"Still pining after Jill I see. Never gonna happen bro."

Claire Redfield, September 30, 1998


Be My Valentine

"So stay safe, have fun, keep your wrist tags, and remember, an umbrella is shelter from the storm."

Most of the kids cheered. Some of them didn't. Chris, for his part, fell into the latter group, though not from lack of enthusiasm for Raccoon Orphanage's monthly outing. Rather, as he heard the oft-repeated mantra from Matron Coletta, he found himself wondering why they'd need umbrellas today.

It was Sunday, the 12th of February, 1989. Winter was leaving, spring was nearly here, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. Today, none of the kids needed an umbrella. Not even Coletta had brought her usual white and red one. Instead, she went to sit down on a park bench, while the twenty-plus children were left to run free.

The young 'uns headed for the playground immediately. Sliding down slides, climbing monkey bars, and playing on the red and white merry go round. Others, those closer to his age of 16, just milled around. Too cool for the playground, but not old enough to fully explore Raccoon City Park. Kids who could still be called kids without any caveats.

Kids like Claire.

Claire, who was sitting on a bench of her own. Not seeking any friends, and not finding any.

Claire, who'd already torn off her wrist tag and dropped it onto the ground, littering like the eco-vandal she was.

Claire, who over the last two years, had become increasingly paranoid about the orphanage and people who ran it.

Claire, who drove him nuts, and who so often felt like a fifth wheel, yet was still his sister. One whom he walked towards out of sheer obligation. Using the seven seconds it took for him to reach her to think of something to say.

"Hi."

No-one said that his words had to be eloquent. Claire least of all, who was reading the Raccoon City Times of all things.

"Isn't that a bit old for you?"

Still no answer. Just a turn of the page, and a dart of the eyes.

"You know, if you were a normal person, I'd might be taking this opportunity to congratulate you on taking an interest in local affairs, but, well, we both know that it isn't just the Times you read, is it?"

Something twitched in his sister's eye. An eye that became all the wider as Chris snatched the picture from her arms.

"Hey!"

"Mayor Warren announces re-election bid," Chris read aloud. "As the darling child of Raccoon City, polls have Warren at an all-time high, in light of last year's public spending bill that re-vitalized the Raccoon tram system. In a press conference yesterday, Mayor Warren extended his thanks to the generous donations made by the Umbrella Corporation, which according to financial records, accounted for fully half of the refurbishment costs." He lowered the paper so he could look at his sister. "Well, he's got my vote."

"You can't vote."

"Heh, not yet."

"Damn it Chris!" She snatched the paper back. "Warren's accepting bribes and you don't even care."

"Bribes? Come on Claire, the donations are out in the open, who's Umbrella bribing? Goodness sake, they own the city."

"Exactly!" Claire turned the pages to the financial section. Taking a peek around, Chris saw that a number of figures had been circled in red pen – stock up here, stock down there, the companies involved ranging from Umbrella itself to names he didn't recognize – Tricell, WilPharma, DBR Corp…But whatever relationship they had to each other, Chris couldn't see it.

"Warren stays as mayor because Umbrella lines his pockets," Claire said. "Anyone who challenges him can't compete with his finances. And I bet that most of those funds aren't being spent on the tram line at all."

Chris knew better than to ask, but he couldn't help it. "Where are they going then?"

"To Raccoon General Hospital!"

Clearly this was meant to be a revelation, but if so, Chris didn't get it.

"The hospital!" Claire repeated. "They take sick patients, and transfer them to a secret lab where they…hey! Hey!"

Chris had already turned around and started walking in the opposite direction.

"Chris, come on, this is important!"

"Claire, no-one cares about your bullshit anymore."

That hurt her. As he turned around, and saw the flicker in her eyes, he could see how deep his words had cut. And as the elder Redfield sibling, the one who from the outset, had been there for his sister when their parents couldn't, seeing Claire's hurt, hurt him in turn.

