*tries to decide whether to not to greedily hoard chapter* Decisions, decisions. LOL! Please enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review! ^_^

Song excerpt is from the Bleach: Hell Verse OST, track name: Incantation.

Chapter 25: So Falls the Night

"Harmony is not with us. Living hell is coming..."

Slouched in a padded beige chair, Jill let her head fall forward into her hands and wished she could cry. She didn't know what to think any more, whether to be angry or relieved, or scared. The tips of her fingers vibrated against her skin, forcing her to clench them in her hair. She hated how they would always shake like that when she was really stressed. It was something she'd worked hard to conceal in STARS, trying to never show weakness. Her stomach hurt, too, but she didn't know if it was because of the battery-acid coffee she'd ingested earlier or the cocktail of emotion that'd been pumping through her system all day. She felt detached, an observer watching her own life unfold, and she couldn't believe what she was seeing. She thought of Wesker and a sick feeling rose in her chest. She hated him – at least, she was pretty sure she did – but her feelings refused to do anything but tangle into a nest of broken threads leading nowhere except utter confusion.

She felt like a traitor for even considering it, but despite what Chris had insinuated, she didn't think his illness had anything to do with Wesker. Not that this meant she trusted him. She was confused and upset, but not stupid. She would never trust the man again. Then why did I let him take Chris down like that? Her stomach tightened uncomfortably. And what about Claire? She obviously trusts him. Jill had known the redhead had changed from the moment she'd set foot in the house. She'd attempted to hide it – and she hadn't done a bad job, either – but Jill had spent too many years on the police force to miss the signs. It was sad how much Raccoon City had changed them. Claire had always put up a brave face, but there were some days even a cheerful smile couldn't reach the haunted look in her eyes. Yesterday when she'd come home…

Jill shook her head. Maybe she was just imagining things, but she could have sworn there'd been a new life to Claire, her every movement filled with a tense feeling of excitement like a storm about to break. And that little slip, how she'd almost called him Albert instead of Wesker, her own admission that she'd willingly set foot in his labs, to say nothing of how she'd tried to defend Umbrella without actually looking like she defending Umbrella. Something had happened to drastically change her opinion of the man, that much was obvious, but she'd kept skating around the topic, repeatedly catching herself at the last minute as if some awful secret was trying to force its way out of her. But why? She kept saying that she knew something about Wesker that they didn't, something she obviously thought would be enough to change everything. What had she been trying to say about Arklay?

The thought alone was enough to make Jill's palms break out in a cold sweat. Claire wasn't the type of person who gave in easily or quickly, but four months was a long time to be alone with somebody like Wesker. All of Jill's suspicions culminated in the accusations Chris had been yelling at the top of his lungs. She didn't know what the elder Redfield had seen, but she could guess. A queasy feeling rose in her stomach as she thought of Claire actually with Wesker, and not just because she didn't think Wesker was capable of being in a relationship. He's just using her. He has to be, thought Jill, the cogs turning furiously. She wondered if Claire really had slept with the man, the queasiness in her stomach growing.

She allowed herself to consider the possibility that Wesker had seduced the younger woman in an attempt to gain something – after all, he'd deceived STARS for years and they'd been trained to detect liars – but something about that didn't feel right even if Jill didn't know what that something was. There was more to the story. There had to be. She'd known Claire for a long time and she was having a hard time imagining sex being enough to sway her one way or the other. What exactly had Wesker made her believe? It has to be something big.

Jill started violently as the elevator chimed and flew open. A doctor came out pushing a grey-faced woman in a wheelchair – a state trooper, judging by her uniform. She was feverishly itching her arm, fingers leaving long red welts as she was taken to Critical. The sight did nothing to lift Jill's mood. What's wrong with Chris anyway? Why are we even in this miserable place? And more to the point, why was Wesker here? Claire's snappish reply hadn't been much of an answer, so Jill couldn't be sure if the younger woman was involved directly, but in the end she decided that it didn't matter.

