Twenty-One:

The Only Way Back is Forward

The next day at work he whoopied her. And she set off a stink bomb in his desk that permeated all his paperwork. They had to laugh when they both, BOTH, had the same idea to doctor the other's desk with super glue. Neither could pick up a pen, a stapler, or a notebook.

And it made them laugh.

They brain stormed the cannibal murders. Joseph, Brad, and Barry were all about finding them and putting them down. They couldn't do much to stop them without knowing where they were hiding. They did A LOT of canvasing areas to try to locate them.

He was doing dishes when she came home from a date a week later. Dog was gnawing his bone on the floor under the table. He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Who this time?"

"Bartender at J's."

"Go ok?"

"Sure."

He was in a pair of old sweat pants. He was barefooted and bare chested and bronze. She could tell he'd been swimming a lot lately. It made his coppery skin glow. The rest of the world burned. Chris Redfield just bronzed.

She was in a little white summer dress with blue sandals. When she shifted, he was pretty sure she wasn't wearing a bra. But maybe the dress, with skinny little spaghetti straps, couldn't tolerate one. Maybe. Or maybe she was trying to kill him.

Maybe.

He glanced at her in the window above the sink, "So what now? Bed?"

Oh. What an offer. But it wasn't really. It was a question. He wasn't offering. Not anymore.

Angry about it, Jill moved toward him.

She slid her hand into his sweatpants and wrapped her fist around him. She wasn't even delicate about it. She just jerked and milked him. He dropped the plate in his hands into the soapy water and grabbed the edge of the sink.

She spun him, knelt, and put her mouth on him. His hands tunneled into her hair. She returned the favor. She swallowed him like she'd choke to death on the length and girth of him. Her hands cupped, her mouth dove, her lips and tongue swirled and sucked. And it didn't take long at all. He watched her make a mad attempt to swallow the whole fat length of him and it worked like a charm.

He tried to pull her mouth off and save her but she wouldn't move. So, he shot in her mouth. With a grunt, he blew his load right into her amorous little wet cavern. She drew back, bit down on his thigh and stole his breath, and jerked up his pants.

And then she whistled for Dog and went to bed.

Just like that.

He leaned on the sink, shivered, and went down the hallway. Her door was locked, which amused him. He put his shoulder to it and knocked it open.

She was shocked and standing there in her bra and panties while she took her hair down from its pins. And on her little dresser there was a rather interesting little vibrator in blue.

Jill said, "That was locked." She glanced at the vibrator. He glanced at it. They both knew she'd been about to use it.

Jesus.

Quietly, she mused, "This could be awkward."

Her thighs trembled at the look on his face. He tilted his head at her. "You want me to go?"

She licked her dry lips and shook her head: No.

"You want me to help you out?"

She cleared her throat twice..and nodded: yes.

He grabbed her and threw her on the bed. She gasped, grabbed a handful of his hair and kissed him, and he grabbed her hips and jerked her down the bed to him. He grabbed the little vibrator off the dresser, yanked her panties to the side, and gave her back the torture she'd inflicted on him.

She didn't even have a chance to do anything but shout in surprise. Dog kept on lying on his bed beside hers and snoring. Chris climbed onto the bed on his knees. Jill grabbed his arm and wrist like she'd stop him but she didn't stop him. She helped him. She helped him drive that little blue monster into her body. And she was, like always, already so wet for it. So ready.

He pinned her down with a hand on her collarbone and shoved it into her while she bucked, bucked, and came with a desperate shout of release. And he jerked it out of her body while she twisted, clenched, and sobbed out his name with need. And, always the gentlemen, he jerked her hips to his face to lick her clean while she twisted her fingers into his hair and humped him.

Chris rolled off her and left her panting on the bed.

God damn freight train, she thought madly, did he know any other way than to leave her flat?

The next day he'd fixed her door and frame so she could lock it again…but she didn't lock it anymore. She didn't lock it at all.

But he didn't knock it down again either.

Whatever they were doing to each other, it seemed to be reaching a boiling point. One way or the other, she had a feeling it was going to explode and kill them both.

She was almost ready to die for it.

Testing a theory, she put her socked foot in his crotch under their desks one day while everyone else was at lunch. He let her. He let her rub her foot all over him while he worked. He didn't even stop typing his report. But one of his hand slid under the desk to help her tease him.

They didn't look at each other.