But not as much as it once had. Not as much as it would have if Claire hadn't taken a turn for the crazy over the last two years.

"Chris, you know what Umbrella's doing," Claire whispered.

He sighed. "What are they doing, Claire? I mean, apart from building this town into a city, giving people a good life, heck, us a good life. We're here because of them, Doctor Birkin's been there for me in the last two years than mum and dad were their entire lives, and-"

"He's not your father," Claire whispered. "No matter how much you want him to be."

Chris cleared his throat, his Adam's apple throbbing. It was bad enough that Claire was crazy, that everyone knew that she was his sister. It was made worse by the fact that while Doctor Birkin gave him all the help he needed, from tutors, to textbooks, to even the regular birthday and Christmas present, he couldn't help but wonder how much damage his sister was doing. To both of them.

Birkin had given him the world, he wanted to make the most of it, and all Claire could do was indulge in conspiracy theories.

"Chris, you have to listen to me," his sister pleaded. "Those dreams? They weren't just dreams."

"Claire, stop it."

"I'm telling you, there was a girl that night, and she-"

"Goodness sake Claire, you were sleepwalking."

"I know you think Umbrella's all warm and fuzzy, but I'm telling you that-"

"Claire, you've told me about everything from secret labs in the sewers, to magic flowers in Africa, to secret Antarctic research labs. I'm done, okay? You want to be crazy, do it on your own time."

He turned around, not knowing nor caring what his sister thought, or what she would say next.


His parents had been arguing when they'd died.

He'd been fourteen at the time, and he couldn't remember what they were even arguing about. He was sure he was quoting Doctor Birkin wrong (or was it Shakespeare?), but it was fair to say that he heard the anger in their words, but not their words.

He remembered his father using the f-word a lot, as he put his foot down on the accelerator.

He remembered his mother crying, screaming, and also using the f-word.

He remembered his sister putting her hands over her ears and keeping her eyes shut, yet unable to stop herself from crying.

He remembered just sitting there, folding his hands together. Wondering if he should try and cheer his sister up, keep quiet, or try and stop mum and dad from being so mean to each other.

As it turned out, he wasn't able to do anything, as the car had a date with a passing lorry.

He'd later learnt that his parents had been killed instantly. That they'd driven through a red light at a cross junction, and that sad as it was, it was entirely his dad's fault, given how fast he'd been going. Having blacked out when the crash happened, and woken up still strapped in, his forehead all sticky, and his sister breathing shallowly beside him while red and blue lights flickered in the gloom, he wasn't in any position to counter the story.

His parents were dead. Raccoon City Orphanage was his home now.

Which was why, as he walked through Raccoon Park, he couldn't evade the pangs of guilt concerning his sister. Every time he shouted at her, he was reminded of his father. Every time he refused to engage in her stories, he was afraid that he was failing to be there for her. Yet…He clenched his fist, and quickened his pace. Every time she went on about Umbrella, and experiments, and monsters in the orphanage, he was reminded that his plans for the future were being harmed.

She was right, in that Birkin wasn't his father. He was the most intelligent man Chris had ever met, and certainly one of the kindest, but with his sister spreading lies about him, he knew that goodwill couldn't last forever. Especially since Birkin had his own daughter of three years. A revelation that had given Chris pangs of envy.

Birkin was a good man, he told himself. His daughter would have a good father. None of that changed anything for the orphan the good doctor had taken under his wing.

But what if it does?

He stopped walking, and looked around. He'd wandered far away from the kid's area of the park, and had reached its centre. The place reserved for grownups and teenagers, with the former admiring the various sculptures, and the latter doing everything from listening to their walkmans, to smoking, to giggling.

Especially the girls. The ones with their skirts up to there, with their long legs, and long blonde air, and really red lipstick…the girls holding hands with the boys, sometimes kissing the boys…who when they did so, gave a weird feeling between his-

One plus one is two. Two plus two is four.

