AN - Apologies about the delay. I had hoped to get this chapter up a bit sooner but it ended up being a bit of a tough one to write. Especially the last part, so I hope it came out alright! And I hope that a lot of you saw this coming ;).

A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter - sophie623, Xhian, Chirika, C. Redfield 86, Crimson Calibur 2, Badger, Kenshin13, tek, BabiMars, x-Artichoke-x, Rose Makayla Black, PeasAndCheese, xSummonerYunax, Chocolate Milkahh, Carmel Bigface, and especially to Suikyou...thank you all! I am amazed and filled with glee that this story has gotten such a response so far...seriously, thank you guys :). I was hoping to get back to as many reviewers as possible but I am now working full time and have been so busy I've barely been finding time to sleep at the moment. As far as updates go, they may be a little sporadic until I get into the swing of things, but I will try my best to stay within my usual two-week deadline for new chapters.

At Eternity's Gate

Chapter Two - Regret in Motion

'About the only time losing is more fun than winning is when you're fighting temptation.'
~Tom Wilson~

June 14, 1996. 8:45pm. Jill's Apartment.

Jill always loved returning home, even if it was to an empty apartment and an evening of trash television. After a long, stressful day of tolerating Chris Redfield, it was nice to put her feet up and forget that the man even existed.

Each and every day, he found new ways to drive her insane. There had already been assignments that their captain had handed to them; a few domestic violence incidents and a pawn shop burglary gone wrong. Truthfully, it astounded her how professional he could be when the occasion called for it. In the heat of the moment, they worked wonderfully together, but as soon as the car door slammed shut, as soon as they were out of earshot, the bickering began once again. His personality was abrasive, but she was sure that he felt the same way about her.

Kenneth had invited her to a 'work night out', had pleaded with her even as she turned down the offer. It was not so much that she had no desire to visit a night club with a group of men that she admittedly hardly knew outside of the office, but that she feared what she may do to Chris if he provoked her whilst she was drunk.

The shrill ring of the telephone interrupted the movie she had settled down to watch and she answered it with impatience, fully expecting a drunken, pleading Joseph Frost to be on the other end.

"Bad time?" the voice asked.

"Mark!" she acknowledged, reaching for the remote to mute the television. "Hey! How are you?"

Mark was an ex-boyfriend, and perhaps the only ex she cared about enough to remain friends with. Not only that, he was also her first lover, the boy she had lost her virginity to at the age of seventeen. In all honesty, she had expected such a milestone to drive a wedge between them in their post-relationship days. But they had never been suited, were more two friends curious about the ways of love than actual lovers. When the inevitable end came to their romance, they had both laughed it off, knowing that it had only been a matter of time.

"I'm good," he chuckled. "I meant to call sooner but someone didn't leave their number with me."

"Uh," she said. "Sorry about that. Things have been...crazy, to say the least."

"Are you settling in okay?"

"Kind of. It's better than home; more to do, better weather."

"Less pollution?"

"Yeah, that too." She leaned back into the sofa cushions, laughing. She had missed her old friends, more than she realised. Always a girl of tradition, she preferred to stick with the tried and tested, rarely found opportunity to make new friends.

"How's your mom?"

"Nagging as always. Uh, she actually made me track you down so expect a call from her soon. She misses you too."

Jill hummed in agreement. Their mothers had attended the same school, studied the same subjects and even fell pregnant within months of one another. They were best friends, and as close friends often did, Mark's mother took her under her wing following Mary Valentine's untimely death.

"Anyway," Mark said. "This call isn't entirely social."

"Oh?"

"Oh no. You remember Jenny? Jenny Augustine?"

"Your girlfriend?" She was an old friend, had known the two since kindergarten.

"Fiancée."

Jill almost dropped the phone.

"You're engaged?"

"Two weeks now. Mom is telling everyone who will listen, but I wanted you to hear it from me."

In an instant, Jill felt old. That made three of her old high school friends who were engaged, alongside the two who already had children. As her aunt had once told her, 'once your exes start marrying, that's when you have the right to feel old'.

'But I'm only twenty-one years old!'

"Huh."

"She wants a winter wedding, and we would both love for you to be there."

It was a question, she felt it.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." And for once, she was honest with him. Because whatever negative emotions that his announcement brought forth, none were related to him, his bride-to-be or their relationship.

Still, she raised the wine glass to her lips, took a long sip.

