Author's Note: I have to thank everybody for their support on the last chapter: it made me sooooo happy! Here we are with more answers and yet MORE questions, so hang on to your seats, gents. Anyways, enjoy!^^

Disclaimer: The usual.

V

Equation, unbalanced

Hell in his mind

"You still don't know why?" Jill inquired, solemn. The only thing he wanted to do was escape, to simply leave without a word, but his shock would root him there to his place.

"I didn't even know they were there," Wesker replied, unnaturally subdued. "I had remembered many and written them down, but none of them were... like what I've just seen. Damn it..."

It had taken him longer than both he and Jill had expected to calm down, set his thoughts in order and make sense of everything he'd seen in such a short time. He had a hunch: it had been an immense amount of information and he hadn't even grasped a fraction of it; still, it pulsated in the back of his mind, senseless and clear. Wesker had barely told her about that which he had seen, had only given her a clue: repressed memories. The question hung in the air, but Wesker already had the answer to the reason behind their existence.

"All this time, I've been sure of what my memories were, of how much of my life I remembered, but now I see that was nothing." He sighed, somehow overwhelmed by the feeling of her eyes upon him, and said nothing more. Wesker glanced at her, follow her downcast gaze, and smirked. "Don't look for a suitable apology; it will pass, as everything does."

"Don't dismiss it like that!" Jill shot back, then it was her turn to sigh. "Is that why... why you were barely 'approachable' these days?" she asked with a bitter tinge of humor. It wasn't a critic or snide comment, perhaps just an observation, but it bugged him nonetheless. When he didn't reply, she said, "Well, I also have to apologize for what I said. It's just that... well, I-"

He rose up his hand. "No, you had all the right to say that."

"Say what?" Wesker smirked at Jill's shocked expression. "And where did that come from? I was thinking you'd come up with something else."

This time, she let out a barely audible laugh as she sat down next to him, apparently having second thoughts about keeping her distances. He had to swallow hard when she did; having avoided Jill for so long had made him grow used to being alone again. It wasn't like before, when he would accept her company without the slightest complaint; now, it was different. Wesker was trying much too hard not to keel over like a boat in the middle of a tempest.

"If my snapping satisfies you, then I'm afraid you won't get it this time," he said, avoiding her eyes when they searched for his. He couldn't bear looking at her, not now. But he would crumble down, fall, if he didn't accept her help and support. Jill had shown more concern towards him than anybody else in a very long time; why betray her trust now? "I don't know what to say... I don't even know if I can say anything; it's just..."

"You want me to clear the area?" Jill asked, making as if she were about to stand up.

"You want the truth or half the truth?" Wesker asked in return, bitter. Jill didn't reply right off the bat.

"I'll take the first option, thanks," she then said, crossing a leg over the other. "But really now, I want you to talk to me. I've been trying... God knows how long to get a proper answer out of you, but you wouldn't oblige. I need answers, Wesker, or I'll really be your fifth wheel."

"What do you want me to say? What do you want me to tell you? I wouldn't even know where to begin, truth be told," Wesker said, sighing at the end and somehow expectant to hear what she had to say in return. She just looked at him, frowning, and her question came.

"What happened back there? What happened that has brought you to such a state?" Concern was more than evident in her voice, not to mention her not-so-unseen iron will. It was clear that she wanted to know, she wanted to help in every way possible, an intention that brought him out of his confusion.

"It could've been... a repressed memory. Before you ask why, I would think you already know the answer," he said, this time meeting her gaze. "What happened was that... I saw everything my life is made of, perhaps even that which I've been running away from." Wesker was momentarily surprised at both his honesty and how calm he seemed to be despite the shock.

"Is it...?" Jill intentionally let the question hang once more, giving him much needed time to sort out his thoughts and give his answer. It was horrible to remember, to know that what he had seen was part of his mad childhood, to feel all he had grown so used to but at the same time feared with all his might.

"Yes," Wesker said in the end. "Fear, death, despair... you can figure. All my life, I've avoided pain, suffering, at all costs. There's always so much one can take, you know that better than anyone."

"And that's been bugging you all this time?"

"Only after all this started, I believe. But it doesn't add up: I don't know why they would have to resurface now. They could've years ago." Wesker immediately fell silent, pensive. Then, "When we argued back there, it all came back in a tremendous wave; emotions, I mean. The castle of cards came down, it seems."

"I didn't really want to argue, but you left me no choice... sort of," Jill admitted, shrugging. "I sometimes even wondered how you could be strong enough to keep everything at bay. It was... unnatural."

