Strength Through Wounding
AN - I know I say a lot of chapters are fillers, but I truly mean it with this one. There's usually a few chapters that stand out as 'big' ones to me, and for this story those are last chapter and the next chapter. Which brings me to another point. I know that I initially said that this was a prequel to Only Through The Pain. I may have to say forget that. When I was writing the plan, there were two directions the story could go from next chapter. Some details work better if it goes one way, some work better if it goes the other but ultimately the general theme remains more or less the same, as does the conclusion. It all boils down to one detail. I am leaning towards the direction that pulls this right out of Only Through The Pain canon so at the moment I am going to say that this has become a standalone, because I think that direction works a lot better :). I had also intended to write a trilogy, with this being the first, Only Through The Pain being the third and having a sequel to this. I've been rethinking the sequel and it also works much better with the deviation. So, out of curiosity, how many people would like to read a sequel to this? It would likely just be another 'short', centred around the end of Umbrella/start of the BSAA.
Chapter title is from a song by Tsunami Bomb.
The Valentine's oneshot is progressing, though I did consider scrapping the Chris/Jill one I planned and writing a Leon/Claire story. I will be away Valentine's weekend so it may be a day or two late, but assuming I get it finished, it will be up. For those who are interested, it is a sequel to Only Through The Pain, set 9 months after the epilogue.
Once again, thank you to my reviewers: Kenshin13, Sparkle Valentine, KT324, xSummonerYunax, tek, Ligadorra, cjjs and Crazy Flasher. I know I keep saying I will reply...and I am actually going to this time! That is, assuming the inbox isn't being difficult this time. So thank you for continuing to read and leaving your thoughts, I really do enjoy reading what you have to say.
Chapter Five - Dawn On A Funeral Day
'Knowing your own darkness is the best method
for dealing with the darkness of other people'
~Carl Jung~
August 13, 1998. 7:27am
Jill was not sure if it was the heat that woke her or the absurdly loud ticking of the clock. It barely even registered in her mind that it was still dark; an unusual habit for half seven in the morning. The sheets clung to her limbs, as usual. She did not know why she still bothered to use them. Raccoon was experiencing what the weather channel had begun to refer to as a 'heat wave', and so temperatures were climbing obscenely high for that time of year.
Movement stirred beside her, a figure perched on the edge of her bed, pulling jeans onto bare legs. It was a figure she recognised, from the mess of hair atop his head to the muscular definition in his back.
She had barely registered that she was naked beneath the sheets, shamefully uncovered behind him. Something told her that it was nothing he had not already seen. True to her thoughts, she recalled their antics and found that an uncharacteristic blush rose to her cheeks.
"Chris..." she whispered tentatively. He froze, pausing but not turning.
She could not remember any spoken words, could not even remember how they came to be together. Was this a dream? The thought crept upon her but she refused to entertain it. If it was she was not sure that she wanted to wake.
Chris turned at last, a half-hearted smile offered for her sake. She was open to him when he kissed her, and responded with passionate enthusiasm. Her stomach twisted painfully, mind trying hard to ignore the fingers that danced once again up her ribcage. He was so gentle in his passion, so caring in his touch. Why did she ever deny loving this man?
Without warning, he ended the kiss, grimacing from the force of some untold emotion. Before she could protest, he rose to finish dressing himself and moved with determined steps towards her bedroom door.
"Chris!" she protested, hurt by his seemingly uncaring attitude.
He turned sadly, offering her not one scrap of comfort.
"You always knew I would leave," he told her with a weak smile.
And with that, he was gone. No longer so much as a presence.
Jill pulled the covers around her, knees drawn in to her chest. She had not the energy to chase him down, something heavy pinning her to the spot. Her lungs were empty, her heart unable to recall the pleasure of moments passed.
'He...left?'
Was she simply another of his conquests; a night he found amusing and nothing more? The sheets alone were not enough to cover her shame. Her skin crawled with regret and grime that no shower would remove.
She knew how it felt to be used, but this was different. The pain was physical.
A stronger part of her mind pushed against the hurt, and she found herself breaking the invisible bonds. She found the robe inside the ensuite and pulled it tight against her, legs and breath shaking with every movement. He had no right to treat her like this, and before regret set in she was determined to make this known.
The living room was empty when she came to it, the only light emanating from the television set that spewed static into the calm. The silence was unusual and seemed to emphasise the unnatural darkness. Why was it so dark?
"Chris?" she called, arms instinctively drawn to her chest at the mention of his name.
Silence.
"Chr-"
Something dropped. A thud against carpet, just beyond the sofa. What the hell was he playing at?