"So can we expect a plus one?" It was a clever way of enquiring about her love life.

"Not at the rate things are going, no."

"Still married to the job, huh?"

Her grip on the glass tightened so much she was afraid that it would shatter.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, Jill." He was still laughing. She was not. "You've always put work before everything. It's one of the reasons we split up; I wanted to go to college, you wanted to join the Army and you wouldn't listen to compromise."

"So my ambition means that I deserve to be single, is that what you're saying?"

"What? Jill, no-"

"What is it with men and their inability to accept a woman with ambition?"

"Whoa. So you're a feminist now?"

"No I'm not a fucking feminist. I just don't see how my success should-"

"Jill, honey, calm down. I wasn't saying anything; it was just a joke! You know we're all proud of you. You just need to make time for love, or you're going to miss out on everything that makes life worth living."

It seemed that marriage turned even men soppy these days. Mark had never even believed in love until he met Jenny, and now he was preaching tenderness?

"I'm happy the way I am," she snarled. And then she slammed the phone back into its cradle before knocking back the remainder of her glass, pouring another almost immediately.

"Men," she grunted. But she did not turn the television back on, dwelled instead on his words and the meaning behind them.

Yes, it was true that she put work before everything. Why else was she sitting alone in her apartment with a bottle of wine and a chick flick on a Friday night?

'Never mix work with pleasure' had been a good rule to live by, but was it such a good idea in reality? For once, she actually liked her co-workers - or most of them, at least - and yet she had still turned down an invitation to spend time with them in lieu of a girly night in.

She swallowed more gulps of wine. If she started getting ready now, she could be at the club for half ten; they should all be there by then. True, she did not have many clothes suitable for a night out, but she had a little black dress and a bottle of wine; what else did a girl need to party?

The remainder of her second glass was polished off quickly, determination to catch up setting in. And she turned off the television, made for her bedroom. Tonight, her thoughts would take a night off from work, and she would too. It had been so long since she let her hair down; this could do her good.

She was already smiling by the time she reached for the foundation.

June 14, 1996. 9:30pm. Chris's Apartment.

"You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out!"

Drunken singing filled the living room, not every voice knowing the lyrics. Perhaps letting them at his record collection was a bad idea? Either way, Chris too was drunk; far too drunk to care.

"And so Sally can wait..." he sang as he rejoined them, barely gripping several cold beer bottles.

"Who is this?" Brad demanded. "They're damn good."

"Uh, they're British, I think," Chris said. "Claire gave me this one."

The same song had been on repeat for God knows how long, but nobody seemed to care. A growing pile of cans and bottles signalled the start of a good night. It had been far too long since they had all got together like this, and each man was determined to make the most of it...and to not remember any of it, apparently.

"Your kid sister has better taste in music than you do," Joseph mocked.

"My 'kid' sister is seventeen," Chris pointed out. The admission brought with it a bitter realisation. She was growing up. Already, she was lining up prospective colleges, had insisted that he view every single one with her.

Not many girls would trust their older brother's opinions, but this was a scenario in which a teenager would turn to their parents for advice. Claire had neither a mother nor a father to turn to; he was all she had, and she trusted him as a child would trust a parent.

"So why is Jill not here?" Richard asked.

"Because it's my apartment."

"Chris, you're an ass."

"She said she wasn't feeling up to it," Kenneth chuckled. "But yes, I think it had something to do with Redfield."

"Hey!" Chris protested. "She's just using me as an excuse to stay at home. How many times have we invited her out? She has no interest in being friends."

"With you, maybe."

He sneered at Joseph before reaching for another beer. Was this his fourth or his fifth? He could not remember.

"Slow down, kid," Enrico warned him.

But memories of Jill and of altercations that had ruined his day plagued his mind. Tonight of all nights, he just wanted to forget.

June 14, 1996. 10:45pm. Raccoon City.

Jill paid the cab driver quickly, frowning at the line that had formed outside of the night club. She hoped that they had not changed their plans and would not decide to move on to another club; it could be a while before she stepped through those doors.

She was barely steady on her heels, wine she had continued to drink until she locked her front door affecting her more than had been expected. But she felt confident for once, had even slipped into the Little Black Dress she had never had the guts to wear out. Truth be told, she very rarely frequented night clubs, was always happy with a few drinks in a nice cocktail bar.

Heels clacked against the sidewalk as she made towards the line from the front. From here, it somehow seemed even longer.

