A/N: Revising. It needs it. Reviews are always appreciated.

Down the Rabbit Hole

Death borders upon our birth,

and our cradle stands in the grave.

- Joseph Hall

I'm dead. There was a window. I fell.

Her very bones know this. Was it a door instead of a window? No, no the glass cut her hands as she fell. Like in her dream. The one she gets over and over. Falling and dying.

Life is but a dream. Or was it a stage? Down went Alice...never once considering how in the world she was to get out again...

Out to where she doesn't know. Its cold here. So cold. Something...wet and thick is surrounding her. Dark. Is it her? Is she swimming in her own fluid? Rotting in a grave or being reborn? Both maybe, nothing is sacred in this mad world.

I can't see? What's to see inside myself...

Something tells her she should care. Shouldn't be here, whatever godforsaken place this is. Colder. The wet thickness is lessening, air rushing in to dry whatever fluid this second womb has covered her with.

So cold.

In her dreams she is clinging to something (someone?) warm as she falls. She tries to open her eyes but the thick liquid seals her lashes tight. Limbs twitching.

Am I dreaming? I never stay dead in my dreams...cat came back...

Cat. It was familiar. Nothing is familiar except falling and clinging. Why is the cat familiar? Did she own a cat? No. No, the cat belonged to them.

Them?

Flickers. She grabs for it. A shiny shard of memory slicing her. Its like watching someone else's life on an old flickering movie screen. Looking through blue windows with a different soul. Shattered windows, each piece reflecting her face.

But doesn't Alice follow a rabbit...?

S.T.A.R.S.

Her uniform is so blue, ironed and unfaded it must be new. She is new, nervous and excited. First day on the job. Special Tactics And Rescue Service. Its a dream finally come true. The hinges creek as she pushes the door to her new squad bay open. Stomach full of giddy butterflies.

"Guys the Captain is going to kill us if we don't get the damn cat out of there. Damnit Redfield, why did you put him in the air vents again?" A thin dark haired man in a puffy yellow vest is standing on a chair shaking a container of cat treats.

"You came up with it Brad, you're one to talk." Leaning against the wall is amusement wrapped in a ruggedly handsome shell wrapped in stubble. Jill stares, butterflies and confusion. She turns to the third mad man there.

"You're Valentine?" Tall, thick and solid; an ax wouldn't look out of place on this rugged lumberjack of a man. His dark eyes are merry as he smiles at her nod, waves her in with the steaming cup in his left hand, dropping the used teabag in the trash.

"Barry. How good are you with cats young lady? Can you get Albert down?" Jill finally blinks, eyebrows crawling toward her hairline before she speaks.

"Got any tuna?"

Three pairs of eyes regard her, taking stock of her small frame and pretty face.

The vent is high up, much higher than her small form can reach even from a chair. The precarious chair-on-table apparatus is an accident waiting to happen.

Jill tries not to think of it. Fear on her first day is not a good start, not here where weakness can be smelled like fresh meat among carnivores. Light shines off a pair of appraising eyes in the dark vent, hypnotic red-gold eyes.

She has never seen eyes like that before.

"Hey Al, do you like fish?" She holds the can at the entrance, waiting patiently for furry judgement.

Can't rush cats. Little bastards think they're Gods. Egyptians worshiped them, I guess if you believe enough others will too.

"You've got pretty eyes Al, I've never seen eyes like that before." The blacker shape in the dark moves carefully closer, revealing sleek black fur and a twitching pink nose following the can she slowly pulls toward her. Carrot and the stick.

Got you.

Small white claws dig into her sleeve, climbing down her arm toward the promise of fish. Jill cradles his little body.

"I bet you get all the lady cats Albert, you're a pretty boy." Al rubs her hand in appreciation, purring like a small engine. "Or can I call you Al? Albert doesn't really suit you."

"Who named the cat Albert?" Its a hissing snarl barely above a whisper but all the more venomous for it. She jumps and the chair wobbles, overturns taking her and Al down with it. The landing is broken by something warm and not exactly soft but softer than the floor.

A person.

Now covered in tuna.

Oh shit.

She's never gotten up so fast in her life, Al clutched to her chest.

"Oh my god I am so sorry -" Apologies are tripping over each other, running off her tongue. Three other voices speaking at once.

"Captain!-"

"Everyone alright?-"

"The cat was here first Sir-"

Blue eyes spitting fire are visible through sunglasses knocked askew. Blond hair and sharp features. Mouth compressed so tightly his lips are almost invisible. She sees the plaque on the half opened door behind him.

Captain Albert Wesker.

Jill Valentine is a survivor, a tough girl. She feels shrunken, like she will sink through the floor. Al the cat keeps on purring, red-gold eyes gleaming. Claws gripping her flesh through the new uniform.

Its gone, sand slipping through her hands faster the harder she tries to hold onto the memory. Old footage fraying.

Someone is wiping the goo from her face, loosening the glue on her eyes. She can see blurry dark shapes. Broken sounds are coming from somewhere close.

From me?

Eyes. With slit pupils like a cat. Someone is muttering in a sing song voice over and over. A nursery rhyme...

"The cat came back the very next day...they thought he was a goner but he wouldn't stay away..."

Hypnotic red-gold eyes float above her, bright twin suns to her sensitive eyes.

Al?

Who has not sat before his own heart's curtain?

It lifts: and the scenery is falling apart.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

A/N: Does anyone else hear Star Wars music whenever a story mentions twin suns? Or is that just me?