Mathematics came to the rescue, as his tinkle did that weird thing again.

Four plus four is eight. Eight plus eight is sixteen.

Quickly, if not quickly enough, he got the feeling under control.

Sixteen plus sixteen is thirty-two. Thirty-two plus thirty two is sixty-four.

He rarely entered triple digits, but sometimes, it happened. While he couldn't control his voice, or his dreams (not like the dreams Claire had, the other dreams), he could control his body, damn it.

It's all good, he told himself, as he walked over to the fountain. Your sister's crazy, but you're in control. You're an A…alright, B student, who's got a prosperous career in front of him. He looked at one of the sculptures in the fountain – a dolphin. "Isn't that right, Flipper?"

The dolphin didn't answer. Maybe it only answered to Douglas or something. Claire had shoved that weird book in his face once when he was trying to study, in one of her rare non-crazy moments.

He didn't know how long he stood there, looking at the fountain. At the dolphin, at the cherubs, at the big woman with a bow and arrow. Probably not long, all things considered. But long enough.

"Why are they barfing?"

Long enough for someone to have walked up beside him without his noticing. A girl, round about his age.

"Seriously," she said to him, as if they were already friends. "Why are they barfing?"

"The dolphin?"

"No, the babies. Why are they barfing water?"

"I…think they're called cherubs?"

"Cherubs, smerubs. Why are they barfing?"

Chris didn't know. But the question as to why stone statues of babies/cherubs/whatevers had water coming out of their mouths was secondary to the questions of "who are you?" and "what are you doing here?"

The questions didn't come out of his mouth. In part because he doubted the girl would answer them. In part because she was waxing lyrical.

"Maybe they're sick. Maybe they're throwing up water because they've puked out all of their insides."

"But they're statues."

"Metaphorically, dumbass."

Chris's eye twitched. He wasn't dumb, he told himself. No matter how many times Claire called him so when he refused to believe her stories.

"Oh, you're useless," the girl said. "I…" She trailed off.

"What?" Chris asked.

She made no answer, as she looked at him. Specifically, the band along his arm.

"Oh I get it," she whispered. "You're with the orphans."

Don't need to rub it in.

"Yeah, that was rude of me. You shouldn't call orphans dumb."

Chris frowned. "If I wasn't with the orphans, you'd be fine calling me dumb, right?"

"Oh absolutely, dummy."

"Um…"

"Oh cheer up, I called you dummy, not dumb. That's totally different."

Chris didn't think so. He was too busy fingering the tag on his wrist. The one that had the orphanage's red and white logo on its outside, and the words PROPERTY OF THE UMBRELLA CORPORATION stamped on the tag's interior.

Also, he was too busy looking the girl up and down as well. Because having spent years in the company of orphans, and in scant company at Raccoon Elementary, he hadn't seen anyone like her in awhile. Maybe ever.

"Um, dummy? You zoned out?"

'Wild,' was the first word he'd use to describe her. She had black bushy hair that hadn't ever seen a comb, which hung either side of her face. Brown skin, astonishingly green eyes, and a face that reminded him a of a leprechaun. Easy-going, but not to be trifled with if you went after their gold.

Not that she looked like she could afford gold. She was wearing a shirt that was too big, jeans that were too small, and shoes that had seen better days. Also, she'd painted every one of her nails a different colour. Because reasons.

"Hey!" The girl yelled. "Eyes up here!"

Chris snapped to attention. He knew how to do that. He'd watched plenty of war movies. He'd even dreamed of joining the Air Force once, especially when the orphanage rented Top Gun from Blockbuster. Of course, that was before Birkin pointed out that he didn't have the maths scores to fly a plane, and that instead, maybe he should aim at something else. Police officer, maybe. He'd been surprised, but-

"Ow!" Chris put a hand to his head after the girl slapped him over the head. "What did you do that for?!"

"You were being weird."

"And you hit me?"

