A/N: I took down the butchered version of this. I'm reworking/reposting it the way I wanted it. Shorter chapters, more refined, still the smutty, wonderfully uneven journey across the years that I'd originally envisioned. Thank you for reading.

The Devil's Bargain

One:

The Winds from the West

Raccoon City, 1998

She rose above him, slim and beautiful. The curve and cup and feel of her was like silk and sin and something he couldn't find the words to describe. He was gone for her and gone in her and gone in ways that had no name and never had in any language ever spoken.

Was there anything more beautiful in the entire universe?

He sat up sharply, spilling her into her lap to be even with him. His fingers twisted and gripped in her hair. He brought his mouth to him and kissed her, all tongue, all tasting greed. She murmured, wrapping her legs around him. Her eyes were closed, his were open; watching her. He could nothing but watch her. The curve and line of her face, the temptation of her lips, the blade of her nose all cast in shadow from the window beyond. He'd done nothing but see her, waking and asleep, since the moment they'd met.

He scooped her hair back from her face and slowed the rhythm of their rolling bodies. Sweating, gasping, she opened her eyes now and looked down at him. He saw the moment it arrowed into her, the truth of it. She knew he'd been watching her this whole time. He drew her down to kiss her again, soft and wet.

She held his eyes, shivering.

And it was the moment he knew he'd love her for the rest of his life.

Redfield, North Dakota Summer 1997

"CLAIRE!"

Chris Redfield came out of the shower with a fury. He barely had the towel wrapped around his waist. Claire, his baby sister who was home from college for the summer, was sitting at little table in the kitchen area with her Walkman in her ears. They were at their parents cabin for a long weekend.

His mother, Siobahn, was cooking at the tiny stove. She was a tall woman with a curly mess of red hair that was echoed in her daughter. The green eyes she turned to him were concerned. "Christopher!" The irish accent was thick and beautiful in her voice, "Here now. Why are you shouting? It can't be all that bad now, can it? You best be reconsidering how you raise your voice when I'm surrounded by popping grease and a frying pan."

"Sorry, Mama. Really. But Claire used all the hot water again!"

Claire, who'd somehow become a woman since last he'd seen her, shrugged and gave him the finger. She didn't even bother to remove her headphones.

Siobahn gave her a pointed look. Claire made a face and lowered her headphones. She said, grudgingly, "Sorry."

Chris rolled his eyes. "I generally don't take cold showers unless there's extenuating circumstances, Claire. Come on."

"Oh yeah? You mean like every time you see a pretty girl?"

Again, THE LOOK. Claire looked sheepish until their mother turned back to the stove. And she gave him the finger again.

"I'm gonna shove that finger up your ass, Claire."

"Christopher!"

"Sorry Mama." And he gave the finger back to his sister as he returned to the bathroom.

They were packing up the Wrangler out front when he came out. His father, Jack, was loading the fishing gear up. Jack Redfield was the reason for the cabin. It was there, in the town he'd been born and raised and shared a name with. It was his family's cabin and had been for as long as anyone could remember. Jack came from a long line of Lakota heritage. It was evident in his long black hair, carefully braided to his scalp and the coppery perfection of his skin, and outlined in the strong line of his jaw and face. His dark eyes were thoughtful and calm and patient. His patience was often mistaken for disinterest but the humor of Siobahn had opened him in ways that had no name years and years before when he'd met her.

He glanced up at his son as Chris' came out of the house to help him. Chris was inches taller then his old man but built the same. They were both tall and lean with the same jaw and nose. Chris had his mother's eyes and the soft freckles. They were dusted across skin somewhere between Irish pale and Lakota copper. Chris never burned. He tanned, beautifully.

Claire burned like a biscuit left too long in the oven. Her irish rose skin turned the color of a crab after a few hours in the sun. Chris never missed an opportunity to slap her on it when she was burnt. They were always torturing each other.

Jack said, "No Veronica this weekend?"

