From an early age on, Jill had been used to dealing with impossible causes; like Dick Valentine, for instance, the wanted thief whose attempts to be a good father to little Jill had been as well-meaning as they had been lousy and unsuccessful, ending up with the girl being handed over to foster homes on several occasions. Delta Force had been another one of those impossible causes. Joining the military as soon as she'd had the chance to, Jill and her skills had proven themselves worthy of the strict requirements the testosterone-loaded unit had been asking for, but she had never made it to the field with them. The job in the elite-unit S.T.A.R.S. had seemed a good alternative to being professionally stuck, the colleagues had turned out to be nice and Raccoon City was a peaceful place to live; at least, before it turned out to be another impossible cause. Even so, Jill had survived, she had run and fought, been infected and cured, and since escaping Raccoon City seconds before the missile strike, she had never stopped fighting bioterrorism in the U.S. and around the world. Yes, she was used to dealing with all kinds of impossible causes.

She wasn't ready to deal with this, though.

"This is too much food, Chris," she pointed out between one spoonful of yogurt and the next one. "Nobody's going to eat all this."

She had sensed, somehow, that Chris' kind offer to cook dinner that evening would end in a major disaster. Maybe she shouldn't have praised the decent spaghetti bolognese he had prepared the night before as the most delicious pasta dish she'd ever tasted, as it seemed to have awoken the megalomaniac cook in the man, pushing him to decide that grilling in February was the best idea any human being had ever had. Not wanting to argue about it, she had offered her help, being dismissed as the guest in their house and damned to watch while Chris took care of everything.

"Please. This is barely an appetizer for Claire and me. Also," he replied with a grin as he flexed his arms, making the sleeves of his shirt stretch audibly around his muscles. "These babies need protein."

Cans and jars rolled over the counter and Jill needed to stop a couple of them from dropping to the ground before she could continue shoveling yogurt into her mouth while flicking through a nineties lifestyle-and-fashion magazine. Chris had already dashed back into the pantry, busy finding more stuff to serve the huge amount of meat with.

"Holy shit! Instant potatoes!" A scream of excitement made the blonde look up from her reading. "Haven't had those since I moved to Raccoon!"

Jill slid her tongue over her upper teeth to clean the remains of yogurt from them. The last time old Chris had complained about the instant mashed potatoes they served in the B.S.A.A. cafeteria were meant to poison the bodies of the employees with their low nutritional value was still very present in her memory, and her mind relentlessly slipped back to the first night she and Chris had spent at his apartment after the mansion incident to start their investigation on Umbrella, when they'd shared a bag of instant soup and a handful of leftover chicken wings. And it had been enough.

"Amazing, Jill! There's Ramen noodles!" He actually seemed to toy with the thought of adding them to the meal. "Hmmm, maybe you're right. This is enough food."

A smile grew across her lips as she turned to the window, where the falling snow began to cling to the glass, trying to paint the peaceful picture of the frozen landscape outside. She could have a cup of coffee and enjoy the view while Chris cooked dinner, maybe he would join her every now and then, and it would be like back in early 1998, when they'd both used to volunteer for the more complicated cases, those that would keep them working together most of the nights, far away from their lonely apartments. The first thing they'd do whenever they'd stay alone in the S.T.A.R.S. office was to have coffee together and chat about their daily struggles without feeling guilty for every second they took off.

Those times when one misstep would cost one, maybe two lives, instead of thousands.

Not that one or two lives weren't worth mourning.

"Jill! Where's the charcoal?"

Blueish eyes turned to the kitchen, amused by Chris' belief that she would know better where to find things in his cabin than he himself. Before she could reply, though, he informed her about a successful find and she got up to open the door, where someone had just started knocking.

"Claire! Wow, what happened to you? You look like shit." Her greeting was responded with a mere grunt before the redhead handed her the suitcase she was carrying. "Thank god, you brought clean underwear!"

Claire chuckled darkly.

"Been a long night," she exclaimed with clattering teeth, already holding a cigarette between her shaking lips. "Fuck, it's freezing outside."

A sarcastic laugh escaped Jill's lips when she closed the door behind her friend and her hand waved at Chris in the kitchen.

"Really? You'll be pleased to hear that your brother wants to have a barbecue outside."

After an unimpressed twitch of her eye, Claire placed one hand on her hip and tilted her head to the side.

"Will there be steaks?" After laughing shortly, she nodded at her own comment and walked into the cabin, leaving the blonde standing perplexedly in the corridor. "If there will be steaks, I'm in. There must be blankets somewhere in the bedroom closets."

