Raccoon General Hospital was of a vernacular architecture and dressed in the natural environment of the surrounding communities to promote patient and staff wellbeing—or at least, that's what the pamphlet said before Captain Wesker took it from her hand and led her down the next hallway when he came back from the information desk.

Nature appeared to play a large part in the hospital's visual mission and was integrated by the medium of landscaped gardens, courtyards, green roofs, and balconies. The result, despite its true nature, created a tranquil internal environment unlike the sterile, cold spaces of a regular hospital.

A woven timber ceiling opened up a dappled skylight that had Jill stopping in the foyer and tilting her head back to catch the night sky she hadn't noticed on their drive. Captain Wesker allowed her the moment while he too paused to look up with her.

During the drive, she had fallen asleep a few times, and Wesker would rouse with sharp shakes to her shoulder, claiming she couldn't sleep until she was examined. He'd had a hard time getting her out of the car and her sluggish movements seemed to perturb him while he assisted her across the parking lot.

With his hand around her bicep, Jill allowed her superior officer to tug her toward the entrance of the Emergency Room lounge with a groggy countenance.

Somewhere near the back of the waiting room a child was crying, and several impatient looking people glanced their way when Wesker paused with her amidst the chittering sounds of multiple ongoing conversations.

"Take a seat," Wesker ordered softly when he stopped her near a chair beside a woman who was holding her wrist in her other hand.

"Yes, sir," Jill sounded off in a daze before she sunk heavily into the padded chair. Her eyes followed his form when he walked up to the check-in counter.

The waiting room was particularly full; Jill would be surprised if they got out of the hospital by 2 a.m. at this rate. She was starting to regret not going to the hospital in the small town of White Pine before Wesker was beside her again, helping her to stand.

"Where are we going?" she asked in surprise. Maybe he had changed his mind too.

"They're waiting for you." He led her to the door where the nurse practitioner stood.

They had bypassed the wait entirely. She was wondering how he managed to pull that off but thought she got her answer shortly after entering the new hall.

"Dr. Wesker," a pleasant voice called out ahead. "Didn't think I would see you in a facility again."

"Things change," Wesker answered simply in a tone that let both Jill and the new medical professional know that the topic was not open for further discussion.

The fingers he held around Jill's elbow tightened a fraction before he led her forward once more.

With a glance up at him, Jill tried to look a little surprised about the information she had already obtained.

Dr. Albert Wesker was quiet for the rest of their visit, and it seemed he had called in some sort of favor to get her seen quickly.

Without much mystery for the final directives, Jill was placed on a 48-hour recovery period. No strenuous activities such as physical training, looking into computer screens, or even reading.

"Looking to be a rather boring Sunday," she muttered sourly when Captain Wesker opened her door in the parking lot of her hotel.

They were here to collect her items before traveling to Wesker's home.

Wesker put up a hand to stop her from getting out of the car before he flipped it and made a beckoning motion with his fingers.

"What?" Jill asked while she craned her neck up to his height outside of the car.

"Give me your hotel key. I'll collect your items, shut out your account, and return shortly," he stated.

"Sir, I can still manage to—"

"Ms. Valentine," Wesker's voice carried that annoyed edge she heard him give Brad previously. "Do you know what made me particularly angry about tonight's events?"

Her mouth worked over slowly while she considered her many infractions. Had she been deployed, she would have been instructed to do pushups until morning, concussion or not.

"When we managed to locate your car in the parking lot, do you know what I found? A messy interior with your clothes spilled all over the back seat and a splattered cup of coffee half poured out on the center console." With his hand on the edge of the door, he leaned down a little. "Signs of a struggle. That's what we thought we found. Had it not been for the young man you supposedly interrogated; I wasn't sure we would have found you in time."

"Thank you for coming for me, captain." He hadn't let her thank him before and she'd be remiss to not do so now.

Those steely blue eyes flickered slightly while he watched her and said, "You're welcome. Now, maybe you could thank me by not questioning every order I give you so that we may finally reach my home and rest for the night?"

A deep sigh exited her mouth from his delivered admonishment and Jill was fishing into her pocket for her wallet. Soon she was handing over both her bank card and her hotel room key to him.

Wesker handed her back the bank card and said, "The precinct will be paying for your stay. Don't leave this car." He shut the door in her face and disappeared through the lot and into the Apple Inn lobby.

When Wesker returned 20 minutes later, he stowed her suitcase in the back of his vehicle and handed her the paperwork to give to Barbara when she returned to the precinct.