"God no. That's done. She was A-Class nutso."

"She seemed nice enough."

"Yeah. Until you slept with her. And then she started stalking me. What a psycho bitch."

"Don't let your mother hear you talk like that."

"I won't."

Jack watched Chris move. His handsome boy. All grown up and graduated from the police academy. Finally free from his years in the military after highschool, Chris had come home and gone right into police training. Jack was proud of him. The boy had a good head on his shoulders and a heart as big as it was loving. That was likely Siobahn's doing. But the good head? That was all him.

"You better find a girl and get married soon. Or your mother will start hounding you for grandbabies."

"Cheese and rice, Dad. I'm not looking for that kind of shit."

"Language."

"Sorry. But I'm not. I took that job in Raccoon City though."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe. It's still a few months off to be sure. But it sounds promising. Apparently the guy building the team asked for me specifically. So that's good right?"

"Naturally."

Jack tried to heft the heavy cooler into the Jeep and Chris said, "Here, Dad. Let me get that."

He did it easily. Jack studied him while Chris moved. He had a caged predator look to him that often drew female attention. The lithe frame was edging leanly into muscle. Chris had always had a desire to be the biggest dog in the pack. His obsession with building muscle had paid off. He clearly had no trouble hefting the heavy items.

"You realize, Chris, that meeting the right girl has nothing to do with your timing. Right?"

"Don't start on that fate stuff again, Dad. Seriously."

"You know what my people say, Chris, about planning your own."

"What? You think I'm going to show up in Raccoon City and meet my soul mate or something?"

The wind trickled and rolled around them, bringing a cool breeze from the West. Jack watched his son and felt the stirring of his ancestors. He said nothing…but he smiled.

"Come on, Dad. You don't really believe that stuff right? You think we don't choose our own fate?"

"I think fate chooses us. And we determine how to live within it. Something is stirring here. What? I can't say. But it's bringing the wind from the West. We'll have rain before nightfall."

His Dad was always doing that kind of thing, talking funny and sort of mystical. The scary part was that usually he was right. Chris watched him stare off toward the horizon with that look he got on his face when he was…communing with nature of something.

In one hand, Chris was interested to know what he felt when he did that. In the other, it was very likely hoowee and nonsense that had no place in a world built on rules. Destiny? Chris thought. It was a construct invented by people that simply couldn't do with the idea that they had no real control over their life. The only control you had, of course, was what you went out there and grabbed with both hands.

Siobahn came out of the house. "We should get moving, Jack. I don't suspect the lorry will be able to handle the mud of a long rainy drive home."

The lorry. She meant the Wrangler. But she was Irish and her dialect was always mixing things up. She called the driveway the street. She used words like "jackeen" and made her own cleaning supplies from beeswax and lemon.

She was a dancer slim and bright. She was also the funniest person Chris had ever met. And that was saying something. The laughter in his house growing up was the best part of them.

"Christopher, Veronica rang."

"Ugh."

"I told her, naturally, that you would love to ring her back once we're settled in. She's eagerly awaiting your voice, I'm sure."

"Come on, Mom. I told you about that."

"You did indeed. I'm surely sorry to trouble you, of course. But I can't quite seem to care. I do remember you promising me grandchildren. Do you see any?"

"…no."

"Get to fixing that please. I shan't want to be an old lady when I'm singing to my grandbabes."

"…yes ma'am."

His Dad was grinning over his head at him. Chris rolled his eyes. Siobahn moved to him and brushed his shirt smooth on his chest. "We'll be back for dinner. Try not to anger your sister too much before then. You know she's a right harpy when she's on a tear."

"The word is a bitch, Mama."

"Christopher."

And his Dad said, "Language."

"Sorry."

His mom kissed him. She smiled at him. "What a face! Jack, our boy is the handsomest man in three counties. To be sure."

"Without question."

"Thanks Mom." She kissed him and he smiled. She rubbed at his hair.

"This is terrible. Promise me you'll cut it."

