Strength Through Wounding

AN - I finished this chapter a couple of days ago but...well, it was long. I tried to cut it in half but it didn't feel right and when I tried to cut it down the one part that could be condensed didn't work when I tried it. In the end I decided to just post the whole thing and hope you don't have too much of a problem with it. I'll try to keep next chapter shorter. Chris and Rebecca's discussion was supposed to be longer, but I've moved parts of that to next chapter (with a different character which actually works out better). I'm not entirely happy with this chapter (understatement) but it's a filler and when do they ever feel right? Anyway, chapter title is from a song by Disturbed. Hope you enjoy.

Another huge thank you to everyone who reviewed. Sparkle Valentine, Kenshin13, Devil Rebel, tek, xSummonerYunax, KT324, and Ligadorra. Once again I'm sorry I haven't replied to any reviews, I will try and find time, I promise!

Chapter Three – Criminal

"This suffering, it makes me think like a criminal."

August 1, 1998. 8:30am

Something clawed at the inside of his skull. Something large, hairy and undeniably venomous. His stomach lurched at the mere thought of food, the muffled beating of his own heart loud enough to shatter bone.

Little memory remained of how exactly he had found himself in this situation. Truth be told, he was unsure where or even when he was. His brain allowed him to remember select moments only, and all were equally shameful. He could recall Jill's hands at an uncomfortably pleasurable level, her skin soft against the fingers that-

Just what exactly had his fingers been doing?

He groaned aloud, aware of a vague joke about keeping his hands to himself. The groan was half out of embarrassment and half out of shame. Jill was the last person he wanted to be on the receiving end of his sometimes lewd drunken behaviour.

Shuffling could be heard on the other side of the closed door and he knew that he could not remain hidden beneath the sheets forever. Gathering what little courage and energy he could find, he attempted to find his feet. The third try proved lucky, though his legs made it clear that they carried his weight reluctantly.

He viewed the world through a painful haze, finding the door with the greatest of effort. Whatever noise had been audible before had ceased and he began to pray that she had returned to her bedroom, allowing him a little more time to prepare an apologetic speech. But when he left the stuffy safety of Jill's guest bedroom, his eyes fell first on the woman at the table, leafing through the day's newspaper.

"Morning, sunshine," she chirped smugly, looking up from the Raccoon Times for a brief moment. There was something awkward about her speech; something forced that tugged on something within his chest.

"Morning," he groaned, his voice as dry as his throat. "'Least it's not 'afternoon'."

As expected, the attention she had agreed to loan him that day seemed to have expired and she made no sign of hearing his words.

"Jill…" he spoke. But what would he have said? He knew in his heart what words he would have truly loved to speak to her, but knew that they would get him nowhere. If she accepted his admission she would only have assumed that his feelings were born of the horror they had fought through. That, he knew, would hurt far more than her not knowing.

She must have detected a hint of emotion in his voice, because it was enough to draw her eyes to his expectantly.

"I…I'm sorry," he apologised sheepishly. "About last night."

"I've seen you drunk before, Chris," she replied, attention falling once again to the broadsheet.

"No, I mean…" He paused to lower himself into the chair opposite hers, heeding his weak mind's warning. "I can't remember much, but I didn't…I didn't come on to you, did I?"

Coming on to her was the least of his worries. Slowly, images of an embrace that was far from friendly drifted through his consciousness. They had to have belonged to a drunken dream, or even a thought, conjured up when his mind was not in a state to distinguish between wish and reality. After all, if they had slept together the atmosphere surely would have been different; awkward, rather than cold.

Suddenly, Jill found it impossible to keep a straight face. Chris became deeply confused by her unprovoked guffaws and thought for a moment about complaining when her head fell forward into a solitary hand and her shoulders began to shake.

"I'm…sorry," she choked, thumping her chest with a closed fist. "There was, uh, a little groping, but-"

His heart sank in an instant; he could feel the colour draining from his face.

"I'm joking," she admitted, lips curling into an unintentional smile. "You came in, I helped you to bed and that was it."

Chris decided not to voice his dismay at her rather cruel joke. Instead, he fell into an empty chair and reached for the water she had evidently not touched.

"You did call me beautiful," she announced, almost half-heartedly. Though her eyes had once again resumed scanning the newspaper he could tell that she was not absorbing the words, rather waiting to gauge his reaction.

His slip of the tongue sent shivers of embarrassment through his veins but he refused to let it show.

"Must have been drunk then," he smiled. A soft kick beneath the table signalled her offense.

"Look, I'm sorry," he spoke quietly, wanting to hold her attention now that he had it. "Yesterday...I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry. I know I haven't been the most pleasant person to be around lately, but... Well, I just don't think I can handle any awkwardness on top of everything else."

Silence trickled into the space between them, paper rustling quietly as she folded the daily and cast it aside. If he was not mistaken, he witnessed a sheepish smile tug at the corner of her lips. Was an apology about to come forth? What was it that she felt the need to apologise for?

"You didn't do anything," she sighed. Her hair fell carelessly into her face and she was perhaps a little too quick to push it back into place. "I had...a weird dream. It freaked me out, that's all. I'm sorry I ended up taking it out on you, it's not your fault, it's just..."

If he thought that feelings were about to be brought to discussion, he was quickly disappointed. Her words trailed off, eyes locking with his in a move that said plainly "I will discuss this matter no further".

However, speech was not necessary. Though his mind currently floated in a painful dimension far from his physical being, he knew that it did not take much to send hellish echoes around their world. Dreams were no longer dreams, shadows had minds of their own and even a passing thought could manifest as nightmare. In the doldrums, nothing was ever as it seemed.

"Jill," he called softly through unsettling thoughts. "If my being here is making you feel uncomfortable, I can leave. Just tell me I've overstayed my welcome and I'll pack my bags...bag."

The look that answered his gentle probing could be described only as absurd.

"You can stay as long as you want," she assured him, voice perhaps more urging than had been intended. "It's nice to have someone here when I wake up. It feels...safer."