'This was pointless,' she told herself. 'They'll be gone by the time you get inside.'

"Hey, Officer Valentine!"

She turned at the sound of her name, surprised when she saw the bouncer turn towards her, holding out an arm.

"You want in?"

He unhooked the barrier, stepped aside. Confusion mounting, she did not move.

"Seriously?"

"Emily Jackson," he said plainly, smiling at her.

She recognised the name, but not as a friend. Emily Jackson was the victim of a domestic violence incident she and Chris had responded to just the previous week. Her fiancé had left her with a broken jaw, would perhaps have put her in intensive care had Chris not wrestled him to the ground. Jill rode beside her in the ambulance, sat with her when she recovered from the anaesthetic, not for the sake of protocol but because she felt that she would not want to wake alone. The majority of violent crimes found their way into the hands of S.T.A.R.S., and though the report on her case had been filed only a few days ago, they felt confident that the perpetrator would not escape prosecution.

"She's my sister," the bouncer explained. "She told me what you did for her. I owe you more than this."

And suddenly she realised just why he looked so familiar to her; she had spoken to him very briefly at the hospital.

"Thank you."

"No problem; your partner is inside."

She paid her way inside, the bass of a familiar song beating as a second pulse through her. It was a large venue, but the bars were brightly lit, and there were enough of them that they were not crowded. So it was with relative ease that she found the others, crowded around the foremost bar, a line of empty shot glasses beside them on the counter.

It was Joseph who saw her first, shouting her name with glee. Everyone was in attendance, from Edward and Kevin - whom she had barely had the opportunity to speak to since her arrival - to Richard's girlfriend, Bridgette.

"Someone get another round of shots in!" Joseph demanded.

"Forget shots, get me a vodka," she said, his smile contagious.

All of a sudden, she found herself the centre of attention, colleagues in varying states of intoxication welcoming her with further offers of drinks. Before she knew what was happening, there were already three shots and two full drinks before her.

"We didn't think you were coming," Bridgette told her as she reached for one of the shots, lending a hand. "It's good to see you again."

"Thanks. To be honest I was...nervous. I don't handle alcohol too well."

It was as she said this that she placed a little too much weight on the right side of her left shoe and was forced to grip onto the bar for support. Bridgette's hand gripped her arm, her soft voice giggling.

"It's okay," she whispered, winking surreptitiously. "Me neither. I won't tell."

Another drink was slid along the bar towards her, and she took it without another thought. Already into the spirit of the night, she was determined to make the most of it. She could not remember the last time she had been drunk, the last time she had danced into the early hours and woke up feeling hungover but thoroughly fulfilled.

Conversation flowed, so too did the liquor. Chris had disappeared moments after her arrival and curious glances around the club found him chatting to various women, dancing with a couple and even buying one a drink.

'Typical. Just how you expected him to be.'

Still, she failed to reconcile memories of the man at work with the annoyance she knew personally. She was not the only one to check up on Emily Jackson in the aftermath of her incident. Truth be told, he seemed thoroughly appalled by the incident, treated it as more than simply just another case. The man she had witnessed that day was not the man she knew.

Eventually, she joined those on the dance floor with Bridgette, too drunk to care whether or not she could actually dance. The music was enslaving, the company making her happy beyond words. Truly, she could not remember the last time she had so much fun.

But aches settled into tired ankles, her choice of footwear perhaps not the best. She made her way over to the bar regardless, surprised to spot Chris alone, ordering his next drink. Where were the girls?

She asked him when she reached his side and he laughed.

"I don't do one night stands," he told her. And he sounded truthful.

"Well you're just full of surprises."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He sounded more amused than angry, but she could see how he leaned against the bar for support, knew from the quality of his voice that he would perhaps not remember this conversation in the morning.

"Nothing," she hummed. "Good night."

"It was until you arrived."

And just like that, her good mood turned sour. Tears encroached, though she willed them back; she always had been an emotional drunk.

"You know, I've been wondering..." He turned to face her, proved that he was as unsteady on his feet as she was. "Why did you choose this career? You're intelligent; why didn't you go to college?"

"Maybe I didn't want to."

He scoffed at the idea. Had she not been so determined not to allow him to ruin her night, she would have argued back. But he was not worth it.

"What does your mother think about her daughter entering such a dangerous line of work?" he asked.