Despite the repeated self-assurance that this was just an extended punch line of an incredibly sick joke, fear pricked at every exposed inch of her. She suddenly became very aware that it was dark, and that she stood in the middle of her apartment naked, save for a simple flannel robe that covered her.
"Chris?" she whispered, more desperate this time. The door swung open on its hinges, an unnatural draught breathing through her apartment. She was sure that she could hear voices upon the gust, whispers in the wind.
A sliver of light caught a small puddle on the floor, illuminating the shape but not the colour. It could have been coffee, it could have been syrup, but whatever it was it was not supposed to be there.
She was tentative in approaching the sofa, noting that the spill originated from beyond it's position. There was something unnatural about the air, something funereal and haunting. It took an unprecedented measure of strength to keep on track and not tempt her to flee back to the relative safety of her bedroom.
"Chris, is that-?" Her voice was cauterised by a scream, splitting every particle of air around her.
It was not coffee, it was not syrup...it was blood. Blood that flowed thick and fast from a body that lay crumpled at the foot of the sofa.
The chill that had settled in her throat spread throughout her body, crippling her lungs. Her legs gave way, and she crashed down beside the body, knees slipping against the river.
"Chris..." she gasped.
His throat had been cut, skin puckered outwards, glistening grimly in the dim light. Glassy eyes reflected the glare from the television, and all the while she refused to breathe.
Her hand slid up his torso, gripping his damp T-shirt. He had been unarmed, no signs of a struggle.
Tears fell from her lashes, though feeling did not accompany them. She was not distraught, not afraid...just numb. She could not feel her chest let alone the emotions she was sure were slowly ripping it to shreds. He couldn't be dead, he couldn't be gone...
As her fingers fell to the pool at her knees, she felt that it was cold to the touch. Cold was improbable, perhaps even impossible. Blood was warm, this was-
"I'm dreaming," she theorised with some relief. "I have to be dreaming..."
Strange, it seemed, how this assertion seemed to be almost a plea. Her eyes closed, she fought against the fear and willed herself to wake.
When they opened, his corpse remained; an empty shell clad in clothing stained red from the blood that saturated the fabric.
'Wake up, Jill.'
He felt real to her, and every time that she considered this fact it pushed the possibility of a dream farther and farther from her mind.
"Wake up!" She found herself screaming into the empty room, fist pounding against his chest.
"Jill!"
Something incredibly hard slammed against her forehead, sheets knotted around flailing limbs. Before she could register what exactly had occurred, she fell backwards onto something soft and slightly damp.
"Oh..." someone groaned in a distant voice.
'Bed...'
For a few long moments, she was lost in her dream, unsure if she had actually woken or simply slipped into a different scenario. Light entered the room through two windows, make up and skincare products scattered haphazardly across her dresser...yes, this was her room, and judging from the unsettling pain that had now spread across her forehead, she most certainly was not dreaming.
"Damn, you have a hard head," Rebecca complained as she hoisted herself up onto the large bed, swaying precariously on the edge of the mattress. She nursed a similar wound and rubbed at the blush of an upcoming bruise with medically explorative fingertips.
Suddenly, everything fell into place.
"I am so sorry," Jill apologised. Her hands flew to her friend's cheeks, though she knew not what she could do to ease her pain. "Are you alright?"
"Yesterday you backhand me, today you head butt me?" Rebecca chuckled. "Would living with you be classified as a 'hazardous activity'? Because I don't think my insurance covers that."
Jill grinned awkwardly. The girls had become nigh on inseparable in the time since Rebecca's unfortunate encounter, though this newfound closeness had brought forth occupational hazards for both. Rebecca's seemingly innate clumsiness resulted in the destruction of several items of crockery and a subsequent ban on washing the dishes, whereas Jill's often violent reaction to anything that caught her off guard resulted in a number of minor injuries sustained by the medic. In the end, they had learned to work around each other's shortcomings and had developed quite a harmonious living environment in the short space of a week. Of course, there was the pressing issue of nightmares that had resulted in a few sleepless nights in front of the television set.
On many occasions, Jill had regretted her last words to Chris. The fall was not entirely his fault, and she could not help but wonder if she had overreacted. After all, she had been in shock for quite some time following the altercation. He continued to show up in the office every day, though rarely had a word to say to any of them. It had gone largely unnoticed, what with the new information pertaining to a laboratory facility beneath the city forcing them to work long, lonely hours, but she could not help the extra attention that she threw in his direction. He was insufferable, and had fallen into a pattern of almost anti-social behaviour. Always on edge and with a cigarette between his lips; her worry for him had only increased in the days he had been gone.