"It's the style, Mama."

"It's awful. Makes you look like some Dublin sharpie with fancy shoes."

Chris rolled his eyes again. She kissed him once more and headed to the Jeep. Jack met his eyes over it. "Watch the weather. It's foretelling something. The wind is leading somewhere, Chris. I feel it in my bones. Is it good? Is it bad? Time will tell."

"I'll make sure I close the windows up."

"Good man. Tell Claire to behave."

"Right. She'll listen."

They climbed into the Jeep and honked the horn as they drove away. He had no way of knowing it would be the last time he saw them alive. Three hours later the rains came, brutal and fast. They whipped in from the West and downed power lines. They also caused the drunk on route 114 to swerve out of his lane.

His parents car took the hit head on. Their Jeep rolled and they died waiting for rescue crushed beneath the wreckage. The drunk driver lived.

The pain of it nearly killed him. Claire was inconsolable. She wouldn't get out of bed for weeks. Chris handled the funeral and the burial alone. He made sure it suited the ancestors.

He took a lock of his father's hair to the great tree and buried it beneath the earth at its feet. He rose at dawn and communed with the spirits. He spent two days sending their spirits to the waiting place beyond. He grieved. And drank.

He cried harder than anyone had ever done before. He died inside. He buried his feelings under training. And he took care of Claire.

At first, she wouldn't eat. He had to spoon feed her and force her into the shower. She was broken and lost and riddled with pain. He held her while she cried pieces of herself all over the floor. She didn't know how to exist in a world where they weren't. Neither did he. But he did his best.

She finally went back to school and Chris worked out with the registrar how to pay her tuition. His parents had only the cabin. There was no money there for them to leave to their children. Chris didn't care. He'd find a way to take care of her.

And it all started by moving to Raccoon City.

Hell or high water, he had to get the job now.

He stood outside of the cabin and stared off into the darkening horizon. What had his Dad said? Something was coming. Would he find it, he wondered, in Raccoon City?

Raccoon City, Winter 1997

Snow blew slow and gentle over the bustling city streets. The feeling of the holidays was hanging close above it, filling the sidewalks with eager shoppers and bright color packages. Tinsel and light presents, ornaments, and Christmas trees were strung in pretty array over the beautiful street lamps that lined the often cobblestone streets downtown. The clock tower at the heart of the city was covered in lights and lit up at night like a beacon.

The sprawling city of Raccoon had started life as a wide spot in the road. The injection of funds and inclusion of commerce by the Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company had turned it into a metropolis. It had gone from a Kansas farm to a city worth of Superman seemingly overnight.

The architecture was world reknowned. It was showed in the skyline and the buildings done in beautiful old stone work and revivalist arches and glass. It was a heady mix of new and old, showing a classical appreciate and a clear indication of a push toward the modern. It was ahead of its time, in some ways, the subway beneath the city was lightyears beyond what it should have been, showing that there was innovation in the eyes of those who wanted to see it thrive.

The Zoo was a marvel. It had brought in a variety of species of rare and exotic animals. People came from all over to enjoy the elephants and the nearly massive variety of frogs that had been imported from all over.

The RPD station was the jewel in the cap of Umbrella's greatest successes to date. Designed to remain gothic and classical and yet to offer cutting edge innovated technology with a gothic edge, it housed the ever growing police force and the newly created Special Tactics and Rescue Squad.

Little was known about the man responsible for coordinating the adoption of the S.T.A.R.S. he came highly recommended and on the heels of some kind of military training that was unclear. It was known that he was practically a genius and potentially a little odd. It wasn't known where he'd really come from before. But Umbrella had dumped more money than god into the city, so people were content to hire whomever they suggested without being too concerned about it.

The Mayor frequented the RPD station to visit with the police chief on more than once occasion and offered insight into the future of the burgeoning city. There were plans to expand the plants outside the city and generate jobs. The future, it seemed, was in vaccine and medical supply production. Healing the World One Step at a Time: Umbrella Pharmaceuticals.

