partner?'
When her hand touches his shoulder and she leans in to whisper her thanks in his ear it sends chills down his spine. Her lips nearly brush his cheek. How long has it been since he's been laid? Wait, no. That's all he needs. Those kinda thoughts.
She wishes him a good night, lingering in the doorway clearly hoping he'd do or say anything to keep her in place. He does neither.
Jill closes her eyes as she walks back to her room hearing the glass shatter. It shatters like her heart for the man she loves so dearly but has turned back into the man she met years ago. God she hopes she's wrong.
She gasps and draws the shower curtain around herself, hiding her body. She doesn't get why, isn't like she hasn't shown him everything before. It's just...well, it's awkward. He was just sitting against the wall in front of the sink, staring ahead with an arm outstretched with a towel for her.
'Jesus Christ, Chris,' Jill sighs and takes the towel from him. 'That's twice you've scared the shit out of me today.'
'I'm sorry…'
Are you? She wants to question but decides against it. He seems...more intoxicated than when she left him. His dark hair is more tousled that before, clearly he's been running his hands through it. Too much thinking?
Once she's secured the towel around herself, she pushes the shower curtain back a bit more and Chris reaches his hand out to steady Jill as she steps out of the tub.
'Well, what brings you here?' She almost added watching me shower? But decides against it. They were not at that level. Yet. Or maybe never.
'I just...wanted to make sure that you were still here. That this wasn't some kind of dream.'
'Do you get this drunk in your dreams?' Ah, there's that smirk.
'No.'
'Then not a dream.' Jill sits beside him. He stuns her by gingerly and a little awkwardly putting his hand on her knee. Of course that was after he drew his hand away a few times.
'It's just been...so long without you that I thought,' he pauses and reaches for something at his left side. Jill suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. A glass of whiskey. 'I thought maybe you…'
He takes a long drink and Jill reaches forward and takes the glass from him, setting it on her right side. He doesn't object.
'You're drinking again…'
'Yeah, I am.'
'It's been a long time since it's been this heavy…'
'I needed something to cope,' Chris admits and rests his head on the wall. 'Needed something to deal with...losing you. Because it was my fault. Amature mistake.'
His smirk is masking so much pain. Jill puts an arm around his shoulder and he rests his head in the crook of her neck.
'Oh, Chris…'
'I missed you, Jill. So fucking much. Every damned day. I looked for days for any trace of you until they forced me back home. And even then, I dreamt about that night. For, for fucking months.
'Drinking made the dream bearable. Because I was too numb to care so I criticized my every mistake. Every flaw I found. I hated that I rushed in. I hate myself for making you do that. It should have been me. Of all people I should have done it. It was like a bad movie playing in my head over and over. All I could do was watch. And criticize.
'But somewhere in me, when they couldn't find you, I knew you were alive. You both were. And no one would listen to me. Or believe me. But I knew. Jill Valentine was tough and she survived. I just needed to find you.'
Jill rests her head on his. Waking up broken and bruised, clinging to life as Wesker stood over her, stoic and unreadable. Until a little smirk emerged on his lips. Maybe it was her fading out but she swore she saw red eyes. His voice in her head.
Wait until Chris sees what I can do with you…
Because it was always about Wesker's animosity and immense hatred for Chris. She was a mere tool for him to use to cut Chris deeply and with precise purpose. Wesker used her to get to him. A distraction for Wesker to use to make his escape in Africa. And it worked. Chris dropped everything to find and save her.
'You found me. And I am so grateful you did. You got me out. Saved me from doing more bad things to good people. I was complicit. But you stopped me from going down the dark path completely.'
'But I took so long…' Chris laments, holding her knee a bit tighter. 'Took me two years. Seven hundred plus days...leads turned up dead. Or, I seemed to always be a step behind you...finding you consumed me. And every lead that I exhausted meant that I was losing you again to who knows what. And now that I know what he was doing to you, fuck, Jill, I'm so sorry I wasn't there sooner.'
'I know you are,' Jill reassures him. He reaches for the glass to her side and she sits him up. No more of that tonight. Or he'll really be sorry tomorrow. 'Wesker is a slippery bastard. He always has been. I'm here now, you've got me. Forgive yourself, Chris. Please.'
Glaring angrily at the wall again, he shakes his head. Claire had said the same thing to him a year and a half into this search. You gotta forgive yourself.
The house they shared together - Claire refused to let him be on his own - became rife with resentment and broken sleeps. His obsessive nature to uncover the truth dragged on and on. Sometimes Claire would catch him pacing about the kitchen, working off agitation from his bedroom surroundings. Clearly thinking a change of scenery would be good, well it hadn't been. He hadn't wished to sleep because if he did then it meant he was losing out on precious time trying to track her down. So he drank. Steadily at first and then copiously. He got angrier. So he drank. It became a vicious cycle. Drinking made the terrible dreams lessen their sting.
And then, without having any leads to work off of for months, a little rumour. Something was building out of Africa. Early descriptions had Umbrella's foul name all over it under a guise of Tricell. He didn't want to get his hopes up. But he wanted to be ready. Had to be ready. So he trained. Harder than his time in the Air Force. Longer. Another obsession. He wanted to be ready. Had to be ready. Because what if? The burning question that haunted his mind while he journeyed there. What if?
Kept him going the whole time. Kept him believing as he and Sheva struggled to free her. What if they could just...? Pull a bit harder? What if they could just...talk sense into her?
'It still should have been me…' Chris finally speaks and goes back to resting his head in the crook of Jill's neck. Seems to her that the alcohol is catching up to him.
