AN - Apologies for the delay. I have been so exhausted lately that I just haven't been able to find the time to write. So further apologies if this chapter feels a little rushed - I am happy with it, but it the first part went through a few rewrites, which I guess contributed to the delay :S.

A huge thank you again to everyone who reviewed, and to everyone who has been so patient! I hope that this chapter does not disappoint :).

Everything About You

Chapter Three - The Morning After

'I have long since come to believe that people never mean half of what they say,
and that it is best to disregard their talk and judge only their actions.'
~Dorothy Day~

June 15, 1996. 10:05am. Chris's apartment.

Jill's stomach twisted and turned, even before she opened her eyes. Perhaps it was the sense of nausea that woke her? Because she woke truly exhausted, wanting nothing more than to pull the covers over her head and block out the world.

But she could not find the covers, could not even find a pillow.

She pulled him towards the nearest door, breathing heavily. Unsure of where her energy stemmed from, she knew only that there was more to spare, that she could keep this up all night. Judging by his stamina, she was sure that he would be up to the challenge. Warm fingertips traced the ridges of her spine, each touch setting her skin aflame. She could not quite describe the effect that he had on her, only that she wanted more of what he had to offer, wanted more of him.

Eyes opened suddenly, realisation overpowering the lingering effects of heavy drinking.

Chris slept peacefully; he could have been unconscious for all she knew. She had been using his chest as a pillow, her left leg wrapped around his with his hand resting on the curve of her waist.

She was too afraid to move, paralysed by memories that continued to flood back to her. But was it the act that disturbed her, or the fact that regret was not the first emotion that crept upon her? She had always thought of herself as at least semi-respectable, had never had a one night stand in her life. Yet here she was, pressed into the side of her naked partner, entirely unsure of what to feel.

The sheets were damp around them, sweat beading on exposed skin. But still they did not rest, barely even paused for breath. Strong arms caged her, desperate lips carving a trail along her collarbone and up to her jaw. He seemed to know exactly where to touch, how much pressure to apply and a thousand different ways to draw his name from her lips.

Suddenly, she pulled back, finding that a sliver of a sheet fell from her form. Reaching for it in an instant, she brought it around her, casting the remaining end over her partner in crime. She had never been in any doubt that he was handsome, but slowly she began to realise just how gloriously imperfect he was. Muscular but not overly so, hairless but not effeminate, scruffy yet clean, nose a little too wide, jaw a little too clean-shaven…

His eyes opened, met hers. The pause seemed impossibly long, the laughter that she was expecting never heard.

"Tell me we didn't have sex," he groaned.

Jill looked down at herself, tried to forget that she could almost still feel him between her thighs.

"Three times," she said. "Maybe four, I'm...not sure."

Why was she not panicking? Perhaps shock had paralysed her emotionally?

"Fuck." Chris pushed himself into an upright position, clutched the sheet before it revealed more than he was willing to allow her to see this side of morning.

She chewed on her bottom lip, attempting to slip into a rational mindset but failing miserably. A hangover dulled her senses, prevented her from accessing the parts of her brain that always brought her to a sensible state of mind.

"Four times?" He seemed impressed. "That's quite an achievement."

Anger rose within and she slammed her hand into his shoulder.

"Fuck you," she growled. "This is all your fault."

"My fault? How the hell is this my fault? I didn't exactly rip my own clothes off last night."

Rationality truly did elude her.

"Are you trying to say that I took advantage of you?" He sounded genuinely concerned. And she sighed, knowing that this was far from the truth.

"I was drunk," she said. "Really, really drunk. We both took advantage of one another."

"So let's call it even?"

She hit him again, lighter this time.

Without another word, he fell back onto the mattress, reached for a pillow that balanced precariously on the edge of the bed. And then, he placed his head upon it and closed his eyes.

Incredulous, Jill laughed humourlessly. Of course, this was probably a regular occurrence for him, whatever he claimed about his sexual ethics.

"Are you not even going to deal with this?" she demanded. A groan was all that she received in response at first. But he took a deep breath, spoke without even opening his eyes.

"These things happen," he said. "It's done and there is nothing we can do about it now."