Loathe though she was to admit it to herself, she missed him. Why would he not talk to her? Was he afraid? Had he taken her order a little too literally? She may have warned him away from social contact, but she would always be there to listen if he needed to talk. Surely he knew that?
'He made it pretty damn clear he didn't want to talk.'
"Are you okay?"
She looked up, nodding absent-mindedly.
"Yeah," she replied, though she was unsure if she was being truthful. "Thank you for waking me."
"You always knew I would leave."
Chris's voice echoed in her mind. It was not a nightmare she was unfamiliar with; ever since his departure he had returned to her in dreams, only to leave as abruptly as he had entered. Each and every time, she had been afraid.
Afraid that he would never return again. That she would never wake up.
Was that how she truly felt? Her pride told her that no, it was not. Her heart, mind, and every other aspect of her being, down to the soul that felt awfully empty these days, told her that she was afraid. She had pushed him away in the past and he had returned each and every time. But everything had changed. Any one of them could die at any moment, and she wanted nothing more than to apologise and to set the record straight, lest they find themselves without further opportunity.
Life was looking too short these days to hold grudges.
If only somebody would tell that to her pride.
"How is it going?"
Barry looked up from his work to find Rebecca's eager eyes scrutinising the monitor.
"Don't ask," he grumbled in response, fingers travelling through the mess his beard had become. "This thing is huge, and I mean huge. Covers the majority of downtown Raccoon. Infiltration is impossible, and damn foolish with every Umbrella employee likely baying for our blood."
"Intelligence?" she pressed.
What good would it do? Anything they found would be inadmissible unless they had one hell of a case. At present all they possessed were several far-fetched accounts of what basically amounted to a Halloween fantasy and questionable evidence that had been gathered illegally.
"It would be possible," he admitted. "We have enough bases to dig further into, but I doubt we would find much of use. Then there's time..."
Barry found it difficult to keep his thoughts focused on the task at hand, his mind wandering to his family on more occasions than was perhaps appropriate.
The mysterious van remained around the girls' school, and Kathy had begun to complain of similar attention at her workplace. It was enough to push him towards anaylsis of surveillance data, as opposed to the examination of the new laboratory, which had been the group's largest priority since its discovery. Recent memos had been frightening to say the least; increased surveillance and abuse of CCTV in the streets around the R.P.D. building and the several blocks between Chris and Jill's apartments, not to mention the activity within his own neighbourhood.
It was only a matter of time before something pushed and Umbrella made their move. One thing he knew for sure was that he wanted his family out of the way when it came to that.
"You might want to take a look at this," he whispered, turning the monitor further in Rebecca's direction and opening a saved file.
She blinked at the new flurry of pages, muttering the words that she read beneath her breath.
"West Elmwood Correctional Facility?" she repeated, louder this time. "Umbrella is branching out into law now?"
"Not exactly," Barry sighed sadly. "I checked the area around the facility and the nearest airport; Umbrella is watching it all. Fortunately West Elmwood sources from rival companies, so Umbrella would never physically be able to get inside, but they're there alright, and they're waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
The thought pained him every time he was forced to consider it. The safety of his own family was forever on his mind; he could not help but to empathise with those who shared his burden.
"Dick Valentine is currently serving time at West Elmwood," he explained. "They're waiting for Jill."
Rebecca found that she was breathless, and that she could not for the life of her think of a coherent response.
"You might want to call your parents, Rebecca," Barry told her, as serious as she had ever seen him.
Her silence pained him, and so did the necessity of his suggestion. Umbrella had kidnapped and tortured Lisa and Jessica Trevor purely because of their relationship to George; he could not bring himself to consider what they would do to the families of the surviving S.T.A.R.S. members.
Straight-thinking was not an ability he had been blessed with as of late, but Barry found himself clinging to a small promise of clarity and reached for his cell phone.
"What about Claire Redfield?"
Barry chuckled, though it was devoid of humour. Claire had been his top priority when investigating Umbrella's movements. Though barely older than Rebecca, Claire was as feisty as Chris and Jill put together. While he did not deny that she was capable of looking after herself, he also did not deny her propensity for causing trouble. Had they so desired, Umbrella could have taken her out quite easily.
"Umbrella's presence in New York is not exactly significant," he revealed. "Surveillance around NYU is normal and there are no signs of suspicious activity. Last I heard, she was surrounded by bikers and men any brother should be worried about, so she's well protected."
Even Rebecca laughed at the last addition. Though laughter could not break the sombre mood and Barry bowed his head once it had subsided.
"Check your family, Rebecca," he repeated. "Tell them to be careful."