Jill shivers a bit. The coolness from the air clings to the dampness of her skin and wet hair. Chris perks up immediately and notices the gooseflesh on her arms. He quickly pulls off the grey hoody he'd been wearing and offers it to Jill. She graciously accepts it and slips it on. It's massive. He's so different than when she left him. Bigger. He did train hard. The white t-shirt underneath clearly shows that - and all the cuts, scrapes and bruises.
Well, good to know that if they did come across more horrific creations, and they ran out of ammo, Chris could certainly punch the shit out of them.
When he seems satisfied that she's content again, he resumes the position - head to her neck, hand to her knee. Jill cautiously reaches for his hand and rests it on top of his. She can see out of the corner of her eye his little boyish smile.
'Let me tell you something,' she says softly. A little noise from Chris indicates she can proceed. 'Let me tell you why it had to be me.'
Chris pulls away from her stunned. 'What? What'd you say?'
'You were always so much stronger than me,' Jill remarks and Chris frowns. 'If it had been you...I don't think I'd have been able to go on. I'd have been stuck. It would have broken me. Umbrella and Wesker took so much from me. From us. If they'd have taken you…'
Chris watches Jill stare on into nothing, leaving her sentence unfinished. Tears fall down her cheeks. She hastily wipes them away and turns to him with a small smile.
That...hurts him. To know that if their roles were reversed that she couldn't move past that moment, no he refuses to believe it. That isn't her.
'I don't believe you. You'd give Wesker more hell than I did. Don't kid yourself.'
Jill smiles a bit. Maybe he's right, but it would take her a lot longer, that she's certain of. She'd be grieving him. He's always been her source of strength. Her partner. Lover. He's her everything.
She turns up to him. His eyes are half closed and he still has his hand on her knee, absently running his thumb over it. She wants to kiss him. It's been a primal desire to do so since she first laid her eyes on him. But with Sheva there... And then the military personnel. It just kept getting pushed aside. He couldn't be with her when she was getting medically cleared to travel and the doctor insisted upon escorting her back to the main halls where he was waiting for her. Now...though, could it be the right time?
But wait. Are their feelings towards one another valid? She smiles a bit, well, maybe not. He does seem rather tired. The idiot always crashes not long after he stops drinking. Which amazed her.
'Chris?' She wonders quietly and the only response in a quick squeeze of her knee. 'Can I tell you something?'
'Yeah?'
He amazed her with a slight response.
'I miss Raccoon City. I-...'
He sits up startled and stares at her in disbelief before cutting her off. 'I'm sorry. Care to repeat that? How the fuck can you miss that hellhole?'
Jill sighs. 'You didn't let me finish.'
'I don't think you need to finish that sentence. Because now I'm gonna ask you what the hell would make you miss that fucking city?'
'Before the whole mess in the Arklay Mountains? Before Umbrella's devastation and the outbreak?' Jill questions and he nods his head. 'I miss my shitty apartment. The fact that you had to throw your shoulder into the front door to get in. I miss the view of the park from the bedroom. I miss that the kitchen sink and the bathroom sink leaked.'
Chris suddenly looks guilty. 'I was supposed to fix that for you.'
'Well, it doesn't matter now,' Jill shrugs with a smile. 'But I miss...the simplistic nature of life back then. I miss waking up and going to RPD, to the S.T.A.R.S office, in that massive museum turned police station, with coffees for my team and moody partner. I miss just the normalcy that we all had back then. Work. Home and repeat. All that mundane nonsense. Before this Umbrella shit started.
'And you know what? I even miss the beginning. I miss being terrified of what monsters that mansion held. What the grounds held. Because everything, back then, was nowhere near as complex as it is now.
'Now we have shitty people trying to outdo the other's scientists to create a more terrifying creation. All built on the foundation of Umbrella. And the more people involved, the more complicated it gets. More boundaries are pushed, more questions asked and answered. I just miss dealing with fucking normal dead but not dead monsters.'
Chris ponders Jill's words. Yeah, looking back, it just seems things became harder. T-Virus. Then T-Veronica, T-Abyss then G-Series and all that after it. It just kept taking on a life of its own. More and more layers got added. More hands reached for their chance to build upon the foundation. It was actually sickening.
'I'm so fucking tired of it, Jill. When do we get a break? I'm just tired.'
Jill puts an arm around his middle and squeezes tight, agreeing with his words. She's fucking tired too. 'Whenever the next generation is ready, I guess.'
'No one is ready for that. Nothing can prepare you for it. You of all people should know that.' Chris replied bitterly and she just nods her head against him.
'I know…but we aren't going to be young forever. At some point, we're going to have to pass the torch on. At least, if possible, we can prepare them for what they may expect. Whenever that time comes.'
'There's no way we leave this shit and just be done. I wish we could but I don't think so,' Chris tries to imagine a life retired from the BSAA. Boredom. All he sees is boredom. But glancing over to Jill, who is just studying him with her blue eyes, maybe she'd wanna be bored with him.
'Cross that bridge when we get to it,' Jill agrees and she stands suddenly. Chris watches her with a confused expression. 'C'mon, you need to get to bed. I dread the hangover you'll have tomorrow and I won't be subjected to you being an asshole over it.'
Chris frowns but accepts her outstretched hand. 'I'd never be an asshole to you, though.'
Jill smirks and leads him out the bathroom door, knowing full well that once upon a time, he was more than an asshole to her.
'Well, I don't want to be fielding complaints from our cohorts about it then.'