"Um, yes? Seemed like the natural thing to do."

"No, it isn't! You don't hit people just because they're different."

"Really? Odd. Could've fooled me."

The girl put a hand to her cheek, under her bushy hair. Only for a moment, but enough to get Chris wondering.

"Are you-"

"So!" The girl exclaimed, as she sat down on the edge of the fountain like a giddy schoolgirl. "What brings the orphans to Raccoon Park this fine morning?"

"It's afternoon."

"You want me to hit you again?"

"Um, it's, er, a regular outing. Every month we go somewhere."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," said Chris, glad that the girl seemed interested, and not intent on causing grievous bodily harm. "Sometimes we go to Raccoon Zoo, other times to Raccoon Museum, one time, we even got to take a guided tour of the subway system and-"

"Boring," exclaimed the girl. "Don't you go anywhere fun?"

"Um…" The trips had been fun, in Chris's memory, but he racked his brains nonetheless. "Well, once, they took us to Disney Land."

"No way! You went to Disney Land?"

Chris couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, it was pretty neat."

"Only pretty neat?"

"Um…" The smile faded. "It was…nice."

It was understatement and overstatement alike. Understatement, because going on all those rides, and seeing Micky Mouse, and having ice-creams each day for a week had been the best experience of his life. Overstatement, because Remy Harris didn't come back with them. Doctor Birkin had later explained that a family had made contact with the caretakers during the trip and had adopted Remy then and there. Which was nice, but Chris wished he could have said goodbye.

Claire had her theories of course, but then, that was Claire for you. In a different reality where their parents were still alive, she'd have probably graduated to hunting for the lizard people by now.

"Yo, dummy. You still there?"

Bloody hell, there was no rest from this girl. "I have a name, you know. It's Chris."

"Chris? Chris who?"

"Chris Redfield."

"Redfield," the girl parroted. "What, you get red on fields? Or you like red fields?"

"That's so clever. You three years old or something?"

"No, I'm fifteen."

Only one year younger than me. He shook the thought away.

"Well, since you stupidly gave your full name to a stranger, I'll tell you my name." She took a breath. "It's Jill Valentine."

Chris stood there, unable to believe what he'd just heard. And the girl must have been a telepath or something, because she immediately picked up on the opening.

"Yes, I know, I make fun of Redfield, you get to make fun of Valentine, yeah yeah, I've heard it all."

"Oh, really? I would have never done that," Chris lied.

She obviously wasn't convinced, as she went on the defensive. "It's not too bad a name. It's French. All the best things come from France. Like French fries."

"French fries don't come from France."

"And there's gonna be a Disney Land in Paris eventually, so…so there!"

Chris couldn't help but smirk. For once, in this entire conversation, he had the upperhand. And while he didn't consider himself a cruel person, watching Jill Valentine (Valentine! Hah!) squirm was just so…satisfying.

"And I'm also the daughter of the famous Dick Valentine, so bet you can't say that about your dad."

There was quite a few things Chris could have said about his father, and little of them good. But ignoring that particular wound, he instead asked, "who?"

"Dick Valentine," Jill repeated. "Famous thief?"

"Never heard of him."

"You must have! Everyone in this country knows him!"

Chris just stared blankly.

"Gosh, you really are a dummy," Jill exclaimed. "Well, I'll have you know that just because he's in prison now, he won't stay there for long. And that he taught me everything I know. They don't call me the Master of Unlocking for nothing."

"Sorry, what?"

Jill shrugged, and pulled out something out of her pocket. Or somethings, Chris realized – lots of small, iron things.

"Lockpicks," said Jill proudly. "Drives my foster parents nuts."

Chris remained silent. He wondered if he should tell Jill that his sister also had a thing with lockpicks, and that she used them to break into drawers in the orphanage. Looking for evidence on Umbrella's supposed wrong-doings, and instead only finding loose coins, paper clips, and that one time, a Playboy magazine.