"Looking back, I'd say it was a bit, but nothing out of the ordinary. I've always been like that." Wesker caught Jill's hard look, scolding and defiant towards his words. "Well, perhaps not."

"You were shaped to be like that," she stated, emphasizing her words with gestures. "I can't believe you-"

"-didn't fight?" Wesker finished for her, seeing where the remark was going, and he smirked. "You, out of all people, must know that whenever you're broken to the extreme, you barely find the strength to go on." Jill stiffened at this. "For me, the only thing I could cling to was that I had been inculcated; when that happens, you're reborn. Firstly, of course, they had to make us stoop low. We were-"

"-stripped of our essence, our selves torn apart." Jill whispered that with him, her gaze downcast.

"Now you understand?" Wesker asked. "Now you see why?" Jill nodded, welcoming silence. "We were told to go numb, to shield ourselves from what the world was... from what humanity in itself was. We were told that it had been because of our weakness, our emotions, that we had been brought there; we were told that they'd reshape us into stronger beings, immune to even ourselves. When you've got nothing to lose, you accept the offer in a heartbeat, regardless of the risks. That's exactly what I did."

"Was it when they beat you up?"

"Don't do this! He's just a child!"

Silence. Jill's breath hitched for a moment, the question having come out too fast and harsh, but Wesker dismissed it.

"Yes. There was also this... desire to think ahead, to know what to do when the time came."

"You were stripped of virtues and flaws, but you still felt them unconsciously," Jill reasoned, nodding. "Hunt or be hunted..."

"Kill or be killed," Wesker finished. Every day of his life, it had been like that. "It was that simple. I was never going to let myself fall; I would kill when others wouldn't, I would hunt and get my reward." He suddenly remembered that voice in his vision, that other boy that had encouraged him to keep fighting, and decided it'd be best to tell her. "There was... somebody else with me, somebody who fought insistently against the fate that had befallen us. I haven't seen him since."

"That's what you saw?" Jill inquired, her eyes growing wide. "The cell, that boy... yourself?"

"In dreams and reality," he replied. "There was no way to escape the vision and I haven't made any sense out of it yet. I know what it pertains to, but it seems bizarre still."

And now, as if he were expecting some convincing answer or remark from Jill, Wesker met her eyes again, searching for an unknown something in them. She was pensive, taking in all the information, thinking. All of a sudden, she smiled a smile he had never seen before in her. Even that left him surprised.

"How did you do it?"

"Excuse me?" Almost perplexed because of her not-so-subtle mood swing, Wesker cocked an eyebrow.

"I mean, I'm more than willing to help you, otherwise I wouldn't be here, but... I've just thought about it and it looks like my equation has been balanced," she told him, her tone kind. "Now I see you're one of the strongest people I've ever met." Her words were sincere, tinged with genuine appreciation. "It's natural to be afraid of being afraid in itself, death and pain, but we cannot help it. In spite of that... didn't you ever have the feeling you'd come down at any minute? How could you keep going?"

Wesker saw her two reasons to ask the questions: one, her genuine curiosity; two, to subtly change topics... and perhaps there was even a third, one he couldn't figure out. "I'll speak in past tense: I was 'trained' to be like so, I did feel like so and more than a few times, but I was never going to allow anything to deter me. But alas, you know everything's relative, yes?"

"It seemed like more than persistence to me, honestly," Jill countered, smiling. "Sorry if I asked that question, but... I was curious. It seemed the right moment to ask, too."

"Now, I don't know what to think," Wesker admitted after a few seconds of silence, and it was more than true. "I may need some time to settle down and get everything in order."

"You want me to clear the area?" Jill asked again, this time standing up completely.

"You want the truth or half the truth?" Wesker inquired with the feeblest of smiles and imitating her action. "Déjà vú, anyone?"

What he didn't expect was a chuckle, mirthful and lively. Wesker was surprised to see how easily a laugh could come, no matter the situation. Joy was not unknown to him, but the one he'd felt was completely different to what others could feel. "Don't ask me why... but I believe I understand."

"Did you now?"

He nodded. "And I suppose I should-"

"What?" she cut in, a hand on his chest. "Thank me? Apologize? Nah, there's no need for that. Besides, if you had done either of them or both, I wouldn't have accepted them. I just... stuck with you; I had to, after all. I couldn't just leave you aside; I wouldn't have forgiven myself." Her hand moved to his heart. "What are you feeling now, eh?"

