AN - I wanted to get this chapter up sooner but the last couple of weeks have been a lot busier than I expected them to be. But here it is! And it's a stupid time right now, so apologies for any mistakes there may be. I have checked it through, but my brain is all but shutting itself down right now.

I want to say a hug thank you to everyone who has been reading so far. Honestly, I was astounded when I saw how many hits the prologue received! I think that's the most for any chapter of anything I've ever posted in such a short frame of time so seriously, thank you! I hope not to lfet you all down ;). As for the reviews, again many thanks, and keep them coming! I had intended on Chris being a little more of an asshole for a while longer but I've toned it down a bit after reading through the reviews - believe it or not but I do take your feedback into account where I can ;). And again, it's nice to see 'regulars' back!

Everything About You

Chapter One - Like Cat and Dog

'Love sees sharply, hatred sees even more sharp,
but jealousy sees the sharpest for it is love and hate at the same time.'
~Arab Proverb~

May 27, 1996. 11:24am. Raccoon City Police Department.

Forest kicked at her heels with the toe of his boot, easing her legs apart.

"Shoulders back," he told her. "Not that far!"

Jill sighed as he chuckled, evidently finding the whole scenario hilarious. Why had he offered to help with her admittedly terrible aim? Sure, he was a good shot, but she was a terrible student and he a mediocre teacher.

"Okay, fire," he instructed.

The crack of the firearm resounded, all eyes on her - quite an audience seemed to have gathered.

"Wow," Richard said, emotionless. "At least I'm not the worst shot on the team anymore."

Groaning, she set the gun down, shaking off the tension that seemed to have built in every joint.

"I'm done!" she announced. "I suck, we get it. Let's just go."

But Forest caught her arm as she tried to walk away. His grip was strong, his pull insistent.

"You need to work on this!" he told her. "If Wesker finds out that the gap between us is this wide, he's doing to demote you at least. You could be off the team. You want that?"

The truth was that she had always been very average when it came to weaponry. She was skilled in hand-to-hand combat, a bona-fide master in Krav Maga. Her shortcomings had never been so obvious in the past because her colleagues had been average also. Here, her colleagues were the best of the best, could make even the most difficult of shots with little effort. She could hit cans from a distance with a decent firearm, but that was about it.

"Okay, okay," she sighed. "But Forest, I'm doing everything that you're telling me! I just...I suck! Period."

"Or maybe your teacher sucks." She had not registered Chris's presence, had not seen him hidden away behind the others. How long had he been watching?

"Oh, you challenging me again?" Forest laughed. The two men smirked at one another, eyes met in a gaze so intense she half expected a face-off then and there. A friendly rivalry, perhaps?

But Chris walked right past him, at Jill's side before she knew what was happening.

"Pull your shoulders up, not down," he told her. Large hands slid up her arms, repositioning them. "Lean into the shot, aim a little lower. You're too tense; relax!"

He pulled at her waist as he corrected her posture, standing behind her before pulling her back into him, using his own body as a guide. She could smell tobacco on his breath, but there was something about the scent that she found comforting. His warmth was almost intoxicating, and she did not fail to notice the bulge of his bicep as it touched her arm, or the hard pectorals that pressed into her shoulder blades.

"Good, now fire."

She did, barely paying attention to the direction of her aim. Applause erupted around her as Enrico brought the slide forward: one shot, perhaps half an inch from the centre of the target.

"Dammit," Forest sighed, clapping a hand on Chris's shoulder. "I hate how you're always right."

Loathe though she was to admit it, Jill had to agree. With barely a few pointers, Chris had succeeded in achieving what Forest had not in numerous sessions.

"How-" she gasped, still not quite beliefving that she had achieved such a feat. "How did you do that?"

The warmth behind her disappeared, all contact severed. Strangely, she was sad to see it go.

"What?" he chuckled. "Did they not teach you how to shoot in Delta?"

And whatever gratitude she had felt towards him vanished in an instant.

"You're mocking me while I'm holding a loaded gun? Did they not teach you common sense in the Air Force?"

His eyes darkened, and she knew then that his little jab was not simply an innocent joke. He did that a lot; insulted her under the guise of humour. The others would tell her to lighten up, would assure her that it was simply his sense of humour. But she was not that gullible, and her partner knew it.

"Relax," he smiled, resorting to his usual defence. "I was joking."

Anger fuelling her, she turned to the new target Enrico had raised, positioned herself as Chris had, tightened her arms, and fired.

She didn't even hit the target.

"Son of a bitch!" she screamed.