That was when his tinkle problems had started, and Birkin had introduced the word "puberty" to his vocabulary.

"Yeah," Jill murmured, as she sat down at the fountain. "He'll be out. And I don't care how many twats I get shafted with, I'll see him. He'll call me…one day…"

Chris decided not to tell Jill about his sister. He suspected that they'd actually get on well, given how they were both crazy in their own way, but…

But what?

He looked around the park, to the kid's area. Wondering if Claire had followed him, and hoping that she wasn't.

Why?

Fortunately, his little sister was nowhere to be found.

Oh that's right. You think she's going to ruin things.

Chris shook the thought aside. Claire couldn't ruin things, because there was nothing to ruin. Besides, when Claire did ruin stuff for him with her nonsense conspiracies, her brother was only collateral damage. Jill, however…

Jill right now was climbing on top one of the dolphins. Jill, like Claire, was crazy, but was having fun while being so.

"You shouldn't be up there y'know," Chris said.

"Peh, whatever, narc."

"Seriously, you'll hurt yourself." He stood on top of the fountain's edge, but before he could reach any further, Jill broke into song.

"Chris and Jill went up the fountain, playing by the water."

What the heck?

She gave him a shove, causing him to stumble back, falling onto his buttocks.

"Chris fell down, and poutly frowned, and Jill cackled at the slaughter."

The older Redfield sibling looked around, fuming. None of the passing adults paid either of them any heed. A girl was climbing on a dolphin, and had physically assaulted him, and no-one had done anything about it.

And people say the RPD is overfunded.

"You aright, dummy?"

He looked up at the girl who'd climbed off the fountain. Who was standing above him with a hand extended.

"Don't call me that," he said, nevertheless accepting her hand. "And poutly isn't a word."

"Whatever, dummy."

"I said don't call me that!"

Jill stumbled back, and for a split second, he saw something in her eyes.

"Alright," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

Fear. Genuine fear. The type of fear that he'd seen in Claire's eyes more than once. When they'd first arrived in the orphanage, and he'd allowed her to sleep in his bed. When she'd had nightmares. When, as she'd first developed her belief Umbrella's supposed evil, he'd offered her support, before the belief had become an obsession.

"Sorry," Chris said.

"Sorry?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"But I said I was sorry," said Jill, visibly confused.

"Yeah, so…"

"So you're sorry, and I'm sorry, and here we are, being sorry together?"

Chris shrugged. "Something like that."

"Right. Something like that." She sat on the edge of the fountain. "Something like that…"

An uneasy silence lingered there, one that no number of barfing cherubs could flush away. Part of Chris wanted to just say goodbye here and now – he'd entered this part of the park to escape his sister, not find someone who could join her in Crazy Town. It was clear that whatever the truth of her foster parents or this "Dick Valentine," Jill wasn't all there.

Yet on the other, there was something about her. That…wildness, he supposed. The girls at school had their cliques, the girls in the orphanage had the weight of the world on their shoulders, and Claire was still, well, Claire, but Jill…

He had no word for it. This weird little ball of spunk and sorrow, uncaring of the world around her. He had no explanation as to why his tinkle was acting up again.

"Um, Chris? You alright?"

He just stood there. Staring blankly.

"Hello! Earth to Mister Redfield! Blink twice if you need help."

Chris blinked once.

"Yeah, okay, you're fine," said Jill, sounding disappointed. "Well, this has been nice and all, but I've got places to be, and curfew to make, so I-"

"You wanna be my valentine?"

What the hell?

Jill just stood there.

What. The. Hell?

Staring.

You seriously did not use that as a pickup line!

Her mouth open like one of the cherubs.

You've watched everything from James Bond to Indiana Jones, and you even watched Little Women once, how the fuck didn't you pick up anything better than that?!

He didn't have an answer. But Jill still had her mouth open, and he figured that if he'd permanently scarred what little self-worth he had left, he might as well go ahead and pour on the iodine.