He lost her again in that moment, the familiar fog descending upon her. Uncertainty was not a trait she wore well. All he could think to do was to take a hand in his; a hand she was reluctant to leave in his warm grip.

"Rebecca called earlier," she told him, hand remaining as it was. "She wants us to go to the office. Something about a breakthrough."

Chris removed his hand, rubbing his forehead soothingly as he wrapped his hung-over mind around the concept of work on a Saturday. All his body felt fit to do was crawl back into bed and pray for a swift recovery. In his mind he knew that it was a selfish want; a breakthrough meant that finally they had something viable on Umbrella, something that may lead to closure.

"I'll tell her you're indisposed if you need rest," she offered. He knew that her concern was not completely due to sympathy; a foul hangover was enough to shorten anyone's fuse and Chris's temper was the last beast they wanted to provoke at such a time.

"No," he refused, irritation already setting in. "Just butter me some toast, will you? I'll go get cleaned up."

For such an important endeavour, Rebecca found herself completely unprepared. Hastily-scribbled notes, unintelligible diagrams; she was thankful that the preliminary plan made sense in her mind.

Barry was the first to arrive, appearing dishevelled and more troubled than usual. After an hour of waiting for the other members, she had almost given up on Chris and Jill's appearance at the last-minute meeting. A message left on Brad's answering machine - just in case - had gone unanswered, which had not been unexpected.

"Sorry we're late," Jill apologised when she finally appeared with Chris in tow. There was no doubting the reason for their overdue arrival; Chris wore the perturbed and helpless expression of one who had enjoyed themselves a little too much the previous night. Hair ungelled and skin pale and sickly; she found it hard to scrounge scraps of sympathy for him.

"Well, now that we're all here," she chirped. Even the tardiness of half the team failed to throw her from her self-constructed pedestal.

They all looked to her expectantly and her heart swelled with the undivided attention that was bestowed upon her. Though it often struck her as a little silly, she relished the feeling of standing before others and sharing knowledge, even if it was limited.

"I cross-checked the last of the names we collected and...I came up gold." The grin and giggle at the end of her announcement sparked a wave of excitement that passed through the small office. "Dr. Karen Anderson is head of the mycobacterial division of the Raccoon Health Institute. It was a pure fluke that I came across her; her latest endeavour into immunology landed her in a medical journal I just happen to subscribe to. Anyway, the RHI is the public face of Umbrella's research, and admittedly the majority of its work is in the public health sector and is rather positive. However, it makes sense that some areas will overlap with their more sinister research."

"Karen Anderson," Jill thought aloud. "I recognise that name."

Rebecca nodded enthusiastically.

"She was the author of quite a few reports we found in the lab under the mansion," she explained. "I dug a little deeper into her activities and, uh-" She paused for a moment to adjust the collar of her T-shirt. "Admittedly, not all of this digging was entirely legal. But it did lead me to discover that an unknown source has been slipping her almost twice her registered salary yearly. Due to the infrequency of her actual hours at the RHI and Umbrella's lack of probing into her absences, I believe that this mysterious benefactor must be Umbrella themselves."

The amusement at her admission of criminal activities did not disperse as she had assumed it would and slowly, she felt her cheeks flush impetuously. The general buzz of pride was more noticeable to her caffeine-motivated mind and she suddenly regretted the hours she had spent at her computer rather than in bed.

"I, uh-" she tried, searching for her train of thought. "From what I could gather from the papers at the mansion, the T-virus was derived from another base virus. It seems that Umbrella had branched out into experimenting with the outcome of mutating other viruses and bacterium. Fortunately all research in this area seemed to hit a dead end, but Dr. Anderson had a personal interest in the interaction of mycobacterium with koinobiont parasitoids-"

"Rebecca," Chris groaned, head in hand. She could tell by the way his eyes refused to remain open that he was bored out of his mind. "Please get to the point."

Thrown off a little by his rejection of ideas she personally found fascinating, she swallowed the affront that rose in her throat and continued.

"She has been working with William Birkin," she continued, eyes on Chris at every word. "Birkin, from what I gather, worked closely with Wesker. Quite high up in the chain of command, if you get my drift. I happen to have Karen Anderson's home address, and I know that she is in Europe at a medical conference for the next few days. She lives only with her husband, who accompanied her."

"Which means that the house would be empty..."

All eyes turned to Jill, now lost in contemplative thought. Rebecca smiled, knowing that she could count on the questionable circumstances under which Jill had learnt her skills to guide her towards her point of view.

"Are you saying that we should break in to this woman's house?" Barry raged, such a concept unheard of to the generally law-abiding man.

Criminal activity was not a level Rebecca wished to stoop to, but she saw no other option, only a job that needed to be done and a means to an end. Either that or the excessive consumption of coffee had rewired her brain.

"It's unlikely that we will find anything we can use, and even if we did it would not be admissible as evidence," she acknowledged sadly. "But it's a start. All we can do right now is gather information. Destroy them from the inside out."

Barry appeared unconvinced, Chris unreadable, but Jill at least appeared to be giving thought to her proposal.

More than anything, she hoped that her sleepless night did not amount to nothing. It was the first time in a week that she had been able to look at the world with a clear mind and less pessimistic view. Richard had not returned since her conversation with Bridgette and though she was unsure if this meant that she was free of him entirely or simply offered reprieve, she welcomed the clarity of mind that his absence provided her with.

"Do you know what security she has?" Jill asked, locking eyes with her to show that she was serious. Rebecca told her that she did not know, eyes falling to her notes as she realised that her strength lay with the theory; not much thought had been given to how it was to be executed.

"I suppose it doesn't matter," Jill breathed. "I broke into my high school once without tripping the alarm. Home security systems are simple in comparison."

"You broke into your high school?" Chris asked, impressed by her admission.

"A teacher confiscated a bottle of Bourbon my friend smuggled into school," she defended. "He said I could have half if I helped him get it back."

Chris chuckled deeply.

"I never pictured you as a tearaway," he laughed. "Or a teen alcoholic."

"I let him have it all," she explained with a smile. "I lived for thrills, not the cheapening of them."