At this, he didn't know how to reply. His old instincts got in the way once more: would he tell her or would he lie? Would he once more push her away or would he welcome her like he'd done some time ago? He had all too willingly included her in his life, had shared with her secrets nobody would've ever figured out, and most important of all: she had shown him nothing more than appreciation in return. How could he repay that? He could lie to himself again and say he had never needed it, but its warmth had never felt bitter, tinged with hypocrisy. Perhaps it was time to feel what he wanted to, not what he should. But how could he ever reintroduce himself into what the world was? How could he ever feel like fitting in again? Would emotions hurt as they always had?

It then felt as if Jill had just read his mind. "Sometimes it will hurt, but it's only natural... if you catch both meanings," she told him, winking an eye at him. "How many times have you used others against me? I've never renounced to them, I've never let those close to me be harmed. It's true that whenever you hold something close to yourself, it becomes others' target, but the determination to get it back is what makes it worth."

"Are you trying to teach me something?" Wesker inquired, slightly amused. "I've learnt all this throughout the years, watching you, watching others..."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she snapped, crossing her arms defensively. "Then I suppose I could've just ditched you and leave you alone brainstorming."

"That would've been most unsuitable," Wesker replied, touching the back of his hand to her cheek. It felt warm, different. Jill smiled, amused.

"Are you going soft on me?" Something clicked again. He immediately withdrew his hand, harsh, realizing his mistake, but then her hand shot up to grasp his wrist. It felt like he had tripped again, made the same mistake twice, like he had been saved from drowning and allowed to breathe again. "I'm not tricking you, and I was just messing with you. I won't criticize you for what you choose: it's up to you."

Wesker looked into her eyes, words feeling unnecessary for him, and she understood. "I don't know what leads me to ask this, but... people can change, correct?"

Jill nodded. "Of course. I knew you'd changed some time after we... well, reunited?" She chuckled again at the word. "Sometimes it's consciously, sometimes it's not, but it isn't inevitable. Let's be honest: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?"

"It would seem so," he agreed, going with the flow. There was something in her behavior that sent his reasoning on a full three-sixty spin; it was as though he had no reason to reply or question her words. His answers felt as if uncalled for, as if he had been stripped from the right of replying: she was saying it all.

"You're going to hate me for this," she began, suddenly looking down, "but Chris once told me that... we're only weak if we believe ourselves to be. There's always a choice, there's always something we can... assimilate to get stronger, no matter how twisted that may be." Jill looked up at him. "Did you make that mistake?"

Wesker didn't need any further guidance: he knew where she was going and what she was referring to. "But now that I know... perhaps it was because I was led to believe it."

"That would be my opinion," Jill agreed, nodding in agreement. But then something felt strange.

"What are you trying to have me do?" Wesker turned, paced away from her. "It may seem heartless –to you, that is- after all you've told me, but I believe you're trying to tie me down with chains so strong I will never break free. Do you feel compelled to pull me down to your level?"

"I'm trying to make you realize that you've been wrong in many ways," Jill replied. "Others… well, I have to say that I agree with them, but… I just want you to see, that's all. And, as I also said... I'm leaving the choices up to you."

He remained silent, pondering. It was like being pulled out from the naïve bliss ignorance provided, but it was also stepping into the flames of knowledge. With every truth came a price to pay, and that price was most often pain… like it always was. As Jill had said, there was no escaping it. Emotions could be rejected, evaded, but not pain: it was everywhere.

"After I saw Spencer one last time," he began, "I changed: I became more self-confident, more than ever, and I allowed myself a few... let's say luxuries. Looking back, I think I never realized it."

He fell silent once again. All that thinking and reasoning was making him queasy, but all the conclusions he had reached were far from false. For a moment he considered the possibility of a different outlook, but would that mean a full reconstruction of his self? It had happened to him once, an experience horrible beyond the humanly possible, and it had only gotten him into dark alleys of doubt.

Perhaps I don't have to change at all. There's nobody here to tell me what I should believe, how I should shape myself... I have never been able to cut myself loose from the threads that held me back: perhaps those threads, those chains, weren't emotions themselves... but what I had been led to believe about them. Experience has shown me many things, none too pleasant, but no matter what I've done, I've always felt some kind of pain... pain I've maybe barely overcome. I just have to-

"Hey." Jill's soft call brought him back to reality. "You've gone quiet all of a sudden. Is everything okay?"

"Merely thinking, but yes," he replied, "everything's fine."

And with that, he welcomed Jill into an embrace, his desire to hold her close at last satisfied. She was more than willing to stay there, to hold him tight and kindly, and Wesker finally understood the meaning of feeling at ease. He tightened his grip around her, allowing her warmth to spread all over him, and exhaled. He didn't know how long he stayed there, with his arms around her and keeping her close to him like his most cherished possession. It was what he needed: there was no other way around it.