Jill rolled her eyes anew at the carefree attitude the redhead showed, but she soon found herself smiling. This was the life Chris had wanted and deserved, wasn't it? Barbecues and beer whenever he felt like it, something like family dinners without fearing that something might interrupt their encounters and the most normal talk between two siblings who fought over who was better at grilling. A sigh of longing made its way out of Jill's mouth when she felt herself comfortably embracing that guiltless feeling of family for the first time in her life.

Another knock on the door assaulted her daydreaming and every inch of peacefulness was blown away when she opened and found her feeling of guilt in the form of Piers Nivans standing on the front porch.

"Fu…"

"Agent Valentine," the young man slammed a hand against the door as though he feared she would try to close it again. "Please, I just want to speak to him."

Through the gap of the open door, Jill could clearly see the defensive gesture the young soldier was showing, and before the first impulse could take over and make her slam the door shut as hard as she could, she reconsidered, sighed again, and agreed to let him in.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Claire had come back storming from the bedroom when she'd heard the knock on the door. Jill was surprised, though, to see that she'd had time to grab at least one of the blankets she'd said she was getting.

"It's obvious that he followed you, dear," the blonde replied with a smug smirk and gained herself a grunt from the redhead.

"I come in peace." Piers nodded reassuringly as he pulled out a picture that had once been very familiar to a younger version of Jill.

"What…?" She gasped in excitement as her eyes turned back to Piers. "Where…?"

The young man seemed to grow with pride when he handed her the photograph of the two S.T.A.R.S. teams, taken someday in the spring of 1998, before Rebecca had joined Bravo team, before the Mansion Incident, and before they'd learned that the limits of possible lay much further out than imagined. Jill's hands curled tightly around the wooden frame as she stared at the picture. There was Richard Aiken, the young man who had once saved her from being devoured by that snake-thing, offering himself as sacrifice in her stead; and Joseph, whose death had been the one she'd witnessed the closest; Forest, whose zombified corpse she had encountered on some balcony, turned to food for the crows, and Wesker; normal, human, Albert Wesker, on the day he'd made what was probably his only genuine joke. All S.T.A.R.S. members had been given a copy of that photograph, but she had believed that all of them had been destroyed in Raccoon City; like hers, which she hadn't hesitated to leave behind after already mutilating it by cutting their Captain out and replacing him with the picture of a G. action figure.

"The Captain had this in the drawer of his office," Piers explained in a low voice, as though he feared the revelation could startle the blonde. It seemed like one copy had made it out of Raccoon undamaged. Jill licked her lips and smiled.

"He will love to see this, Piers," she whispered, offering her thankful smile as a sign of peace before she turned to Claire. "Won't he?"

Before Claire could complete the roll of her eyes with words, heavy footsteps approached and the beary voice of Chris Redfield echoed through the cabin.

"Piers! What a surprise," he said laughing as an arm slid over Claire's shoulder and pulled her into his embrace. "Did you two come together?"

Although Claire was quick in responding with an indignant "No!", Piers couldn't stop himself from snickering at the double meaning the innocent question was loaded with. After pretending to clear his throat to hide his reaction, he completed Claire's answer.

"No," he repeated and pointed at the picture in Jill's hands. "I had just forgotten to give her this for you, so I drove after her."

A pair of eyebrows shot up as Chris let out an impressed laugh.

"The whole way from New York City?" Incredulous shoulders were shrugged when he whistled in admiration. "That's like, what? Five hours?"

"Three and a half, at Claire's speed."

Now that was actually impressive. He himself was a confessed adrenaline junkie, owner of a sports car and a Ducati and afraid of nothing that had at least two wheels and an engine, but the way the younger Redfield had sped through the narrow curves the mountains drew towards the sleepy Cedar Grove had almost made his blood freeze. If the redhead was just half as hungover as he was after their nightly drinking, he had no doubt where the belief that she was the harder Redfield came from.

"Shut the fuck up." Claire hissed through her teeth and gave her brother a wide grin. "He's exaggerating."

"Sure he is," the older Redfield muttered as his chiding glance moved from his sister back to the frame Jill was holding. "Hey! That's the picture of us all!"

Jill, who had been too absorbed by the photo to pay real attention to the conversation, watched Chris' reaction as he took the frame from her hands.

"Do you remember that day as well as I do?" he said with a laugh and looked at her. "We had so much fun at work."

How long had it been since he'd last put the words fun and work in the same sentence? Jill felt her attention magically drawn to her old friend as he began to laugh at the picture, "did I tell you that I once caught Frost showering with that bandana on?" He shook his head. "I don't even want to know what he was hiding underneath that thing."