Though almost a month had passed since the deaths of Bravo team and Joseph Frost, the friends they had left behind had not yet faced the gruelling task of clearing out the lockers of the deceased. It was a job none of them had wanted to volunteer for, a job that would hammer the final nail into each empty coffin.
They were not ready to face the truth, not yet.
Jill was the first to consider the contents of said lockers; knowing the guys, at least one of their lockers would be a fungal breeding ground by now. It was slowly becoming less of a funereal task and more of a health and safety concern.
She had sought Chris in assisting her with the reluctantly-adopted duty, but as usual her partner was nowhere to be seen. Cigarette butts emitted the usual charred odour from his makeshift ashtray, but the man himself was never within sniffing distance.
On the rare occasions she had seen him about the building, he had been in an incredible hurry, mind not quite with the body that carried it. How was it that he always seemed to be so hard at work? He had shunned the duties the rest of them had adopted; Rebecca to medical research, Barry to personnel data, Brad to the data they had yet to decode and herself to the new laboratory. She was fortunate enough that Barry had extended the most generous offer of help, as the largest task had fallen to the only partnership left within S.T.A.R.S. and one half of that partnership was largely AWOL.
"This was all I could find," Brad apologised, holding two small, collapsed boxes before her. "Seems they recycled yesterday and deliveries don't come for another two days. Always with the inconvenience, huh?"
She smiled warmly, accepting one box and patting him on the shoulder.
"It's alright," she sighed. "To be honest, I'm not expecting to find much. Thank you for helping with this, I really appreciate it."
Brad shrugged awkwardly; he was never any good at accepting compliments.
"It wouldn't be fair to let you do this alone," he insisted.
She agreed with the thought, and wished that the other team members had shown as much interest. Even Rebecca and Barry seemed too busy to talk today.
"Well...I suppose we should..." Words failed her. Neither of them wanted to face the unwanted emotion they knew would be brought forth, but they had been left with little other choice.
It was time to face reality.
As doors opened nearby, a handful of familiar faces milled around them, each one staring resolutely ahead in an attempt to avoid looking them in the eye. It was a courtesy that had been extended to them ever since that night by all but a few employees. When a casual "Hey, Officer Valentine, Officer Vickers" was thrown their way, both jumped and confirmed the event silently with one another.
"Hey, Elran," Jill greeted automatically. A relatively new employee, she was amazed that he even knew her name.
He smiled over the steaming cup he raised to the level of his chin, guarding against errant elbows; a rookie carrying coffee to his superior, such a sight was quite common those days.
She watched him walk away with steady steps, eyes falling to the cup and apparently immune to surrounding stimuli. There was no way he would have seen the figure turn the corner, and indeed he did not react until the piping liquid had spilled both onto his own arm and onto the jaw of the other person.
Jill recognised the face before the coffee had touched his skin, and she too found her mind on another plane of thought. Chris barely flinched against the contact, though he did not reach to steady the boy. She saw the fury flash in his eyes, saw the hand rise tentatively to his scalded jaw.
She could not remember the exact details of what transpired a moment later, only that his hand was a fist when it recoiled, and that a painful thud followed as it collided with Elran's nose. He was all of eighteen, fresh out of high school. There was no chance that he could hold up against a fist that had been through the Air Force and worse, the fist of a man twice his size and fuelled by unbridled anger.
"Chris!" she found herself screaming, echoing the shocked gasps of the few witnesses that had all frozen in place.
As his eyes met hers, it became evident that he had not noticed her presence. She could not be sure of how long they stood in place, eyes locked and minds racing. All she knew was that one eye closed in an unmistakeable wink, a crooked smile teasing his flushed lips.
She rushed to Elran's side once her thoughts were back in the moment, casting her less than friendly thoughts of her partner aside.
"Head back," she urged, pinching the bridge of his nose. Tears mingled with blood, skin bruised but bone remaining surprisingly intact. She had sparred with Chris on many occasions; she knew how powerful his blows could be even when restrained. There was no doubt that Elran would likely be choking down painkillers for the rest of the day.
She found the need to apologise for her partner's actions, though both Elran and the little sensibility left in her thoughts told her that she had no reason to.
Chris did not remain long enough to apologise himself; when she glanced up from the teenager's bloody face, he was nowhere to be seen.
It was a strange event in a day that already made little sense. Once Elran had regained his sense of balance, he continued unsteadily on his way, leaving her with bloodstained hands and confusion she did not know how to process.
"What the hell was that?" Brad asked once they were alone.
Jill could not answer, though she wished that she could find words to ease the mind she was sure was equally as troubled as his expression.
