The Devil's Bargain

Seventeen:

What It Takes to Break a Hero

He whoopied her at work. Why not? He did it. She was barely in the office for more than twenty minutes and he whoopied her.

She sat on the whoopie cushion and it farted. Brad laughed. Barry chuckled. Joseph said, "Every time. Gold."

Wesker opened his office door. He looked serious. He said, "Chris? Could I see you for a moment?"

Chris made a scared face where Wesker couldn't see him and went in the office. The door was closed. Joseph signaled being lynched. Barry pointed a finger gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Brad looked like he might piss his pants.

Jill shifted in her seat; sore. She was straight up sore. Damn him and his enormous cock, she thought reflectively, but she'd been the one to tell him to fuck her like that. And he'd been so very gentle since then. He'd carried her to her little car and poked her inside it.

They didn't ride together to work. It was better that way to keep attention off them. But he'd kissed her, long and slow, before he'd gone to get in his Bronco. It was interesting to love him. He wasn't, objectively, her type at all. This was true. He wasn't pretty, which usually was her thing, and he wasn't rocking piercings or playing in a band. But he was no bullshit. Always. And she loved that about him.

She was working through another round of he said, she said backlog when the office door opened. Chris moved, swift and without stopping. He caught her look, shook his head, and left the office. Wesker was right behind him.

Wesker said, "We have some reports coming. The data doesn't sound good. Gear up, get ready. And meet in the lobby in fifteen minutes."

Wesker and Chris both left the office together.

The rest of them moved.

OF COURSE, Jill thought irritably, TODAY was the day they would go and fight bad guys. Today when she was aching and sore and bleeding a little. Today she would go up against the enemy. Naturally. When she was running at a quarter capacity.

Jill grabbed the desk and winced. She was so sore. Damnit. Shit and double shit.

Barry said, "You ok? You look pale."

"Oh yeah. I pulled a groin muscle yesterday kick boxing. It's killing me."

"Bad time to injure yourself."

"Naturally. I thought I'd be doing prison transport. Just my luck."

Apparently, it was time to go out there and kick some ass. Apparently, loving Chris Redfield meant kicking asses with your vagina throbbing. She couldn't help it. She just had to laugh.

The rain was in full-blown storm mode when they landed. Wesker had to shout to be heard over the din of it. "There is likely a ritual in progress. The potential for mass casualty is paramount here! We need to move fast, move precise, and limit the fallout. Remember: attempting to rescue hostages is essential but not at the risk of the mission. Failure to suspend the ritual in progress could result in catastrophic fallout. Be sharp, move in units. NO ONE MOVES OUT ALONE."

Wesker threw open the door of the chopper and they began to leap out into the rain. Jill shifted, making a sound of distress. Her thighs kept spasming. And the soreness in her belly was scary.

Shit.

Double shit.

And it wasn't a spell. It was a curse. And she was so afraid it was going to cost her the respect of her peers if she fell down from rough fucking. CHEESE AND FUCKING RICE.

He never touched her on missions. Ever. But he touched her now. When she cramped while retrieving her gear, Chris lifted her up by her arm. He didn't look at her face. He didn't draw attention to the fact that he'd helped her. He just did it.

They both knew he did it to spare her pride.

Loving him for it, Jill shifted her hand and grabbed his belt. It was innocuous. It wasn't even visible to the naked eye. But it kept her upright. And his gloved hand stayed on her arm. For a man that never stepped over the line professionally, it was almost like a hug.

Wesker's voice called into the chopper. "There is a ritual occurring! Chris, Barry – I need you to find cover and reduce the threat. Joseph, Jill –with me. Brad – stay here with the chopper and await our return."

Brad the coward always got to stay behind. The little bastard.

Barry leaped off the plane and they were the last two.

Chris turned his mouth to her ear and said, quietly, "Don't be stupid here, Jill. How bad is it?"

She met his eyes and told him the truth. "It's pretty bad."

She saw it. She saw the moment he felt like a fucking bastard for it. And she didn't want that. She didn't. In normal circumstances, that kind of love should have been nothing but awesome. It was. It remained the best sex she'd ever had. But neither of them could have known it would be followed by this.