Rebecca smiled, unsure whether or not she was serious. She was never sure when it came to Jill; she would often utter jokes in the same voice that shaped a confession. Jill's childhood often seemed as complex as her own, only in a different way. Jill's parents had departed in her teens, Rebecca's had showered her with encouragement and praise; enough to make her wonder if their love was truly unconditional. They had both been forced to grow up far too fast, again under different circumstances. While Jill had emerged with hardened skin and a sharpened mind, Rebecca was left a nervous wreck, desperate to prove that she was more than a walking encyclopaedia.

"You have my vote," Jill spoke, shaking the frost from her thoughts. "I say we do it and we do it soon."

"Whatever," Chris grumbled, fingers sliding carelessly into his naturally flyaway hair. She took it to mean 'yes'.

Barry was more reluctant to show his support, looking upon his comrades with dismay.

"I think it's damn foolish," he growled. "And dangerous to boot. But alright, do what you gotta do."

Rebecca grinned widely, searching for the pint-out she was sure she had hidden amongst the crinkled notes.

"What do you think about this?" Chris asked quietly, leaning in uncomfortably close.

Jill glanced up at him, debating whether or not to 'accidentally' land a ketchup-smeared fry up his nose and hope he took the hint and backed off. A moment's thought was all that was needed to assure her that such an act would be incredibly childish.

"I think it's a good idea," she muttered back. "It's about time we got off our asses and actually did something productive."

He scoffed quietly at the idea and settled back into his plastic chair, poking at the salad that complimented his burger with a fork. She was thankful for the improved distance, but his dejected posture worried her. Now that the hangover had begun to fade, she could see that the Chris she had left in the R.P.D. the previous afternoon remained beneath the physical discomfort. His fluctuating moods had become a cause for concern, but she never pressed him for answers to any of the questions that plagued her. Questions were provocation, and that was the last thing he needed right now. All she felt able to do was sit back and hope he did not burn himself out too quickly.

Dreams had been less of an issue the previous night. Thanks to her worried mind, she found herself back in the main hall of the mansion, frantic in the realisation that her partner had not made it to the mansion at her side. Part of her missed the thought of his touch; part of her felt ashamed that she would live vicariously through dreams of her best friend. Because that is what he was, and what he would always be...her best friend.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, adopting what she hoped was a sympathetic expression. It was a question she should have asked many days ago, a duty her heart bound her to.

Chris seemed surprised to hear the words, but smiled weakly in response.

"Same as always," he grinned. She failed to see this admission as one of a sound mind; Chris was a surprisingly troubled man for an individual of such popularity. He always took on more than he could handle and she was amazed that he had not collapsed beneath the weight of some self-imposed burden or another.

"I think we need a movie night," she announced suddenly, coughing to disguise her intent. "You know, just like old times. Only..."

Only without the others.

It was a dark thought to ponder, and one that brought the truth closer still to her heart. She missed them, she missed them all. Richard's smile, Joseph's laugh, the way Forest could work a dirty joke into any conversation. Kenneth's warmth seemed like a bitter memory to her now, and she found herself foolishly longing for the hot chocolates he would deliver to their car during any late-night winter stakeout that landed them close to his apartment. She had felt warmth when she held him in his last moments, but of a more morbid mold. The fear in his eyes still haunted her, still pulled her to the brink of her sanity.

"Stay with me," she begged hopelessly. "Stay with me."

Thick servings of blood slithered across the click surface of her glove, escaping despite the pressure she applied. Strangled gasps seemed to emanate from the hideous wound; his trachea appeared to have been ripped clean open. Truly, there was no hope for him.

Barry knelt at his side, fingers to his wrist to detect a fading pulse.

The eyes that met hers begged for salvation, begged for rescue. He did not want to die; she could feel the terror in the intensity of his gaze.

"Ken..." she choked, pleading as his body convulsed, breath rasping until finally...he was gone.

Something peculiar gathered behind her nose, lips trembling ominously. She had known that her breaking point was drawing ever nearer, but had hoped, prayed and begged that it would not present itself when she was in the presence of her partner.

Desperately, she choked it all back, a response that manifested itself physically as a retch-like motion that caught Chris's attention.

"Hey," he whispered, reaching for her shoulder. The moment his fingers made contact, the emotion retreated into the folds of her mind.

"You okay?"

She nodded uncertainly, focusing on the hand that rubbed her upper arm reassuringly before gripping her shoulder tightly one final time. Before the hand could disappear, she reached for it, taking it in her own and bringing it to her lips. They did not touch his skin intentionally, landing against his thumb as she held his hand to her cheek. Neither of them seemed to notice this intimate contact, and she breathed in his warm scent, relishing the comfort that she found in it; conflicting tobacco and cleanliness, and that masculine something she could never describe that always reminded her of him.

After a moment's indulgence, she lowered his hand to the table and muttered a quick apology. It seemed strange that he should be the anchor that kept her as sane as she pretended was. Quite often she found herself wondering just what state she would have been in had he not made it through at her side. Certainly she would have faltered long before now? Or would she have even felt a thing, the grief of losing her best friend too potent to allow coherent thought?

"A movie night would be good," Chris spoke suddenly, his voice slicing comfortably through her thoughts. "A chick-flick, maybe? Something I can make fun of."

She laughed, appreciating the effort that he made. Even the smallest sacrifice seemed like a huge loss these days.

His smile softened her hard heart and for a moment, everything was as it had been a fortnight ago. It was a moment not often found in the chaos their lives had become and she was not sure how to truly appreciate it.

A few short seconds later, Rebecca found the empty chair beside her, arms once again laden with notebooks and various slips of paper.

Jill contemplated for a moment quietly asking the younger girl how she felt, memories of the previous evening still fresh in her mind. It was by pure coincidence that they met; rather than bask in the awkward silence that a ride home with Chris would provide, she had chosen to walk the relatively short distance to her apartment block. Who was to know that the young rookie would be waiting outside of Richard's building?

Rebecca had provided no reason for her tears, and Jill had not probed; they all had their reasons to cry, many of which were their own. She did not think it appropriate to force a confession from her when she herself kept so much hidden from the others. Sometimes all you could give someone was space.