Wesker withdrew and their eyes met again, this time with his own intention. After a moment, all he could do was give her a feeble smile; he didn't dare to attempt anything else. But it was just what she needed to smile her own smile, once more kind and amiable. That gaze and that smile had only marked the start of it all: in just a moment, he felt her warm lips upon his own, drawing him deeper into irrationality. It was brief, tentative, and then her intentions were clear: she was testing him. He lowered his hands to her neck, indulging in her touch. In that moment, they slowed down, breathed in as she gently touched her forehead to his.

It had been the first and last thing he'd ever wanted, to resort to accepting her love: something about it had hurt his ego and pride.

As she separated and pulled him into a tight embrace, he knew nothing would be the same anymore.

Amanda stepped out of the kitchen with a shot glass of whiskey in either hand and then sat down by Allen's side, who barely smiled when he noticed her. "What?" Perhaps Allen wasn't amused towards her attire, consisting of a black tee and a pair of low-waist slacks, but when she thought it over…

"Drinking again?" Allen sighed, looked away from the screen of his laptop. "Surprise me: what's the bang this time?" he asked, crossing his arms. Amanda cocked an eyebrow at him, unable to feel loathing towards his typical goofy smiles, but then she shrugged, looking away from him. She focused her attention on Allen's legs, which were stretched out with his feet resting on the small central table, and frowned for a very long instant.

"You don't have to make that face, you know," Allen suddenly said, turning back to his work again. "Yeah, I always wonder what it'd be to stand on your own, but day-dreaming doesn't do it for me; it only brings back bitter memories I don't want to remember."

He patted his right leg, the one Amanda had been looking at, to draw her attention back to him. Amanda once more flinched at his smile. He chuckled.

"You've not even drank the shot and you're already downcast; I hope alcohol does some good on you."

This time, Amanda couldn't help a laugh, thoroughly amused and free of concern.

"You know me: nobody stands me when I'm drunk."

"Oh, come on," Allen protested, leaving his laptop halfway closed. "Of all the women I've met that tend to get drunk, you're the only one who hasn't gone through one night stands over and over again! You should be proud of yourself; not many women have such a high tolerance."

"Oh, so now I've got another reason to drink?" Amanda shot back, slouching in the sofa. "Perfect!" She let out a long sigh, running a hand through her black hair and then down her face. She was horribly tired, which was why she had resorted to alcohol to get some good sleep: she had cut her attention off from work at four in the morning; to top it off, she had a free day, so that freedom also spoke of using whiskey to her favor. But alas, now she could barely picture herself drinking despite her fondness for Jack Daniel's. When she looked up, she saw Allen with his eyes on her. "What? Wondering about how strange it is to combine whiskey with six in the morning?"

He smiled. "Look... Strangelove, I'm worried too. I think I'm more worried about you than about this case!" Amanda blinked a few times, not believing her ears. "I mean, you should've seen your face when you got William's call! The color drained right out of you. You've got a strong heart, I know, but you went... pale as a sheet."

She had received said call mere minutes before midnight. She had spoken with somebody named William about the case involving Chris Redfield. Amanda had been made an offer: if she could get Jill and the others to him, then he would take over for the rest of the ride, not to mention give her the answers she was seeking. Naturally, she had accepted, not before thinking it with great care, but not to leap at such a chance would be foolish. William had also mentioned Wesker, the name that had been the reason behind Amanda's reaction.

This man must've made a list of all the people who want to kill him, no doubt.

"Well... to know that someone can help you kill the man who led your brother to his death is not something that happens to you every day," Amanda replied, closing her eyes. Why was it that she felt so compelled to pull the trigger of her own gun and put a bullet through Oliver's killer's forehead? Though snappy and of sometimes brittle behavior and disposition, Amanda had never thought of resorting to violence: now, it seemed, she had no choice if she wanted to put herself and her brother at ease. "I've never killed someone, Allen, but I just..." She buried her face in her hands.

Allen sighed, nodding. "It's alright, no need to talk anymore. I'm just concerned, and I certainly hope we get this case off our backs as soon as possible."

He shared a look with Amanda, one she knew it was bright and encouraging, and smiled. "You know what?" In that moment, he reached for his own shot glass and eyed it with one quirked eyebrow. "I don't usually do this, but I suppose one time won't hurt."

Amanda couldn't believe the sight: Allen, drinking? And Jack Daniel's, no less. "Since when have you harbored a fondness for drinking?"