"We didn't even use a condom!"

That got his attention. He pushed himself up again, checked the sheets and the surrounding area. There was no packet to be found, only more evidence to suggest that they had in fact not used protection.

"Shit," he swore. "Shit. Shit! Shit!"

She held the answer to that which no doubt troubled him, knew how to calm him and put his mind at ease. But she just watched for a moment, finding a sadistic sense of satisfaction in his worry. For just a brief moment, she allowed him to suffer for all that he had put her through since the day they first met.

"Calm down," she told him at last. "I'm on the pill and I'm clean...but I'm going to take the morning after pill just to be careful. The last thing I want to do is bring your spawn into this world."

"My spawn?"

"Well you are evidently incapable of human emotion, so I'm assuming that spawn is the correct word. Or does your species lay eggs?"

"Just get out of here," he demanded. "This hangover is bad enough without you complaining all morning."

Gladly, she slipped off the end of the bed, groaning as aches settled into every joint. Bruises could be felt against her thighs, her shoulders and her arms, but the skin remained unblemished; she knew that she would be paying for their moment of weakness for some time.

"Dammit, Chris," she groaned. "Would it kill you to be gentle for once?"

If she did not joke, she was sure that she would blush. Because she could not find her dress anywhere, vague memories informing her that she had been naked long before they reached the bedroom.

"Wait a minute," Chris said. Covering himself with a second pillow, he reached into the drawer of his bedside table, pulled out a twenty dollar bill. "Here."

As he held the money towards her, embarrassment melted into anger, the action inflicting an insult so deep she wondered if the wound would ever truly heal.

"You really are despicable, Redfield. How dare-"

"Shut the fuck up, Jill," he sighed. "It's for a cab. The only reason you came back here was because you were out of money, remember? Or would you prefer to walk home?"

She took the money sheepishly and left without another word, dragging the sheet with her. And as she collected her dress, her panties, her shoes and her bag from various locations around his apartment, embarrassment began to bring tears to her eyes.

For so many years she had struggled to be taken seriously, to build a reputation separate of her gender and the obstacles she faced because of it. What would they say about her now? More than that, what was she to think of herself?

Of all the men in Raccoon, why was it that she had to wake beside Chris Redfield?

June 15, 1996. 10:25am. Chris's apartment.

Chris heard the door slam, but did not move. The pounding within his skull told him to lie still, to let it all pass in the hope that the night before would somehow be easier to handle with a clear mind.

But she was all that filled his mind, filled every sense and haunted him though her physical presence was long gone.

He would have been ignorant had he declined to admit how amazing it had felt to be with her. Perhaps it was the hatred between them, stoking the fire, setting passion aflame? Whatever it was, he not only could not bring himself to regret their drunken antics, but found himself wanting more.

Alas, he knew that not another word would be spoken of what had happened. Somehow, it was already taboo. The others would alter their opinions of her, and he would be accused of taking advantage of a drunken girl, of being sick and twisted enough to get revenge on her in such a misogynistic way.

The phone rang and he threw the spare pillow towards it, knocking it from his bedside table. The machine picked it up, as it always did. He rarely answered the phone on weekends.

"Still too early?" It was Claire, far too cheerful for such an early hour. "Go figure. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I have my flights booked and I will be visiting you within the next week! Give me a call when you get this and I will let you know when I am due in. See you soon! Love you, big bro."

He groaned loudly. Though he missed his sister terribly, he knew that her arrival would only mean trouble. As all sisters loved to do, Claire often interfered. He had expected her input into the whole Jill scenario, but admittedly things had gotten a little complicated since they last spoke. For one, she would be furious that he made his partner cry, livid when she discovered exactly how. And what would she say when she found out that they had spent the night together? She would never take him seriously again.

But somehow, he did not care. Every thought attended to Jill, to the way he had treated her, and to her tears. How could he have been so callous? Guilt had plagued him on the journey home, and it continued to prod at his conscience. He had lost his own mother at a young age, knew her pain all too well. Had some drunken idiot spoken to him the way he had to her, he would have woken in a jail cell, not wrapped around the offender's damp limbs.

