The STARS office was silent, sans the second hand of the clock by the door and the gentle whoosh of the ceiling fans trying in vain to circulate the air in the room. Wesker, as usual, was taking care of business somewhere else in the building. Joe had gone back to the Sheriff's Department to check on the repairs – which were apparently almost done, and Brad was re-qualifying at the shooting range downstairs. Only Barry, Jill, and Chris remained in the office.

Chris was about to give up on his eleventh attempt at writing his report from the animal attack a few days prior. No matter how he phrased it, it just wasn't coming out right. It didn't help that every time he re-read the part where he saw the dog for the first time, his stomach twisted into knots and he felt a chill down his spine. The terrified expression of the dead driver kept flashing into his head at random parts of the day, too. Besides that, Chris wasn't sure how much he should put in the report about the situation with Bill. He leaned back, watching the fan blades slowly spinning above his head, sinking gradually down in the chair.

Out of his peripheral vision, Chris saw Barry check his watch and stand up from his desk. "Well, it's that time – gotta get home to Kathy and the kiddos. Don't stay here too long, you two. Get some rest."

Chris and Jill both wished Barry a good night before settling back into silence. The clock still ticked. The fan still whooshed. Jill began to tap away at her keyboard again.

They should be out there looking for the killers. Instead, Irons had ordered that both STARS teams stay close by until they got the sheriff's helicopter repaired. Apparently it needed a new transmission. That was going to take a while, mostly for the parts to arrive.

Bill's words about there being more going on than anyone realized still echoed in his brain. What had he meant? What kind of information could he possibly have come across to send him running back to Raccoon in the middle of the night? Had someone actually been after him? It didn't make any goddamned sense. Chris felt guilty for not continuing the search, but realistically, what else was he supposed to do? The trail dead-ended at the park. He'd even convinced Garcia in forensics to check out both the shed and car off the record, but there hadn't been anything useful.

"You doing alright over there?" Jill asked over her shoulder. "It isn't like you to be this quiet, and you're making me dizzy with how long you've been staring at that fan."

Chris sat up to look at the computer screen again, getting a bit of vertigo in the process. "Yeah. Just hung up on this report."

Jill's hand grabbed the back of his chair, slowly turning it around so they were face-to-face. With the other hand, she tucked a few uncooperative strands of short, brown hair behind her ear. It was almost imperceptible, but there was a certain worried tightness to Jill's eyes. "Don't bullshit me," she cautioned gently. "You aren't as hard to read as you like to think."

He didn't immediately respond. Jill watched him expectantly, one corner of her mouth crooked down in a frown. "I appreciate it, but you don't have to worry about me, Jill. I'll be alright."

They stared at each other in an unspoken test of wills. Jill's expression hadn't changed, still not satisfied with the answer he'd given.

Other thoughts began to swim around in his head. He'd been fighting them for a while, since before he invited her to see the fireworks, or even before he'd dismissed Bill's suggestion of them as a couple. Thoughts about how much he liked the way her slightly unruly hair framed her face, or the way she peered into him with those familiar, steely-blue eyes; about her unpretentious confidence that underwrote even the concern she showed now; about the toned curves of her athletic build…

Chris looked away and mentally slapped himself upside the back of the head. He couldn't start thinking like that – even setting professionalism aside, Jill had never indicated any of that kind of interest in him. He didn't plan to let some stress-induced hormones ruin their friendship.

Jill stood up, and it almost seemed like a lightbulb had suddenly flicked on in her head. She spoke with a renewed sense of cheerfulness. "C'mon, let's go. It's my turn to get dinner."

"Thanks, Jill, but I'm not all that hungry." It was partially true. But his brain was just too wound around Bill, and he didn't really feel like socializing. Plus, as he looked up at Jill, he noticed the attraction starting to well up once more. That was a recipe for disaster in his current state. "I think I'm just gonna head home for the night. I'm beat."

Jill placed her hand on her hip, head cocked to one side. "Really, Chris? I haven't seen you eat anything in two days. Smoking cigarettes doesn't count, either. Don't make me drag your ass out of your apartment." She turned her head to look at something else and rubbed the side of her neck with the fingertips of one hand, like she was trying to gently work out a knot in the muscle. "There's this bar near my apartment – they do Monday night happy hour – a burger and your first beer for a dollar. They've been there since I moved in, but I've still never gone. You know how it is. Too busy, don't have the right people to go with…" She turned back to him, those eyes again locking onto his. "Come with me tonight?"

He was pretty hungry, now that he thought about it. But he still wasn't convinced. His stomach, however, gave him away by growling in protest. Loudly. Jill pursed her lips, fighting to keep a straight face as more odd noises came from his empty digestive tract.

Damnit…

"Well, I guess the gut has spoken," he relented, standing up to join her. "And besides, what kind of gentleman would I be if I left you all alone at the bar?"