Chris mumbles something she couldn't entirely make out. Something about them being stupid and making him mad when he goes over to her bed and just crawls in. She blinks in surprise. Okay, well that wasn't where she thought he was going. The couch will have to do. It was kind of them at the base to provide her with an extra pillow and blanket. Given what they must have heard she went through, at least they tried to make her comfortable. VIP guest suite. Lucky her.
She grabs the extra blanket on the trunk at the end of the bed and pillow before dropping the towel she had wrapped around her and leaving it there. Chris already seems to be asleep so she drops the items on her little couch and returns to the bed, pulling the covers over him and shaking her head.
Heading back over to her 'bed' she just crawls in and attempts to get comfortable when Chris's gravelly voice calls out.
'You not joining me?'
Jill turns over her shoulder. 'Please tell me you're kidding. You're occupying nearly the entire bed.'
Never mind the fact that he's asked her to share the same bed. She tries to push the thought from her mind. It's nothing she should be concerning herself with. Probably just a comfort thing.
'Not the entire thing,' he counters and Jill closes her eyes when she hears him shifting closer to the edge of the bed to give her room. Bold of him to assume she'd willingly hop in there with him.
'Ninety-eight percent of it,'
'So? That's not one hundred,' Chris replies stubbornly. Jill is surprised when he sits up and holds a hand out to her, clearly trying a different approach. 'Please? Two years, Jill. That's how long it's been without you beside me. At work. Out somewhere. In my bed. Two years.'
'How could I say no?'
'Yeah, how could you? I said please.'
You may have said please but we struggled to fit on a twin sized mattress before. And now you're twice the size, Jill mentally remarks and assess how this is going to work in everyone's favour. She merely sits on the side of the bed he isn't taking up, her back to him. She inadvertently smiles. This is not going to be a restful sleep. Well, not for her. Chris seems to be floating between suddenly reaching for her hand and then letting his grip loosen as he falls asleep. She debates just heading back to the couch but finds herself unable to. She bites her lip. It's getting harder to just ignore and push past her attraction to him. She still craves that kiss. She's been denied all day.
'Chris?'
She isn't surprised when she doesn't get a response. He nearly polished off two bottles of liquor. He's faded out now. Okay...well, maybe another time. She's a little disappointed. It was just...poor timing and circumstances keeping her from him.
Jill rises from the bed and heads back to the couch. Not long after she does, he rolls over and feels around for her. He bolts up in a slight panic. Once his eyes adjust to the darkness a bit more, he spies her on the couch, one leg out from the blankets like she usually does.
Huh, maybe she was right about the bed. Is it so much to ask that he just...fucking holds her? He's tired of being denied that. The initial taste of it on the chopper. He missed her so fucking much. There she was in his arms. The times she held his hand, or he had his hand on her knee was torture. He wanted so much more.
How much longer will he be denied the chance to just...great, now he's angry again. Jill always said not to go to bed mad but how can he help it?
She's five fucking feet from him and yet she's never felt further away.
He awakens with a start. He looks around confused. This is not his room. He goes to check the time, because somehow it feels both later and earlier in the morning at the same time. Fuck. He left his watch in his actual room. The windows are still black, but off in the distance the darkness has broken.
He sits back. Holy fuck his head is pounding. Why can't he just be smart about drinking instead of drinking to the point of nearly blacking out? He remembers needing to be around Jill and went to her room. They talked, though he barely remembers it.
He runs his hands over his face trying to stop his head from pounding. When he lowers his right hand he feels something. Jill is here with him. Hey, that's not so bad.
Though he does kinda feel bad for her. She is quite literally right at the edge of the bed. But feeling the weight of her hand on his chest, the fact that she's pressed right tight against him. No. Nope. Think about anything other than that. Hey, he hasn't complained that his head has been pounding for a while. Think about that. He can't for long. Because his arm snakes to Jill's lower back and presses her tighter to him. A sigh of contentment escapes her lips. Focus. On anything. But her.
'So? How's your head?'
Her soft voice causes him to look down to her blue eyes. She's looking at him through her lashes. A look that is sultry yet bemused.
'Fucking hurts…'
'It's still early enough. I think around four-thirty? Try and get some more sleep,' Jill advises and blinks when she feels him tighten his grip on her. He has started to lower his hand towards her ass but stopped himself.
Why are they tiptoeing around this? Is it a permission thing? Fuck. Yes. Yes a million times. And yet she can't bring herself to utter the words. For god sake, they're in the same bed. So does that mean she can finally get that kiss?
'Thanks for humouring me…' Chris yawns and she frowns.
'About?' Jill questions and he is silent, merely staring off. 'About being in bed with you? I'm glad you asked. Really. Even if I don't really fit in it.'
Chris hears the humour in her voice and he can't help but smile. It's true, she's probably not the most comfortable. She sits up on her hip slightly and he tries to shuffle over as much as he can for her but his back hits the wall and he sighs. All the room he's got then.
'There's always the floor?' Chris offers and Jill shakes her head no but with a grin.
'I'm too old for the floor.'
'You are not.'
Jill sits up a bit more and he joins her. She crinkles her nose at him. 'You look like shit. Go back to bed.'
'I always look like shit. And if you're not then I'm not,' Chris replies and Jill rolls her eyes at him but he merely shrugs in response.
Jill can't take it anymore. Fuck, just watching him, studying him. Tired as he is, she's so attracted to him. Tentatively and with a reserved strength summoned to not get ahead of herself, Jill places her hand on his cheek. He takes it as a measure of her concern for him so he assures her that he'll be okay.