She hissed, quietly, "I will be ok. I swear to god. Trust me."

He held her gaze and finally nodded. But he didn't like that either. He wanted to protect her. It was written all over his face. He wanted to…what? Tell her to stay behind and wait? Jill felt the shift of anger in her belly at that.

And said, again, harshly. "I am fucking fine, Redfield. Let go of my damn arm."

He did.

But he looked pissed off about it.

Jill moved swiftly and leaped off the chopper. It hurt. She felt the blood between her thighs while she ran. It all hurt. But that was the thing about pain; you could disconnect it and do your god damn job. And that? That was something she'd learned from Chris Redfield.

Joseph and Jill flanked Wesker as she raced along the ground. Barry and Chris were absorbed into the storming darkness to find cover and open fire on the enemy. The ritual was sending smoke and stink up into the pouring sky.

The bonfire was surviving the typhoon around them just fine. It smelled vaguely of herbs and wood smoke. And there was a body comprised of multiple sewn together parts on a table to one side. There was blood and stones and robes and death. Death. Bodies were everywhere; missing pieces and making a horrible tableau of destruction.

Jill whispered, "Soulless bastards." And she stopped, stopped, and aimed down her arm.

The one with the big knife was lifting it high in the sky to deliver the death blow to the person on the ground before him. A girl. A little girl. And she was weeping.

No.

Jill pulled the trigger in the pouring rain.

The bullet hit the man in the back and threw him forward. The girl on the ground rolled away, screaming. Her shot was echoed by three more. Joseph, Wesker and either Chris and Barry wherever they were.

Jill trusted her comrades and raised into the fray. Wesker signaled with his hand and she went left to engage three of them at once. The pain in her body echoed as she flipped into a forward tuck and spun out to sweep two of their legs at once. They tumbled, stumbled, and she went back into a flip kick. There was the crack of teeth and bone. Her knife was in her hand and swiping without a thought from her.

Just habit. Just skill.

She split one open across the belly and turned it to drive it into the face of the one rushing her. Blood burst as she took his eye and put her knife into his brain. He couldn't even scream. But the one that grabbed her from behind? He screamed. Because Wesker shot him in the back for it.

Jill jerked her knife free and put it into his screaming mouth.

As she ripped it free, she turned. And Wesker had shot her assailant, yes he had. But he'd put himself in harm's way to do it. She watched the man he'd been fighting backhand him. It was hard. It knocked him down.

And the big guy brought that knife down on Wesker in a flying arch.

"No!" Jill flipped the knife in her hand and threw it.

It thrummed and struck, hitting the big man in that driving arm. He screamed and Wesker recovered on the ground enough to send a kick clean into his balls. The man staggered and Jill was already running. She leaped on his back, spun out and around, and dropped all her weight. It twisted his neck, snapped it, and forced a loud wet POP of sound into the thundering rain.

As the body fell, Jill put her hand down to help her Captain to his feet. He grabbed her hand and rose, watching her face. She wasn't sure what that was on it. But it wasn't creepy. If he'd been anyone but Wesker, she might have called it interest.

There was no time to consider it.

They put their backs together as two more rushed them from either side. Jill threw her arms back and Wesker locked his with hers. He rolled up and she came across his back in a flipping arch. She kicked the one in front of her and threw him away and rolled across, came down, and kicked the one rushing Wesker in a smooth, flawless, heavily practiced move.

Across the field, Chris watched them move. That's what they'd been doing during training. He wasn't just guiding her; Wesker was molding her. She was his female counterpart. They moved fluidly, skillfully; playing off each other like dancers.

Chris shot two of them while they rushed the pair. The third reached them. Wesker spun a back kick into him, ducked low, and drove his shoulder into that rushing belly. Jill leapfrogged over his shoulders, hooked her thighs around the assailant's face, and threw her body around like a rubber band. She threw him out and snapped his neck in a single move.

There were benefits to being the boss' protégé it seemed.

Jill moved light lightning, despite the ache in her body. It didn't even slow her down.