They went home and had tacos and watched The Late Show with Letterman. Her hand slid down into his pants and finished what her foot had started at work. They didn't look at each other while she jerked him off. His hand joined hers in his pants to help her.

They went to bed without a word about it.

Two teenagers were found slaughtered in their car near the woods. Horrible. They'd lost chunks of throat and wrist and groin. It was a bloody, macabre, horrible disaster. The city was getting more frightened each time the night fell.

They imposed curfew to have people inside by dark.

Jill went to check on Larry in the park again. He had a baseball bat, a clean pair of pants, and a smile on his face. The shirt he wore? It was red and white striped and had Where's Waldo? on it.

She gave him the cash in her pocket, petted his mutt, and spent the afternoon hearing stories about Vietnam. She went back to their house just outside of town and took Dog on a run. She stayed out well passed the curfew.

Jill opened the door and let Dog inside to run into the kitchen to get water.

Chris came down the hallway into the living room.

She said, "I saw Gia leaving as I was running up. Everything ok?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. He was getting bigger almost every day. She wondered if he'd get so big that he wouldn't be able to cross his arms anymore. Her brain tried to picture it.

And he surprised the hell out of her, "She's gone. That's done. It's been done for awhile. She was just getting the rest of her stuff. And you missed curfew."

She's gone. That's done. That's what he said. Why? Why was it done?

Jill, breathing heavily and sweating from her run, queried, "Why is it done?"

Chris shook his head at her, "Doesn't matter. It ran its course and its done. You missed curfew."

He looked so angry. Surprised, she held his gaze. "Not by much. And we're outside the city limits here, Chris. So, the curfew doesn't technically apply."

"It applies. It applies to you. You get your ass back before curfew, Jill. End of story."

Oh.

Ohhhh.

Jill felt the roll of that anger back on her now. She lifted both brows. "Excuse me all the to hell but it sounds like…and correct me if I'm wrong…it sounds like you just gave me an ORDER."

Chris shifted, eyeing her. "Don't fuck with me on this, Jill. The curfew isn't a joke. You think I want to find you at the park missing half your damn face?"

Jill held his look. Dog glanced between them and skulked out of the room to hide. Jill put one hand on her sweaty hip.

"You're not my boss, Redfield. Not now. Not ever. You don't tell me what to do."

Chris shrugged now and looked serious in a way she'd never seen him. He wore command like some men wore jeans. It was effortless and fit him like a glove.

"Try me. I will drag you back here kicking screaming. I will hunt you down in whatever dive bar or bed you're in and drag you back. See if I don't."

"You wouldn't fucking dare."

"TRY ME." He never shouted. But he shouted now. And scared her. She jumped.

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Redfield. Or WHO to do. Or where to go. OR WHEN TO COME HOME." And she shouted now too. It felt good to do it. They'd been living in this house faking for weeks. They needed a good fight. "You arrogant fucking asshat. I DO WHAT I WANT."

He took a step toward her and she braced, watching him.

"Oh, what?!" And she laughed now, harshly, "You gonna drag me by my fucking hair like a caveman and MAKE ME BEHAVE!?"

They eyed each other. This was the Chris Redfield she'd read about in that file on Wesker's desk. It told the story of the guy, in combat, that didn't flinch and didn't back down and didn't relent. He faced adversity and rose above it. That was all he knew how to do. It was interesting that she was the adversity he was facing.

A big squish with no tolerance for bullshit.

And he finally, finally, answered her, "If that's what it takes, you're god damn right I will."

Jill laughed again, so angry it hurt in her bones. She grabbed her keys from where she'd tossed them on the table by the door. "Fuck you, you Neanderthal. You don't OWN ME."

"Don't do it, Jill." A warning. A threat? A promise? Who knew.

She gave him the finger over her shoulder and stomped out of the house.

And she ran.

She was the fastest person she knew. She ran like the wind. She ran straight into town and into the park. Already tired from her previous run, this one stole her breath and put a stitch in her side. She limped and felt it as she grabbed the edge of a bench and breathed.

The threatening rain finally cut loose. It soaked her face and hair and heavily panting body in minutes. Raccoon City was always raining. It didn't apparently know any other way to be but soggy and damp.

She turned, rubbing her throbbing side, and moved toward the clock tower to check on Larry.

The rain was barreling down on her now. It was heavy and accompanied by thunder and a flash of lightning. She reached the clock tower and noticed Larry wasn't on his bench. He had probably taken shelter under the bridge like he was known to do while it was raining. Sometimes during a storm he would go to J's Bar and Cindy would get him a drink while he waited it out.