"I figured if you're all up for it we could do this tonight," Rebecca enthused, addressing Jill.

Strange enthusiasm gripped her, excitement bubbling beneath the surface of her skin. Jill had only ever used the skills passed on by her father as a means of recreation; breaking into her old high school or the local swimming pool after hours. Dick had urged his daughter upon his arrest to refrain from using them for more sinister means, and she, for the most part, had abided by this rule. Now she was presented with the opportunity to use them for something meaningful.

"Tonight?" Chris echoed in disbelief. "Rebecca, things like this they...they need planning. We don't-"

"We do," she countered, eyes glistening with mischief that seemed out of place on a usually calm and dedicated girl. "It's simple, really. Her security system is rather basic; one circuit for the entire house. All we need to do is to temporarily disable that circuit, Jill can break through the locks and then we're in."

"What about dogs?" Jill asked. Somehow she didn't think she could face another canine, decaying or not.

"No pets," Rebecca smiled. "All we need to do is find the study, hack into her computer and-"

It was here that the flaw in Rebecca's otherwise airtight plan was found.

"Rebecca." Jill was careful to keep her voice low and gentle. "My knowledge of computers is limited, Chris can barely think right now and Barry is digitally illiterate. Getting in is one thing, but we won't know what to do when we get there!"

The rookie's face fell as she tried to think of an adequate response. Jill could tell from her expression that her plan had amounted to breaking in and hoping for the best. Was it worth executing such a risky operation when there was virtually no chance of success? Even the thrill seeker within her failed to see a possible benefit.

A deep breath was inhaled as Rebecca seemed to come to a reasonable conclusion, and her head rose slowly. Before she could speak, her eyes locked on a point somewhere out of Jill's field of vision and light suddenly appeared in her eyes.

"Sorry I'm late," spoke a quiet yet familiar voice. Jill could virtually hear the cogs of her mind whirring as she tried to accept something that felt so out of place.

Brad bit nervously on his bottom lip, a more sheepish expression she had never seen before. He wore his S.T.A.R.S. uniform, as he always did, and held himself with resigned guilt. While the others had not-so-politely refused the two weeks' leave Irons had offered them - presumably as a means of getting them out of his thinning hair - Brad had been eager to accept this dubious offer.

"The hell are you doing here?" Chris asked with a hand to his head, as though the mere effort of addressing the man caused him considerable pain.

"I, uh- I got your message," Brad told Rebecca, deeming her expression the friendliest of the three. "From the sounds of things, I think you need my help."

"Trust me, that's the last thing we need right now," Chris groaned.

Jill cleared her throat uncomfortably. She was no more a fan of the pilot than Chris was at that moment, but she recognised that he was perhaps their only option to successfully retrieve anything of use from the researcher's house. A little voice whispered to her that perhaps she should not be so harsh on him; after all, his cowardly antics had led them to the mansion, and to Rebecca. Truly, she knew that she would not have wished anything different; the others would have died regardless of whether or not they had entered the mansion. She had made moves towards forgiving Barry, surely she owed the same to Brad?

Clinging to this iota of understanding, she turned to her teammate.

"Do you think you could hack into her computer, maybe find something of use?" she asked.

Brad seemed taken aback that she had addressed him at all, never the less in such a neutral - perhaps even hopeful - manner.

"Y-yes," he stammered, partially from suddenly-suppressed excitement. "Well, maybe. If there is something to be found, I'll find it. Decoding may be a problem but I can get you the data, sure."

She did not understand his eagerness, and assumed that it was his way of making amends. He had apologised profusely for abandoning them; this was all he had left to prove that he was still part of the team.

His skills were unquestionable, that much she knew. As dubious as her own, they had proven useful on many occasions in the past.

Jill stared him down, waiting for even a minute falter in his expression. Had Umbrella got to him? Were they walking into a trap?

"This is bullshit," Chris spat, evidently reading her expression. "Why the hell are you helping us? Last week you said you wanted nothing to do with this. Said it 'wasn't worth dying for'."

Brad drew in a shaky breath, ready to defend himself for what was perhaps the first time in his life.

"It isn't," he confirmed. "But they are. I...I've had time to think and...it's what they would have done if we had died out there. When I saw that...that thing rip Joseph apart...I panicked, and I've been panicking ever since. You've all been good friends to me and it's about time I repaid that favour. Even if it is a little late..."

Jill could tell that he had been rehearsing these words, and suddenly realised how difficult it must have been for him to simply sit there. She had never tolerated cowardice, had never been able to understand it, but now...now that she had felt true fear, she knew how it felt to want to run and never look back. Brad had a good heart beneath the cowardice; he came back for them once before, and here he was again. She had never before had reason to be afraid, but now she did, now they all did.

"Can you be ready for tonight?" she asked.

"The fuck?" Chris demanded suddenly, grunting quietly in discomfort as he leaned suddenly forward. "Of all your stupid ideas, Jill-"

"I can't even begin to describe how bad a time this is to insult me," she warned, rounding on him before he allowed his anger to control his words.

It occurred to her that her words may have only proved to exacerbate his anger, but as long as he kept it to himself she could not care lass.

"Yes," Brad answered hastily. It seemed that Chris's company provoked a different kind of fear within him.

"Then we move tonight."

Chris had never been so angry that he found himself muttering beneath his breath, but it appeared that today was a day of many firsts. All the painkillers in the S.T.A.R.S. office failed to fight back against his hangover and to top it all off, his ribs hurt like holy hell. In his rush to get ready that morning he had failed to take the prescribed painkillers and was paying for it dearly after his sudden start in the cafeteria.

"So it's settled?"

He raised an eyebrow at Rebecca. Of course it wasn't fucking settled. Not a single aspect of this plan rode well with him.

"Alright." Whatever had been keeping her smiling during the earlier parts of the morning had begun to wear off in a slightly distressing manner. "We will all meet back here at ten o'clock. Brad, make sure you are prepared. Jill, have all your lock picking...things. Chris, just bring some coffee and try to sleep off your hangover; we're on comms."