"You will be on leave until Tuesday morning," he was confirming her fears when they pulled back out onto the street and were finally making their way toward his home. "I'll alert Lieutenant Branagh of your situation for class. You will not be allowed to participate in high physical activity for another week. You can make up what you miss in the evenings with me in my office."

"Yes, sir," she responded after a particularly long yawn. "What am I going to do until then? I was never good at relaxing."

"Seems we have that in common," he answered dryly while he turned them down a dark road on the western side of Raccoon City. "Regardless, it makes no difference to me. You'll follow the directions of the doctor so you may return to the academy promptly."

"Could I at least make a statement on what was said to me in the bar before you showed up?" she asked while settling into her seat to better accommodate the soreness that was coming on. "I don't know what you have built up on those men, but something is definitely going on there."

"I agree, but your testimony prior to my arrival won't do us any good," he drawled while a hand smoothed down some of the hair on his head that had been disturbed by the wind. "You entered that bar under deceptive conduct. By not announcing your intentions on the case, a lawyer will have that thrown out in court should any proceedings follow. The personal assault against you will be different however."

"Because I didn't announce myself as an officer?" she questioned sharply.

"Yes."

"I'm not technically an officer though," she said while she glanced around at the neighborhood they were now entering.

"Your probationary status means you cannot operate alone. It means you conduct yourself under my directives and are therefore administered to perform the work actively. Even though I was not present, you should have identified yourself." He pulled the Land Rover into a driveway and turned to her once he shut down the engine. "If you do that again, I will fire you and that would be a true shame, Valentine."

"I understand," she murmured while meeting his stare.

"See to it that you do," he insisted while he looked up at her bandaged forehead once more. "Let's go."

Wesker's home was located at what appeared to be the very end of Euston Street. The house itself stood at the furthest position of the cul-de-sac and was spacious in its given position away from the other homes. The back porch of his property faced out toward the black landscape that was Raccoon Forest.

The house itself had been built with an avocation in simplicity. With the use of natural substances, and a connection to the surroundings, it featured local wood and stone for the foundation.

The home was beautiful in the horizontal beams it featured to give it a ranch-style feel.

For some reason, while Jill stood with the car door still in hand, she had imagined something different for him.

Parkitecture style homes were often found in the Midwest and were cozy in their presentation. Designers in the early 1900s explained them to be visually appealing and worked to harmonize with their natural environment.

Although the quaint home wasn't very large, and when Jill glanced over at her superiors retreating form, she hid a smile to herself while she shut the door and followed him up the path.

Even in the darkness of the night, the home stood proud in the age it held. Jill had a mind to ask him how long it had been his family but found that she'd rather not irritate him further by asking the personal questions he liked to evade.

Upon entry, the first thing Jill noticed right away was the dim lighting of the Belle Fleur floor Lamp and how it was swallowed up by the murky red cedar wood walls of his home. The atmosphere was designed to absorb light. There were unique, draping shadows in the main room that led toward the kitchen, but it was difficult to see everything all at once.

"No sunglasses necessary here?" she asked with a little bit of amusement leaking into her voice.

Her captain gave a version of a 'hmmph' that made her chuckle, but she noted that he still had his sunglasses off when he walked up a single step toward the hallway.

As Jill stared up at the high vaulted ceiling of the main room, she took an exploratory step toward the expansive hand-carved dining table and chairs that sat across from the rock-lined fireplace. Soft-brushed nickel hardware blended into the wood and stone accents of the walls acted as a repellent to the warm light that was sparingly placed in the home.

Although her captain had a novel taste in the western-style home, she was most pleased by the tall standing oak bookshelves that seemed to line each and every wall.

Her suitcase thunked loudly on the wooden floor when she tilted her head and started to read some of the book titles near the leather couch.

Most of the books were medical texts and were nothing of use to her particular style of reading but still she walked slowly as she ran her fingertips along the smooth sanded edges of the shelves. When she came across a particular book, she wiped the dust from her fingertips across her pants before she pulled the book out.

Critique, the Critique of Pure Reason by Immanuel Kant rested in her hands while she carefully flipped through the reprinted pages of the old German philosopher. Her eyes were flicking back and forth hungerly across the text while she turned to claim a seat on the comfy couch she had noted earlier.

The edges of the book bumped into a chest when she turned, and she startled slightly before looking up at her non-amused superior.

"I'm certain I was clear on what you shouldn't be doing while you recover," he said slowly before he glanced down at the book in her hands.