When she turned again, Chris was gone, the others slinking away from her. Richard's hand appeared on her shoulder, squeezed lightly as he reached to pluck the gun from her hands.

"Anger doesn't help," he sighed. "Quite the contrary, actually. Don't let him get to you."

It was easier said than done. He was a personal plague to her, determined not to destroy her but to drive her into destroying herself. So far, she surmised that it was working; her usual level-headedness eluded her lately, calm merely a state of mind that she could only hope to attain.

'I really hate that man.'

May 27, 1996. 1:00pm. Raccoon City Police Department.

Chris's lunch hour was barely over, yet he still yawned as though he were ready to crawl into bed. A magnitude of paperwork had been the trigger for insomnia this time. In fact, he could not recall sleeping at all.

'You're still a better shot thanf her half-asleep,' his ego told him. How had she gotten so far with a shot so lousy? Sure, she had him beat in every aspect of physical combat now that she was putting strength - perhaps a little too much - behind her attacks. But still, she was so far behind the others that she may as well have been a regular officer.

'She excels in every other area,' he remembered. 'A shot is nothing in comparison to what she is capable of.'

And once again, he was thinking about her. Truthfully, he had completed a whole week's worth of paperwork last night for the sole reason that it was the only way he could get her off his mind. Nobody had ever gotten to him the way she did, nobody had ever irritated him so much.

Somewhere along the line, he had forgotten why he hated her so much…he just did.

"I always knew you were an asshole," Barry chuckled, startling him a little; he had not noticed that he was not alone in the locker room. "Young pilots; you're all the same. But you're really pushing the boat out here."

Jill. Who else could he be talking about? Chris pretended to ignore him as he turned his back on his locker, but he was never the type to remain silent.

"Don't give me that bull about you not treating her any differently," Barry warned, cutting him off when his mouth was barely open. He was suddenly stern, suddenly emphasising his latent superiority.

"But I'm not! If she can't take my jokes, that's her problem."

"So maliciousness is masquerading as humour now, is it?"

A growl escaped his lips; an actual growl.

"She thinks that she is so much better than me!" he spat, well aware of how juvenile he sounded in that moment. He couldn't help it; she seemed to drag him down to a schoolyard level of thinking. "She thinks that she has the right to boss me around just because she trained with Delta. So what? I was a registered pilot at the age of twenty-two!"

The words returned like a heavy boomerang, hit him in the gut. Was that really how he appeared when he spoke to the others? Did he really sound so whiny when he voiced his feelings about that irritating partner of his?

'Maybe it's your reasons for hating her that are childish,' reason told him. 'Of course your actions are going to be juvenile if the emotion driving them is.'

Physically, he shook the thought from his mind. Of course he had reasons for hating her and yes, some were immature. But she was equally childish in return, answering his jibes with wit he would not have expected from his seventeen-year-old sister.

"Do us all a favour and grow up," Barry warned him. "You resent her status and you're afraid that she will overshadow you. I've been in this business longer than you, boy, and I know ego when I see it."

Perhaps he was right? After all, he had never held the skills and experience of the others against them.

'But they didn't rub it in your face,' he fumed inwardly.

When he returned to the office, he was surprised to see her there, setting down to complete fresh paperwork that should have been shared between them. He never liked forms, so had been happy to let her scribble away to her heart's content on their joint-projects; she seemed to enjoy it, who was he to spoil her fun?

She took her job a lot more seriously thafn the rest of the team, to the point of never having time to accompany them on post-work drinks or burgers. Or perhaps she thought their gatherings beneath her? Perhaps she had no wish to spend time with her colleagues?

'Calm,' he urged himself. 'You can do this. She's not going anyfwhere, so you're just going to have to learn to get along.'

"You need a hand with that?" he asked. The tip of her pen slipped against the paper, surprise evident in her eyes as she looked up. Was it his offer of help or the fact that he had spoken a few neutral words to her?

"Um...s-sure," she stammered. Fumbling with the pile of papers before her, she handed a few over to him, sliding over so that he could bring his chair alongside hers. An unfamiliar scent became noticeable as he moved closer - she had changed her shampoo, her body wash...something. Yes, something was different.

'How the hell do you notice that?' he wondered.

"This is just a simple case of filing witness reports," she told him. Apparently surprise had alleviated, allowing professionalism to fall back into place. She was always more professional than he, always level-headed and calm, even when she threw gentle insults his way. Perhaps he admired her a little for it; he would never admit to it, not even to himself. "I'll read out the names, you tick them off the list, write down the case reference, and mark whether or not we need to do follow-up and any evidence that is linked to their testimony."