Jill turned back to find a place to get out of the rain and nearly pissed herself.

He was RIGHT THERE. He grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. It was so unexpected, such a surprise, that she didn't even struggle. He kicked open the door of the clock tower and dumped her on the floor inside.

It was full of old dusty tarps inside. Cans of paint were stacked against one wall. There was a winding staircase that would take you to the top to look out over the city. Someone had written some pretty hilarious and rude graffiti on one wall that was currently being painted over.

Jill got to her feet, huffing in the damp darkness.

Chris kicked the door closed behind them.

She said, soft and angry, "You know any other way of doing things but being a fucking freight train? Like kicking in doors and dragging girls around do ya? You could try a gentler touch, Redfield, seriously. Some girls might object to being bossed around, dumped on the ground, and sneered at."

His voice filled the silence after her little speech, "The last body was found a hundred yards from here. A HUNDRED YARDS." He shook his head, laughing without humor. It was mirthless. And he was never without humor. This solemn anger scared her a little. "You'd risk your fucking life to what…teach me a lesson?"

The rage boiled in her blood. "God damnit, Chris. I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF! I'm not some fucking teenager in a car necking. Stop following me. Stop bossing me around. STOP WORRYING ABOUT ME!"

And he shouted back at her. "I ALMOST GOT YOU KILLED! I DON'T CARE IF YOU WANT ME TO FOLLOW YOU OR NOT. YOU CAN HATE ME ALL YOU WANT. I AM GOING TO MAKE SURE YOU'RE SAFE, JILL. END…OF….STORY."

His shouting shook the little room. It made her heart race and pound with it. He never even raised his voice. He was so fucking congenial all the time. This was a side of him she'd never seen. And she liked it.

Thunder rumbled somewhere outside the building.

"You're not my father, Chris. You're not my boss. And you're not my boyfriend. You don't get to tell me what to do. Get out of my way. Go home. And leave me the hell alone."

"Shut up, Jill. Just shut up." He shook his head and she watched the pulse in his throat. Hard. Visible. He was so mad. She felt like poking him even more to see how mad he'd get.

"Go chase your girlfriend around and have her cast spells on you, you big idiot. I don't NEED YOU TO PROTECT ME. Your protection SUCKS. It's bossy and rude and stupid. Like you're stupid. You're so stupid. You dumped me to protect yourself. You idiot. YOU COWARD. Take your protection and stick it up your ass. Give it to some stupid girl that wants it. I DON'T NEED YOU." She was breathing so heavy, so hard. She was vibrating with it.

He was soaked from head to toe. The red t-shirt he wore was molded to his body. His body was muscled and ropey with it and wound up so tight it was like looking at a ticking time bomb. Where would he explode? How would he explode?

She finished it now, softly, "Go HOME, Chris. Go home. And leave me alone."

And his answer…his answer rocked her soul. It was a sharp hiss of regret. It wasn't anything she'd ever heard from him. Ever. He wasn't a man that dwelled in regret. "I can't. I can't. I wish to god I could."

He moved and she whispered, "Don't."

But he did.

He grabbed her and threw her against the boxes behind her. She skidded across them and rolled on the table beyond. The thrill of it fired hard and desperate. He pushed her down and she lifted her arms. She pushed on his chest and he knocked her hands away. It made her blood roar in her head.

She opened her legs even as she pushed against his chest. She was a contradiction. He was a contradiction. This whole mess was a contradiction. He jerked her to the end of the table and ground their clothed groins together. Her hands scrambled at him. He set his teeth against her breast through the little running bra.

Freight train. Yep. That was all him.

Jill gasped, "Don't. Wait."

Don't wait. That sounded about right.

And he answered, "Shut up. Stupid girl. Shut up."

She grappled at his arms and pushed. She gripped his hips to run him over her. Them, this, everything about them was a contradiction. They wanted. They panicked. They needed. They ran. It was on them both.

Best of intentions.

Too stupid to stay away.

How did they break the cycle?

He ground himself against her body again. She cried out and bucked at him. And he pretty much growled it now, "Tell me why I shouldn't fuck you, Jill. Tell me."

Holy hell. The dirty mouth of his.

"It's a bad idea. It's so bad. It won't help. What we're doing? It's not helping." But her pushing hands were grabbing at him now. Her fingers delved under the wet shit to grip his muscles. She made a small sound and bit into the meat of his chest through the wet shirt.