"But captain, I was daring to be wise." Jill lifted the book slightly while she gave a sheepish smile with the philosopher's known saying. "Can't bring me into a house full of books and expect me to just ignore that. Besides, who has Immanuel Kant in their home?"

"Your bedroom is down the hall on the left. The bathroom is the middle door at the end. My room is across from yours should you need anything." His hands gilded softly against hers when he took the item from her palms. With one action, he gently shut the book and the conversation down with a soft snap. "Help yourself to anything in the fridge."

"Thank you, captain," she said while leaning forward to pick up her luggage once more. "You have a lovely home and I half expected something a little different."

She was walking around him when he said, "And what did you expect, Valentine?"

"Something…" she paused looking around at the dark décor with the warm presence beneath. She realized that it seemed to encompass his personality perfectly.

"From my previous observation, your work office is devoid of personal effects and stands completely in order; a man that gives nothing away for free." She glanced back at him and gave him a genuine appraisal. "And yet, even with what you hold back, I can see your dedication. I think many people miss that about you out of fear. This is…not what I expected, and neither are you." She wasn't sure if the matching interest in his eyes was from the shadows playing tricks or not. "Goodnight, captain."

"Valentine," his deep voice seemed an octave warmer when he dismissed her quietly and stood there with the book still in hand, watching her depart into the darkness of the hall.

The next 30 minutes was a blur when she stepped into the bathroom to take a shower. Tossing on a large T-shirt and her sleeping shorts, Jill breezed through her skincare routine and stumbled back out into the hall toward her door.

Captain Wesker wasn't to be found and only one of the lamps remained lit in the main room when she pushed back into the guest room he had provided her with.

The guest room was also simple in its layout; a bed with two nightstands and a dresser. A large painting sat over the wall that the dresser was pressed against, and Jill found herself sitting heavily back on the bed while she stared up at the roving landscape painted by hand. The artist had chosen soft blues and light purples to represent the mountain range, and it led into the swirling purple of the night sky.

Tilting her head, she leaned back on her hands, let out a soft chuckle, and muttered to herself, "Definitely not what I expected."

The clock on her nightstand pointed to the late hour of 11 p.m. and she paused to really take in her situation.

She was spending the night in her superior's house under guard from the apparent threat that had been made at her doorstep of the Apple Inn. Whether the bouquet could be traced to the person responsible for the murders wasn't really a question they could answer yet.

Aside from the Phobos clue on the toenails, there was no calling card for their current criminal.

What she needed was a gun, or at least a better defensive weapon than the can of pepper spray that still sat in her Forerunner back at the hotel. She had left her prized rifle back in Wyoming and even with it on the way from the transport company that was moving her household items, it still wasn't an adequate firearm to be carrying around.

The wind picked up outside the window that stood to the right side of her bed and Jill lifted her head to watch the sway of the red pines against the light of the moon.

Somewhere in the distant forest, the baying of a wolf carried in with the air current.

Raccoon City, Michigan was turning out to be quite the place to live. With her eyes darting toward the bedroom door, Jill's thoughts crept beyond the threshold and down towards the stern man that she was finding a bit of an affinity for.

Captain Wesker's presence came with an understanding that many people seemed to share. His was an unrelenting will and he announced himself with a certainty that demanded attention. Jill had watched as many people came to wilt under it. Those at the station, the mortician, and even the men at the bar.

Even in her first few hours of knowing him, she had found his temperament to be lacking in consideration to what she was used to; however, as the hours had morphed into days, Jill couldn't stop rising to it. To him.

The details of his life were released in small tidbits and obtaining a piece was a lure that would snare her focus and the thoughts she found herself with were staying their welcome for longer than they should.

Teasing her captain had been a fun way to engage but the more she did it, the more he was beginning to thaw around her.

"No more sharing meals in bed and looking at casefiles until we pass out? Bummer, I really liked that."

"I didn't say that."

Partnering with Albert Wesker was a game of tug of war and they both were feeding on the small instances.

Dare to keep pulling?

With a shake of her head, Jill made a soft noise in the back of her throat as she stood and pulled the curtains closed around the window. Sliding into bed, she noted that the comforter on the bed had been freshly washed and when she rested her head against the pillow, Jill recognized the scent of the detergent as the one her family used many years ago.

Sleep wasn't hard to chase after the long day, but just before she fell into that last space of consciousness, her mind wandered to the men in the bar that had held her against that pool table.