With dreamlike clarity she knew that if it hadn't been for Wesker, Chris would be taking his final elevator ride down to the morgue. Awfully strange considering he supposedly tried to have us killed a couple years ago, so why not just let Chris die? Better late than never, right? Jill's first instinct was that he'd done it to put Claire under his thumb, but then again why bother? Judging by the way she'd been acting, the "come to the Dark Side" argument was a moot point. Feeling trapped and on the verge of a full-blown anxiety attack, Jill got to her feet and walked the thirty or so feet back to Chris' room. She hadn't wanted to be in there after that last incident, but she hadn't dared leave Chris alone either, afraid of what Wesker might do. And speaking of Wesker…

He was standing further down the hall talking into his cellphone, casually sidestepping the oncoming wheelchair. His back was to her, the set of his broad shoulders conjuring all sorts of unwelcome memories. Jill grit her teeth. Since the day she'd meet him he'd always held his back straight, but somehow his pose still managed seem relaxed and unperturbed – in a dangerous, coiled sort of way. Jill felt a sudden strong urge to know who he was talking to. She cocked her head slightly, managing to pick up some of his low conversation.

"—want you to follow her. Don't reveal yourself unless it's absolutely necessary, do I make myself clear?"

Jill frowned. What the hell was he up to? Who did he need followed? Her urge to check up on Chris redoubling, Jill reached for the knob and started to turn it, but the door stuck fast. She jiggled the latch, swamped by a sudden feeling of dread, and quickly moved to peer between a gap in the sterile green drapes. Chris was lying on his back, the sheets pulled up around his chest. Beside the bed, his heart monitor continued to pulse strongly. Then why…?

"The door's locked, Miss Valentine."

Swallowing a scream, Jill spun around to face Wesker. For the second time in so many hours, she grew uncomfortably aware of the small Taurus revolver concealed against her spine, pulled from her purse in the confusion immediately following Wesker's arrival. It didn't make her feel safer, though. In fact it only made things worse as she contemplated the horrible fact that she was so leery of her former captain and what he might do, she was prepared to pull a gun on him in the middle of the hallway.

"I can see that," Jill snapped, glad to hear that her voice was steady. "Would you mind telling me why?"

"He'll undoubtedly try to leave once he regains consciousness and I can't allow that," said Wesker. "I don't want to sedate him unless I absolutely have to, seeing as it's likely to do more harm than good at this point."

Jill let her hand fall from the knob. Wesker's tone was clinical, emotionless, but there was an edge to his words. He wasn't angry. No, it was something else. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you doing this?" she asked bluntly.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. Showing up here, screwing around with Claire: exactly what kind of game are you playing?"

"It has never been a game to me," said Wesker, the low timbre of his voice slicing through Jill better than any knife. "Chris is very ill and I'm here to make sure he recovers. And as for Claire, my relationship with her is none of your concern."

So they are together! Jill balled her hands into fists – surprisingly not out of a desire to hit Wesker, but rather to stop them from shaking. "What does it matter to you if Chris is sick, anyway?" she demanded, trying desperately to read his expression even though she knew it was a hopeless endeavor.

"I have my reasons," said Wesker, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "That's enough."

"No, it isn't! How can you even stand there after what you did? You don't have the right to care anymore!"

Jill instantly realized her mistake. Accusing him of not having the right to care implied that he did care, which was absurd. She watched as Wesker's mouth flattened into a thin, bloodless line. "You're right," he said coldly, "but that does not change the fact that I am here. I don't recall asking you to trust me."

Jill suddenly had no idea how to respond. She opened and closed her mouth several times, trying desperately to make sense of the situation. The ward suddenly seemed very busy, a flood of doctors and gurneys rushing past to Critical, but they were only shapes passing by in a fog. Memories of Arklay flashed through her mind, rising unbidden from the countless nightmares she'd been forced to suffer. She felt cold. Her head ached. She could picture the cruel glint in Wesker's eyes without even trying, but despite everything, the man standing before her now – all cool composure and frustratingly ambiguous answers – was the Wesker she remembered most clearly. How the hell could they belong to the same man? Wesker smiled ruefully, watching her eyes.

"Go get something to eat," he said.

"No," said Jill, surprised by how much conviction she felt. "I won't let you hurt Chris – or Claire!"