It broke her heart to know that he would never find out.

"I guess we should get the steaks ready," Jill exclaimed after sighing sadly. "Piers, you staying for dinner?"

The young soldier's hesitation gave Chris the chance to respond.

"Of course he's staying! He's staying the night!" And with a cheerful move, he grabbed Piers' shoulder and pulled him after him towards the back porch. "You can help me with the steaks."

Jill and Claire, staying behind, exchanged a couple of upset glances before the older woman elbowed the redhead in the side.

"Try to relax," she suggested. "If there's anything this situation has taught us it's to enjoy the little time we have away from all this shit."

With her head lowered, Claire huffed out a defeated laugh.

"I can't."


"And then Airhart pointed out that he was holding the map upside down, and it took Johnson literally seven seconds to react and say that he was just testing if we were paying attention."

Claire's initial concerns about how Piers' presence would affect the good mood during dinner had soon been eased, as the young man hadn't only kept his mouth shut about the real meaning and consequences of bioterrorism, he'd also neatly avoided the subject whenever Chris seemed to push towards it, keeping the stories about work spinning agilely around only one subject.

"Dude, Johnson's such a..." the young man blurted out as he sat his beer back down before his gaze jumped shyly to Jill. "I mean…"

The blonde laughed out loudly.

"Say it, Nivans. He's a douchebag."

The four had taken seats around the round wooden table on the covered back porch, the women on one side, the men on the other, Chris and Claire with their backs turned to the door and the grill next to it. It was a freezing night, but the thick blankets they were all covered in plus the heat of the embers on the grill and the four or five bottles of beer each of them had had, neither of them was really feeling cold. It had stopped snowing and the cloudy curtain on the firmament had opened to show off the brightest of stars.

"Sounds like that guy deserves some Redfield treatment."

Not that there was any attention left for the night sky when they were busy complaining about Max Johnson. Chris cracked his knuckles theatrically while Claire nodded approvingly, lighting a cigarette.

"Oh, no, Chris," Jill howled in a desperately whining voice. "He's not Irons."

"Do I want to know what the Redfield treatment is?" Piers asked curiously and made Claire snicker around her smoke. Jill rolled her eyes.

"Chris once punched the Raccoon City Police Chief in the face." She glanced at Piers' astonished face as he turned to the older man.

"Captain?"

After taking a deep breath, Chris shrugged as though punching Irons had been the best idea he'd ever had.

"He fairly deserved it. Even Wesker congratulated me…" He cleared his throat and grabbed the cigarette his sister offered him.

"Before suspending you for a month," Jill grunted, poking her fork into the dried up clump of instant mashed potatoes on her plate. "And you were lucky that was all the consequences the story had for you."

Chris didn't reply, only showing a bratty smirk as he stared at her, so intensely that the blonde felt uncomfortably observed by her old partner. She eventually dropped the fork and got up.

"I'm gonna get some more beer," she announced and had almost reached the door when Chris jumped after her.

"I'm coming with you," he said and pushed himself after the blonde into the cabin. "You mad?"

Piers' gaze followed them until they slid the glass door shut and their words were out of his reach.

"Wow, they're…" he muttered, more to himself than to the redhead who had stayed with him, puffing her smoke in awkward silence. "He's… very different."

Pretending to be watching the stars, Claire just hummed silently, making it obvious that Piers couldn't tell her anything she didn't know yet.

"He's happy," she replied and tossed the stub into the ashtray, her nerves pushing her to grab a new one right away. "It's hard to see what his life could have been like without Umbrella."

His hands were anxiously pulling on the label of the beer bottle, barely able to peel off a larger piece of it. Dinner had gone well. He had known it would be easy to keep the two women calm if he just avoided bringing up Chris' memory, but this wasn't one of those issues that would solve themselves if they were just ignored for long enough, and the more he thought about it the harder he had to fight off his wish to simply yell at Chris who he really was. He had come with good intentions, with that picture of S.T.A.R.S. meant to be a genuine peace offer, but Jill and especially Claire seemed to misread his passivity and believe he was now supporting their evil plan.

"I know you want the best for him, Claire," Piers said as he gave up on freeing the bottle from the label and sat the glass back onto the table. "But you have to tell him. What will happen in case of an outbreak? You know what we are facing all the time, you must know that..." He sighed sadly. "Things would be easier if we had him with us. Or if we had Valentine with us."

Claire eyed him, trying hard to fight down the anxiety that rushed electrifyingly through her veins and made her blood boil in anger. A decided thumb tapped the cigarette butt to flick the ash off before she pulled the smoke to her mouth again.