Her grey-blue eyes were open once more before she pushed her face into the pillow with an inhale.

Had Wesker not intervened when he had, she wasn't sure what would have become of her. She'd been too slow, too distracted and—compromised. Her captain had called it for what it was, and it was a truth that stung along with the past that called up scars beneath it.

In the small guest room of home, Jill Valentine allowed her past one more moment of torment in her mind before the memory of her captain's voice filled the spaces that normally followed her into the nightmares.

When she dreamed this time, it wasn't of those soldiers that had held her down.

It was of the man who ordered her to rise.

When Jill's eyes opened next, she was confused when she lifted her face and peered into the same darkness out the window that she had viewed when she had first laid down. A sloppy roll onto her side had her squinting at the bedside clock to find that it was only 4 a.m.

The fullness of her bladder was the only thing that roused her out of the warm bed. Feeling unsteady on her feet, she stumbled toward the door and paused when she noticed the food on a tray upon her dresser.

Had Wesker come in only a few hours ago to try and get her to eat?

A finger placed on the food in the plate told Jill of its long-cooled presence in the room, and she turned to open the door slowly while she peered out into the hall.

The single lamp with the stained-glass dome lit the atmosphere in a four-foot radius near one of the bookshelves. Her captain was nowhere in sight and when she glanced toward the bedroom door across from hers, she found the door completely closed. From the crack under the door, she could tell the lights were off within.

Her bathroom trip was quick and while she tiptoed back toward her room, she paused when her stomach gave a lurching growl. She felt ravenous.

Finding a single serving cup of yogurt in the fridge, Jill kept the lights off in the kitchen while she yanked the top off the small container. She was just swallowing the first serving when a noise caught in her ears and made the hair on her arms rise.

It was faint, higher pitched, and competed against the rustling sounds of the leaves on the side porch next to the kitchen. The wind was distorting the sound, but it automatically had her in motion.

Blinking into the darkness of the room, she set the yogurt down on the kitchen counter before padding toward the side door with the straw shade hanging from the top.

She heard the sound again.

"Is that a…?" Jill whispered before turning the lock on the side door and wishing she hadn't left her rifle once more.

The early morning air of September was frigid when Jill stepped onto the outside porch. A gate that separated the property from the forest land was slightly ajar and each pull from the wind caused a rhythmic creaking sound into the night.

Nothing else moved in the darkness while she stared.

Wind had her lank hair whipping across her face before she pushed the strands behind her ears. The wood of the porch creaked behind her, and she let out a soft gasp before she spun around.

"What are you doing?" Captain Wesker asked, sleep heavy in his rasping voice.

With her heart already beating in rapid succession from the scare, the sight of a morning Wesker did not seem to help her climbing pulse rate.

As the weeks progressed, she would blame these moments for her lack of control.

He only wore black pajama bottom pants slung low on his waist and they precariously exposed the v-cut lines of his hips that led down into the fabric of the waistband. His bare chest would have been enough for her to take a wandering stroll over his skin but that wasn't what snared her last.

Above his normally guarded eyes, freshly washed hair swayed freely against his head in a neat ear-tuck cut. The normally swept back strands brought on a softness to his face that had Jill opening and closing her mouth again.

Albert Wesker wasn't just attractive.

He was absolutely stunning when he woke up.

The noise sounded out again and her captain looked away from her and toward it.

"Did you really wake me up for a cat, Ms. Valentine?" It was too bad he wasn't a morning person. It was his sharp tone that snapped her back to reality.

Tongue back in your mouth, Jill.

"To be fair, I didn't wake you up, sir, but I'll keep it in mind as an option for later," she found herself saying absently while she too looked toward the sound of the crying animal. "Besides, it sounded like a kid with the way wind howled through the forest. It scared the hell out of me."

When he didn't answer, she glanced back at him to find him studying her quietly. That familiar strand of hair had fallen over his brow again, and Jill forced herself to look away from him before she began to descend the steps into his backyard.

"Go back to sleep," she called back to him. "You've only been sleeping for a few hours."

"Are you aware you've been sleeping for about over a day now?" he finally spoke again.

"I slept through my only day off?" she uttered. "I'm honestly more surprised; I never sleep through the night."

"Couldn't even wake you to eat. I thought you weren't good at relaxing, Valentine?"

"Explains why I'm so hungry." She shrugged. "Your bed is comfortable." She leaned down slightly toward the bushes on his property. "Here kitty, kitty,"

"May I remind you that you are without your own establishments right now, and by extension, a guest in a house that condemns pets?"