The creation of jobs came with a downside, of course, as the influx of people into the city had created a higher crime rate and a need for a stronger police presence as a result. The call had gone out for qualified candidates and the lobby was sure to be filled with potential hopefuls looking for a chance to save the world and serve and protect.

He was late. Naturally. Because he was always late for everything in his life. If he was on time, it was rare and often times over looked by those who didn't know him. Chris Redfield was notorious for being at least fifteen minutes late to everything. Objectively, he'd probably even be late to his own funeral.

He bobbled folders and tried to figure out how to avoid pitfalls of snow along the path to the Raccoon City Police Department. He'd moved to Raccoon City three months before. The offer for S.T.A.R.S. had come on the heels of dealing with his parent's estate.

The accident still haunted him. He'd never forget the phone call. He'd never forget the fog in his brain that didn't go away for a month. He'd never forget any of it.

But it made him stronger and better for it.

There was no place to go now but up. He was seldom a man who dwelled in regret. Regret cost you in the battle. Regret made you weak. It left you vulnerable and naked in a world that fucked losers dry and left them crying in their own blood. He didn't have time for regret. He didn't have time for any of it. Claire needed money and he need this fucking job. He didn't need anything distracting him from that.

And then the wind blew him into the building and everything changed.

Jill Valentine shifted her curly dark hair around her face, nervous, and a little tired of waiting. The good thing about the police station in this stupid little Midwest town was that it was kinda awesome. She could see the time and effort put into its design. Someone cared enough about law enforcement to at least give the cops here a fun place to work.

The fountain in the lobby of the building was unparalleled. It was awesome sauce squared. It seemed to offer more than she knew in terms of its purpose. She was betting somebody was going to figure out its secrets one of these days…because something like that clearly had them.

She was in a little blue suit with a pencil skirt. It felt like she was wearing an itchy wool jumpsuit. She scratched her panty hose and shifted in her seat to look at her watch. Two hours.

Two HOURS? She'd been sitting here for TWO HOURS ALREADY. She sighed, watching another set of prostitutes get set down three rows over and locked to the bar. One winked at her with her gummy fake lashes. Jill smiled back, amused.

Surely this damn job wasn't worth the wait. It was tits, no lie, and had been offered to her at a time when she could barely pay the rent so it was also a god send. Otherwise she'd have been working at the local strip club in about a week to buy SPAM and Ramen Noodles. But that didn't mean they had to keep her sitting here FOREVER.

Jill glanced around trying to find something interesting to look at. She'd already studied the balcony and the lobby. She'd taken a brief walk around while the receptionist was aware that she was STILL THERE and STILL WAITING. The lady did look apologetic about it.

Jill moved into the cool lobby again as the doors opened and let the January cold in on a rush of frigid wind and freshly falling snow. The boy that came through them was tall. Really tall. She was betting at least six foot one and had that look of a kid trying to buff up and making good progress. He was broad shouldered under his ragged looking navy suit. The tie was crooked and the shirt beneath a little wrinkled. He had a sock hat stuffed on his head, arms full of folders, and the expression of someone running late.

And then he dropped the folders all over the floor and used a word that made her brows raise into her hair. She paused to see if anyone else was going to help him pick them up…nope. No one gave a fuck but her apparently. Fucking Raccoon City.

Jill hurried forward and bent down to help him.

"Hey thanks." The voice was nice, gravelly, and fit the face that turned to smile at her. A good face, she thought, handsome with an edge of something ethnic there. The eyes were a shade of blue somewhere between sky and sea. One way green, one way blue…pretty. Hers were blue of course but they were the blue of good steel. This guy never had the same color twice.

Jill smiled a little, "No problem. I'm Jill. Jill Valentine."

"Chris Redfield, how ya doin?" They shook.

"Honestly? I'm pissed off. Been sitting here for two fucking hours waiting for an interview."

"Yeah? What for?"