His fingers tunneled into her hair as he grunted, "Cheese and rice. You're right. Probably. But I don't care. I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. Tell me no. Idiot woman."

"…no. Get off me." Even as she lifted her face for his mouth. They kissed on dual pants.

He actually laughed. He laughed. He jerked off her wet running shorts and panties. He drove his fingers into her body while she shook her head and shoved at him. Her body humped his hand with crude pleasure. She screamed and took it, already wet and throbbing for him.

High pitched, she pleaded, "Stop. Ok? Stop." And she joined her hand with his at her body. She stroked herself while he fingered her. Christ. She didn't even know what she wanted here.

Yes she did. She wanted him.

Her body was shaking like she had hypothermia as she whined, softly, "...I can't...oh god..."

What a liar she was.

Because she did.

She came all over his hand while he fingered her and her own fingers stroked her engorged clit. The sounds she made were like an engine failing to catch and turn over or something. Some kind of uhn-uhn-uhn that was high pitched and sharp. Her thighs snapped shut around his hand. Her hands slapped at his face as she gripped him, bucked through her orgasm, and denied it all at the same time.

He was still the best sex she'd ever had. Damn him.

She grabbed handfuls of his shirt and jerked him down to drive her tongue into his mouth. He grunted and flipped her over on the table. He dragged her to the end of the table on all fours and buried his face against her dripping heat.

Yep. He was that too. He went to town on her throbbing, sopping, desperate body like he'd eat her alive. She mewled, she shouted, she bucked against his tongue as it drove into her body. He drove his fingers into her body while his mouth obliterated her. His other hand skipped up her belly and under her bra and cupped her breast.

He was such a dirty man. She knew what he'd do now. She knew what she wanted, what he wanted. He rolled his head up under her slapping hips, sucked the core of her need right into his mouth, flicked his tongue over her and brought her screaming. His hands humped her hips against his waiting face, against his mouth and tongue. She tried to buck herself into his hungry lips and die there.

Whatever word she was shouting, it wasn't English. Or not exactly.

Jill gasped, bowing, and came against his mouth while he licked her clean. Jesus. Jesus. He rolled her onto her back on the table. And hesitated. He hesitated.

A gentleman at the core apparently, he didn't want to...what? Force her?

Jill demanded, hoarsely, "Finish. Finish it."

"You want it?"

"Yeah. Yeah I want it."

"...cheese and rice..." He grabbed for his wallet from his back pocket.

She shook her head at him and grabbed his belt. Her hands jerked at him. She grabbed him in her first and jerked. His hands fumbled the condom package out of his wallet as it dropped to the floor.

Jill helped him slide it on, shaking. They were both shaking.

This wouldn't help. It wouldn't help either of them.

He almost begged her, "Tell me to stop, Jill."

She kissed him instead as they finished putting the condom on him.

No stopping.

He pushed his jeans to mid thigh and jerked her hips to the edge of the table.

Jill opened her legs wide and hooked her ankles around the backs of his thighs. He didn't drill her into the table. No. He eased his way in.

Each little snug, delving, dipping inch of his impressive girth brought sounds from her mouth that excited them both. He eased half way into her needy little body and eased back out. That's how you made love with Chris Redfield. Slowly, desperately, and completely.

Each thrust into her body earned him another inch of her. It was like climbing a mountain. It was like diving into the depths of the ocean. It was a quest for pleasure that brought them both to the highest peak of want.

She grabbed his soaked shirt and jerked it over his head. He pushed her bra up to fill his mouth with her breasts. Her hands were all over his chest, all over his back and hips. And with one more thrust, he was buried inside of her body and throbbing there.

His face. God, his face. He was so concerned. He was so turned on. He was so worried about her. Jill drove her nails into his ass. "No pain," She gasped it, "Damnit, Chris. No pain. Just love me. Please."

That was the wrong request. It was. She'd meant to say fuck me. She'd said love me. Love me, she'd begged. And she knew, she knew inside her soul, that she wanted that. She wanted him to love her. But she'd take the fucking.

The ride was wet and eager now. They moved apart, they slid together. Jill raised up to sit on the table and wrap her arms and legs around him. He lifted her and held her against his body. Those arms of his didn't even tremble with the effort of lifting her and lowering her on his body. She curled around his front and sealed their mouths together.

Wet now. Wet with rain and want and pain. Pain. Because it should have been nothing but good here. And it was laced with regret. His hands jerked her bra over her head. He kicked off his boots and walked out of his jeans.