"Mr. Wyoming," she called over her shoulder with a raised brow. "Are you telling me that you'd leave a helpless kitten in the cold?"

"I'm about to leave two kittens out in the cold," he sneered.

Before Jill could process whether that was an insult or a compliment, a small bundle of fluffy black fur tumbled out of the bushes and golden eyes that were lit by the moon above were staring up at her before they closed in another pitiful cry.

A kitten that looked to be no more than five or six weeks old was mewling before she made shushing sounds and wrapped her fingers around its too-thin body.

"Poor thing is going to freeze to death and there are wolves out here," she called out.

The deep sigh of her captain behind her caused a victorious smile to envelop across her features. She was wiping it from her face before she stood and turned back to him.

"C'mon, captain. Can we just put him in your garage? I can't work tomorrow, so maybe I can find a home for it?" she asked.

Wesker turned on his heel, and she watched him give a wave of his hand before he was pushing back into the house.

The kitten screamed up toward her when she gave it a grin and whispered, "I think that was a 'yes'. What do you think?"

The small animal continued to mew while Jill pushed back into the warmth of the house. A door on the far-left end of the room was ajar, and the sound of shuffling items were spilling out into the cavernous space of the main hall.

When Jill pushed into the garage, she took stock of the neatly organized tool bench, fishing poles, skis, and different hoses that were hanging from the wall.

"Alright," she uttered toward Wesker while she watched his back muscles flex from the cardboard box he was pulling out from beneath a shelf against the wall. "Whose house is this?"

"Apparently a day of sleeping wasn't enough for the brain damage you sustained," he bid without looking back at her. "This is my house."

Jill couldn't take her eyes from the glossy strands of his blond hair that swayed freely while he pulled different pieces of what looked to be car parts from the box.

"So, do you like to fish, ski, and work on home projects?" The kitten was purring in her arms now.

"Does my professional disposition somehow give the idea that I am without any personal interests, Ms. Valentine?" His sharp gaze was peering out at her from over his shoulder.

"No," she sighed and petted the cat with her free hand. "Sorry, I mean no offense. I just—what are you doing?"

Wesker was moving toward her now and held out the box that had been cleared out. Inside, a bowl of water and a towel had been placed inside. He was staring at her with his brow lifting when she just blinked at him.

"Put the cat in the box," he commanded.

Following his order, the tiny creature braced itself against the momentum of the moving box when Wesker placed it in her arms.

"Find a home for it tomorrow," he leaned down to catch her eye. "I don't need more strays." He pushed past her and walked back into the house without another word.

The kitten was staring up at her when she sighed.

Stray.

She wasn't a stranger to feeling unwelcome or in the way. However, it felt particularly tender given how many life transitions she had encountered as of late.

Fresh out of the military, in a new state, new city, new job, new friendships, new co-workers, and a new boss who she was now staying with. She didn't often find herself being someone's guest, but she supposed she should apologize to him in the morning. Maybe Kevin would allow her to stay with him.

She should also stop being surprised when her captain revealed himself to be just another normal human being with hobbies and interests.

Still, she'd ask Kevin tomorrow.

It was close to 5 a.m. when Jill situated the box in the garage and closed the door to return to the yogurt she had left out. Finishing the quick snack, she cleaned her spoon, and realized she was wide awake for the time being.

Figuring she wouldn't break any guest laws by brewing them both coffee, she searched the cabinets for the materials and before long, the smell of the Sumatran beans was billowing throughout the quiet atmosphere in the home.

The sounds of a running shower caught her attention, and she leaned down the hallway to see the bathroom light creeping out beneath the door.

As it was now Monday, Wesker would be going into work while she was required to stay home and rest. She was sipping her coffee with her buzzing irritation when she noticed the piano in the other corner of the room.

With a hurried slurp to her coffee, Jill unwound her legs from the couch and set the cup on the table before she made her way to the piano.

It was an antique Trowbridge Upright Grand Piano and whomever it had originally belonged to had taken excellent care of it. The Burl Ash wood was still finished, and the piano keys appeared to be well maintained.

Sitting down at the bench, Jill pushed her hair over one shoulder and ran her fingers lightly over the keys. It had been years since she had played but that old desire was pushing through her when she stroked the first note. The sound rang out perfectly in the acoustics of the vaulted ceiling above her.