"Piers." She clicked her tongue right before the drag. "I understand that their presence is important to the B.S.A.A., but your team doesn't depend on them alone."

The soldier blew out a breath as he watched her in disbelief. It seemed like good intentions weren't getting him further.

"Listen…"

"But I'm also aware that we have to tell him," she said and forced a sad smirk. "I just want this to last a little longer, y'know? It's just that, because there are so many simple things that weren't possible with Chris because he was always working, and when he wasn't, he wasn't in the mood. This cabin? We hadn't been here in years, Piers. Years!" After sighing her irritation away, Claire took the last drag of the smoke before adding, "I wanted him to be happy again, for a while."

After tossing the rest of the cigarette into the ashtray, Claire laughed a little and grabbed her bottle again, taking a long sip from the drink that had stopped sparkling hours before. Piers sighed, shaking his head in defeat.

"Where's the point in that? It's just an illusion," he said. "You will have to tell him anyway so why not make it quick?"

Claire couldn't help shrugging at the comment.

"Is that really a reason?" she asked with a twitch of an eye, side glancing back at the soldier. "Only because I know it's temporary? People travel, they go on trips, they celebrate events, Christmas, Spring Break. All of this wouldn't exist if they considered only permanent things are worth any effort."

The redhead's improper reasoning made Piers' teeth gnash together in annoyance. He blew out a breath and frowned at the woman on the opposite side of the table.

"That's not quite the same, don't you think? People know before they start that those things will pass and be over, and Chris doesn't."

"Maybe."

No, Chris wasn't aware, but she was. She and Jill knew that these days with him would be over someday, maybe soon, and that they better make the best of their time together. Yes, it was selfish, especially when there were people in the B.S.A.A. that were forced to do a job they didn't feel prepared for. Claire sighed again as her look drove to the S.T.A.R.S. picture they had left standing on the table during dinner, making Jill look awkwardly uncomfortable. Luckily, Chris hadn't acknowledged her behavior.

"Piers, do you know why Chris kept that picture?"

More irritated than comforted by the talk with Claire, Piers' fingers had been toying with the fork on his plate, but the sudden question drew all of his attention back to the redhead and her possible theory.

"Because he likes to remember old times?" He shrugged.

Claire sighed warmly and took up the frame.

"That too, but I think that he uses it as inspiration," she said and moistened her lips, the cold air around them soon laying a freezing layer onto them. "You know, they had their differences and Chris constantly complained about his methods, but he really respected Wesker." She took a sip from the bottle before resuming her tale. "I think that before the Mansion Incident and his betrayal, Chris saw a great captain in him. Maybe you two are not so different, Piers. Maybe he was always just as scared as you are now, believing that he's not prepared to lead a unit like yours and that the responsibility is too much for him."

When her eyes returned to the soldier, he was staring seriously back at her, obviously considering her words.

"I don't know."

The empty bottle was returned to the table before her cold hands reached for the pack of cigarettes once more.

"I meant what I told you. You are more than qualified for any position in Alpha Team, and if Chris had access to his memory, he'd confirm it." She fished out the last smoke. "I will tell him, I promise, and you will have him back soon. But don't doubt yourself. You're too good."

Piers replied with another hesitant shrug, letting a minute of silence breathe between them before he peeked back at the redhead, who was fondling the lighter and paying little attention to him. Her efforts to talk some self-confidence into him were admirable, but she was rather unsuccessful in her task. It wasn't her fault. He wouldn't have believed it even if it'd come from the Captain himself, and the only thing she had achieved with her plan to forget was another thing they'd both seemed to avoid mentioning.

"You know," he said bravely, considering that it was time they did speak about it. "I had a great time last night. And I don't refer only to the last part."

Once the cigarette was lit, Claire lowered her head, exhaling the whitish smoke as she was engulfed by the nervous dance her hands were performing around the bottle. There it was, the inevitable, unpleasant talk afterwards. She'd rather have let the subject rest in peace and never be reminded of it again, but she wouldn't allow Piers to be more reasonable about it than she was, and after chiding herself for her own immaturity long enough, it was time to be a responsible adult and face the consequences of her own alcohol-fueled mistakes.

"Yeah." She huffed shyly and eventually smiled at him. "Me too."

Because it had been good, hadn't it? It had been exciting, hot and sweaty, a little painful and mildly forbidden, but above all, it had felt good to be touched again, to be kissed and admired and explored again after such a long period of physical and emotional drought. Her previous mistake —named Neil Fisher— had left her so vulnerable that she'd decided to shut every possible danger out and increase caution regarding others. She had recovered from Neil's betrayal, bleeding out all the pain she had brought home from Sejm Island, well aware, that she got attached very easily —a consequence of the feeling of abandonment the death of their parents had brought along, as her therapist believed— but that nobody would break her heart if they didn't get the chance to hold it.