This last detail hit him hard, paining him more than his head and ribs combined.

"Wait a minute," he spluttered. "Comms?"

Rebecca sighed heavily, tilting her head to an angled that emphasised the bags beneath her eyes. Her lips twisted morosely, something unsettling gripping her for the briefest of moments.

"You haven't been listening to a word we've said, have you?" Jill stated, arms crossed tensely across her chest. Somehow, since Brad's arrival, she had involved herself deeply in Rebecca's original plan, almost to the point of taking over entirely.

"The less people we send in the better," Rebecca explained. "Brad will need to be on the front line, so to speak, because he's the only one of us capable of hacking into her computer. We need Jill beside him thanks to her...expertise. Barry will drive, we will stay here and-"

"No way," he protested staunchly. "I'm going in."

"Chris, be realistic," Jill sighed. "You're injured. We can't sign out an R.P.D. van and we need someone on comms in case something goes wrong."

"We're partners," he reminded her. "If you go, I'm going too."

The idea of leaving her with a man who had left them all for dead sickened him in the worst possible way. If events took a turn for the worst, she would be at the mercy of Umbrella and he would be halfway across the city, unable to do a damn thing.

Jill raised an unsteady hand to her forehead.

"Chris, please," she begged. "Don't fight this."

He knew that it was less about his injury than it was about his temper. Even so, something in her voice caught the edges of his heart and he sighed in resignation, despite his entire being protesting against the decision. He had always believed that he would do anything for her; finally, there was proof.

Her plea effectively ended the discussion and the others began to file slowly out of the room, desperate to escape before an eruption even he could feel closing in. Even in the hand that softly gripped his shoulder in an affective move that told him "this isn't about you...but thank you", failed to strengthen the chains that bound the demon within. He cracked his knuckles, breathed deeply; anything that would help.

Soon, he was alone with the Alpha pilot, watching him thoughtfully as he gathered scattered papers in a haste to leave.

What was his motive? Had he truly had a sudden attack of conscience? Or had he turned to the Barry Burton school of loyalty? After all, it does not take much to buy out a coward.

Brad straightened the papers at the edge of Rebecca's desk, slipping quietly into his jacket as Chris rose to his feet, unsure of what he intended.

If Umbrella were behind his return, he would no doubt attempt to pull something that night. After increased time in her presence, Chris could see that Jill was more fragile that she let on, hiding something behind carefully erected and attentively maintained walls. He would have usually not worried so about her ability to take care of herself, but even the slightest sign of weakness would give any possible traitor an in. A slight slip in concentration would see her dead...or worse. She needed someone covering her back, not a coward who only cared about his own.

"Hey Brad," he spoke calmly, which perhaps was more unnerving to the pilot than his usual tone would have been.

"Chris," he breathed in reply. He did not seem to know what to do with himself. "Look, I'm sorry I-"

His limbs were out of his control, his mind locked in a desperate frenzy of conflicting emotions. Before he knew he had even moved, Brad was pinned to the closed door, a fistful of his shirt pressing to his throat.

"You listen to me," Chris growled, disgust dripping from every syllable. Brad squirmed against his hold but despite the decade gap between the two, it was obvious who boasted the greatest strength. The fear in his eyes fed the animal within, and some sick part of his psyche enjoyed watching this pathetic man quiver, completely at his mercy.

"I don't know why you came back," he continued, the distance between them so minimal that he could smell the fearful scent of sweat on the man's skin. "I don't know what you're playing at, but you better listen carefully and heed my words. If something goes down tonight, I'm coming for you, do you understand? I will rip you apart. And if you flake out, if anything happens to her...I will destroy you."

"C-Chris," Brad gasped, clawing at the clenched fist.

His lips twisted at the panic with which his name was spoken. Brad was terrified, that much was certain. From this moment on, everything that happened happened on his terms. For once, he held in his hands something that was completely and utterly under his control...and he found it difficult to relinquish his grip on this blissful moment.

"Forget about your own ass," he seethed. "'Cause I'll kick it anyway. Cover hers. If-"

Venomous threats suddenly caught in his throat, dissolved into something painful. Something wound tightly around his heart, consuming him with an ache he had not felt since-

The scream caught all three men off guard. It was masculine, it was afraid.

"That was Joseph."

Under normal circumstances, he would have appointed Barry with the title 'Captain Obvious', but something did not sit well with him. Gunshots rang out seconds later; a Beretta.

Joseph carried a shotgun.

Another strangled cry dragged out painfully across the silence and his feet suddenly began to move of their own accord.

"Redfield, get back here. That's an order!"

Wesker's words bounced ignorantly off his closed mind. Joseph was in trouble, and Jill too. A man that had saved his neck many times and a woman who had threatened to wring it many more. More than that, they were friends. Friends in trouble, friends possibly dying.

Dying...no. He could not consider that word.

He stopped a little shy of the clearing, unable to continue no matter how fiercely he tried. There were no more screams, no more gunshots. Only clicks, only a mangled corpse upon which some variation of wolf feasted. It tore visciously at the flesh, ripping it clean from the bone. Spatters of blood and chunks of undigested meat landed on a red bandana, on blue eyes that were too empty and cold to be those of his good friend.

But somehow, he knew they were. He did not want to believe it, willed himself not to feel it...but it was true.

Suddenly, the creature looked up, found the other S.T.A.R.S. member. Her gun clicked uselessly, legs moving aimlessly backwards, stumbling over a log she had not anticipated. The creature moved, bounded with morbid grace towards her. Arms rose above her head, accepting the inevitable.

The creature fell. Chris was unaware that he had even fired his own weapon, knowing only that he ran to her, hooked an arm beneath hers and hauled her to her feet, pushed her in any direction but the one he had came from. All the while, he tried to forget the glaze of Joseph's eyes, and the shock that had gripped his eternally composed partner...the shock that had almost taken her life.

His grip loosened exponentially, allowing Brad to slip into the safety of the wide open office, speechless in his fear. Chris could not care that he had literally slipped through his fingers. His energy became devoted entirely to chasing the chill from his bones and the nausea from his throat.