Until it slowed her down.

She went to spin kick an attacker and her thighs locked up. It stole her breath. It scared her. And down she went into the mud. The attacker punched her clean in the face for it.

Jill went over onto her back. She skidded through the mud and hit a tree. She tried to rise and her belly rejected the move. Her hand pressed against it and she grabbed the tree to pull herself up. The attacker backhanded her before she could do it. She went over, rolling.

The sound of gunfire was everywhere. The fighting was all around her. Jill gasped as the attacker grabbed her throat, lifted her up, and threw her into the tree. Her back hit, her body screamed, and she hit the ground on her face.

Her poor body, already aching, was throbbing now. Jill rolled to avoid the boot that tried to smash her face but it was a pyric victory. That boot landed on her back instead and put her face in the mud. She reared, jerked, shouted and the knife in his hand went straight into her shoulder.

The pain was awful. It was immediate. It was red and wet and bloody. Jill screamed with it even as he jerked that blade out of her, flipped it in his hand, and brought it down to end her life.

The gunshot was so loud and close it scared the shit out of her. It blasted that knife right out of his hand like the fucking Lone Ranger. The man turned, froze, and got a fist in the face for it. Chris didn't just drive the punch; he planted his foot and drilled it into the other man like he'd collapse bone and brain. He probably did.

The other man went down and didn't move.

Jill tried to rise and he dropped to one knee to slap a hand over her bleeding shoulder. She hissed and he rolled her up and into his arms. He rose, carrying her easily.

She hissed, "Put me down, idiot! If they see you saving me like some fucking white knight I will NEVER live this down."

Chris said nothing. Nothing. She could hear his heart pounding in his big chest. She turned her eyes up to him. And he was so mad. So very mad. The rage on him was scary.

Mad at her?

No.

Mad at himself.

She whispered, "Don't." Even as she knew what that face meant. He was going to blame himself. He was going to blame himself for it.

He set her down on her feet and she stumbled so she allowed him to loop her arm over his shoulders instead and help her limp back out of the woods with him. The fight was over. It had been brutal, quick, and won. Bodies were everywhere; prisoners were bound on the ground. Hostages were safe and being freed.

The pouring rain obscured the faces of most of the people around them. Barry hurried toward them.

"Christ! You ok?"

Jill nodded, hissing. "He hit like a fucking bitch."

And now Barry laughed, relieved.

Wesker moved over, watching them. "You're alright, Jill?"

She was bleeding in more than one way. She felt it dribble down the inside of her thighs while he leaned there. And it was hot and wet on her back from her shoulder.

"I could probably use some medical attention, sir."

Wesker nodded and gestured with his head. "Chris, get her to the chopper. Have Brad evac you to safety. The RPD is enroute. We'll stay here and secure the area until they arrive."

Chris nodded, still silent.

Wesker said, "Jill? That was what we've been working on before. Do you see, finally, what I've been trying to teach you?"

Jill held that pointed pale gaze. "Yes, sir. Remove the emotion and the fight becomes your own purpose."

"Exactly. Good work out there."

"Thank you, sir."

Chris helped her limp toward the chopper. When she was in and settled, he took the seat across from her. Not beside her. No. He sat across from her.

Jill felt the roll of something like panic in her guts.

They kept trying to hurt each other. They kept trying to do this..this thing. They kept trying to work together and love each other and survive it.

But she hadn't survived it. She'd almost DIED from it.

He'd almost gotten her killed.

It terrified him.

Brad said, from the front, "Everything go ok?"

Jill gave him a thumbs up. The chopper lifted and carried them into the rising storm. She waited, watching that face across from her. Chris was bedraggled, soaked, and staring into the darkness. Alarmed, Jill reached over and touched his knee.

He didn't look back at her….but his hand grabbed hers and squeezed.

They didn't speak. Not a word. They didn't speak at all until she was done getting patched up at the aid station at the RPD. He waited outside the room until she emerged.

And then they walked together, silently, into the STARS shower area.

Chris closed the door, locked it, and turned to face her.

"How bad is it?"