"Special Tactics and Rescue Squad…which vaguely sounds like a kids t.v. show. Sunday mornings with S.T.A.R.S!"

Chris Redfield laughed and nodded a little, "It does indeed. What would that be about I wonder? Teaching kids the perils of cleaning up drunks on the side of the road? Also..that's good for me. I'm late for the same interview. If you haven't even gone yet, I'm still good to go."

Jill Valentine was notoriously late for everything, so she got it. It was the first of many things that would bond them. She had been most of her life. It was perpetuated by a father that didn't know how to even be remotely on time. If he showed up at all of course. Henri-Louis Valentin was seldom, if ever, around when you needed him. She hadn't heard from him in years. Being in lock up all the time tended to impact your relationships and making it home for Christmas. Landing state side a French immigrant, Henri tried to Americanize his name and added the E to the end. And so, a brief fling later with her mother Noriko – a Japanese dancer in New York long enough to birth a baby and run away, Jillian-Aime Valentine was born.

Henri was a terrible father. He did the best he could, in some ways. He was lazy and self centered and above the law. So he often times stole or lied or cheated those around him. More than once, she woke up to find him having gotten his ass kicked by someone he'd grifted and gotten caught while doing it. He did seem to love her. He spoiled her with love when he could and educated her with books and bedside speeches. He was smart and stupid and flawed. He was in and out of jail and Jill ended up in foster homes most of her youth. He'd get her out and run her around and they'd sleep in trucks and trailers and have great adventures. He'd go back in lock up and she'd go back to group living and school.

She was smart as a whip and quick on her feet. He taught her how to bleed a bastard with her little knife and crack open safes like a professional. She loved him. And it was a real and painful love. Because he was a terrible, awful, failure of a father. She'd have loved, just once, to wake up in a surburban bedroom and been normal.

Jill carried one half of his folders and they moved into the chairs to sit down again, this time together. "What's all this stuff?"

"Honestly?" And he looked a little bemused and charmingly apologetic, "Test scores, recommendations, evaluations…stuff like that. Paper to impress the people in charge, ya know?"

Jill blinked and sighed. "Damn that's smart. I brought…nothing. Well not true!" She lifted her purse from beside her, "I brought gum!"

Chris laughed and looked at her. Gorgeous, he thought, she was gorgeous. Her eyes lifted a little at the corners and told the story of some kind of heritage that wasn't strictly American. There was no accent, no indication she'd come from anywhere but the town in which they were sitting. The hair was all kinds of curly and like the hide of a chestnut mare he'd had as a boy growing up. He wanted to touch it and see if it felt the same.

"Can I have some? I probably have dragon breath from the nachos I was scarfing down about twenty minutes ago."

"Nachos? Before an interview?" Jill chuckled and handed him a stick of gum. "Was that wise?"

"In hindsight? No. But at the time? Yes. I can't resist chili, cheese, and chips man."

Jill laughed again and slapped his leg. "Oh god…I can't even imagine what happens if you fart while talking to the police chief."

"Maybe he'd laugh. I know I would."

Chris watched her face while she laughed. Yeah, he thought, gorgeous. Perfect little teeth and that mouth that was all top lip and smooth. He pulled off his sock hat and smacked the snow off against his leg. He wasn't a man given to staring at a girl like an idiot but he wanted to stare at Jill Valentine. What was it? The beauty?

No. He'd been around beautiful women plenty. What was it?

Jill chuckled at him. "The sock hat may have been a bad idea too, in hindsight."

"Hat hair?"

"It's pretty bad."

"Well help a guy out here, woman."

Jill turned him toward her and played with his hair. He watched her and he knew he kinda liked her. She had little hands and a brief glance down told him she also had some pretty awesome tits under that saucy little jacket. He was pretty sure she was the first girl since he'd moved to town to interest him like that.

She was probably the first girl since his parents died to even get a second look. What was it about her?

"There! Better. Although…I'm not sure this is the right style hair for you."