Jill rolled her eyes, hard, and headed for the door. "I'm going to run home and change. Meet at my place in an hour?"

He flashed her his trademark grin, hoping that at least in some respects her claim about him being easy to read was wrong. "You got it, partner."

Jill and Chris both chugged their beers, Jill sneaking a peek past her bottle with one eye to see if she was winning. It was close. Her bottle slammed back onto the table a split second before her partners.

"Damn; oh-for-two. I'm losing my edge."

"That's what you get for joining the Air Force instead of the Army," she boasted.

He shook his head. "Alright miss military police. Three out of five?"

"You just really want to get drunk tonight, don't you?"

Chris winked. "Maybe a little bit."

They were each already on beer number six. The more of them that they had, the less they cared about how late it was getting.

Their food was long gone. They had both agreed that Bar Jack had been a good choice – their bacon cheeseburgers, though a little small, were perfectly done - and the mountain of fries that had dominated their plates more than made up for the size of said burgers.

Even in the air-conditioned bar, it was a hot night. Jill was glad she'd gone home to change, much more comfortable in her lightweight tanktop and capris than her uniform. Chris had changed, too, and as much as Jill wanted to mock his tight, white t-shirt, she begrudgingly had to admit he looked really attractive in it. He also seemed to have relaxed a bit. It was good to see. Though, Jill also saw, there was still an anxious frustration that would occasionally flicker in his eyes if there was too much of a lull in the conversation.

Chris leaned back in the booth, resting one arm along the seat back, catching the bartender's attention and nodding as he held up two fingers.

Damn, he looks good.

She forced the thought away like stuffing the clown back into the jack-in-the-box, knowing it was only a matter of time before it popped back up again. Despite his moodiness as of late, Jill had been finding it harder and harder to fight her growing attraction for Chris. A more concerning thought was that maybe it was because of his moodiness, but her experience in past relationships allowed her to dismiss that theory pretty easily.

Their next beers arrived and Chris lifted his, waiting for Jill to join him. She laughed and shook her head. "Alright, fine." Jill grabbed the bottle. "Last one I'm gonna chug though."

"Alright, alright. Just remember tomorrow morning that you're the one who suggested a bar on a Monday," he said, smiling. They upended the cheap lagers in unison, suds forming in the bottles as they pounded them. Once again, Jill was the victor. Chris faked disappointment. "Fine. Army wins – this time."

"Every time." Jill reclined, mimicking Chris' previous pose.

"Did I ever tell you the story of when Barry stopped drinking hard liquor?" He signaled for two more beers.

Jill's curiosity was piqued. "I don't think so. What did you do?"

"Well," Chris began, "there were these locals – we were just outside base, in Fayetteville – who gave us a challenge. If we could out-drink them, they'd cover our tab, and vice-versa."

"Oh no," groaned Jill, knowing exactly where his story was going. She'd had to go pick up enough drunk and disorderly soldiers and airmen while she was an MP at Lewis-McChord.

"We didn't have to pay a dime. But Barry was down for the count. He kept muttering something about sandwiches. I had to drag him back to base housing literally on my back."

She chuckled at the thought. "I take it then that he and Kathy were together at this point?"

"Yup."

"How pissed was she?"

Chris looked away, amused at the memory. "Apparently the sight of me struggling up her driveway like an overloaded donkey, knees wobbling like they were going to give out was entertaining enough that she wasn't too upset. But he wasn't allowed out drinking with us unsupervised anymore."

"Please tell me you weren't the supervision?" Jill deadpanned.

He was quick to dispel that idea. "Hell no! Kathy's quiet, not dumb."

They both laughed. After a few more stories back and forth, they had finished their drinks. By that point, the bar was nearly empty. They paid their tabs then headed out. It was a short walk back to Jill's apartment, where Chris' car was parked, and Jill watched Chris pull out a cigarette as the duo stepped into the glow of the streetlight.

Chris and Jill laughed probably too loudly for how late it was as they arrived back in front of her apartment. The walk had helped dissipate some of his buzz, but it was still just strong enough that he occasionally felt a bit like he was floating along the sidewalk.

"Well," declared Jill as their feet came to rest at the entryway, "this is my stop." Her warm, relaxed smile suddenly became serious. "You sure you're okay to drive home?"

"I'll be good – just might need to do another lap or two around the block," Chris assured.

"Alright, I trust you." The leisurely way her smile returned, Chris realized he wasn't the only one still a bit drunk. He also swore he saw a tinge of reluctance behind it, like she wasn't quite ready to call it a night. He tried not to read too far into it.

They stood at the side of the road, not saying anything, waiting for the other to make the next move. Chris hesitantly took the initiative. "Want me to walk you to your door?" he offered. There was still some anxiety lingering from the other night – he'd felt it crop up a few times as they passed alleys on their way to and from the bar.