It was only a question. Still, she felt her heart wrench, felt a tear meander slowly down her cheek. She tried to choke back emotion, but it proved too potent, too powerful. An old fracture in her young heart ached, grief striking her.

"My mother is dead, asshole."

She pushed away from the bar, stumbling once again but continued nonetheless. In an instant, a good night had turned terrible. Memories flashed through her mind, an old yet tender wound burning. And she ran, had barely made it to the inner corridor before a voice called her name, a gentle hand gripped her arm.

"Jill..."

She had honestly not expected to see Chris when he turned, had never thought that she would witness regret in those eyes.

"Get the hell away from me!" she sneered. But he did not. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, holding despite how furiously she struggled. It was not until her cheek pressed into his shoulder that she realised just how many tears she had cried.

"I am so sorry," he whispered.

And she relented, allowing his warmth to calm her. His arms were comforting, and she did not fail to notice just how perfectly her form fit into their embrace. And he said nothing more, simply held her as she cried out her grief.

Pride be damned, she held him back, gripping tightly onto his shirt. Any arms could have comforted her, but it meant more to her that they were his, that he regretted his words.

Although anger festered within, she could find no words to express it. She hated everything about him, yet somehow the pain he had created within her dissipated with little more than a comforting touch.

June 15, 1996. 2:15am. Raccoon City.

Chris found that he could not look out of the window of the cab. The world moved by too fast, made him queasy.

"Okay, thissis..this- I'm home!" Forest declared. He passed his share of the fare to the driver before tumbling out of the door - literally.

And now, it was just the two of them - her and him. Chris sighed, turned to Jill. Surprisingly, she remained awake, though barely. An apology drink had turned into several, drunk became drunker, and before they knew it most of the night had flown past.

The one emotion that permeated the veil that vodka had draped over his mind was that of shame. Every time he looked at Jill, he heard his callous words, wished that there was something that he could do to take them back. How could he have known that her mother had passed away? She was only twenty-one years old; nobody ever expected someone so young to be a relative orphan.

Although he was in the same position, as was Claire. Perhaps that was why his actions felt so shameful now? He knew the pain of losing a parent; even after seven years, he still felt the dull ache of loss.

"Oh no!" Jill gasped. Suddenly, she was rummaging around in her purse. "I have- I don't- I...no money!"

Lifting his head from the window seemed an impossible task but somehow he achieved it, the world spinning faster than he moved.

"What?"

"I have fifty-three...things- cents! How am I supposed to get home?"

Chris groaned. She woke him from a near-slumber for this? What happened to those brains?

"I have money in...apartment. Just come...come inside and I'll loan you some."

She huffed audibly, and he almost retracted the offer. But he was too drunk to be petty, and whatever state he was in, he wasn't willing to leave her to walk the several blocks to her apartment alone. However, she said nothing, seemed to resign herself to the fact that it was the only way she was getting home that night.

When the cab pulled up outside of his apartment complex, he paid the driver and stumbled out onto the sidewalk. The ground did not seem as sturdy as it had when he had left, and neither did the building. He did not hear Jill approach him from behind; her shoes were in her hand, the pain they had caused her evidently more inconvenient than walking barefoot through the streets of Raccoon.

"Which...which path?" she asked. He did not know; he was sure that there had only been one when he had left. But as they drew closer, they merged into the one walkway, the door almost within reach.

"You're drunk," he accused her. "Just...follow me."

A strong hand gripped the back of his shirt as he fought his way towards the door. Literally, it was an uphill struggle, his legs weak but his will weaker. He would have been more than happy to curl up in the doorframe and call it a night.

It was quiet inside, and he closed the door gently, only to find that it still made a calamitous noise as it swung shut.

"Ssh!" Jill warned. But laughter coloured her speech and she collapsed against the stairs, an apparent attempt to crawl up them foiled. "The stairs are broken."

And he laughed too. Because he knew from experience that the stairs never worked on weekends.

"C'mon," he said, pulling on her arm. "Elevator."

Not a further word was spoken as they rode the elevator and then fumbled their way along the wall to his apartment. Without the support of the wall, Chris was not sure that he would have made it that far.

But when he unlocked his door, when they both entered, he could not be sure exactly where he had left his spare money. He was always sure to leave at least fifty dollars lying around in case of emergencies.

"You're an ass," Jill grumbled.