"Since… now, I guess," he replied, nonchalant. "I've already been deprived of the ability to walk; let's not count the ability to keep a bit of Jack off myself."

Amanda smiled, raising her own glass. "Alright… To the success of this case…"

"To us…" added Allen and then, at the unison,

"To the most dysfunctional pair of people to ever walk this earth."

12:25 am.

"Hold the phone: a letter for you?" Sherry asked Rebecca, whose face changed with a fleeting moment of anxiety and worry. From a corner of Sherry's study, Claire was carefully eyeing Rebecca with narrowed eyes and tense stance.

She pursed her lips, tightening her grip around her bicep. Claire had found Rebecca in her room, her eyes and cheeks red from crying, and beside her laid the letter, almost untouched. She had read the letter, and it was from Chris himself: there was no mistaking his handwriting no matter how messy it was. And now, with that clue in their hands, they had hurried along to tell the others: Chris was indeed getting worse by the moment. He had desperately asked for her and Jill's help with no hesitation, no second thoughts: it was exactly like Wesker had said.

She then turned her attention to Jill, who seemed took it more naturally than one could expect. She was more than likely hiding her surprise; Claire knew that much. What was also clear was that she was as tense as Claire, overly alert and on the lookout for any kind of detail that somebody could've missed.

He's fighting back… He's fighting back; I know he is. We're almost there, Chris; don't you leave us now!

"What I don't understand is why he would approach you instead of others, like me for example," she piped up, shifting her stance with uneasiness. "He states right there that Jill and I are his sole links to sanity, quoting him, so why not contact us first?"

Leon shot her a hard look, but it wasn't because of it that Claire shivered.

"Of us, Rebecca and I would be, let's say, the most suitable," he said, not unkindly but without smiling. "His approach was careful; I myself, if I were him, wouldn't risk anything. The matter doesn't let us think too clearly, so we could've very well done something we would've regretted later."

He was completely right. Had it happened any other way, Claire herself wouldn't have believed it. Perhaps hope would've been rekindled, but not for long: his words and the letter itself pointed at his detrimental state of mind that would kill him sooner than later. Claire felt such a strong knot in her gut she thought she'd faint.

Jill frowned, then reasoned, "He also said they'd be moving somewhere shortly. '24-5-14-9-3-5'… Considering the only two places where they can keep going are Florence and Venice, then…"

"Those numbers are the code to one of them, and I'd say it's Venice," Sherry completed, clearly voicing her thoughts aloud. "Matching them with letters of the abc, it's a perfect match. Though it wouldn't explain why Greene was killed in Florence."

"Perhaps a free day?" Wesker interjected with slight humor. "It's not that far-fetched and it would be quite the opportunity to catch her unawares. As for the means of transportation, let's not wonder about them: Marco's got tricks up his sleeve and I for one, regarding that, am not interested in finding out." He sighed. "So it's Venice, after all…"

"Did you have any sort of hunch about it?" Claire inquired, narrowing her eyes further. Was Wesker keeping things from them?

"I would think so," he merely responded, dipping his head at her.

"Another lead we had taken into account was the location of the executive board's building, which was also in Venice. As I said, the more silent, the better; otherwise, just imagine."

"'We'"? Rebecca echoed, tilting her head in suspicion.

"We," Wesker said, gesturing at himself and Sherry, who smiled, "did some thinking of our own, thinking we decided to discuss with you when the time came. Said time is now and we've done it."

Claire paid no further attention to the rest of the conversation. She looked away from Sherry, remained pensive. As discreetly as she could she tapped her foot on the floor, giving vent to all the frustration that gnawed at her non-stop. She feared losing Chris to time, to himself, and that she wouldn't be able to stop him from falling. Just the letter brought imaginary screams to her mind, screams that awfully resembled her brother's, which did nothing to bring her determination up to another level. She had to get him back, but at what cost?

"We need to go," she suddenly said. "We've got to get to Venice."

"Exactly what we were discussing right now." Claire looked up to Jill, whom she found smiling confidently at her.

But then, knock, knock. The same scenario from hours ago repeated itself: rapping at the door and then Zoe came in as flustered as Jean-Jacques had showed himself to be. There was silence, dreadful silence, as everybody waited. Claire felt her heart literally pounding in her ears, cold chills running down her spine.

Then,

"Marco's dead."

A/N: There, as natural as that. Remember the last line in the first epilogue? Go and check it out again if you don't remember because you're in for a nasty surprise; if you know, YES... things are heading that way. I'll get the next chapter up as soon as possible; in the meantime, brainstorm xD

Reviews are appreciated!^^