Her eyebrows arched in amused disbelief. "Someone's sure feeling chivalrous tonight."

I don't remember her being this flirty when she drinks. He tried to play it cool, but still felt caught off-balance. "That's, uh, not… I just want to make sure you get into your apartment safe."

She giggled quietly, which was not a sound Chris thought he'd ever heard her make. "How sweet," She teased. "Sure. Let's go, before your ears get any more red."

They plodded up the stairs, Chris mentally cursing his burning ears. Jill fumbled for her key and, finally finding the right one, turned to him as they got to her door.

"Well, thanks for getting me this extra fifty feet safely," she teased.

He beamed cheesily at her. "Hey, that's what partners are for, right?"

Jill squeezed her lips together tightly again, and he could tell she was weighing an idea. It didn't take her long to voice it. "Don't take this the wrong way, but… if you'd rather come in and sober up instead of going for a jog, you're welcome to."

Two parts of Chris' brain argued with each other. One part screamed at him to go home before he did something stupid. The other… the other was winning. "With my reputation? Imagine the rumors," he joked, trying to silence the devil on his shoulder.

Jill shook her head, blowing little puffs of air out her nose in silent laughter. "We all know that 'reputation' you and Forest have built up about each other is bullshit. Besides, if you were going to try to put the moves on me, you would've done it a long time ago."

"Oh yeah?" He slid a half-step closer to her.

Jill also took a step, to the point that they weren't quite touching, but he could smell the beer on her breath. She stared up at him, chin almost touching his collarbone, bottom lip just barely caught under her top teeth. Her eyes twinkled mischievously as she dared, more a breathy exhalation than a word, "Yeah."

Chris struggled against the urge to just lean down and kiss her. The light may not have been particularly flattering, but to the slightly drunk Redfield, he couldn't help but feel she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. And she's right there in front of you, practically begging. Are you really going to leave her hanging?

It didn't matter – he had waited too long. Just as he decided to go for it, she backed away. "Hah! Like I said, you would've tried it by now." She pushed the door open. "Get in here – I'll grab you some water."

Jill woke up to a gentle nudge from Chris a while later. They had plopped down on her floor, backs leaned against the cold wall. She had no couch or chairs in the tiny studio – and both had joked awkwardly about it being a bad idea to sit on her bed together.

Jill sat up, blinking the confusion from her eyes, realizing her head had been resting on Chris' shoulder probably since they'd passed out. Normally the tobacco odor that clung to his clothes bothered her. But for some reason, that night, she found the smell almost comforting.

"Jesus, what time is it?" she mumbled.

"A little after midnight, I think. Probably about time for me to head out," he replied. The sullen way his words fell off, it sounded like that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Jill yawned and ran a hand down her face. She was sober now, but still felt a little bit fuzzy. "Remind me next time we do this to pace myself." They both laughed quietly. She leapt to her feet and gave Chris a hand up. Then everything that had happened outside the door of her apartment came rushing back. Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. She had not meant to do that, even if she was starting to catch feelings for her partner. Luckily, despite the internal screaming, Jill managed to keep her outward reaction to an apologetic grimace. "Sorry if things got a little… weird earlier. Usually I don't get like that, I don't know what got into me."

"It's alright." Chris' lips morphed from earnest smile to mocking smirk. "Honestly, I didn't know there was a flirty Jill hiding beneath that tough, tomboy exterior." His joke earned him a punch in the shoulder. Chris snickered. "There's the Jill I know."

She grinned. "Shut up." Why does he have to be so goddamned cute?

As they'd done a few times already that night, the two partners stood silently, alternating between looking at each other and anywhere else. This time they started talking at the same time.

"I'd better be—"

"Chris, I—"

They cut themselves off and tried to apologize over each other. Chris came out on top of their word jumble. "Sorry, what were you about to say?"

"No, no, go ahead," Jill offered. "It wasn't important." Her suddenly wide, almost spooked eyes said otherwise, and she knew he saw it.

"I was just gonna say that I'd better be going," he explained slowly, his curiosity twisting his eyebrows as he examined her quizzically.

She nodded and looked away. "Yeah, that's pretty much what I was going to say, too." It wasn't. "I doubt you want to sleep on a hard, wooden floor."

"Tempting. But I also don't have a change of clothing here, and something tells me Wesker wouldn't be too happy with me showing up in wrinkled civvies tomorrow."

Jill could imagine the exact words their captain would use and snorted. "Yeah, probably not a good plan."

"Well…" Chris said, moving for the door.

"Get home safe, okay?"

"Okay." He flashed her a crooked grin. "See you in a few hours."

"Oh god," she groaned. "Don't remind me."

He laughed softly and slipped out the door. "Get some sleep. Goodnight, Jill."

"Goodnight Chris."