Why did he feel like this? It was unusual, unfamiliar and so very unwelcome. The world became clearer yet more distant, every nerve activated and every sensation amplified. He could feel adrenaline running through his veins but its effect was not quite what he was used to.

The thought of losing her, as unrealistic as it may be... In that moment he was sure that it was killing him.

"You listen to me through the comm link," he instructed, calm this time but not entirely composed, "and you do everything I tell you to."

With that, he left. Left to breathe heavily into the empty corridor, the weight of unfamiliar feelings and helplessness crushing in. He could barely breathe, could barely think. Part of him wanted to stroll back into the office and pummel the living daylights out of his scapegoat. In the end, emotion broke free and he cried out, slamming his fist into a wooden window frame. The damp wood bent against the weight, his knuckles stinging delightfully. It was completely out of his control but so refreshing.

Lost for a moment in a clear mind, he chose to obey Rebecca's instructions. He would need a hell of a lot of sleep to prepare him for that night.

August 2, 1998. 2:04am

"Are you clear?"

Jill rolled her eyes sarcastically.

"Rebecca, with the amount of shrubbery here, I doubt even the CIA would see us," she whispered into her mouthpiece, adding a hasty "over" to add a little professionalism to her sarcasm.

Brad smiled nervously, as on edge as he had been upon leaving. She did not understand the loss of the basic bravery he had displayed upon volunteering to help; she had never seen the man such a nervous wreck. Had it been any other time, under any other circumstances, she would have questioned his skittish demeanour. But now was not the time. She only wished that he would not seem so afraid of her; a clumsy trip over a sprinkler head had sent him into a blind panic as he rushed to help her to her feet.

Shrugging off the peculiar suspicion, she focused her attention on the lock before her. It was a little more complicated than she had expected, and she had certainly not anticipated three separate locks to await her. Whoever Dr. Anderson was, she appeared a little neurotic. Who else nailed a 'Beware the Dog' sign to their gate when they owned no pets?

'Umbrella sure know how to select their staff.'

"We're in," she whispered into her mouth piece, allowing Brad to move ahead of her before slipping into the house and quietly closing the front door behind them.

For the funds that Umbrella had been pouring into her bank account, Karen Anderson's house was fairly basic. Clean, simple, homely. Jill recognised that it was likely just a face; Umbrella employees tended to spend extended amounts of time within the laboratories themselves.

"Be careful," Chris urged, his tone closer to an order than advice. Her eyes rolled of their own accord, brushing off her partner's voice with little thought.

"The study should be on the first floor," Rebecca spoke.

Jill looked to Brad, who nodded and began to ascend the carpeted staircase. Fortunately, Rebecca's estimation proved to be correct; the alarm system in place around the house was simple and easily disabled, the locks breakable and the property devoid of anything remotely savage. Once again, the overconfidence of Umbrella had worked in their favour.

The house itself was as empty as had been expected, and simple to manoeuvre around; little ornamentation to knock to the floor and equally sparse furniture on which to snag items of clothing. Even the study was not cluttered or in any state of disarray. One some level, Jill felt ashamed; her own small study was in such a state that she could never find what she wanted, and when she did it was several weeks too late, when she was looking for another case file entirely.

"Okay," Brad sighed once he had slipped into the small computer chair. "This could take a while, so...keep an eye out."

She settled by the window, remaining behind the curtains and out of site of whoever may be looking in. The houses around them were unlit, their occupiers likely asleep; at least, she hoped. For all they knew, it could be an estate populated by Umbrella's employees, keeping an eye on one another in case of a break in such as the one they were perpetrating. It would account for the lapsed security, but Jill knew that suburb-dwelling individuals tended to be less interested in security than the state of their lawn. A property as unguarded as Dr. Anderson's would be ransacked had it been on the same street as her apartment complex.

Through the reflection against the pristine glass, she noticed Brad's eyes darting up every few seconds to check her presence. His equipment lay in an orderly fashion across the desk, various pieces of machinery lighting up as he tapped away at the keyboard. She knew not of his work, but wished that he would continue without looking at her. It set her on edge and her skin already crawled with uncertainty.

She looked past the reflection, into the empty garden. More shrubbery, neatly-trimmed grass, flowers carefully selected for the lack of care that they required. She doubted the space had ever been used. What was the point in owning such a large house, with such beautiful grounds, if one never took the time to appreciate it? All Jill could afford was her small apartment; she would have killed for such a property.

Something caught her eye, something just outside her field of vision. A possum, perhaps? Maybe a fox? Could it have been a Raccoon? After all, the abundance of the creatures had lead the city to adopt their name.

'It's nothing,' she told herself. Recent events had taught her not to believe her eyes. Not all that they saw was real. Nevertheless, she called out for Brad to work faster. The sooner they left that place, the better.

"You okay, Jill?" Chris's voice asked, causing her to start and Brad to inhale sharply. "You've been quiet for a while."

"I've been quiet because we're trying not to get caught here," she whispered, finger pressing the earpiece harshly into her ear. "Does 'incognito' mean anything to you?"

He breathed deeply, a sound that crackled in her ear in a manner that was unnatural.

"And put that cigarette out," she warned. "I'd have thought you'd learned the value of life by now."

He chuckled, exhaling slowly away from the comm link.

"I've also learned the value of nicotine," he laughed. "Numbs a hell of a lot."

She smiled unintentionally. The simple sound of a smile in his voice was enough to warm her heart. Smiles were hard to come by these days, as was genuine laughter. Grateful though she was for the company of his voice, she found herself unable to express this gratitude. Be it some form of psychological defence mechanism or an absurd sense of masochistic glee, she had found herself pushing against the friendly affection that he offered when truthfully all she wanted to do was revel in it and to perhaps coax an occasional embrace from his almost stoic persona.

A sudden cough wrenched her from her thoughts, violent curses following soon after. She could almost see him doubled over in pain, jarring coughs aggravating his ribs. At this rate, they would never heal.