But to her surprise, he leans forward and presses his forehead with hers, swearing he'll be fine. She cups his face in her hands. She doesn't think about it. Just goes in. She kisses him. It's brief. It's lighter than what she wanted. Can he hear how hard her heart is thundering in her chest?
Chris stares at her. He wants to say something but can't. He didn't think...that part of their relationship survived. He wanted it to. But...he wasn't sure if she felt the same way and rather than ask her like was proper, he was a coward and just tried to bottle and suppress the emotions. Like he always does.
At least she was courageous enough to make the first move. She doesn't ask if that was okay by him because she already knew it was. A sense of relief passes over them. That was what they wanted. Someone to make the first move.
Fuck. The feeling of her lips on his, makes it incredibly hard to focus on anything but her. Okay, well...here it goes. It confirms to him that something between them is still there. Even after all this time.
The next kiss between them is passionate, filled with a longing. She presses herself to him, breaking away from him to breathe. Chris holds her tighter. Jill tries to show restraint. It's so difficult. She bites her lip. Restraint. She can't. He can't either. He meets her passion. She nips at his lower lip, dragging her tongue across the flesh there. He lets out a little sound in her mouth.
Jill blinks from surprise when he pulls away from her. She's panting and when his hand disappears between her legs. Yeah, she knows. He can make her wet just by kissing her with a bit of force. She exhales a little cry when his fingers enter her. Oh fuck. She bites her lip as she feels him moving around in her.
She attempts to control her breathing when she opens her eyes, she finds him kneeling down in front of her and puts his hands on her knees, forcing her legs apart. Jill feels her heart pick up. Oh, fuck. Her head goes back and she grips the sheets tightly between her hands.
'Chris...fuck...' she breathes before letting out another soft moan when his tongue enters her pussy. A free hand moves to his hair so she can concentrate on grounding herself. She's so close. She tries to control it, to enjoy him more. But she can't. The climax hits her and she ends with a little cry out of satisfaction.
She tries to pull him up but he takes his time. She wants more. Jill shuffles back a bit on the bed to make room as Chris comes to her level and kisses her. She reaches for his shirt and tugs it over his head tossing it to the side.
He catches the hurt and sadness in her eyes as they trail over the bruises and scrapes on him - her eyes glance downward. As though to silently tell him she's sorry for the hurt she caused him. He merely tilts her chin up to kiss her. You weren't you...he tells her when she pulls away.
Her hands go to his forearms. He's so different than she remembers, so much stronger and built differently. She bites her lower lip.
All right, try not to rush things. But she can't help it. She kisses him harder. He stops her hands from reaching for the waistband of his pants. No. He pulls her hands away, smirking. He wants to see her first.
He removes his grey hoody from her and marvels at her - every curve he remembers is there. God, the swell of her hips, her breasts. She's perfect.
Of course, she doesn't give him enough time to appreciate her body. She nearly throws herself at him, needing to tear herself away from his embrace so they can logistically figure out how they'll make this small bed work. Maybe they should have picked the floor...
She's fine with him leading. She doesn't want to think right now. The primal desire returns as he kneels in front of her, naked, running his hands up and down her knees. She closes her eyes and smiles. Her invitation, so he parts her legs. She inhales sharply and opens her eyes, arching her back when he enters her.
God. She's wanted this. A little moan escaped her lips. How could she forget how wide he was? She shifts to accommodate him. Chris silently marvels at how wet, how tight she is. How she fits him perfectly. And how much he had longed for this. He can't help but groan each inch deeper she takes him.
They pause for a moment. Eyes meeting. She never wants to let this feeling go. Chris slowly kisses her lips moving down her neck to her chest. Jill wraps her hands around him, leaving a hand on the back of his head and running the other up and down his back, sometimes trailing her nails down them as he pulls back slightly and then plunging back in.
The slight scars from those monsters at the mansion sometimes meet her fingers. Their history written there. A slight nip on her neck grounds her and she wraps her legs around him, keeping him close. She doesn't think she can last long, but then again...maybe not Chris either.
He started to work her slowly, and they fell into a good rhythm. But each gasp he draws from her lips, the harder she digs her nails into his back causes him to pick up the pace. So much for practicing restraint. He can't help himself. Jill's soft cries are compelling him to go faster - he enjoys the slickness of her.
He feels her tighten around him. She cums again. Her hot breath in his ear. He loves seeing her coming down from that high of her climax when he finishes not long after her.
This feeling of elation and contentment. How long will it last? Chris kisses her deeply and Jill wraps his arms around her. She's actually tired. A rarity. She can sleep safely. He's got her.
The shrill sound of her mobile phone causes her to pull away from the man she's currently engaged with kissing rather passionately and probably a bit too desperately, panting and she goes to the living room table before her wrist is secured and she's pulled away from it.
Her partner kisses her neck and she smiles.
'Let me get that…' she pleads but doesn't object when he pushes her jacket off her shoulders.
'If it's important they'll call back or leave a voicemail.'
She rolls her eyes and pulls him down to her level by the front of his shirt. She jumps up and wraps her legs around him, kissing him roughly until they have to break apart again for air. Her phone pings. Ah, perfect. They did just as he said.
'Mm, I'm so glad you're back.'
'Not long, unfortunately.' Her partner comments and walks to the bedroom with her.
He sets her on the bed and she gets to her knees and removes her shirt before holding her arms out to him - he pauses unbuttoning his dress shirt.
'Well, we better get down to business.'
That had been just what she needed. She's so glad he decided to stop by her apartment. Sleeping soundly beside her, she gets up and heads to the living room to grab her phone to see who it was.