"Time of the month, I guess," she joked, hoping to laugh off the situation. "Just...forget about it. Let's get this done."
Brad did not say a word as they made their way to the S.T.A.R.S. locker room; a room hidden from the majority of the precinct and a most inconvenient distance from the office. It did not strike Jill as strange; Chris's behaviour had been so unpredictable lately that nothing surprised them anymore. Despite this, she felt incredible anger towards him for the virtually unprovoked assault. She had not jumped to her feet and struck a blow at him after he knocked her to the ground - though in recent days she had begun to wish that she had; something needed to be done to knock some sense into the man.
"Are you sure you want to do this now?" Brad asked once they were safe within the confines of the dismal locker room. He could not quite make eye contact and she wondered exactly how she appeared in that moment; had her thoughts translated to expression?
"Not really," she admitted, hoping that a half-truth would throw him off the scent. "But what choice do I have?"
Her words carried more weight than she had intended. It was a shame that she had begun to feel like a spare wheel when she found herself in the mood to be heavily involved in the action, so to speak. Would it have been different if the others were here?
At the very least, she would have had someone with whom to share her thoughts, someone to talk her out of her gloom. Forest had always been good at cheering her up, Joseph too.
It pained her to consider how much of their friendship she had taken for granted. Though she had never denied that her teammates were the best friends she had ever found herself amongst, she had never considered that a day would come when they would not be there. They were all so young, so professional...the job should not have claimed their lives.
She began to pick at the first lock while Brad waited for a continuation in their short-lived conversation. Forest's locker; an unconscious yet appropriate choice. The team rarely used the lockers to store items of importance, and so they had essentially become cabinets of unused and unwanted junk. Sure enough, she had barely cracked the stiff metal door when a crumpled pack of cigarettes fell to her feet.
Speyer's collection of crap continued in much the same vein; old copies of Guns & Ammo he had stolen from Barry's locker, a half-eaten burrito that was more fur than food and several empty ammunition clips. Clothes were stashed on the second shelf, and Jill was surprised to find that they were clean and soft to the touch. As she folded a black S.T.A.R.S.-issue wife beater beneath her chin the scent of detergent and Jim Beam rose up to meet her; obviously the clothes were not as clean as she had surmised.
She did not know why the scent of bourbon reminded her of her late friend, but it always had. Bourbon, cigarettes and quite often gunpowder. Motörhead and AC/DC, eighties action movies and old guitars; each friend had different but distinctive articles that made her think of them. For Joseph, it was Richard Pryor and Animal house; for Richard, crew cuts and beagles; and for Kenneth, hot chocolate and blueberry muffins.
The strange thing was that the exact same items that reminded her of Forest reminded her of Chris. The two men had been almost attached at the hip, so much so that she was startled when he claimed her to be his best friend, and not the man he spent the better part of his S.T.A.R.S. career engaging in a friendly rivalry with.
Her roaming fingers found an old cassette, one that had been written on several times in permanent marker, every title but one scribbled out; 'Camping Tunes'.
The memory hit her painfully, and her eyes fell immediately to the photographs he had pinned to the inside of the door; photographs she had tried hard not to observe.
Girlfriend, family, models...and friends. A single photograph, every S.T.A.R.S. member save Rebecca, Wesker and Edward present. She remembered the day with warm thoughts; a weekend camping trip in the Arklay forest that Wesker had sent them on as a 'team building' exercise. Of course, Wesker had conveniently chosen not to attend this exercise, though it all worked for the best. It had been autumn 1997, before Rebecca's recruitment, and inconveniently on a week Edward had been away for training. Joseph had taken to filming the S.T.A.R.S. team's every move whilst he was away, with the intention of mailing the results to the absent pilot; perhaps the tape was still around? Somehow, she doubted it. It was likely that his family had taken it when they cleaned out his apartment.
Enrico had fumbled with the self-timer of a camera that proved rather tricky to use, and eventually they had all been able to pose together around the campfire, swearing that they would take another trip together one day.
That day, unfortunately, had never come.
"Damn, this is boring," Forest groaned, blowing a plume of smoke into the air. "Entertain me, Valentine."
She considered retorting defensively, but found that she shared his sentiment. While the others seemed to be enjoying the mid-afternoon row around Arklay Lake in canoes of questionable condition, her complete lack of co-ordination with the Arkansas native meant that every paddle they made only turned them round and round in dizzying circles. While they had initially found this hilarious, the novelty had soon worn off.
"You drink all the whiskey?" she asked, keeping her voice low despite being isolated in their position on the lake.
Forest grinned mischievously; a sign that hinted at the recent consumption of most of the bottle but also the relief that she had elected to share in his mild inebriation.