She tried to find the words to reach out to him, to sooth him in the same way the rusty burn of a cigarette apparently did. Nothing surfaced; only words she would have spoken to comfort a lover. His habit had only irritated her before, never concerned her. Now that they realised how much they all needed one another, his stupidity and general lack of concern for himself worried her. Just the other day she had caught him trying to hook a slice of toast from inside the toaster with a fork. Sure enough, it had been a plastic fork, but it had been enough to worry her. Worry her because she needed him. More than she was willing to let anyone know.

Unable to think of anything to say, she chose to remain silent. Her eyes flitted once again to the garden, searching the hedgerows for signs of movement.

Then she saw it.

A figure, unmoving, staring directly back at her. It seemed not even to breathe, so intense was its concentration. White skin, light blonde hair slicked back professionally, black aviators shielding its expression from view.

"No," she gasped.

The shadows lurched, twisting around one another, beating a morbid tattoo across his skin. The room spun around her, sounds distorting, light flickering when she knew there was no source. Knees buckled, wrist slamming painfully against the window frame. She could do nothing as she fell to the floor, sprawled uselessly against the carpet, gasping for breath that simply was not coming.

"Jill."

He seemed surprised to see her, though her presence obviously provided him with great relief. It was enough to cease the movement of her hands to her weapon and she nigh on hung her head in shame.

"You gave me a start," he laughed. She could not tell if he was joking or even if he found the idea humorous at all. His voice had the quality of an automated message; emotionless, sometimes cold.

"Sorry, sir," she apologised. "Things have..."

"Gotten out of hand?"

Wesker turned, smiling ominously in her direction. She could not be sure, but she felt as though he were glancing over her shoulder. Was he expecting someone?

"I have to say, I'm a little surprised to see you alive," he commented. Too casual...did he care? Something did not feel right, something pricked at her reflexes and alarm bells sounded within her terrified mind. "Surprised, but glad. You've made it through quite a lot."

Her right hand raised quietly, resting on the handle of her Beretta. Enrico had spoken of a traitor...a traitor within S.T.A.R.S.. Barry was with her when Enrico met his unfortunate end; it could not possibly have been him. The alternatives did not leave much room for consideration. Rebecca and Chris were all that survived of the others, and she sure as hell wasn't the traitor. She doubted that Rebecca had the guts to execute a coup; the poor girl had screamed when a spider ran across her foot. Chris...Chris was capable of a lot of things, but he had a heart. A heart that she had seen bleed for his fallen teammates.

"Sir, if you don't mind my asking," she began to probe. "Where have you been all this time?"

He did not reply, though his hand ceased its movements against the control panel before him. His silence dared her to move forward, dared her to pull her gun on him.

"Wesker?"

"I did not hire you for your looks, Valentine," he spoke suddenly, the fear his voice struck into her not once affecting her steadfast position. "Your intelligence far outshone your competitors. As I said, I am glad that you made it this far."

"Sir?"

He spun suddenly, fist slamming into her skull with such velocity that she was momentarily blinded. Her weapon flew far out of her reach, body colliding heavily with the hard ground. For a moment, she felt the ground move beneath her, hands tight around a solitary ankle. In the moments before her vision dissolved completely, a light became visible. A light, feet, blood...and a voice that sounded unmistakably like her partner's.

"Jill!"

"Jill!"

Chris's voice roared through her headset, but she could not reply. Something pressed down on her throat, trickles of air seeping into her lungs. Fear, on all sides, crushing in, weighing down. She could barely drag herself across the carpet, barely move her limbs. Pain pushed through her chest with every frantic beat of her heart.

Arms came around her, pulled her into a seated position. A body behind her, a heart beating furiously against her spine.

"Jill! Jill, c-calm down! Fucking hell, she's cold."

"Shit, she's having a panic attack. Chris, stop it! You need to- Chris, shut the fuck up!"

"Jill! Jill, answer me!"

So many voices...

"I c-c-" she tried, finding that she barely had enough breath within her to propel a few words into the open. "He's gonna k- Gonna-"

Every word brought something further and further up her throat, something thick and unpleasant that choked her more than the sudden absence of oxygen.

"She's shaking. Shit, I think she's gonna be sick."

"Let me go! Let me out of here!"

"Is she hyperventilating?"

"Yes!"

She scrabbled along the carpet, up the legs of the body that held her, against whatever she could reach. Why couldn't these people understand that something was wrong? There was no air. Surely such a monumental occurrence could not have gone unnoticed.

Suddenly, something was pressed against her mouth and she clawed against skin, against the hands that held it in place. An arm held her securely to the body behind her.

"I'm going out there. Barry!"

"Sit down! You're not helping anything!"

The air became warm, seeped into her lungs, alleviated the pain. Her limbs grew flaccid, exhausted from the unexpected exercise. Slowly, the study returned, one solid shape that did not bend or break around her. Soon, it was Brad that breathed heavily, and she was forced to bat his hands away, almost suffocated by the brown paper envelope that he held to her face.

She felt the retch before its threat became true, an entire day's worth of food spilling out into the waste bin. The taste was foul and nothing lay around to wipe the remains from her lips, but it was an occurrence she had become used to. A tissue was thrust under her chin and she gratefully wiped it across her jaw.

"You okay?" Brad's concern was touching but also, she noted, not entirely selfless. A trembling hand rubbed her back soothingly, and she cast it aside as she threw herself at the window frame, lifting herself up to see that the garden lay empty, the hedge Wesker had stood in moments before undisturbed.

'It was all in my head...'

Rebecca kept a wary eye on Chris as Brad continued his work. His initial request to abort the mission had been rejected by the others and this had done little to ease his agitation.

Over the past few days she had noticed Jill's behaviour altering. Less care was taken in her work, more attention paid to her fellow survivors than to actual productivity. She had wondered if these changes were building up to a crescendo, but had not expected such a peak to be reached during such an important investigation.

It once again highlighted her inexperience. The others had allowed her to take charge of this 'project', despite her lack of knowledge and expertise. Barry had knowledge of forcing locks; Jill had taught him herself. Had she been in her right mind, she would have sent Barry with Brad and kept Jill out of harm's way. What the hell had she been thinking?