Playing piano had been one of the only things her father had time to teach her before her mother had died. Often he would come to her recitals, and it had been a practice they shared together. Back when she was small enough to sit beside him and press the notes he had taught her for different songs while he played.

"Where does the sound come from daddy?"

"Right here." Her father would point to her chest and when she looked down, he pinched her nose before his rolling laugh would mix in with the music.

After her mother had died, there wasn't time for playing anymore. Her piano lessons had become too expensive, and even before that, he had stopped being able to show up. She'd been able to play the one at her local high school, but something had felt tainted.

Lost.

There wouldn't be music in the Valentine household after that. Just the rattle of two broken hearts inside of a fading home in the chest.

For the first time in seven years, Jill felt the urge to play and so without a thought to her environment, she let her head lower while the wandering father sat beside her in her mind.

In the first movement, which was her favorite, the broken minor chords played with the right hand. Countered with the octaves played with the left, both of her hands were evoking a rising sorrow that had traveled across states. The melancholic mood of the piece swept through the wood of her superior's home before the melody began in earnest with a murmuring, almost desperate ache.

The C sharp minor key was somewhat challenging; there were many accidentals scattered throughout the purpose of the song, but the tempo was slow enough for Jill to think through—to feel while she played with her eyes closed.

Unbeknownst to her, she was rocking in time with the tones in the shade of the cold September air. Eyes burning when they eventually opened again, and the song came to an end with a reality that fell before her with the weight of the notes.

"Beautiful." A quiet word spoken behind her.

Snatching her hands from the now still keys, Jill whirled around on the bench to the almost soft look in her captain's eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said to his fully dressed form. He was watching her with an expression she was uncertain of. "I shouldn't have touched your piano. I—" Where was this fear coming from?

From being caught? From being a bad guest? No, she knew, and it came from somewhere much deeper than that.

With this warmly lit house, the sheets that smelled of home, and the piano sitting in the corner that whispered for a past that was no longer hers.

"I shouldn't—" She was standing to her feet and the large T-shirt she wore fell off one shoulder from her haste. "I shouldn't have asked to bring the cat in—I shouldn't be here, sir."

"Valentine." He was studying her features intently now. "Calm yourself—" he grabbed her arm more gently than any other time prior.

His eyes were calculating before her panicked ones when he asked, "Where are you right now, Valentine?"

"I know where I am," she bit out harshly. "My concussion is gone. I—"

"No," he interrupted her, pulling her closer before his other hand settled on her still clothed shoulder. "In your head."

Be where you are, soldier.

An old saying that originated for the horrors of the Vietnam war. A fledging reminder to those who reacted harshly to the echo of open combat even after they returned home but their minds were further away.

Her captain was asking her the same type of things now, grounding her with the reminder of the present.

"At home, sir." she produced honesty, finally understanding. "I am…I just saw the piano and I haven't played in a while."

Anger was rising in her gut. Anger for the loss of her control but anger for the shame of letting him see this portion of herself beside it.

Much like the accent she trained out of her voice, she had worked hard for years to never let these feelings out. To know that all it took was a piano more than pissed her off in the moment and she clung to the anger instead of the shame.

"You can play that piano whenever you desire," Wesker was still watching her carefully when his voice drew out his next words. "You became someone else while you were playing."

The more she was around this man, the more she found herself feeling the foolish and inexperienced age that the military couldn't always make up for. Her eyes were on the ground while she struggled to reign herself in. She'd prefer physical weakness over mental weakness any day.

And so far, he has seen two instances of it now. It was unfortunate that those insecurities would still remain even when the hands felt capable, but the heart did not.

"Seems you have numerous talents," Captain Wesker said as he let go of her arm. He was courteous when he picked the shirt collar up and adjusted it back over her shoulder.

"The lady at the piano; it's featured as the subject of many artworks." His words were measured, and he glanced back toward the instrument behind her. "There's power and intelligence for those who can play, but there's always been something captivating to an audience when a woman plays."

Jill met his eyes once more when she realized that being vulnerable around him was similar to sitting in front of a chess board. Each portion she gave him felt like a hand trembling to pick up a piece and move it.

Albert Wesker was a natural teacher but in these moments he instructed passively, forcing her to respond calmly and think about whether one response was a good idea and whether there were other, better ideas.

"Would you care to sit down and finish the coffee with me, Valentine?"

"Yeah," she whispered. "Yes, sir," she corrected quickly.

Her captain released her shoulder, and she caught a whiff of his aftershave when he walked past her toward the kitchen.