He pulled the bottle from beneath his perch and handed it over with a reluctant sigh. The liquid was little relief, but the feeling of the act was enough to cheer her up a little. They had already made such a mess of this 'retreat'; why not go the whole hog? Between the late-night invasion of the alpha's tent by an explorative raccoon and the disastrous pairing of herself and the Bravo member, Jill was sure that the weekend had not gone as Wesker had intended. Kenneth continued to insist that the trip was simply a means of getting them out of his hair for a short while.
"Having fun, ladies?" Joseph grinned as the canoe he shared with Chris glided smoothly alongside theirs. It was obvious they had not suffered the same confusing difficulties that had stranded their teammates.
"I don't know, are you?" Forest sneered humorously.
He snatched the bottle from Jill's hand, knocking back a fair portion of the remaining liquid. When he finally pulled the bottle from his lips, his eyes were alight with foolish creativity.
"I've got it!" he announced, rocking the boat as he suddenly rose to his feet.
"Careful!" Jill warned, clinging desperately to the side of the canoe. Water sloshed over the side, soaking through her beaten Chuck Taylors. She was thankful only for the fact that the lake was clean.
Forest swung one leg over the side of their canoe, resting it carelessly on the side of Joseph's. Though panic seized Jill's heart, her foolish friend began to egg on the reckless marksman as he lifted his other foot to the side of his own canoe, wobbling unsteadily with a cigarette between his lips and bottle in hand.
"Forest, get down!" Jill screamed, clawing at his leg. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"
"Paddle!" he yelled. "Go! Go!"
It did not take a genius to foresee what came next. Both canoes lurched suddenly, Forest's legs forced apart until they could open no further and he fell, limbs flailing as he hit the surface of the water.
The three remaining S.T.A.R.S. members were soaked to the bone, the wave sent forth by their friend's plunge surprising to say the least.
"Forest!"
Jill turned immediately to the rippling water, reaching down to break the surface with her fingertips. There was no sign of stupid, careless Forest, not even a single bubble of air.
Even Joseph and Chris fell silent, their howls of laughter fading as their amusement turned to worry.
Then, just as she prepared to dive into an impromptu search and rescue, the water rose up to meet her, something applying enough force to the bottom of the canoe to flip it over entirely. She paddled frantically, lungs empty and burning alongside the panic that forced adrenaline into her system.
When she finally broke the surface and found the overturned canoe, she was surrounded by laughter. Forest wiggled his eyebrows, long hair plastered to his face as he clung to the opposite side of the vessel. She could not find it in her heart to be mad at him, considering that he had finally injected some excitement into a rather dull day, even though it had been at her expense.
So, naturally, she pushed him backwards, back into the depths from which he had recently emerged
"Asshole!" she shouted, laughter pulling the venom from her tone.
"Hey, Valentine," Chris gasped through hysterics. "How's the water?"
"Why don't you join me and find out?" she teased. Forest surfaced once again to grasp the canoe, steadying her balance against the now-defunct transport.
"Whatever, babe," he teased back, offering a hand to help her into his canoe. It was not until she accepted this offer that he realised how foolish it had been. Whether she was punishing him for his laughter or for the "babe" comment, she did not know. What she did know was that he deserved to be in the water with her.
When she pulled, the entire canoe tipped, and Joseph fell at his side. What she had not calculated into her plan was the direction in which Chris would fall; right on top of her. His weight pressed her deeper into the water without breath, and she clung to his T-shirt.
"What the fuck was that for?" he fumed once they had all surfaced.
"Call me babe again and you'll find out."
He pressed against the top of her head, submerging her momentarily in a friendly attack.
It was Joseph she clung to when she resurfaced, too far from her original canoe to join in with the juvenile argument that had broken out between her partner and his rival.
"Who said this would be boring?" Joseph laughed. He fought a little against the weight around his shoulders but settled once he levelled them both.
"Race you back to shore?" she suggested, voice not entirely devoid of childish playfulness.
They were followed soon by their friends, the other boats having already safely returned to shore. The warm towels and laughter that greeted them at the campsite was most welcome, though the ridiculous amount of photographs Richard began to snap was not. Jill was not entirely sure that she wanted the rest of the world to witness her in her rather dishevelled state.
"Smile, Jill," Chris chuckled, wringing his T-shirt in his hands. "Nice bra, by the way."
He walked away after sharing this surprising compliment. Curious, she looked down, shocked to find that the water had turned her T-shirt entirely see-through, displaying her shamefully girly bra to the entire congregation.