Wesker's smile became a smirk. "Admirable, Miss Valentine, but you clearly haven't thought things through. Why would I make a transatlantic flight to the States just to murder your partner in the middle of a public hospital – after I went through so much trouble to save his life, no less. Your opinion of me is understandable, but your emotions are acting without the benefit of your intellect."

He was the very image of calm; no deadpan, no malice, just the sound of his voice seeping through her brain like some kind of infectious disease. It made sense. He'd gone through an awful lot of trouble just to turn around and wrap his hands around Chris' throat. Just like he went through a lot of trouble to lead us to that Mansion and make sure we ran into all those ridiculous traps. Jill's sweaty fists shook, but despite Wesker's threatening choice of words, she was certain he was just using them to mock her. And then there was how he'd stormed into the ward hollering something about Chris needing his permission to die. Dammit, what am I supposed to think about THAT?

"It wouldn't be the first time you went through a lot of trouble to stab us in the back," Jill blurted. Suddenly she felt desperate.

"No, it wouldn't," Wesker agreed, "but apart from standing guard at the door, what exactly do you plan to do? Call security on me?" He chuckled smugly. "It would be a commendable effort, but utterly futile."

"Want to bet? Even you won't risk making a scene in public!"

"Neither will you," said Wesker, his smile so thin now, it felt like a razor. "After all, you must have seen the threat Chris posed to himself, including the importance of him staying here, or you would have done something already. Isn't that right?"

Jill recoiled as if she'd been burned. It was true. She could have cried out, or even physically tried to stop Wesker, but instead she'd stood by and let him take Chris down, filled with a kind of grim approval of what he was doing. A terrible feeling of conflict rose within her as she stared at Wesker, crossing her arms in hope they would conceal her trembling. She was hiding a weapon, ready to shoot him if need be, but at the same time she was allowing the man to continue playing doctor to Chris. It was nothing if not hypocritical, but what else was she supposed to do? If Wesker had just shown up, slapped handcuffs on them and dragged them kicking and screaming into a waiting helicopter, Jill would have known what to do, but now…

"Dr. Wesker? Sorry, am I interrupting?"

Jill blanched and turned around to see a young man standing just down the hall. Adam, she thought his name was. He glanced worriedly at her, no doubt taking in her white face, her defensive posture. Swallowing, he held up a folder. "The, uh… the results from all the blood tests just came back. Carol said you wanted them?"

"I did, thank you," said Wesker, holding his hand out. Adam gave him the folder and stepped back, obviously not sure what to do next. He looked back at Jill. "You look terrible. Do you want to go get some coffee? I've got a couple minutes."

Jill shook her head. "No, thanks."

"I think it's a good idea," said Wesker firmly. "Go. Walk around; get some fresh air if you think it will clear your head, but whatever you do, I advise you to do it before you suffer a nervous breakdown and I have two patients on my hands. You and I both know there's no point in you continuing to rationalize your presence here."

Jill opened her mouth to say something, but no words would come. He's right, you know. He was always right about everything. Defeated, her shoulders slumped. She felt bone tired, her body silently crying out in response to the promise of coffee. Yes, that would be the best thing right now. It was a dangerous thought, and maybe she was just kidding herself because it was easier than the alternative, but she couldn't shake the sudden feeling that whatever his motivation, Wesker was being sincere – at least for now.

"Maybe I'll have some of that coffee after all."

Adam nodded and turned to go, then stopped. "You want some too, Dr. Wesker?" he asked. There was a moment's pause, and Jill sighed as the weight of the man's gaze finally left her face.

"That would be wonderful," said Wesker.

Jill felt her stomach drop. Just like that, Wesker went from some untouchable, treacherous god to being almost unbearably human. She drew a shuddering breath as he turned away to peruse the contents of Adam's folder, burning holes in the paper with his signature expressionless stare. Only Jill could see the furrows in his brow, the strained lines framing his stern mouth. She knew that look – how could she forget? She'd seen it enough times. What could he possibly be worried about? What the hell's going on?

The realization made her distinctly uncomfortable, but with no legitimate excuses left, Jill had no choice but to turn and follow Adam down the hall. They got into the elevator without a word and Adam punched the number for the ground floor. There was an awkward pause. "So, I uh… I kind of forgot your name. Jean?"