She heard the Mustang's rumble a minute later, the sound increasing for a moment before slowly fading into the night, and wished against her better judgement that he was still there.

Chris closed his door behind him and worked his feet from his jungle boots tiredly. You horny dumbass. He was pretty sure Jill was interested in him too, now, and if they weren't such close coworkers, their night may have gone very differently. But they were coworkers, which brought insurmountable complications. They probably wouldn't be allowed on Alpha Team together, maybe not even STARS as a whole. Chris understood the reason for the rules. It was a potential liability to the team. He massaged his temples, trying to relax, reminding himself that he'd still thoroughly enjoyed his night. He was glad Jill had fought so hard to get him to go to the bar with her.

The red voicemail light on his phone blinked slowly. He took the few steps over to it, wondering who could have called. Holding the phone to his ear, he pressed play.

"Chris?" The voice, an older woman's, was sad. He recognized the voice as belonging to Bill's mother. "This is Jeanie Rabbitson. Your Uncle Craig gave me this number. Um. I have some bad news." It sounded like she was about to cry. He put the pieces together, and felt his shoulders slump. "Call me back when you get the chance, okay?" She recited her number, then the recording ended.

Chris would call her back in the morning, but was fairly certain he already knew what she had to tell him.

"What's the news, Frost?"

"Good to go, Cap'n" Joe cheerfully announced.

Wesker's eyebrows raised in disbelief. "I expected the repairs to take longer." Despite the skepticism, Jill thought the captain actually sounded pleased for once.

"Normally it woulda, if they'd had to rebuild the transmission. But the shop already had another all ready to go, just had to swap it in. There's still some loose non-critical parts, and the helicopter still looks like shit, but I'm not worried about it dropping out of the sky or anything."

Both STARS teams again occupied the briefing room. Brad and Edward's fears seemed to be assuaged somewhat at the news. Wesker nodded once, satisfied. "Remind me next time we borrow anything from Sheriff Stephenson to have it thoroughly checked out beforehand."

"You can bet I will, sir."

"Since we finally have the missing piece to our operation," Wesker said, leaning on the table, "We're bumping the timeline up. Our first aerial reconnaissance will be Friday, from sun-up until visibility is too poor to continue. We will continue this every day until we have covered the area outlined earlier. I would guess three days tops. Any objections?"

Chris stirred where he had taken a spot at the fringe of the circle, opposite Jill, making a displeased grunt. He'd been acting weird all morning – Jill could understand if he had been awkward around her, especially after everything last night. They had both blurred some lines that she guessed neither of them had intended to. But Chris had hardly said hi to anyone or spoken a word in the meeting. Even how he'd been lately, that wasn't like him. And judging from the harsh set of his brow, something was eating at him. Barry had even pulled her aside on their way downstairs to ask what was wrong. She hadn't had a good answer for him. Jill made a note to talk to her partner whenever she could catch him alone.

Wesker had noticed. "Redfield? Do you have something to add?"

"No sir," he replied brusquely. "Not that applies to the group. I need to talk to you when we're done here."

Wesker looked at him, clearly not sure what to make of that answer. "Alright," he agreed hesitantly. "Anyone else?" There was silence. "The last objection may have saved our lives. If you have something, I want to hear it. Questions?"

No one spoke up.

Enrico stepped forward. "I'll volunteer Bravo Team for the first sweep." He looked around, a rare grin cracking open under his moustache. "Can't let you Alphas have all the fun."

"Very well."

They wrapped up the meeting and filed out except for Chris and Wesker. Jill waited a little ways down the hall for them to talk about whatever it was that Chris had needed to. She didn't have to wait long.

Chris looked grim but relieved as he marched around the corner. There was a flash of panic the moment he saw Jill, but he quickly relaxed. "Hey."

"Hey." She decided to just jump right into it. "Look, about last night—"

"It's alright. It's not that." He looked her dead in the eyes, his tone soothing, steady, but pained. "I have to fly out Saturday night."

"Is everything okay?"

"They found Bill." There was a pause as what he said sunk in, and Jill felt her stomach sink. "It looks like he hung himself."

She stood there stunned, knowing nothing she could say would help. His expression, however, hadn't changed.

"The funeral is on Sunday. I feel bad about leaving Alpha down a man, but…" He shrugged.

"We'll be okay. Do what you need to do."

He nodded slowly. Frustration had begun to seep into his words as he stated, "It doesn't make sense. They found him in his apartment in Maine. According to the police report, he'd been hanging there since the night he called me."

At first Jill thought he was just in denial. Maybe he had remembered the phone call incorrectly, or it was some sort of terrible prank, or coincidence of wrong numbers. But that didn't really seem to fit. Not to mention, Rosie told Chris that she'd seen Bill in person. And who had left the two necklaces for them to find?

This time, it was Jill who suggested they go on a drive.