Chapter Two

Shades of Meaning

Claire was vaguely aware of a shift in her weight, the sensation of motion. She adjusted her weight, positioning herself more comfortably as she drifted in a mercifully dreamless sleep, her hands folded peacefully on her chest. She didn't know it, but she'd assumed the position of the dead, resting like a corpse in its coffin.

Chris laid his sister on her bed, pausing when she stirred, waiting until sleep reclaimed her to set her down completely. He left the blanket knotted in her limbs but drew her own quilt over her as well, smoothing her hair with a calloused hand. He hadn't done that since she was a child and he'd watched over her in countless foster homes, but it felt right now. "Love you, Frogface," he muttered, slipping out of the room. It was 1:33 AM.

Jill waited in the kitchen, rolling a glass of water between her palms, gaze fixed on Claire's closed portfolio. "Everything OK?" she asked as he came in.

"Fine. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, that's all. I took her upstairs."

Jill nodded, but seemed distracted. She'd been that way all night, ostensibly having fun, brightening temporarily whenever he questioned her. But something was wrong. Even Chris, male to the core, could tell that.

"Drink?" he asked.

"I'd love a glass of wine, if you have any."

"I can put beer in a wine glass."

She laughed. "Beer in a beer glass will be fine."

Chris popped the lids from two bottles of Kokanee. He poured one into a glass for Jill and carried the other bottle to the table.

For a few minutes they drank in silence. "I had fun tonight," Chris ventured at last.

"What? Oh -- yeah. Me too."

"The movie sucked, though."

A real smile broke through her face. "You mean the unlimited ammo?"

"Three hundred shots and not one reload, what are the odds? But actually I was refering to the complete lack of a script."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure there was a script. It's just that no one read it."

They shared a laugh, and for a moment things were as they'd always been. Then Jill's strange melancholy settled over her again, like leaves after a gust of wind.

Chris repressed a surge of frustration. Fifty bucks for dinner, twenty for the movie, thirty for drinks, and what was his reward? 'Oh yeah -- me too.' Great. Fanbloodytastic.

Not her fault, he reminded himself. Yeah, their relationship was straining; what did he expect? He was the one who'd refused to leave home for any reason, smothering Claire with his own fear and worry. He was driving everyone nuts, and he accepted that. In fact he was driving himself nuts. But this was Wesker they were talking about, and when you dealt with Wesker a touch of insanity could only help.

Still, this wasn't the ending he'd envisioned for his perfect date. He'd hoped for a kiss on the doorstep, stumbling through the living room, clothing flying into a heap.

Jill met his eyes and forced another smile. "It's getting late. I should probably..."

"Probably what?" he returned, more forcefully than he'd intended.

"Chris..."

"Jill, is something wrong?"

"You already asked me that. I said no."

"Then what's going on?"

"Come on, Chris, let's not do this."

"Do what?"

She sighed and shoved the rest of her drink aside. "Look, it's nothing. I'm tired, we're both worried about Claire and... him. I'm sorry I haven't been much fun tonight."

He softened. "You're always fun, Valentine."

"Even when I'm holding a gun?"

"Especially when you're holding a gun."

They shared another genuine grin, and Jill reached across the table to take his hand. "Chris."

"Jill."

"Chris."

"Jill."

They laughed and she squeezed his fingers. "You're kind of hot, you know."

"So I've been told."

"Oh, really? By who?"

"Barry. I think he's got a thing for me."

She laughed, trying to hide a snort -- her least ladylike and, in Chris' eyes, most endearing trait. "Right. You're supposed to say, I think you're hot too."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"You're not hot." She glared at him, and he tried to keep a straight face, but couldn't manage it. "You're more than hot, Jill. You're the most amazing, ferocious, intelligent, thoughtful, kind-hearted, deadly, person I've ever met."

"Wow. That's quite a string of adjectives."

"All true."

She slid around the table and into his lap. Chris couldn't stop a grin as his arms closed around her. "This is more like it."

"More like what, exactly?"

"Should I show you?"

"I don't know if that would be proper."

"Most improper in fact, Miss Valentine."

She grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward. "Mr. Redfield."

"Miss Valentine?"

"Shut up." And then she was kissing him, and Chris' arms were around her. All the frustration and worry of the last two months bled into that kiss, channeling through his lips into hers, releasing, abating. For the first time since he'd realized Claire was missing he was able to breathe, to think, to feel.

"Jill..." he gasped between kisses.

She hauled his lips back to hers, and Chris gave up all attempts at speaking. Instead he focused on her arms, her neck, her hair, communicating without words.

I love you, Jill.

I love you.

Without breaking their contact, he swept her into his arms and carried her towards the stairs, just as he'd carried Claire a short time before.