"Jill," she corrected wearily, staring at a lonesome crack in the ceiling. She had to give it to him, having the balls to try and break the ice not once, but twice in the last five minutes. Jill brought her gaze down to study him, remembering that he'd brought Claire some crosswords earlier. He seemed like a nice enough kid. "Thanks, by the way."

Adam grinned. "No problem. You, uh… you kinda looked like you were at the end of your rope back there."

He looked like he wanted to add something else, but didn't. The elevator swished open and Jill followed him to the cafeteria conveniently situated just down the hall. An elderly couple was eating hamburgers near the counter, glancing sympathetically at the man sitting at an adjacent table wearing the dull, vacant expression of someone watching their life crumble. Jill could understand the feeling. She determinedly looked away, instead focusing on Adam as he ordered two cups of coffee and a large energy drink. Jill reached for her wallet, but it was waved aside.

"My treat," said Adam, carrying the coffee over to a little sideboard scattered with packets of sugar and creamer.

Jill frowned, embarrassed. "No, please. Let me get it. It's not like I'm helpless or anything."

"I said I got it," Adam repeated, red in the face but obviously determined to hold his ground. Jill put her money away, wondering why on earth Claire couldn't have fallen for some sweet, awkward little White Knight like him. Where the hell was she, anyway? She hadn't seen the younger Redfield for over an hour. Feeling irritated with Claire for bailing out on her, Jill picked up a coffee and opened several packets of sugar. Adam started to do the same, then paused, looking indecisive

"Guess I should've asked how he wanted it," he muttered.

Jill glanced at the coffee cup undoubtedly meant for Wesker. "Two packs of sugar," she said without thinking. "Otherwise he drinks it black." The words came to her easily, conjuring the countless thousands of times she'd been elected to serve as STARS coffee gofer – willingly or otherwise. Chris: one sugar, heavy on the creamer. Glazed donut. Barry: one sugar, just enough creamer to give things some color. Jelly donut. Captain Wesker: two sugars. Black. Always a maple donut. Jill swayed under the weight of the memory, hiding her eyes behind one hand.

Adam fiddled with the creamer. "I, uh… I take it you and Dr. Wesker have a history," he ventured cautiously.

Dr. Wesker? It was always captain Wesker to us. Jill flinched, her stomach cramping. That man was dead – murdered, lost, a Machiavellian persona cast aside to reveal Wesker's true intentions – but suddenly Jill wondered if that was entirely true. Wesker was here, after all, arriving just as they needed him the most. And it wasn't as if she hadn't noticed how every one of his carefully guarded comments seemed to allude to a personal stake in all this. She swallowed hard.

"You could say that," she admitted weakly.

"Were you two friends… or something? The big guy really seems to have a hard-on for him."

Sensing the unspoken question, Jill almost laughed. "We were in the police force together," she elaborated, unsure why she was telling Adam, but it felt good to get some of it off her chest. "He was our commanding officer. Wesker, I mean."

Adam nodded. She could almost see him forming a picture in his head. No doubt it included Wesker as the team medic, and Jill wasn't sure whether to laugh at the idea or cry. "I'm guessing that didn't pan out too well," Adam said, distractedly pouring sugar into Wesker's coffee. "Something bad happen?"

"Understatement of the century."

Adam gave her a sympathetic glance but didn't ask for details, for which Jill was grateful. She liked the kid more and more by the second. Swirling a liberal amount of half-and-half into her coffee, she raised the cup to her mouth and took a sip. It was delicious, much better than the sludge she'd coaxed out of the vending machine earlier. Apparently it paid to have a native guide. Adam stirred Wesker's coffee and replaced the lid.

"I, uh… I know it's none of my business," he began awkwardly, "and I know Dr. Wesker's the chairman of Umbrella and all, so believe me when I say I'm not just blowing his horn, but I was there when he came rushing into the ward, you know? He really seems to care about the big guy. Claire, too. They, uh… they seem close. She was really starting to loose it before."