"You go to Raccoon Elementary, right?"

"Um, no, I'm home schooled."

"Oh, sure, sure," Chris said, reflecting that the iodine might actually be working. "Just, y'know, Valentine's Day is next week, and, well…just thought…"

"Oh." Jill blinked twice. "Oh."

The iodine was working very well.

"Um, yeah," she said. "That's…nice, kind of, but you're…"

"I'm…?" He hoped to keep the hope out of his voice.

"Well, you're…you," said Jill, gesturing to him like he was the missing link in human evolution. "You're…you."

The iodine was starting to burn now.

"And since you're you, and not…me…that means…"

Burning something fierce.

"Means that…well…do you know what I mean?"

"Just a thought," said Chris, offering an out. "Nothing serious."

"Right! Nothing serious."

"Exactly," he said, forcing a smile. "Totally stupid."

"Very stupid."

"Extremely stupid."

The two just stood there. Jill, twisting one foot behind the other, Chris, trying and failing to conjure up a mathematical formula that would stop him from feeling weird.

"Anyway, yeah," said Jill eventually. "Places to go, people to see…"

"Things to do?"

"Yeah, things. Lots and lots of things." She bit her lip. "See you around though. Maybe."

"I hope…" He caught his breath. "I hope your dad gets out of prison."

"Yeah," Jill whispered. "Me too."

And with that, she turned around and jogged off. Not looking back. Leaving Chris standing there, beside the fountain, in the company of naked barfing cherubs who had no idea of what shame felt like.

"Well," said a voice from behind him. "That was embarrassing."

Claire, on the other hand, did.


It was nice to see Claire smile again. He just wished it wasn't at his expense.

"Be my Valentine," she parroted, as the two sat on the fountain's rim. "I had no idea you were such a dork."

He forced a smile, but "forced" was the key word there.

"Hey, does she know you're an orphan?"

Chris rose the arm band in response.

"And that your big dream in life is to join the long arm of the law?"

Chris lowered his arm, and remained silent.

"She doesn't, does she?"

He shrugged.

"Your loss bro. Girls love a man in uniform."

Having watched the first four Police Academy films, Chris supposed that was true. Given what Jill had said about her father however…in hindsight, not sharing his dreams of becoming a police officer was perhaps the best move.

"Anyway," Claire said, as she took out some papers from her backpack, "now that we're talking again, I think you want to go over this."

On the other hand, he reflected, there was a road for former crims and daughters of crims to end up wearing the blue. They already had experience in the underbelly of society that could prove useful. And with Raccoon City expanding, and the RPD expanding alongside with it, maybe there was a chance that Jill could-

"Hey!" Claire exclaimed, hitting her brother over the head. "You listening?"

So help me I… He took a breath, put a hand to his head, and gave his sister a withering look.

"Good, you are listening," she said. "Because I've got these maps…"

"Christ, not now, Claire."

"Chris, look at them!"

He sighed, but nevertheless obliged. To him, it was nothing but a series of white pages with black squiggles on them.

"And this is…?"

"The park," said Claire proudly, pointing at the first map. "And over here is Raccoon Cemetery."

Chris followed her finger, still not getting the meaning of it. Yes, Raccoon Park was adjacent to Raccoon Cemetery. And?

"And this, across from the cemetery, is Umbrella's chemical plant," said Claire, tapping a building on the edge of the cemetery.

Chris didn't say anything.

"I said," Claire repeated, "this is Umbrella's-"

"Yeah, I get what, I don't get why."

"That's it Chris! Why? Why would Umbrella build a chemical factory next to a cemetery?"

"Because the land is cheap?"

"Because it's really called the Dead Factory! Because they're secretly taking bodies from the cemetery and-"

"Claire, you've lost it."

"I'm serious!" She exclaimed. "I've been talking to people."

"What kind of people?"