She picks it up and heads back to the bedroom and sits on the end of the bed. She unlocks her phone and is surprised to see a missed call from Chris. She's about to call him right back and then notices that he texted her a mere minute after the missed call.
She opens her messages and gasps at the two word text left by Chris.
Got her.
'Oh my god…'
'Claire? Everything okay?'
Claire turns over her shoulder to the man rolling over to her and she smiles, suddenly finding herself so emotional. Oh god. He did it. All she can do is nod stupidly.
'Yeah, yeah. Things are okay. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up, Leon.'
He notices the unshed tears in her eyes and the way she holds the phone to her chest, whatever message she got or listened to, was important to her. He wonders if it's work related. He just hopes she'll tell him about it in the morning.
So he coaxes her back to bed and Claire tucks herself to Leon's side and smiles again. To her it seems things can finally start to repair themselves. Things are going to be just fine.
Jill opens her eyes with a start and sits up. God, how long did she fall asleep for? She lets out a little cry of pain as a sharp ringing in her ears erupts and her vision doubles. She presses her hands to her temples, willing the headache to cease. She feels suddenly hot and cold. And nauseous.
And then it's gone. That worries her. What the hell was that about? A bit of pressure in her head but that's manageable. Maybe...she needs to eat something. Or have a drink? She bites her lip. What if it's something more…? She should ask...oh.
Chris isn't beside her. Drawing the covers around her, she wonders if it was just a dream of the two of them. No, logically her mind tells her that it wasn't. She hears the shower on. He's still here with her.
Relieved she sighs and reaches for the hoodie she had on earlier, slipping it on.
Last night was...incredible. It's just what she needed. She slept decently as well. The dreams or memories that make her cry out in the night were not as horrific as they normally were. They were tolerable.
She swings her legs over the bedside and stands. Is it wrong to be a little excited about going home? She's not sure what is waiting there for her, but it'll feel good to be back in familiar surroundings. And maybe try to start the healing process. Whatever that may entail.
'Holy shit, what'd you do to your hair?!'
Jill spins around and sees Chris toweling off his own hair. She didn't even hear the shower go off. God, she's gotta stop retreating so far into her head. She frowns when she replays his question in her mind.
'I actually dyed it back to brown last night…'
Chris pauses and Jill notices the stunned look in his eyes. 'Shit, was I that drunk?'
'Yes. I thought you didn't like it because you never said anything,' Jill admits with a little smile. Well, it was dark, and to be fair, he was nearly blackout drunk. So you know...
Seeing Jill with her chestnut brown locks, made her look like the woman he met all those years ago. The length, well, he'd get used to that. He liked the bob but not his choice. He can't believe he was that drunk that he didn't even notice she went from blonde to brown. Fuck, he's gotta get control of that. He's also fairly certain that when he and Jill fucked earlier he was also still drunk. The hangover headache was temporarily relieved by the steam from the shower but it just came roaring back.
The flight home is going to fucking suck. Jill has her hands clasped behind her as she waits for a response. Great. Is there a better way to tell her she's looking fucking hot? He tosses the towel on her bed and she closes the gap between them.
'I like it. I couldn't picture you as a blonde anyway. At least, not forever.'
Jill smiles when he shrugs innocently. It's his honesty. Couldn't lie to save his life. She stands on her toes to kiss him. Before he gets too handsy with her, before they start something they won't have time to finish - she too has to stop herself from letting her hands roam all over his bare chest and back - she pulls away to get dressed.
'How's your head?' She wonders innocently and Chris sits on the bed, watching her.
'Fucking pounding. This is going to be a shitty flight back.'
'Take something before we board,' Jill replies and turns over her shoulder. He's studying her. The dizziness is back. She closes her eyes and breathes through it. What's wrong with her? Why does she feel like this?
'Jill?' Chris has his arms around her before she can blink. It's so nice. 'You okay?'
'Yeah. I think so. I think I'm just...tired. Or adjusting to life again. I don't know.'
'Going home is going to be good for both of us,' Chris hugs her tight when she turns into him. Being against his bare chest makes her start thinking things.
'I really can't wait…'
The long flight, confined to her seat, made her feel worse and worse. Trying to concentrate on anything other than the worsening of her headache, the nausea and aching joints she focuses on the clouds. Nearly there she develops a fever. She feels flushed and yet cold somehow. She burrows deeper into Chris's hoodie. The ringing in her ears is back from earlier. What the fuck is happening to her? Jill rests her head against the window. Fuck. How much longer?
Chris turns to Jill. She seems to vacantly be staring out the window. He reaches to her knee and squeezes. She turns to him with a slight smile. Fuck she looks pale. What is going on?
'Jill?'
'I'm fine,' she lies. She is not at all fine. She feels like dry heaving. 'We're almost there. I'm sure I'll feel better once we land.'
Chris isn't so sure.
She's much better at lying than he is. He doesn't know how long she's been feeling like shit, but she kept it quiet. It caught up with her the moment she stepped off the plane in LaGuardia. She was already lagging behind but when he paused and turned over his shoulder Jill had the heel of her left hand pressed to her forehead and her right arm wrapped around her while she grit her teeth. Chris starts towards her. Something's not right...
She blinks a few times. That fucking ringing. Her vision doubled. Again the queasiness is back. Only it's worse than what she experienced on the plane. She wants to laugh, what the actual fuck is going on with her?
She closes her eyes to compose herself, breathing deeply, and when she opens them she's stunned to see herself lying on the ground. Chris has her cradled in his arms. There is such fear in his eyes.
'Jill! What happened?'