Jill shook her head at him and started peeling off her clothes. He saw her hands tremble and cursed. He was rough, almost scary rough, as he jerked her clothes off her. She still said nothing, watching his face with wonder.

And now he picked her up, whether she wanted him to or not, and carried her into the shower. He sat her down and turned on the heated spray. He stood there, fully clothed, while the hot water beat around them.

His eyes moved over her body.

She was bruised on her chest and the side of her face was already coloring like an eggplant from the hit she'd taken. She was scratched and stabbed and sore. And her thighs? They were wet with blood from him.

No bad guy there. Just this guy. Just him. He'd done that.

He shook his head, self-loathing.

Jill grabbed his face, finally, finally and wouldn't let him look away.

"Stop it. STOP. Please. I can see where this is going, Chris. I can SEE you pulling away. Don't. Please."

He shook his head and she scooped the soggy hair out of his face. His whisper was harsh and hurt her to hear it. "Look what I did to you, Jill. I almost got you killed!"

So maybe he shouted that a little. She jumped.

And she shook her head. "Stop it. You didn't! You didn't. It was just bad luck, Chris. It was BAD LUCK. If I was a cashier or something I could have just called in today and been fine. This? This was just bad timing. That's it! That's all!"

The anguish on his face scared her to death. "But we're NOT like that, Jill. This? This is what we do! This is what we're here to do. How can we do this and not have it get us killed?"

"…don't. Chris? Don't do this."

"Jill…" He grabbed her face. "Jill…I can't lose you. I can't. Not like this. This? This wasn't bad luck. It was avoidable. Some things are avoidable. I want to be with you. I do. I love you. But I'm going to get you killed if I don't back off here."

She was shaking her head. "You're overreacting. You're scared and it's making you stupid."

"No. NO. I'm clear-headed in a way I haven't been in months. You said it. You said we couldn't do this and work together. You were right. How in the hell do I survive it if you die, Jill? If I get you killed because I hammered your fucking brains out and hurt you? How the hell do I survive that?" He was so scared. He was so distressed with it. He was going to break her fucking heart to save her life. Big goddamn hero.

Chris Redfield was the guy who walked away to protect you.

DAMN HIM.

"Don't you leave me, Redfield. Don't you fucking dare."

He grabbed her and pulled her into him. She held on, so tight it stole his breath. And he put his face into her neck and breathed. She felt him tremble with it. Don't cry, she thought madly, don't cry. If you cry, I'll die. I'll give you anything you want.

"I'm not leaving you, Jill. This is me loving you. This is how I love you and keep you alive. I don't fucking know any other way to do it." So hoarse. His voice was so hoarse. He loved her so fucking much. He was so scared he was going to love her to death. Couldn't she see that?

He let go of her.

But she didn't. She kept holding on.

His hands came up and grabbed her shoulders…and finally slid into her hair. He turned her face up and his came down. It was a wet kiss. It was a desperate kiss. She tried to cling. She tried to tell him with her body that she loved him. Her hands moved under his clothes; his were on her breasts. Their hearts hammered together with want and fear and need.

He shook his head.

He pulled away from her.

"You're my best friend in the world, Chris. You're my guy. Please. Please don't." She sounded so afraid. He HATED hurting her. But he'd almost gotten her KILLED.

"I'm still your best friend. That won't change. Can't change. I love you, Jill. I love you. And I can't watch you die. I'm so sorry."

He peeled her off him. She tried to hold on. He held her away from him. He looked at her like he wanted to keep holding on. He did. But he couldn't. The big god damn hero.

"Stay with me, Chris. PLEASE. You promised. You swore. You said you'd never fail me. Don't do this."

The guilt stole his breath. He'd said it. He'd promised it. She was right about that. But he couldn't keep her alive by loving her. Walking away? Maybe that's how he kept that promise.

"I want to, Jill. I want to. But I can't."

But the hot wet water was all that remained as he left her standing there….bleeding, bleeding, but you couldn't see it. Not all of it. Not the blood on her thighs, not the blood on her shoulder…but the one in her heart?

That one was going to kill her.