"Forest!" she growled, humiliation causing her cheeks to flush dreadfully.
The man in question threw a towel her way, smiling perversely. She should have known better, and was left with nothing to do but to shrug off the embarrassment and dive into the tent she shared with the other Alpha team members for a quick towel dry and change.
When she emerged, she saw that the others had already started up the campfire and held their wet T-shirts out to the crackling flames. They seemed oblivious to the fact that their lower clothing was equally as wet.
"S'mores, anyone?" Richard called as he dug deeply into the food bag.
"What are we, boy scouts?" Enrico jeered. Jill was forced to bite her tongue; the erection of the tents and general assembly of the camp site had proven that together they had less sense than boy scouts. Boy scouts, she surmised, would also not attempt to slip various creepy crawlies into her sleeping bag just to see if she would scream.
She pulled several marshmallows from the waiting bag, assisting the driest of the Bravos in deciding on what lunch would be that day. Her eyes continued to drift towards the others, to Forest and his flaming T-shirt. S.T.A.R.S. had not been quite what she had imagined. Professionally, they were the most talented group of people she could remember working with, but there was something else...something that made her feel completely comfortable in the presence of these often crass men. She would do anything for any one of them, as she knew they would do for her.
Chris smiled as she caught his eye, turning nervously away within seconds. She thought nothing of it, but found that her eyes lingered on his body a little too long. A surprising fact for the amount of fast food he shovelled down his throat, he undoubtedly possessed the best body of the entire S.T.A.R.S. team; lean, muscular, with abs she would have thought impossible for such a huge fan of beer. Her tongue darted to moisten her lips, the sight before her far more appetising than the can of pork and beans she held in her hand.
'What the hell are you thinking?' she scolded herself as she momentarily came to her senses. 'Don't be so disgusting.'
Truth was that the thought no longer struck her as vile. He was sweet, caring, had one hell of a sense of humour, and was always there for her when she needed someone, even if she was not aware of this fact herself. Truth be told, he had been more thoughtful than her past few boyfriends, and more defensive when it came to her protection. Sure, she found it annoying more often than not, but it was also endearing. Beneath the macho exterior, he was a warm-hearted, strong-willed and deeply compassionate man; he was everything she needed, everything she wanted.
'Check your thoughts, Valentine,' she reminded herself. While she enjoyed their regular flirtation perhaps a little more than she should have, she knew the dangers of falling in love with a colleague...of falling in love with a friend. He was hot, she was lonely; it was best if she left it at that.
"At least look like you're paying attention, Jill," Richard laughed as a second can hit her thigh.
"Yeah, we're hungry," Forest complained, wrapping an arm playfully around her waist as he pulled the pork and beans from her grasp. "Look lively, doll."
Doll. She was sure that it was her initial irritation at the word that had pushed him to bestow it upon her as somewhat of a nickname. After all, he rarely used it to refer to another woman, save those he was close to. It was condescending at first, though he spoke it in a way that differed from her Delta Force colleagues; softer, light-hearted...she liked it.
"Jill, are you alright?"
She turned to Brad in surprise, having forgotten for a moment that he stood beside her. The tears that dripped from her jaw had gone unnoticed, though not by her comrade. He shifted uncomfortably; placing what he had hoped was a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"I know," he whispered. "Believe me, I know."
And with that, she cried.
Alone. That was exactly how Chris felt those days. Alone was how he preferred to be.
'Drawing attention to yourself like that was foolish.'
He could not disagree with himself, though part of him insisted that Elran got what he deserved. The idiot should have been watching his step.
Chris was unsure what had forced him to react so violently, only that so many days of pent up anger had been released upon the boy. He was lucky a nosebleed was all that was suffered. Had Chris's eyes not fallen on Jill moments later, he was sure that he would have dealt more than a single blow.
Jill...
The shock in her expression poured ice onto the flames of his fury. He did not quite understand the way she had begun to make him feel; calm and composed when inside he knew that he was seething. She was like an emotional blockade, preventing any anger, hatred or outwardly violent emotions from springing forth.
Perhaps it was due to the shame he still felt over their fight? He had never thought himself capable of hurting her and though he knew that he would never deliberately cause her pain, unintentional hurt was all he seemed to cause anyone these days.
It was times like these he would turn to Forest, and they would shoot away his frustration, knock back a few beers and wake the next morning to find that they were already an hour late for work.
But Forest was gone.
Chris leaned back in his chair, thankful for the fact that the office was empty; less noise clouding his thoughts.