He had to apologise, there were no doubts about that. He needed to apologise, and he needed to be sincere about it. And the apologies would not just end at the obvious...there were weeks of insults that he now wished to take back. How many had she taken as a personal insult?

Childishness had gone too far. It was time to make amends.

June 17, 1996. 11:54 am. Raccoon City Police Department.

So far, so good. Morning was almost over, lunch upon them...and Jill had yet to face her partner. Truthfully, she was not quite sure how she would react. She had sworn that she would forget the whole sordid incident, but when she closed her eyes at night, it was all that she could dream of.

So he was good in bed...it was hardly a unique trait. And as handsome as he was, his personality was far too distasteful. She harboured not a single positive emotion towards him, yet her body seemed determined not to forget him, reacted inappropriately even as she glimpsed the jacket that always hung above his desk. Did it smell like him? She had found that his scent was quite pleasant, a mix of-

'Cut it out,' she urged herself. 'Keep your damn hormones in check.'

Perhaps it was simply a case of desperation? It had been so long since any man touched her; of course the first was going to feel heavenly, whoever it was.

Her luck ran out as she made her way to the cafeteria. He walked in the opposite direction, catching her eye briefly as they passed. And they stopped, momentarily. Others filed past but they remained, eyes locked in a truly awkward exchange. To her surprise, he was the first to break contact, and walked past her without saying another word.

He did not join the others for lunch.

"So what's up with Chris?" Joseph asked as they moved on to dessert. "He has been so quiet today...it's freaking me out."

Jill shrugged and stabbed her ice cream with a plastic spoon.

"Beats me. Then again, I always get the silent treatment. Or at least, I prefer it when I do."

"Think it's something to do with Claire?" Richard suggested. "You know she's the only one to ever have this kind of effect on him."

Jill was dismayed to find that she was a little angered by his words. Who was this Claire? Was she a girlfriend? Though he may have been a scoundrel, she never pinned Chris as the cheating type.

"Claire?"

"His sister," Forest explained. "They're real close. I think she is the only person in this world that he trusts."

The topic piqued her interest. Chris had never mentioned a sister. Then again, their conversations had rarely transcended shallow bickering and childish insults.

"He doesn't talk about family much," Brad said. She barely recognised his voice; he never spoke much in group conversations. "He's kind of a personal guy."

It was strange to consider that there was someone in his life that he cared about. Truthfully, she could not see him caring much about anything. He seemed the cold, silent type, never willing to let anyone in. Perhaps there was simply a side to him that they had not seen?

The first time they truly came into contact was perhaps a half hour after lunch, when she returned to the office to find him at his desk, perusing several case files they should have been working on together.

'Old habits die hard, I guess.'

"Valentine," Wesker called. She pushed Chris from her mind, finding the shame as he glanced towards her to much to bear.

"What do you call this?" the Captain asked as she approached his desk. He waved a file before her; a case report that she had already filed.

"That, sir, would be a report on the Whitney case."

She could sense a glare behind the shades. He was not impressed.

"Cut the smart talk. You need to rewrite this."

Her eyes followed the folder as he dropped it to the edge of his desk. The report had taken her close to a week to collate; she had spent almost every minute of her spare time working on it to ensure nothing short of perfection.

"But sir-"

"Quite frankly, I am astounded that you would file such a shoddy piece of work," he said. "It is not up to your usual standard and you are not free to leave this precinct until I am satisfied with your efforts."

Instinctively, she glanced to her watch. Today, she was supposed to have an early finish, should have been back in her apartment by three o'clock.

"Wait a minute!" The argument did not come from her. Truthfully, she was a little too shocked to argue back. There was nothing wrong with the report, nothing that she could think to improve.

She turned in time to see Chris rise from his chair and step around Barry's desk.

"With all due respect, sir, that's hardly fair," he pointed out. "You know how much time she spent on this report. You can't expect her to rewrite it in a few hours."

"Then Miss Valentine is in for a long night," Wesker said. She did not see a point in arguing with him; his decision was final and he was not a man known to be easily swayed.