'I...don't know. I just got dizzy…and nauseous. Do you hear that incessant high pitched ringing or am I officially losing my mind?' Jill scans the airport. No one else seems to be affected by it. Okay. She's losing her mind.
Chris helps her up, neglecting to answer her questions. She has to go to a hospital. Fuck. And not just any. He's gotta take her to the B.S.A.A. He has to secure an arm around her waist when she nearly goes down again. Is she having some kind of reaction? To something?
She's fading. Fuck. Fuck! He can't lose her. Not now!
'I'm sorry?'
Chris tears his gaze away from the window that allows him to watch Jill struggle to not be retrained. He folds his arms and attempts to focus on something other than the fact that Jill is in immense pain and her shouts and cries break him.
'I said, when was the last time she had a dose of the P30?'
Chris frowns. 'I don't know…'
The slight woman before him sighs and reviews some paperwork attached to a clipboard. 'Could you agree that it could be between forty-eight and seventy-two hours ago?'
Chris can't help himself and he peers back into Jill's room. Someone holds a needle. Are they going to sedate her? He struggles to focus on the question posed to him. Anything is next to impossible right now.
'I guess so,' Chris closes his eyes at Jill's screams. 'I'm sorry Doctor Choudry…'
'Call me Priya,' she remarks, seeing if dropping formalities may help him focus. Though, those screams are concerning and she glances up to the patient in the room. This is not good.
Sorry I can't concentrate on you and your fucking dumb questions...he just wants to be let in to see her but the medical team adamently refused.
'She seemed fine until this morning. And then she just wasn't…' Chris replies and Choudry writes something quickly. 'Hang on, I thought the device - Wesker called it a P30. What do you mean when you say a dose?'
Doctor Choudry stares at him blankly. All brawn and no, well, she smiles internally. 'Yes, the device is indeed referred to as a P30, however in order to maintain control over her, she needed to be given near constant doses of a neuro-toxin.
'Think of it like this: it is a powerful and poisonous drug. And in the course of the two years she's been subjected to taking this neuro-toxin, she'd have developed a dependency to it. As she got more tolerant to it, the dose would get higher.
'So having not had any doses in the past, well, between two to three days, she's essentially detoxing. And it won't be pretty. The withdrawals will be, to be frank, incredibly difficult.'
Too much information. He looks back to Jill who has managed to wrangle a hand free and knocks a doctor to the ground. Chris stands but is stopped by Doctor Choudry placing a hand on his shoulder.
'I can help,' he insists and she shakes her head.
'You'll get in the way. I mean that as nicely as I can.'
He sits, heart racing. How can he just not do anything to help her, there has to be something that he can do.
'How,' the words stop in his mouth. 'How are you going to help her?'
Doctor Choudry sighs. It irks him. That's your job. Your job is to help people, to fix them. And to fucking answer my fucking questions.
Don't do it. Don't get mad at her. A drink? That'll calm him down. Shit, don't think about it.
'Our plan, right now, is just to get her comfortable while the detox process works itself through her. We'll be monitoring her very closely to ensure she has the best chances to survive this.'
Doctor Choudry notices the corner of his mouth twitch like he's about to scream at her but to her surprise he's quiet. He just simply turns back to the window where the patient is. Survive this. Choudry's words bounce around his mind. How fatal is this? Jill...she can beat this. Just like the T-Virus infection years prior.
Chris wrangles with the anger welling inside him in order to keep it out of his voice. 'Are you...do you expect this process to be fatal?'
'We should expect anything and everything,' Choudry remarks seriously. Chris lets out an annoyed laugh. It bothers Choudry a bit. 'Did you want me to lie to you or give you the facts? I can't do both. The fact is, we have never dealt with a situation like this before. The only reason we have an advantage to this is, slight as it is, because the device was sent to us immediately. We studied it around the clock. We're doing our best.'
'I want you to tell me she's going to be fine.' Chris tells her and he studies the lack of emotion of Choudry's face just bothers him more.
'I can't promise that,'
He rises angrily and stares at the window. Jill continues to thrash while two orderlies hold her down and a nurse struggles to keep Jill's forearm exposed. Another doctor picked up a needle from a table.
The doctor carefully waits for his moment and when an orderly leans down on Jill's left side, her arm stills for a second. It's just enough time for the doctor to expertly find a vein and slide the needle in it.
A tense few moments pass. Jill wrangles herself free and knocks the doctor and the nurse back. However her movements slow and she pauses, contemplating what is happening before she falls back against the bed and everyone freezes. No one moves or dares to breathe.
Finally the doctor creeps closer and checks her pulse before breathing a sigh of relief and speaking to the nurse. She grabs a clipboard from the table and jots something down. Chris closes his eyes. This is going to be hell for her. The only thing keeping him grounded was the fact that it was Jill and she was fucking tough. She can beat anything.
'What did you give her?'
Choudry flips something on her own clipboard and frowns before nodding her head in some kind of agreement with the orders or words. 'We gave her a heavy sedative. And a mild dose of the P30.'
Uh, what?
'Why the hell would you give her something we're trying to get out of her?'
Again, the fact he doesn't scream at her impresses her. Though Priya could tell he wanted to. She visibly saw him tense and ball his fists. He's doing remarkably well to remain this calm. But it's also frustrating that he's questioning their methods. And how much he simply doesn't get. So she also tries to maintain her own cool.
'We cannot simply cut her off,' Choudry explains. 'We would run the risk of doing more damage - cardiac arrest for example. The doses we give her are a fraction of what she's been used to getting. Enough to take the edge off while she fights to rid herself of it.'
That's such bullshit. Isn't it?
'Can I see her?'