A polite nod was the only response that he offered.

Even her desk was orderly, everything neat and organised; the pens within her desk tidy were arranged according to colour, paperclips too. There was only one personal effect in view - a photograph of a young man. The colours were a little dull, quite reminiscent of 1980's photography. Was he a relative? Perhaps a boyfriend? Jill did strike him as the type to prefer older, more mature men...if she preferred men at all, that was; he could usually tell, but with her the best he could give was an educated guess.

"Okay, first witness is Jean Palmer," Jill announced. "Case ref. 908, no follow-up, no evidence."

He carefully marked it down, handwriting neater than usual.

"No, Jean with a 'J'. Female. J-E-A-N. Like the pants."

A snarky comment rose in his throat, but he bit it down. 'Jean with a "J"' would have been enough. So far, so good...he could do this!

"Adelaide Francis - that's Francis with an 'i'. Case ref. 904, follow-up needed, linked to evidence 9047."

'"Francis with an 'i'",' mocked a voice in his head.

"Wait, no, you're doing it wrong," she pointed out. "Case reference goes here. You need to write the names next to the reference numbers, too."

Chris held his breath as her fingertips slipped over his hand, moving it towards the correct box. He stared incredulously at the offending appendage, the words that she offered unheard.

And then he moved, flinging her hand aside, the pen clattering to the desk.

"Point!" he told her. "Don't grab my hand and move it, just point!"

Jill gasped, jumped back in her seat. Perhaps his voice had been a little too ferocious, perhaps he had shown just a little too much anger.

"I'm sorry!" she said, throwing her hands in the air. "There is no need to shout!"

"No, there is. Because you don't seem to understand normal human interaction." He had snapped, something had flipped within his brain. The hold she had over him was powerful, the emotions that she dragged to the surface toxic. "Do you even want to be part of this team? Because skill amounts to nothing when you have no consideration for your colleagues."

Jill's eyes widened, fire raging behind a deceptively calm shade of blue. Perhaps that was why he enjoyed arguing with her so much? Because he knew that it would always be an equal fight, the outcome never certain from the start.

"Don't take your personal issues with me and assume it's a universal concept," she warned. "I get along just fine with the others. Somehow it's only you that has a problem with my ways, you-" she jabbed a finger in his direction, "-who has a problem with constructive criticism. You know what you are, Chris? You're a jock who never left high school. You were a qualified pilot by the age of twenty-two; I'm not denying that you are skilled, are gifted even, but you possess the same attitude that every other over-achiever has. Vanity, Chris. You are so used to being praised, to being singled out as the 'hero', top of his class. I had to work my ass off to get where I am today, so excuse me if I'm not willing to bow to some punk who thinks he's better than me just because he can hit the centre of a target every time he fires a gun. You aren't a hero, Redfield, you aren't special, and your past achievements don't mean squat here. You are one member of a team, so start fucking acting like one. That is your issue, not mine."

Her rage was terrifying. Somehow, she succeeded in remaining calm and composed even though fury dripped from every syllable. He could feel how strongly she felt about this...how much she hated him. It was an achievement he had never thought possible to attain; provoking such a powerful negative emotion from anyone, let alone a woman. And strangely enough, it was not an achievement that he was proud of.

But then, an even more disturbing occurrence found its way to the moment. A tear fell, clinging to long lashes before she raised her right hand and quickly brushed it away. Perhaps she thought that she had been quick enough, that he had not seen that one droplet of weakness. But the light that glistened on its curves did not lie.

"I have dealt with a million different levels of shit in my life," she said. "But nobody has ever made me feel the way you do."

Shame: it was something that he had never felt before, but somehow it crawled beneath his skin, made him feel like the scum of the Earth. And yet it only fed his anger, only gave him further reason to despise her. Because she was right; pride was his downfall, always had been.

"You don't know anything about me," he said, continuing to stare at the surface of her desk as she gathered her immediate possessions and made to leave. "You have no idea what I have been through, what I have dealt with, and you sure as hell don't know who I am."

A dry, humourless laugh escaped her lips as she rose.

"Then let's keep it that way. I don't particularly enjoy being your partner, but we have to find a way to make this work. If that means silence and suppressed animosity, then so be it. This job is a great personal victory, and I am not going to let you take that away from me."

May 27, 1996. 3:00pm. Raccoon City Police Department, Training Grounds.

Paintball. It was a game that she rarely played socially, let alone as a training exercise. Joseph had explained to her that they had once used BB guns, until arguments broke out over whether or not certain shots had hit their target; a splash of bright yellow paint was difficult to protest.