Even now, she could feel herself falling apart. What little self confidence she had found over the past twenty-four hours had fallen away and left her once again naked and exposed.

"She'll be fine," she forced herself to say. Jill and Brad had signed off comms once they were safely out of the Anderson property and in Barry's van. They did not yet know if anything of interest had been obtained, only that Brad had copied what he could find.

"Fine?" Chris's tone was less than friendly. "She had a panic attack! I knew she shouldn't have went out there alone."

"It wouldn't have made any difference," she assured him. "Other than your overreaction if you had been there with her. So relax; she vomited into the liner of the waste basket and they took that with them. Anderson will never know she was there."

"I should have been there," he insisted, expression faraway. He seemed preoccupied with a thought, and whatever it was it was driving him mad.

"Chris," she whispered, reaching out to touch his arm. He shirked away from her involuntarily, but turned to smile weakly in forced reassurance

"What's got you so wound up?" It seemed that considering his reaction and the deep meaning behind it helped her to escape from her own shortcomings, even if just for a moment or two.

She glanced upon the ashtray and the pile of cigarettes that lay within its confines. He had worked through a whole packet in roughly two hours; a cause for concern to anyone who knew what one of those damn things could do to someone. The acrid smoke forced upon him a cough that provoked violent exclamations of pain. Her own wounds had almost healed, but Chris still had a fair way to go. Aggravating his injury would only prolong the pain and, by proxy, his temper.

"I can't begin to understand how you feel about all this," she whispered meekly when he offered no reply. "But at least you have someone with which to share your pain. Don't push her away."

His fingers dipped into the empty cigarette carton, his search for another fix coming up bust.

"She's drifting away regardless of whether I push or not," he sighed. "At least I try to talk about it."

Rebecca chuckled quietly to herself, smiling gently as she turned to him once again.

"You don't talk, Chris," she pointed out. "You yell. But still...your burden is greater than ours. I've never...I've never been in a serious relationship, but I can imagine-"

"W-what?" he spluttered suddenly, all attention quickly diverted to her words. She was pleased that he now hung on to every word that she said, but was admittedly a little offended by his shocked reaction.

"I'm only eighteen," she defended. "Study has always been-"

"That's not...not what I meant," he clarified, moving close enough that she could smell the lingering tobacco on his breath. "What do you mean 'serious relationship'? Wait, do you...do you think Jill and I are...well-"

"You're not?" Mortification barely described the embarrassment that hit her. She had always been too presumptuous, always believed in the obvious. She had still not quite wrapped her young mind around the fact that the obvious was not always the truth.

Chris sank back into his seat, not as amused by the misunderstanding as she had thought he would be. Had she misinterpreted his reaction? Were they truly a couple, perhaps traversing a particularly difficult stretch of their relationship?

"No. No, we're not."

He looked painfully to his discarded headset, ripped from his personage in the midst of Jill's panic attack. It was all she could think of to do at the time.

Was there an aspect of Jill that she had correctly interpreted? The woman truly was an enigma. Surely, she could not be blamed for her assumption. They were closer than any best friends she had ever come across, and the looks they stole at each other...

"But you wish you were?" she asked with sudden, unfamiliar bravery.

He did not answer. A sudden sadness hung over them both and she realised in an instant that it was not a topic she wished to probe.

"How have you been?" he asked. His tone suggested that the change in subject was not entirely down to discomfort. "We haven't really spoke since...well..."

She sighed morosely. Richard had not appeared since her departure from his old apartment, but the same sense of disorientation lingered. She found it hard to distinguish between dream and reality, and barely had the energy to wade through the day. But she was holding on, as were they all.

"You know, you've got guts, kid," he said suddenly. "Feisty. Guess that's why Wesker hired you."

Unsure what to make of this compliment, she nodded vaguely.

"I still feel out of place," she admitted. "You're all so strong, so experienced...sometimes it's hard just trying to fit in, you know?"

His hand moved suddenly to her own, squeezing it in a rough yet reassuring manner. His fingers were warm, calloused slightly but with a touch that momentarily chased her demons away.

"Strength isn't experience," he told her, looking her dead in the eye so that his point did not go astray. "You're only as strong as you let yourself be, and if you just opened your eyes...you'd realise that we're not so different after all."

Nausea bubbled in her throat, tears welling in her eyes and in her sinuses. Those words meant a lot to her in his voice; the man she had hidden behind for the best part of that dreadful night, and not always physically.

"I'm not as strong as Jill," she spoke sadly, a hint of bitterness in her tone. The older woman's strength may have been faltering as of late, but her composure was striking. To bottle up such emotion and still be the crutch upon which others leaned was the mark of an incredibly powerful mind.

"Jill isn't strong," Chris laughed quietly, turning from her as a soft smile found its way to his lips. "She's just stubborn. Which in her case luckily amounts to the same thing."

She laughed with him, lost in a moment so pure it was almost normal. Her indulgence lapped up the sense of belonging that wound around her, caressing wounds that were less than physical. Was this what would have awaited her had Wesker not led them all to their deaths? While part of her hoped that it was, part of her could not bear the thought. Lives had been lost, and she was selfishly wishing for a warm atmosphere. She may have missed out on camaraderie, but the others had missed out on so much more. They were all so young...

The door swung open, bringing her thoughts to a premature end. Chris's attention fell away from her needs the instant his partner stepped into the office. Pale, dishevelled and yet somehow serene, Jill looked up at him with a bewildered expression, hands that he could not see suddenly reaching for his shirt. Words were exchanged, Brad and Barry filed passed them, and then an embrace...something desperate, frantic and yet still deeply romantic.

The scene handed her the answer to her question, and the answer to another she never would have dared ask. They were in love; secretly, hopefully and tragically. There was something deeply unsettling about the heart-warming display before her. The echo of something wonderful, slowly fading into darkness.

Under any other circumstances, two broken hearts would fall together easily. For them, the dark days were not over, and perhaps they never would be. It was a disheartening thought, not just for Chris and for Jill, but for all of them.

AN - Please review :)