Suddenly, she felt a strange pressure in her chest. Two days of suppressed emotions threatened to overflow. She dared not look to Chris, far too ashamed of the circumstances of their last meeting to even acknowledge his presence. And before her sat a man who essentially dictated her life; if he wanted her to remain in the office all week, glued to her computer screen, there was not a damn thing that she could do. Sure, she could complain to the Chief, but everyone knew that Wesker had him under his thumb, that the man was terrified of their Captain.

"But sir-"

"Just stay out of this, Chris," she warned. And she snatched the file from Wesker's desk, as reluctant as she was to trawl through her case notes once again. "We all know you couldn't care less so drop the act you fucking hypocrite."

"Valentine!"

She ignored Wesker's call for her to return and stormed out of the office. She could not work in such an environment, could not work with the hostility that suddenly burned within. A quiet office somewhere would be enough to calm her, she hoped. There would be consequences for speaking in such a way before the Captain, but she could not care less about facing them.

'Who does Chris think he is?' she fumed inwardly as she stalked the corridors in search of an empty room. 'Like he suddenly cares? Of course sex would change his perspective; he is only being nice because he expects to get more. Fucking men, why are they all the same?'

As she slammed the door behind her, destination finally found, she wiped dampness from beneath her eyes. They were not tears, not unless she admitted so. And Chris did not truly get to her; it was just a mind game, or so she told herself. Because she had sworn that she would leave that night behind them, that she would not allow it to interfere with her work. But every time she saw him, she felt him, and she felt the shame that had not truly disappeared since that night. Working with him would be impossible now.

Somehow, she felt that her career with S.T.A.R.S. was all but over.

June 17, 1996. 2:00pm. Raccoon City Police Department.

Chris searched the entire precinct for Jill, but was eventually forced to admit defeat. He hoped that she had not ran out, had not fled home. Truly, he expected more from her, but he had never seen her in such a state. Sure, Wesker's orders had been a little harsh, but they did not warrant the reaction that she displayed.

'Maybe it wasn't a reaction to Wesker?' he wondered. 'Maybe it was a reaction to you?'

He found it mildly annoying that she seemed so furious at him when he had not given her a reason to despise him...not today, anyway.

Did she blame him for the events of Friday night? He had hardly acted alone.

He did not know why he cared so much, why he even sought her out at all. Whatever his feelings for her may have been, it was unfair of Wesker to hold her back indefinitely when, as he had witnessed with his own eyes, he had barely even glanced at her report. It was one thing to be in a bad mood, but it was another entirely to take it out on a member of staff.

Jill was alone in evidence storage, lowering numerous wrapped items into an open drawer, when he stumbled across her purely by accident. She seemed to register his presence but chose not to acknowledge it. Already, he felt her crawl beneath his skin, irritating him just by being there.

But this time it was different. Because he knew what was beneath that uniform, had seen her at her most uninhibited.

"You okay?" He asked. It was a simple question, but she still took it as a deep probe into her emotional wellbeing.

"I'm fine," she insisted. Someone who put so much emphasis on the word was anything but. "Now leave me alone."

"Are you looking for the evidence for-"

"No Chris, I'm looking for a candy bar."

He did not appreciate the sarcasm but let it slide. Still, the irritation built once again.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, pausing to place a hand over her eyes for a brief moment. "I've had a really bad day and this is just the icing on the cake."

"Fair enough," he said. "But don't take it out on me."

Once again, he chose his words poorly. From nice to nasty in the space of few seconds. No wonder she hated him.

"What the hell is your problem?" she snarled, slamming the evidence drawer shut. "You can't be nice to me for one second, can you?"

"It would help if you gave me reason to! Would you believe that I actually came here to apologise to you?"

She laughed at this, tilted her head back slightly and let the hilarity out. Such a sound had never hurt him so badly. They had passed the point of civility; there was simply no tolerating this woman.

"Apologise for getting me drunk and sleeping with me?" she questioned. "I'll put your mind at ease; you didn't. I got myself drunk and I gave as good as I got. So let's just put that sordid night behind us and go back to childish hatred, since that's obviously what we do best."

She had missed the point entirely. Of course he would not apologise for that night, and yes, he knew that the blame was shared. Did she truly not believe that he was capable of apologising for the weeks of hell they had been through thanks in part to his blind prejudice?