He shrugged and blushed, hastily dropping the subject. Jill felt a surge of heat that had nothing to do with the coffee. It didn't take a degree in brain surgery to guess why Chris had freaked out, but even as this thought occurred to her, Jill felt a troubling flash of annoyance for him making a bad situation worse. He obviously hadn't taken into account the fact that his sister had been upset, meaning that Wesker's so-called affections were probably more to do with comfort than lust. After all, he could easily employ one set of ethics while working for Umbrella and an entirely different set with Claire – especially if he actually cared about her. It was unlikely, but not impossible. Her belly gurgling with stress, Jill took a long gulp of coffee, hoping that the pressure forming in her temples wasn't the beginning of a headache. Maybe what she really needed was some codeine from the outpatient pharmacy.

As she was considering this, a mother and two boys came into the cafeteria. The youngest of the pair had his arm in a cast, a plush turtle tucked securely under the other. His eyes were red and glassy, but he smiled as he pointed at the menu behind the counter, saying something about ice cream. Jill stepped out of the doorway to give them room. Standing in the hall, she glanced over the gift shop to a small chapel beside the cafeteria. A dazed young man stood at the door, repeating the same words over and over in a horse monotone. "Morir es vivir… morir es vivir…"

He entered the chapel swaying as if in a trance. Jill couldn't help but feel bad for him, hoping he'd find some kind of comfort in his faith. She wished she could. With a sigh, she let her eyes travel further down the hall to what looked like a small outdoor courtyard where several brave souls were trying to sneak a cigarette. Jill yawned and blearily scrubbed her face with one hand. A couple of minutes out in the cold will probably do me good, she thought, annoyed to realize that she was on the verge of following Wesker's advice not once, but twice. Dammit.

She took another gulp of coffee as Adam joined her in the hallway. "You going to be alright now?" he asked.

"Huh? Yeah, I'll be fine. I was just thinking of getting some air…" Jill glared hatefully at the cool, frosty snowflakes whipping around in the breeze, mentally calling Wesker every nasty and spiteful name she could think of – the nicest of which simultaneously insulted his parentage and implied that a giant mutant cock grew out of his shoulders instead of a head. Adam didn't seem to notice the vicious half-grimace, half-smirk suddenly twisting her mouth.

"Then how about we do this again? Next time I'll grab some flowers and a cheeseburger, and we'll do thing whole date thing right." Adam grinned sheepishly and Jill laughed, suddenly reminded of Chris. She gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Sounds good to me," she said. "Only this time, I'm buy—"

A scream sliced the air. Jill whirled in the direction of the sound, she and Adam exchanging a startled glance. The silence that followed was deafening, mere seconds elongating into forever. More screams suddenly filled the lobby, badly distorted by distance but still all too clear. Jill was already racing down the corridor, old habits unconsciously kicking into gear. The sign for the Emergency Department flashed by as she crashed through the double doors, leading with her shoulder. The ED was a madhouse. Papers floated in the air in a multicolored flurry, people panicking and scrambling in all directions. Someone discharged a gun into the ceiling, shattering a light fixture. With a gasp Jill flattened herself against the jamb as a large crowd violently jostled past her. The screams weren't just in terror now. Many of them were in pain.

Jill frantically pushed her way to the front. The throng parted like a living Red Sea.

A police officer was struggling with woman in a red parka, flailing and trying to shove her aside, but she clung to his arm – snarling and grunting. Another bullet pierced the linoleum floor. Jill first thought was drugs, alcohol maybe, but then she saw the officer's bloody sleeve, the woman's teeth sunk deep in the tendons of his wrist. Jill took a step back, her coffee slipping from nerveless fingers to spatter on the floor. She knew she should run, but it was a distance thought unable to connect with her limbs. This… this isn't happening. It's not! It can't be!

Shoving his hand into the woman's face, the cop frantically tried again to pry her off, stumbling backwards into a gurney left against the admitting counter. The patient lying on it twitched then slowly sat up with a deep, gurgling moan no longer able to be mistaken for human. He lurched forward and bit into the side of the officer's exposed throat, blood spurting all over his face in an ugly crimson plume. The officer screamed and crashed to the ground with his two assailants atop him, biting and chewing, ripping out great chunks of flesh. Jill's breath left her in a desperate little moan.

"No, not this… not again…"