"I also wanted to…" Piers cleared his throat and interrupted her train of thought. "I don't want you to think that I usually behave like that and..."

"You made an exception for me?" Her lip twitched amusedly as she asked him about the reasons that had driven him, wondering what bush he was really beating around. "That's too nice."

Piers laughed, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

"Yeah, I guess I did." Rubbing his hands together in an attempt to warm himself up, he found his palms humid with a fresh layer of sweat, and his eyes jumped back to Claire. "The point is that I tend to get a little…· He cleared his throat. "...Rough when I drink and..."

With wide-open eyes, Claire began to nod.

"You mean when you strangled me, pulled my hair and told me to say that I'd never been fucked like that?"

The color drained instantly from his face, his look drifting fearfully towards the glass door to check if Chris was anywhere nearby as he seemed to gasp for air like a stranded fish, and the mere gesture made Claire laugh.

"Relax, they can't hear us," she said with a dark laugh and took another drag, while Piers anxiously raked his fingers through his hair.

"And that's why I don't drink." He blew out a breath. "I'm very sorry."

Claire kept laughing, delighted by the absurd conversation and admitting to herself how adorable the young man's reaction seemed to her, as Piers was genuinely sorry for, what? Not making sweet love to her? Her laughter turned even louder.

"Don't be," she replied with a wink, wondering too late if the somewhat innocent gesture had been inappropriate. "I can't say I didn't enjoy it, and I don't really remember the last time before that so, technically, your petition can be considered legitimate."

They chuckled, both a little uncomfortably, both a little relieved.

"Thank god. I wouldn't have wanted that to stand between us," Piers added when he'd caught his breath again.

Claire nodded.

"I know. Me neither."


When Jill walked into the kitchen the next morning, she found Claire leaned against the counter, bent over the same magazine she herself had been reading the previous day and holding a mug of steaming coffee, the signature cigarette dangling between her lips.

"Morning." She greeted and began searching the cabinets for another mug.

"Good morning," the redhead replied as she flipped the magazine shut and pushed it away. "Ew, seriously, who wore animal prints? The nineties were a weird epoch."

The B.S.A.A. agent decided not to argue about fashion with someone who'd been wearing pink booty shorts and vest with knee-high biker boots the first time they'd met, and just hummed amusedly as she poured herself some coffee.

"I've seen the couch is empty," she said to change subjects. "I assume Piers is up already."

After a long drag of smoke and a pleased sigh, Claire nodded at Jill's statement.

"So is Chris. They said something about an early run, or so." She shrugged, gesturing to the door. "All I heard was torture in the snow ."

"Wow!" Jill huffed in awe. "And you left them alone?"

Claire put her mug down and crossed her arms over her midsection, accommodating herself against the counter.

"I don't think he will tell him." A remorseful grimace crawled onto her face when she exhaled sharply. The following roll of her eyes was for herself and her own attitude rather than for the soldier's persistence. "I think he believes now in our own capacity to tell him the truth."

Jill's head lowered into a gesture of comprehension, suppressing the weak melancholy that involved her.

"You mean, as long as we tell him soon?"

Claire didn't look much happier than she felt herself when she passed the cigarette from one shaking hand to the other.

"Yes."

Jill's look drove to the window. The morning sun was laying down its veil of light onto the hard snow that had fallen the previous day and it turned the mountain landscape into a sea of diamonds. It seemed like the right place to tell a man that his life was a well of misery and war, but in which he himself had nothing of his own to fight for.

"Let me tell him."


Thank you everybody!

I can't believe it's been two months since the last update. I apologize for the delay, and I guarantee that this story isn't dead; pretty much the opposite. Everything is planned and the thought of it brightens up every one of my days and I'm anxious to show you where it will go, but I've been struggling with the words and with organizing my ideas, not only for A3C, but also for my other WIPs.

Many thanks to Corpasite for his efforts and help. Whenever you come across a good line in this chapter, keep in mind that if the merit isn't his, then the line itself is. Hah! If you're looking for quality stories, those with a real plot and so, go read his work. He's more active on AO3 lately, but you can find him here on ffnet too.

A big thank you to all the readers, followers, reviewers of this crazy little story. You guys really make my day with every one of your words. This chapter seems to be boring and empty, but it's the start of the needed change. Next time we'll see how Chris reacts when Jill tells him the truth… or part of it…

Or nothing of it…?

Thank you!

Xaori loves you!