"Sometimes, I don't think Captain Wesker knows what he's doing," Joseph told her, chuckling quietly to himself as he checked his weapon. "Though I gotta admit, paintball is good for combat practice. Not sure I'd trust you with a BB gun."

She rolled her eyes at his joke but cracked a smile. Paintball guns were difficult to aim with at times, but she assumed that the objective of the game was not to take down the enemy but rather to work as a team. It may have been a childish activity, but she could not fault the logic in Wesker's decision to use it.

"Good luck," Joseph wished her before he left to join Bravo Team. Of course; this was the one training exercise where they had no choice but to work in their assigned teams...with their assigned partners.

She was still loading her own weapon when Chris joined her, nodding to Barry and Brad across the way. Wesker was nowhere to be seen, likely hiding amongst the stacked crates at the other end of the warehouse. It was a good environment, she would admit that much.

"I'll take point," Chris instructed; it was not so much a friendly discussion as an exchange of orders with no room for input. "You swing right, cover me from there."

A quick glance through the boards that they crouched behind was enough to highlight every flaw in his relatively simple plan. The boxes were piled high on the right, much higher than she could reach. That left only one direction to fire in, and blocked half of the warehouse from her line of sight; it was far too easy for a member of Bravo to sneak up behind her unnoticed. And when they did, the only direction in which she could run would send her right out into the open, and likely into a barrage of paintballs from the remaining hidden members of Bravo.

"I'll swing left," she compromised. "If you take to the right, you can slip around the crates unnoticed and exit close to their position. You should be able to get off a few shots from there and this will be over quickly."

The sigh brought the refusal before his voice did.

"You will swing right," he insisted.

"And you'll go out there all guns blazing? Chris, that's asinine. When we can use stealth to our advantage, we should. Left gives the optimum position for cover. I will draw their fire, you slip around the side and-"

"The plan is not up for negotiation, Jill."

Sometimes, the mere sound of his voice was enough to make her blood boil. When she actually listened to the crap that tended to spill from his lips, she knew exactly why she disliked working with him so much. He was too obvious, in everything that he did. He played to his strengths, which happened to be physical strength and his near-perfect aim. It was no wonder that Wesker had partnered the two of them; Chris lacked tactical thinking, and this was one area in which she excelled. It was a shame that he did not seemed to value her opinions.

Their earlier argument returned to mind, a single tear haunting her. As much as she tried to convince herself that she was okay with his constant berating and 'harmless' jibes, it was proof that she was lying not only to him, but to herself. Since when had she been so weak?

More than anything, she hated how he made her feel.

The whistle sounded, signalling the start of the game.

Chris moved, cautious as he stepped out from behind the boards, to the left.

"Of course he's not going to listen to you," she muttered to herself. So she ducked right, hid behind the stacked crates, listened intently for even the softest sound of footfall.

Pellets impacted against the wall behind her, against the crates that shielded her. Chris evaded those that were sent his way and she provided cover, catching Richard on the shoulder. She could tell from her partner's movements that he paid no attention to her position, one of her own pellets almost catching him.

She knew that it was just a game, that nothing was at risk save unblemished skin, but she still worried. As unprofessional as he could be at times, Chris was good at his job, would not make such a stupid mistake when the time came...but his ignorance grated on her, his unwillingness to take training - and her - seriously pushing her to a malicious line of thought.

Ducking back behind the crates, she smirked to herself, shrugged off any doubt she may have had.

'If he isn't willing to take this seriously, why should you?' she asked herself. 'His behaviour could be dangerous - you would be teaching him a lesson.'

And so, without any hesitation, she turned, she aimed...and she fired.

"What the hell?" Chris yelled, spinning around. She tried her best to appear innocent and apologetic, to pass an action she slowly began to regret off as an accident.

"What is going on?" The entire session had ground to a halt, Wesker strolling out into the clearing. "Redfield, why-"

"She shot me! She fucking shot me!"

She could not see their captain's eyes behind his shades, but she could still feel his gaze. Cold, as always...terrifying with the buffer of silence. But then he turned, taking in the splash of yellow paint against Chris's fatigues.

"She shot me in the ass!"

The giggle escaped before she could even attempt suppression. It was not the circumstance that she found hilarious, but his reaction. Surely he knew by now that whatever he fought her with, she would fling right back at him? If he chose to be stubborn and ignore her input, she would show him exactly why he should have listened to her in the first place.

"Explain." One word, and yet it still demanded obedience. Such was Wesker's authoritarian ways.