"Hey! This is the thing now. I'm working it…sorta."

"You would do good with something shorter. You have a helluva face. You don't need to hide it behind hair."

Chris chuckled. "Well thanks. I'd say the same to you."

"Yeah? I was thinking of cutting it."

"You should. Short. Like here." He touched her face at the chin. And there it was. There was the thing he was looking for…attraction. He was attracted to her, almost painfully. Why? "You don't need the hair. Your face is killer. Show it off."

"You think?"

"For sure."

"Awesome. Thanks."

"You bet." Chris started leafing through his folders to organize them. She studied his profile. He was handsome, yeah, but it wasn't just that. What was it about him that just clicked with her? Resonated had meaning here.

"What's the dark skin tone?"

He glanced up, lifted a brow, and went back to organizing, "My Dad's native American."

"Your dad is? You don't consider yourself to be?"

"No I do. I guess. Kinda. It's weird." He settled his files on the chair next to him and turned toward her now. His arm slid around the back of her chair. It wasn't anything more than a relaxation move. But she liked it. "I grew up in the culture of it, pretty heavily. But my mother isn't at all. She's right off the boat from Ireland, ya know? So there was a culture shift after my sister was born. We had both and they didn't really push too hard at either. I have some strong connections to both sides and sometimes I don't."

"Sounds reasonable." Jill shifted a little closer to him to hear him over the din of the noise in the lobby. "You have a sister?"

"Yeah. Claire. She's starting college now. She's a good kid. Got her head on right. And that's really why I need this job, desperately."

"Oh yeah? I do too. I'm about to get evicted."

"That sucks. I hear ya. And Claire's tuition needs paid."

Jill lifted her brows at him. "Your parents aren't paying it?"

"No. A good part was financial aid and scholarships and pell grants, ya know? But the rest is on me."

"How come?"

"My parents died about six months ago."

There was such pain in his voice. But he said it in that gruff way she was coming to admire and like. She watched his face to see him feel that pain and absorb it. No bullshit, she thought, he just felt it. And she liked that too. She found herself shifting her hand onto his knee and holding. "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks." He smiled a little, "Claire was still too young to be alone. So I got custody of her."

Jill watched his face now. He was something else. He couldn't be very old. Not very old at all. And he'd gotten custody of his teenage sister. And he was trying to pay for her college. "You took over the care of your sister?"

"Of course, she's my baby sister." Like that was it. He said it like that was the only option. No question. Family, Jill realized, she was family.

"And now you're paying for her to go school."

"Yep."

Jill lifted her hand from his knee and put it on the side of his face. He turned to look at her. They held eyes for a long moment. He liked her, he realized, and he liked the touching. She was casual about it, nearly impersonal. She just touched him because she liked it. And he liked that. No games here, he thought, this girl was a dude with tits. And a killer face.

She said, "I'm really glad you dropped your files."

He answered, "Me too. You want me to take you out some time, Jill Valentine?" He felt comfortable asking her and, even more, he felt excited by the idea. He hadn't been excited about anything since his parents had died.

Confident little guy. She grinned at him. "No. But why don't I take you out instead? You can ride on the back of my bike."

Chris snorted out a laugh. "What an image that is. You ride?"

"Yep. I've got a Yamaha. So I'm more of a crotch rocket girl at the moment. But I'm hoping to get my Harley one of these days."

"I've got my Dad's. It's a Heritage Softail. It flies. You want to go sometime? Seriously. I'd love to take you out on it."

"Are you talking about dating me, Chris Redfield?"

"Maybe. You interested?"

"Actually yeah. But I can't do it. I have a boyfriend."

"Just my luck." Chris laughed good naturedly but swallowed the disappointment, "Well how about we go out as friends? I can kick your ass at pool, we can race up the highway."

"In winter?"

"What's life without some risk?"

Jill lifted a brow at him, "Alright. Deal."

It was the dawning of a beautiful friendship - and the beginning of a legend.