He set the fresh cup of creamed coffee in front of her and said, "You're not what I expected either."

Jill lifted her head toward him at the callback from last night. With his hair swept back, and the armor of his well-tailored slacks, vest, and overcoat, Wesker was once more the fearsome captain whispered about in the R.P.D.

She saw it for what it was, a white flag. Neutral ground and a grace she didn't think he offered to many. Maybe he offered clemency after all. Possibly at a price.

"What did you expect?" she found herself asking.

"Arrogance. Brash posturing but with the intelligence that your previous commanding officer reported. Bravado as I've seen you display, but underneath that…" he tilted his head toward her from his standing position. "You hold onto dead things too, Valentine."

With a slow nod, Jill met his eyes once more.

"I suppose there's no disguising that anymore," she responded. "Something to be trained out." Jill leaned forward and shook her head. "Listen, captain, I don't want to burden your space. I can ask to stay with Kevin Ryman. I think he'd let me stay with him until the 15th."

"What's on the 15th?" Wesker asked when he sat in the lounge chair across from the couch. His ankle crossed over onto his knee while he watched her.

"I put a down payment on an apartment," she said, holding his eyes.

"Mmm," he hummed in thought for a moment. "You're no burden to me, but if you're uncomfortable, I will look for other accommodations."

"Well, no, I'm not uncomfortable. You've been nothing but hospitable, but the cat and—"

Wesker stood then, his coffee cup clicking against the table before his dress shoes were clacking over the wooden floor.

With a blink, that pit was opening in her stomach once more before her jaw went slack at the sight emerging back into the room.

Wesker held that smirk across his features while he carried the tiny creature she rescued by the scruff of the neck and placed it in her outstretched hands. The baby animal was snuggling into her neck in seconds.

"I'll tell you what, Valentine," he said with that smirk deepening. "I'll allow that thing room and board in this house along with you if you promise me something."

"I feel like bribery should be beneath the status of a captain—" she began with a growing smile before he cut her a look and she stopped.

"As I was saying," he drawled in a haughty but somewhat playful tone now. "You can keep the cat here until you get your apartment, but twice a week you're going to work hand-to-hand with me."

"If I remember correctly," Jill said, feeling more like herself as she challenged him in a familiar domain once more. "It was you who was pinned last."

"This doesn't have anything to do with your capabilities. I am very aware of your skill, and I think you are too." He seemed to like it when she challenged him anyway. "But in specific scenarios you are compromised, and I will look to assist you through that."

A chess piece slid across the board in her mind.

Not knowing who was moving the piece quite yet, she nodded and looked down at the meowing kitten that was nudging its face against one of her hands.

She would allow him ground on that. Of all her sparring partners, there was something decidedly different about him. Aside from that, she found her trust in him to be more anchored—If she snapped, he had the most ability to stop her.

"Alright." She blew out her breath. "But I get to name him." As if to add in its own two cents, the kitten yowled once more in her arms.

"Do try to be creative," Wesker provoked in his signature drawl. "I don't have much patience for cute names." He pulled his overcoat across his shoulders before he picked up his keys from a side table near the door. "My cell number is on the fridge. Call me if anything comes up…and Valentine?"

"Yes, sir?" That self-hatred was falling into the background of her mind as the animal purred from her attention.

"What you feel isn't something just to be 'trained out'," he said, referencing her earlier statement on her trauma. "That doesn't scare or intimidate me either. It's something I understand well." And the front door closed behind him.

The scent of his aftershave and a natural musk was left in the air while Jill sampled the ringing meaning behind those words. His scent was elusive, and it lured her further toward the man who led the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team.

Rising from the couch, she set to cleaning up the dishes from the coffee while she replayed the events with a frown at the corner of her mouth. The kitten scurried around near her feet, finding a piece of dangling string from the worn mat beneath her while she washed the mugs and pot.

Not wanting her newfound friend to mark up her superior's house, Jill brought in another box filled with dirt from outside; the hope was to get the cat to understand a litter box quickly before Wesker had a change of heart.

Wesker's bedroom door was already shut, but when she approached the other room, she leaned over to grab the knob when she took in the study.

A large oak desk sat near the door, and Jill tilted her head while she took in the murder casefile from the sun pushing through the curtains.

Lifting it to her chest, Jill figured Wesker couldn't be completely mad if she decided to catch up on her knowledge of the two cases but all of that went out of her mind when she beheld the items on the wall across from the desk.