He carried her to the tarps on the ground and laid her down on them. She shifted, opened her legs for him and let him ride into her body completely now with each slow, steady, needy thrust. It didn't hurt at all. It filled her up from chest to groin to toes to soul. There was simply no room for anything in her but him.

Their hands intertwined above her head. She lifted her mouth and kissed his chin. He turned his face, lowered it, and kissed her. He let go of her hands and she wrapped him close to her, putting her face against his neck.

Chris shook his head and caught that face, pulling it back to him. They held eyes while he slid into her body and out again. She echoed him and held his face now. Damnit, she thought desperately, she was so fucking in love with him.

This wasn't going to help anyone.

She gasped, bowing, as the slow roll of release spilled from her body and out of her mouth. Her body milked him, clenching and holding him inside of her while she came. Shit, he thought as he pumped into her eager, spasming, sucking heat, shit. This isn't how you stayed friends with Jill Valentine.

His hands adjusted her hips toward him and found that angle that made her eyes blur and her mouth cry out. Yeah. Whatever. He didn't give a fuck about being friends. Right in that moment? He just wanted to be in her.

He tongued one of those perfect little nipples and sucked it into his mouth. Jill gasped, gasped his name, and he was done. His balls clenched, he started to pull out, and she wrapped her legs around his hips and humped into him. Grunting, he gave her what she wanted and pumped his release as far into her as he could get. Balls deep in her body, he filled her up while he mouth fucked her Playboy centerfold tits. Jesus. He'd been a good guy once. Now he was stalking girls and barebacking them in dirty clock towers and fucking them so hard they bled. He was fucking on his boss' desk and risking his career.

Who was he?

Naturally he knew the answer. He was the guy in love with Jill Valentine.

And he was usually so much better at controlling himself than that. He'd let her sneak in, pick the lock on his heart, and run away with it giggling. The master of unlocking indeed.

He rolled off her. They dressed quietly. The sounds of thunder were loud and ominous.

They said nothing.

And he made sure she went home.

In the house, she put her keys on the table. Her thighs trembled. He brushed past her to go to the kitchen and she made a sound.

Some kind of sound of something. Grief? Hunger? He didn't care.

He turned into her and lifted her against his body. Her feet dangled while he held her. She put her face against his neck. She made a little sound.

He said, so softly, "Jilly Bean, don't."

And she pushed away from him. She shook her head, again. And she shoved his chest. He let her, watching her with a kind of mad desperation on his face.

She whispered, "I'll come back before curfew. I'm come back. I'll be good. I'll come back. But I can't stay here. I can't stay. I need to move out. We can't keep doing this to each other. We're so stupid. We can't keep doing this. I'm in love with you. I can't be your room mate any more."

Jill hurried passed him. She went into her room and closed the door, sharp and hard.

Chris cursed. He cursed and went out into the garage to fight his heavy bad. How did they get past this? How did they get back to a place where they could just be friends?

Was he fooling himself in thinking that would ever happen?

He'd broken things off, gently, with Gia. Because he knew she deserved better than to be cheated on. And then she'd broken the curfew. She'd scared him to death. And he'd fucked her raw and hurt them both.

Idiot.

He was all left feet with her. He was all thumbs. He didn't know what the right move was. The right answer. He loved her and wanted her and was scared to lose her. It was an odd feeling for a man who never lingered in bad feelings. But he'd lost his parents, so quick, so sudden and the pain had nearly leveled him. How did he survive it if she died?

And was that a good enough reason to avoid the happiness she brought him?

No.

No, it wasn't. But it was all he had.

And he owed her an apology for all of it. It galled his fucking nuts to know it. He'd fucked her and kept on fucking her like some horny idiot...and fucked up their attempts to move on. He kept fingering her and fondling her and feeling her up. Like some stupid college kid. Some idiot.

He'd lost her trying to hold on to her. He'd cut her loose and couldn't let her go. He kept picturing her dangling out a window and him unable to pull her back up. Why?

Because he didn't know how to hold on to her. He didn't know how to let her go.

How did one get back from that?

He watched the rain and wondered if the answers were somewhere in the wind…the wind blowing in from the West. The wind that had blown in and stolen his parents. And the wind that blown him into the station at the feet of Jill Valentine. And the wind that would, soon enough, blow down a helicopter in an imperiled forest…and leave them all fighting for their lives amongst the undead.