"As a matter of fact, I was going to apologise for being an ass these past few weeks," he explained. "But now you are reminding me that the blame is also shared in that respect."

Stunned into silence, she opened the drawer once again and began to search through the remainder of the packets within.

"And I think we both know that's not what we do best," he muttered, mostly to himself. But she picked up on his words and turned, questioning him with those admittedly beautiful blue eyes.

"C'mon," he laughed. "The sex was good, don't deny it."

And she didn't. She did not even reply, merely looked back down into the draw without as much as a twitch of a muscle.

"Jill..."

"Okay, okay!" she whispered frantically. "It was good. If you want me to be honest, it was-"

Silence.

"Go on."

Her cheeks flushed an uncharacteristic shade of red.

"Maybe it was the best I've ever had."

The reply was little more than a whisper, but he heard it and he smiled proudly.

"It's a sentiment shared," he told her. "And look; we aren't arguing anymore."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She seemed genuinely confused, but would still not meet his eye. Her search through the drawer became faster and more frantic, as though she were determined to escape the conversation.

"It means that sex is the only thing we seem to agree on." Even as he spoke the words, his conscience told him to stop. It was a ridiculous idea, and his heart dared not expose her to more ridicule than his mind already had. "And when it comes to sex, we're a little more...pleasant to one another."

Jill hummed, perhaps in agreement; he could not tell.

"So..." he flinched in anticipation of his own suggestion. "How about we work something out? A friends with benefits arrangement?"

She laughed humourlessly.

"Oh, Chris," she replied, in a tone that brought him to expect 'you silly boy' to follow. "That would never work."

"And why is that?"

She smiled confidently, and then pulled a sealed plastic bag from the locker.

"Because we aren't friends."

June 17, 1996. 5:00pm. Raccoon City Police Department.

Jill was exhausted in every sense of the word when she finally approached the locker room, report finished and accepted by a less-than-apologetic Wesker. A migraine only seemed to intensify aches within her very soul, it seemed. All that she wanted to do was crawl into bed and cry away an extremely stressful day. But oh no...Wesker had to chew her out first. Apparently her attitude towards Chris was 'unacceptable'. It was strange how he never seemed to mind it before.

So when she found her partner preparing for his own journey home, it was with a hatred deeper than ever that she avoided him, slinging open her locker door and not even bothering to change out of uniform.

"Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine?" he joked.

He was lucky that she did not 'accidentally' knock her locker door a little further back...right into his head.

"Just drop it, Chris," she warned.

But she knew that he would not. An impromptu training session had ended with Bravo's victory, no thanks to her wandering mind. A series of silly mistakes had compromised Alpha, would have led to their deaths or capture had it not been a mere training exercise. And then she had snapped at the others when they enquired about her wellbeing; they had only been trying to help, and she had shot them down quite rudely.

"You need to get your act together," he told her. "We all have bad days, and we all get stressed, but we find ways to deal with it...you should too."

His words only incensed her further. It mattered not that they carried truth upon them, only that it was a truth that she did not wish to be reminded of.

But anger festered within, and she pushed away from her locker, paced the area behind the bench. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she fought them back desperately, unwilling to show further weakness before him.

"Jill."

She looked up at the sound of his voice, stress finally bringing a tear to slide down her cheek. Because she detected a hint of worry in that one word, and worry was all it took to bring her metaphorically to her knees.

"You okay?"

Jill turned towards the door, placed a hand upon it. And the other moved down, turned the lock so quickly that she barely registered the click herself.

It was not pain that lingered in her eyes when she turned to him, but need, and a desperation she had not felt in so long. She pressed her hands againstf his bare chest, slammed him into the lockers behind where he stood. And before protest could fall from his lips, she kissed them fiercely. Because all of a sudden, his proposition made sense. What was sex if not a great reliever of stress, and what was he if not a partner she needed to learn to get along with? She cast the stone and it hit both birds with unerring precision. And Chris hardly complained, with his hands on her hips, his tongue the first to escalate their union.

"Does this mean...yes?" he panted as they broke for air.

But he knew that it did, more than she...

AN - Please review :)