The study was simple in its set up, as was most of the house. There was a subtle elegance to each room; furniture had been selected or crafted with great care. The rooms were clean, and the faint notes of polished wood and finisher were present along with a simple floral smell.

Several bookcases rested along the walls of this room, and the titles were a mismatching of medical texts much like the ones were out in the main room. However, along some of the shelves were small wooden carvings, and different native American fetish statues. One of them was of a raven and it caught her eye before her gaze settled on the folded American flag on the wall.

There was a general protocol for displaying medals received in military service. The highest honors were placed in the top left in order of precedence. It was also advised to assemble medals of the same category together. All the stars, with the highest-ranking to the top left, and then patches, pins, and ribbons.

Beneath the blue cocked-corner hat-shape of the folded American flag sat Captain Wesker's display case of medals.

The Army Distinguished Service Cross was placed first in the row, followed by the Silver Star, the Purple Heart Medal, the Combat Medical Badge, the U.S. Army Medical Department regimental coat of arms, the U.S. Army rank of Major, and many more.

The medal that truly caught her eye was the Prisoner of War Medal. The design of the American Eagle surrounded in barbed wire had her captain's departing words repeating back to her as she clutched the folder to her chest.

Albert Wesker had been a Major in the United States Army Medical Corps. Somewhere along the way, he had obtained combat medical experience, was wounded in combat, and held prisoner for a time.

"Captain Wesker has a…unique history. Maybe more than all of us." Brad's words from a day earlier whispered in and out of her mind while she shut the door to his office and slowly walked down the hall.

"You know," Jill whispered in a slightly shaken voice down to the kitten near her feet. "I think I just figured out a name for you and he's going to hate it."

The tiny animal cried in response; clearly upset by the lack of food she was providing.

With a chuckle, the afternoon found Jill Valentine feeding the kitten a few pieces of canned tuna she found in the pantry and reading the case files quietly in the sunlight in one of the armchairs near the living room window.

Wesker only had one TV in the house and with a generous overtaking of his space, Jill pushed into his room, sat on his bed, and turned the TV to the news station while she began to sort the files out into a bigger space she could utilize.

With the energy only babies had, the now named kitten ran back and forth across the wooden floor, chasing a ball of wadded up paper she had tossed to him earlier.

The notepad at her side was becoming full while she excitedly wrote down her notes and listened to the newscasters repeat the cycle of reporting about the murders and the bodies found in the Arklay mountain trails.

When the kitten's head would pop up from his messy climb up Wesker's comforter, she would pretend she didn't notice him before she released an aerial assault with her fingers that would cause it to jump excitedly onto the bed and trot across her papers with that cocky little sidestep cats were known for. Jill's laugh echoed through the home while she had the thought that maybe medical leave wasn't as bad as she thought.

In the late hour of the evening, she was yawning while she mentally endeavored to carve out some time to talk with Detective Edward tomorrow morning. There were so many questions she needed to ask about the proceeding investigation.

It was late when the sound of dress shoes clicked across the boards of the bedroom and Jill's eyes fluttered open at the disruption that rose lightly over the quiet murmur of the TV she had left on.

Lifting her head from the curled-up position she held across his bed, her blurry vision snagged on the case files that were still neatly arranged around the comforter with different indicator notes for each section. Soft movement had her glancing down at the kitten that lay snuggled between her cradled forearms at her chest. The shifting of cloth had her turning her chin over her shoulder when she met the gaze of Captain Wesker.

She was in his bed, lying freshly showered at least, but invading his personal space with the cat she knew he did not care for.

Fuck.

She had only meant to stay in here for a few hours so she could keep up on local reports, but her new findings had driven the hours past and his bed was even better than the one in the guest room.

Jill expected anger while she stared up at his towering form. She expected a lecture and to possibly be tossed out, with her ridiculously named cat, into the cold.

What she did not expect was the cocked head he gave her when he set down a plastic bag on his dresser. Nor did she expect the slight grin before he spoke.

"Ms. Valentine, it was a pleasure leaving you in my home today, but I will venture to say that this is not how I expected to find you at the end of it."

When he rounded the foot of the bed, placed his hands on the mattress in front of her, and leaned his head downwards with a cunning look in his eye, Jill thought she may be in more trouble than she knew what to do with.

The chess board was becoming a tangible thing in her mind. By falling asleep in his bed, she'd lifted her finger off the piece, and she didn't quite yet know the scale of disaster she'd left herself open to.

If she was losing, she thought defeat could look worse.