Choudry weighs her response and options. The room isn't the largest by any means, but her patient is asleep. If she tells him no, Choudry is certain that she'd find him in that room at some point during this ordeal. And truly, what harm could be done? Choudry believes that he's smart enough to just let them do what they need to in order to get the patient well again. He just has a need to be close to her patient. His help to restrain her may come in handy at some point.
The patient is strong. And this is a situation they've never been in before. They could use all the help offered, directly or indirectly.
'Yes. It should be fine.'
Choudry barely gets the words out of her mouth before Chris is inside with Jill, dragging a chair behind him. He sits beside her and just watches her. One of Choudry's colleagues comes into the room and whispers something in her ear. She nods her head and heads out. God, she hopes this has a good outcome. She can't imagine what would happen to them if they let Jill die. Choudry pauses mid step at the mere thought of this having a tragic outcome.
Bloody hell, Chris would destroy them all.
There isn't a warmth to her, as he holds her hand. It's just, she doesn't feel like Jill. He wants to look around the room at anything else other than Jill. But, the room is small, sparsely furnished, with no windows to the outside world save the observation one, and sterile. The only thing to focus on is Jill.
He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to face the facts of this having a terrible outcome. That Jill looks pale but her cheeks are flushed. Doctor Choudry said that she'd go through a detox of this P30 shit. How long is that going to take? How long will she sleep for? Can she wake up? Will she?
The anger. It just pounds in his ears. Two years Wesker fucked with her. Tinkering with her mind and body to make her the ultimate weapon. To aid him on his little quest. He should have done more to Wesker. Leaving him to burn in a volcano seemed like the easy way out.
Fuck...Jill, look what he's done to you. God fucking dammit. It should have been me!
Whatever is coming, they'll face it together. It's going to be tough but they can do it. They will get through this.
Hell. It's the only word to describe the past two months. He doesn't even know if they're making any progress with Jill because any time it seems they do - she becomes more coherent, is able...to just do things like normal - she has a bad spell. And it feels like they've fallen off a cliff. It feels like they're going in circles. This...fucking toxin clings to Jill. It just doesn't let her go.
It made her physically sick and drained her energy. And when she was in the thralls of a hallucination or bout of bad withdrawals, she got violent. She'd try to get away from the doctors. One time he was gone, for just an hour to decompress, and he came back to find her under the bed, lamenting that they were coming to get her. Delusions. Those doctors were Wesker to her. And they terrified her.
Another time, gripped by delusions, she thought they were the enemy. She broke one doctor's nose and gave an orderly a black eye. They decided that should she do it again, she'd be restrained. So when she did, they tied her legs and arms to the bedposts. When she was in a fear induced trance she'd scream. When she coherent, she understood even if he griped about it. When the violent behaviour took hold, she'd struggled and strain to get free.
And so they would sedate her. She would sleep. She would wake. They would hold their breath to see which Jill they got. Sometimes she would embody fear, other times, normalcy - which gave them hope. But on her bad days, she was violent and scary. So they would sedate her. She would scream and thrash and beg and plead. Until she no longer had the energy or strength. She would sleep. And then she would wake.
Today was not a good day. When she woke she appeared fine, they talked briefly. She wanted to know if he's okay, if he had taken a break from being here and when he said no, she chided him. He needed the mental break from here. It would do him some good. He couldn't though. Afraid to leave her in case something bad happened, he made a makeshift bed out of reception chairs in her room. Jill had sighed.
An hour or two won't kill you. I literally am not going anywhere. You need a break...please, please go take one.
Nah, wouldn't happen. And he told her so. She rolled her eyes and they resumed talking - she seemed a bit out of breath but otherwise seemed fine. She fell asleep again. However one doctor never made it back on their rounds. And had they, as he learned later on, they would have caught that there was something wrong.
The sudden cardiac arrest was terrifying. He was shuffled out of the room as people swiftly came in and descended upon Jill. Hearing that flatline noise...he can hear it in his mind made his heart race. All he could do was watch. From that little window in the hall. The world closed in around him, their frantic voices crashing around him. He didn't think he could even begin to comprehend what he'd do if they didn't pull her back.
They did, though. They got her. Thankfully. The adrenaline left his body and one by one the medical team left. Doctor Choudry was the only one left and when he went in to talk to her she seemed remorseful.
She explained that an electrical disturbance, called it a disruption of her heart's ability to continue pumping. How it was missed, well, she intended to find out. Better her investigate than him...
One scare was enough for the day.
But that was just the morning. Mid afternoon, she woke up. To a doctor monitoring her. Jill was in a fearful state. And whoever was working on her left side prior that morning, didn't secure the restraints properly. She hit him over the head with a tray from the trolly and he went down. Before he lost consciousness, he called for help.
Orderlies were swift to arrive. Chris had missed what happened because he was in the halls texting Clarie. Once he witnessed them trying to hold her down, he went in to help them. Doctor Choudry appeared with a syringe. Seeing it hurt him.
Jill thrashed. He struggled to hold her down. She scratched him across the face, kneed an orderly and it caused Doctor Choudry to call for more help. Jill managed to hit him in the stomach with her fist and he dropped to one knee, sucking in the air rapidly.
Two more orderlies arrived. He was cut out again. When he locked eyes with Jill she recognized him, calling to him but her voice faltered between begging and anger. Doctor Choudry led him out and her words haunted him, her voice gutted him. Made him question everything while he watched her. She never took her eyes from him.
I know you're out there, Chris! Please, I'm begging you, please just kill me! This is torture, do you understand?! Chris?! Please...please kill me. Please!