He turned, steadying himself against the sofa. Her eyelids were drooping, the call of sleep strong. And she leaned against the wall, bracing herself in an upright position with her long legs. Legs, he could not help but notice, that were tanned, toned, and looked soft to the touch. The skirt of her dress was not shockingly short, but the hem ended just above the knees, affording him a rather wonderful view.

"'Scuse me?"

"You're misogynistic, selfish...and you are just an awful, awful person."

"Put the claws away, kitty."

Arguing with her had become not only a regular pastime, but one he had grown to enjoy. However, this was one night that he was desperate to put behind him. But Jill pushed herself away from the wall, started towards him.

"There you go again! Why d'you hate me? I have every reason in the world to hate you, but...I don't understand."

And neither did he. All of his reasons boiled down to simple prejudice and jealousy; something she would not understand.

"You're just an asshole."

Fury powered him, turned him around and forced him to march in her direction.

"You're a fucking know-it-all, Jill," he said. She stumbled back, fear flickering behind her eyes. So he moved closer, so that there was barely a foot between them. "You think that...you just..."

A frustrated cry was all that he could think to offer. She laughed in response, stoking the fire that raged within him.

"Well you think you're better than me," she said. "You don't think that...that I'm capable of being your partner. D'you think I'm stupid? Or do you just hate having a partner so much?"

Chris drew closer, close enough to feel the heat that emanated from her body.

"Don't be fucking stupid. You are intelligent, but you know it. That is your problem...idiot."

"What did you just call me?"

He inched closer, their noses almost touching.

"I-di-ot," he emphasised. All rational argument seemed to abandon him, and he was sure that it was not because of the alcohol. Her warmth captivated him, but not in any natural way. Perhaps it was natural, but the way that it made him feel sure as hell was not.

"Punk."

"Bitch."

"Right back at'cha, honey."

Her lips twisted softly as she smiled. She had applied gloss earlier, he could tell, but it had rubbed off, leaving nothing but a faint sheen behind. The pink was natural, the curve and the pout a God-given gift. And those eyes... A smile lit up her entire face, but it was always her eyes that drew him in. Such a beautiful shade of blue, such depth. He could tell that she was a very emotional person, despite her collected façade. So why did he never see this side of her?

Thoughts made little sense to him then, mindless action overpowering everything.

When his lips first touched hers, he was unsure if it was an accident or a subconscious fulfilment of desire. All he knew was that the way they felt was unlike anything he had ever experienced. She did not move, and neither did he at first, simply allowing frozen lips to touch. And then he kissed her, slowly, gently, with more care than the average drunken act of lust. He did not know what he hoped to achieve, but found that he simply could not stop kissing her.

She was smaller than he, but her strength proved equally as forceful. Strangely, she did not use it against him; the hands that pressed into his back pulled him closer, hungry lips meeting his kiss with equal fury.

It seemed like an eternity before they separated, noses still touching, breathing heavy. When their eyes met, they seemed to understand, seemed to accept the inevitable, welcome it with open arms even.

Buttons rained to the carpet as she tugged open his shirt, eyes closed as she ran curious fingers up his chest. And his thoughts returned to those legs, hands joining them, feeling how firm her skin was, how soft and silky it felt against his palms. He hiked the skirt of her dress higher as her lips found his once again, exploration not ceasing until he touched upon the curve of her ass, fingertips tracing the line of her panties.

The kiss was wet, rushed and furious, but attention had diverted from bruised lips, seemed to centre on hands that explored one another's bodies as though they were the first that they had ever touched. Somewhere along the line, he seemed to have forgotten that she was his partner, forgotten that he hated her with a burning passion. After all, how could something that felt so right be so terribly wrong?

His belt was open, jeans beginning to slide down his thighs. She was a wild animal; bit, clawed and scratched so that the night would remain with him for days, that he would remember her every time shallow wounds burned. And then she gripped him through the fabric of his boxers, made him realise just how hard she had made him. She squeezed, but made no further move, laughed into the kiss.

But her laughter was silenced as his lips fell from hers, found her jaw and kissed along it to her earlobe before tracing a line down to where her pulse beat furiously. She groaned, gasped, mewled, spurred him on with sporadic movements.

His mind disconnected, barely felt the moment when they finally joined. Suspended somewhere in a drunken state of ecstasy, he was not quite sure exactly what he felt, knew only how to hold onto it, how to make it better. Her short fingernails broke skin, her thighs impossibly tight around his waist.

And when she begged for more, what could he do but oblige?

AN - Please review :).