"Just, people, okay? And they tell me that they've seen Umbrella workers take bodies into the factory. They're not making their chemicals and vitamins Chris, they're doing something else."

Chris gave a long, weary sigh. He knew it was useless to ask Claire who exactly these people were, and whether they could be considered reliable. He knew it was pointless to point out that no-one had reported any disturbance in the cemetery. He knew that if he suggested her taking this to the police, she'd just go into her long rants about Irons being corrupt, and cops being paid off, and a whole bunch of other conspiracy theories.

But if he couldn't say any of that…what, then?

"Chris, this is the jackpot, okay?" Claire asked. "If we get into the factory, we-"

"Oh, sure, get into the factory," Chris groaned. "Using maps that you…wait, where'd you even get these maps from anyway?"

"Oh, easy. I stole them."

"Stole them?"

"Yeah, from the orphanage." She gave him a puzzled look, as if unable to comprehend her brother's outrage. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it? Why are maps of Raccoon Park and a factory in Raccoon Orphanage?"

"Maybe because, I don't know, Umbrella built all three?"

Something flickered in Claire's eyes. Silent concession, Chris thought, or rather, hoped.

"Of course they did," Claire whispered. "Umbrella moves in, builds and refurbishes everything…it's all connected."

"Claire, stop it."

"Stop it? Chris, this is the big one. If I can-"

"Claire, I don't care about your bullshit anymore!"

Claire sat there, rigid. Unmoving in all aspects of her body bar her eyes. He could see the hurt there, and for one fleeting moment, he considered drawing back. Apologizing.

"Claire, I…"

But then came the moment after. And with it, the words.

"Claire, I'm sick of this. I'm sixteen, you're ten. I've got my life ahead of me, and you've…for goodness sake, you're stealing things!"

"Chris, I-"

"No, Claire, stop. Just once in your life, stop." He got to his feet. "I've had it, okay? The dreams, the conspiracies, the, everything. I just…I just want you to stop, okay?"

The hurt was still there, as Claire gingerly put the maps back inside her backpack.

"Claire," Chris murmured.

That first thought, that fear of having gone too far, refused to die.

"Claire, I-"

"Birkin's not your dad, you know that right?"

"Birkin? I…oh. Oh!" He folded his arms. "So this is what it's about."

"You can brown nose all you want, he can give you all the scholarships you want, that isn't going to change."

"Maybe. But at least he's a better dad than our actual one."

Claire just stood there, for whatever reason. Why, though? He could guess. But he was past caring. Their parents were dead, and sooner or later, Claire's mad fantasies had to join them in the grave.

"Fine," Claire whispered, as she slung the backpack over her shoulder. "Fine. I get it."

"Claire, I-"

"Just so you know, Chris, you have no chance with that girl."

"Oh yeah?" He folded his arms, scowling. "Why?"

"Easy," his sister whispered, as she glanced back at him. "Women can tell when guys are dicks."

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Not when he saw the water in Claire's eyes, not when she turned around, not even as she strode away. Uncaring of everything around her.

Certainly uncaring of her brother, if not his words.

Chris sighed, as he sat back down at the fountain, rubbing his head. He didn't regret his words, he told himself. And Claire's delusions about Umbrella were certainly nothing more than that, and sooner or later, she'd have to grow out of them. And while it was his duty to look out for her as her big brother, sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind, he reminded himself.

He was in the right. Everything Claire said was wrong. About the factory, about the park, about Umbrella…everything.

About Jill?

He had no answer. And no matter how much he tried, the question remained.

How much of a chance do you think you have?

Still, no answer. No from him. Not from the dolphins.

And not even from barfing cherubs.


A/N

So I saw Welcome to Raccoon City. I've left my thoughts elsewhere, but gave me the idea to drabble this up, so there's that I guess. And while it's stretching things, bear in mind that per the film's timeline, Jill and Chris must have met by 1993 at the latest, so, um, yeah.

Also, crazy!Jill is fun to write, so there's that.