Oh, why won't you do it?! I hate this! I hate that you brought me back. You should have left me there to die! Chris! Kill me! I deserve it! End my suffering! ...Please...Chris? Please! I'm suffering...you know I don't deserve to be alive after what I did in Africa! Kill me! Chris! Do it! Kill me!
She went silent. The sedative kicked in. He had to leave. Get away from her. Her begging and tear streaked face broke him. He couldn't do what she asked. Even if her pleas broke his heart. He just kept telling himself what she was asking was because of the fear and tiredness in her. Told himself that until he became somewhat convinced.
He doesn't know how long it's been since he left in a hurry to distance himself from Jill. First door he came across was the men's room so he ducked in there. He attempts to pull himself together. It is fucking hard. Everything is in pieces.
Chris straightens up from being hunched over the sink. Something crunches under his feet. Glass? He looks to the mirror. Or where the mirror used to be. It currently sits in pieces on the ground. Well, that's just great. Was it him? Yeah, look at the state of his knuckles, on both hands. They're torn and bloodied. Fuck, he doesn't even remember hitting the mirror.
He turns the tap on and runs his hands under it. The tepid water irritates the cuts, fucking great. Hopefully there is no glass lodged there. When does this ordeal end? When will she be free of this nightmare?
Chris walks back to Jill's room, where thankfully, she's still asleep. It must have been a heavy sedative dose. So, he does what he normally does when she's asleep. He pulls a chair closer to her bed and just waits. She'll awaken eventually.
Jill opens her eyes, blinking away the harshness of the fluorescent lights above her. She smiles ironically when she tries to bring a hand to her head. Tied down. Held down. Restrained. She hates it. Though she does deserve it. The lucid moments between the fear and anger seem to be getting further and further apart. She's hurt people. Not on purpose, of course, but because her mind can't distinguish fact from fiction sometimes. And when she's in a state of only seeing Wesker's face surrounding her, she tends to react accordingly.
How does she feel now? Staring at the ceiling wondering that question in her mind, she feels...nothing. For the first time in a few days, she isn't feeling sick to her stomach. The throwing up would strike her intermittently. It was hell when it did. The first couple of times, she got so dehydrated she went on fluids. Her body keeps trying to purge itself from this disease but it stubbornly clings to her. Refusing to let go.
She doesn't even know how long she's been here. Time moves so slowly. It's just as torturous as this detox. Some day she recalls better than others. She dreams vivid dreams and other days she dreams of nothing. She wishes things were normal. Whatever normal was prior to this.
Jill turns her gaze to her right side and smiles lightly. Chris is resting beside her, resting his arms on a small section of her bed, head in his arms with his head facing the wall. She goes to touch him but doesn't get very far.
She grits her teeth at the predicament. She has given them no reason to trust her. Therefore she can't be upset they restrained her. Jill tugs a bit at the restraints. She just wants to touch Chris. Especially when she notices that there seems to be scratches on his cheek. She's concerned. Where did those come from? Who gave those to him? She blinks and turns her gaze to the ceiling. It wasn't...it wasn't her, was it? Look at his knuckles. They're torn. Were they always like that? Did he get into a fight? What's going on?
She tries to reach for him but her fingers merely graze his hand and he doesn't seem to notice it. Of course he wouldn't. God knows how long he's been here with her. Every time she woke up and was lucid enough, he was right there. She wants to tell him to go. Go somewhere that wasn't here. Go home...move on. Do something. Just leave her here to fight this battle on her own, however she knew damn well he never would.
That breaks her heart. He's pausing his life. For her. He's waiting to resume living until she can join him. It makes her angry that he's doing that. She never wanted him to stop living. How could she ask something so cruel of him.
Jill wishes this would end soon. Whatever direction it wants to go, she just wants this over. She tugs a bit at the restraints just as a nurse comes in. There is an awkward pause between them and the nurse hesitates. Jill is certain he is wondering what she's doing and if he needs to call for backup.
So she tells him that she just wanted to try and touch Chris. The nurse appears calmed by that and cautiously makes his way forward. Jill notices a needle, er, two needles in his hands. Fucking perfect. What now? She glances to Chris, who is asleep soundly.
The nurse informs her that he's here to draw a blood sample - when will it be enough? - and to give her a shot of something, the name was long and complex, to hopefully bolster her ability to weather the detox better. But, he warned her, that the drug may make her tired and suffer from headaches.
Fuck. All she does is sleep. What's the point? Jill focuses on Chris while the nurse searches for a viable vein and with ease slides the needle in. He's certainly gentler than most of the other nurses. Jill tries again to reach for Chris, but he's just out of reach.
The nurse, who introduced himself as Ray, comments that this is the longest he's seen Chris rest in days.
Jill smiled sadly. She tells Ray that she tried to get him to go home but to no avail. Ray chuckled softly as he set the vial of blood down on the bed and picked up the other needle. Jil squeezes her eyes shut as the point pierces her arm. Why isn't she used to this by now? Ray comments that he and most of the medical team treating her had attempted to do the same thing.
They tried to send him home, promising that they'd call him if anything changed with her. He was simply not having it.
It isn't often people like him come into one's life. Ray tells her as he collects his things and heads towards the door. You're lucky to have such a close friendship.
Jill turns her gaze to the ceiling once again and the drug hits her so quickly. Her eyes become heavy and her head begins to feel a light pressure on each side of her temples. Ray truly didn't have any idea how much Chris didn't like her when they first met. And honestly, she couldn't stand him either.
In another life, it seemed like. When it all started with a job advertisement in a little midwestern city.