Jill shrugged, lips twitching as amusement spread to her expression.

"What can I say?" she said. "I guess I'm a bad shot."

May 27, 1996. 3:00pm. Chris's Apartment.

It was a small bruise, but Chris treated it as a wound. And perhaps it was; a wound to his ego, to his patience even.

"It was an accident!" Jill had protested. "I told you that turning left was a bad idea; it puts you directly in the line of fire. You were hardly paying attention to my position."

An accident? No, it was far from a slip of the finger, far from a lousy shot. Because she had turned to him in the locker room, moments before she left for the end of her shift.

"It's not like I hit your ass on purpose...I was aiming for your back."

'Hell hath no fury, huh?' he wondered.

His bruised flesh was sore, forced him to alter the position in which he sat as he submitted to his usual night-time routine of catching up on the day's sporting news, perhaps throwing in a movie or two. So he gave up on insomnia, changed into his pyjamas and decided to put the day behind him.

Truth be told, he was a little afraid of what awaited him on the other side of the night. Jill was a formidable opponent, indeed. It seemed that he had perhaps pushed her too far and now she was not holding back with acts of retaliation.

The phone found its way to his hand, thumb dialling a familiar number. She was his go-to girl, the one he would always call when times got tough or when he was simply sick of being alone.

"Yo!"

"Yo?" he repeated sarcastically. The girl on the other end of the line groaned.

"It's okay guys, it's just my brother." Footsteps, a closing door. Background noise had vanished, Claire's laughter faded.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "You?"

"I was worried when you didn't call." He could hear a frown upon her voice. "Did you forget again?"

"Sorry."

"You're getting way too forgetful lately, mister." She was laughing again now. "Is it a girl?"

It was his turn to groan now. How many years was it now? How long had she been attempting to play cupid? She did not trust him to select a girlfriend of his own apparently; at least, he assumed so with the voracity with which she went after each one of his exes. They had all been no good for him, apparently, had all only wanted him for sex. How could he explain to his little sister that he was more than happy with this arrangement? Love was complicated, and he was still so young. Yes, he wanted to find that one perfect woman, wanted to marry her, to raise children with her and to die happily with her at his side. But not now, not yet. Fooling around with the wrong women was all that he was concerned with. Or so he told himself.

"Yes," he said. "But it's not what you think. She's my partner."

Claire's laughter was not appreciated.

"Oh, war of the egos!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She snickered, and he hissed as he dropped down onto the edge of his bed, forgetting all about that damn bruise.

"Oh come on, Chris. I know that you don't like working with a partner. Is she better than you?"

"Yes," he admitted, though not as reluctantly as he had expected. "And she knows it; that's her problem. Do you know what she did today? She shot me in the ass to prove a point!"

"She shot you?"

"With a paintball gun."

There was a bang, presumably as she fell against a wall, howling with laughter.

"Oh-my-God. Chris, you are such a big baby!"

"It's the principle of the matter! She shouldn't have shot me at all! She seems determined to make my working life a living hell. I've never met anyone so insufferable; she is so far up her own ass I don't know which end to speak to. Just because maybe I'm not as bright as she is…she uses that as a pass to boss me around."

"Bitch!"

"Thank you!"

Her laughter had subsided, and with it went his anger.

"Well, I'm still coming to visit soon," Claire told him. "If she's still giving you shit, I'll sort her out."

Chris chuckled, shaking his head.

"I can handle myself, kid."

"Sure you can. Listen, I'm sorry but I gotta go. Movie night. Promise you'll call me tomorrow? I missed talking to you today."

He assured her that he would and they said their goodbyes. Conversations between the two were always so short these days. Sometimes, he missed the early nineties and the nights that they would stay up playing videogames or watching Arnold Schwarzenegger movies. Alas, life had pulled them apart.

The warmth of his bed was greatly appreciated as he pulled the sheets up to his chest, using one hand to turn off the bedside lamp. And, as always, he turned to the empty space beside him in the bed, to the space that was never occupied. Claire's life was moving forward; their aunt suspected that she had a new boyfriend. But what about his? For so long, she had been the only girl in his life, the only one he needed to protect and to care for. He felt her absence from his life as a parent would when their child left for college. Because there was no-one else to turn to, nobody to help him take life just a little less seriously, to make him feel as young as he was.

Pain flared as he rolled a little to the side and he swore into the silence. But then he chuckled, adjusting himself so that the bruise provided no discomfort.

'You always said Jill was a pain in the ass...'

AN - Please review :)