He had known that his friends were dead, that they would never walk through that door again or mock him for whatever stupid reason they chose to latch onto that week. He had known, but had somehow not accepted it. How could they be gone? They were barely older than he was; Richard younger even. Enrico had more brains than most of Alpha combined, and Richard possessed a wider range of skills than he. Why them? Why not him?
"At the very least I had hoped for one of you. To have you both here...it is more than I could have asked for. I did well to pair you together."
His fingers constricted around the paper on his desk, crumpling it beyond recognition as he chased his former captain's voice from his mind.
Of course...Wesker. If his words were to be accepted as truth, they were all merely cannon fodder; combat data that he would attempt to steal for himself. All except for Chris and Jill. For whatever reason, Wesker had chosen them to provide the data for that freak of nature he had unleashed. In the end, everything had been destroyed. They had died for nothing, died for the dream of a man whose head was obviously not screwed on correctly.
'Enough. You have to focus.'
He was not sure that he trusted himself, but forward was the only way he could go. There was something here, something within this maze of unintelligible data...he simply did not know what it was. Regardless, he felt that he was close, that discovery lay just out of reach.
Voices passed through the thick walls, footsteps thudding down the corridor. How the hell could he concentrate here? Between the noise, the constant rush, and Jill... No, he would not think about Jill; not here, not now.
Carefully and quietly, he packed away all that he had collected, slipping it into a plastic bag he found on the floor beneath Jill's desk. Papers, floppy disks, hastily scribbled notes; it all went in.
His cell phone rang in his pocket, though he did not reach for it. It would be Claire. It was always Claire.
"I have to do this," he apologised to the monotonous tone. "I'm sorry."
"Are you sure about this?"
Kathy did not like the idea of moving, not one bit. She disliked the idea of moving in the dead of night even more. The thought of pulling the girls from school, of quitting her job and hiding out for the foreseeable future? It was unthinkable.
"Kathy, you have to trust me on this one," Barry urged, hands at his wife's cheeks
He agreed that the move was sudden, but it was also necessary. He wanted his family as far from danger as was possible, and would do anything to ensure their safety. Even if it meant being separated from them.
"You'll be coming with us, won't you?" she asked, desperation dripping from her words. His silence told her that this would not be so. "Then we're staying. We're family, Barry. I know you're going through hell right now but you know that I will stand by you every step of the way."
"Then stand by me on this one," he pleaded. "I love you, Kathy, that's why you need to go away. As long as you're with me you're in danger. The girls...I can't put them through this. I owe my friends a lot, I owe them my life. I have to put things right, I have to fight for this."
Kathy turned from her husband, hiding her face from view. He had not left her with many options, and he knew that they were all difficult to consider.
"Kathy, you have to listen to him," Rebecca tried. Perhaps a female voice would help to ease her fears? "Even if Barry chose to turn his back on all this, you would still be in danger. Relocation is the only safe option."
Barry smiled in appreciation; he had not asked Rebecca to be here, but she had offered to help and he had appreciated it.
"This house...it's in Raccoon?" Kathy clarified, now speaking clearly through her tears.
Rebecca nodded, reaching for the older woman's hand.
"It is just temporary," she assured her. "We will drive you there tonight, after dark, and then we will find somewhere more permanent for you and the girls. Somewhere out of Umbrella's reach."
Kathy looked from the girl to her husband. Barry could sense that her resolve was weakening; after all, she held the girls' safety as close to her heart as he held it to his own. She also shared in his desire to see Umbrella brought to justice, and knew that they would likely pay a high price for such justice if they remained in Raccoon.
"You have to promise me that you won't do anything reckless," she begged. "Please. I know you, Barry."
"I promise that we won't let him," Rebecca smiled. Kathy laughed with her, laughed until her tears subsided.
When she came to her husband, she came with a kiss, and he held her tightly to his tired body. Lately he had felt so drained of emotion that he was taken by surprise at the pain that stemmed from her touch.
"When you're done with this...we'll be waiting," she promised. "Always."
The paper clung to her fingertips. Who knew that toffee could mimic superglue so perfectly?
"I think he did this on purpose," she laughed. Brad attempted to peel the crisp pages from her skin, only to have them stick to his own. Joseph did not even like toffee, yet had stashed enough of it in his locker to melt over his magazine collection and make what could pass as a rather confusing piece of conceptual art.
"Two lockers in as many hours," Brad laughed. "We really need some help here."
Jill agreed, rubbing her hands up her legs to shed the sticky substance. Though Barry had promised to lend assistance once he returned from his errand, he had yet to join them
"I'll go check the office," she offered. Anything to draw her away from Joseph's joke store of a locker.
The hours had wound past in the time they had spent wading through memories; a simple clean-up task had evolved into a multi-stop trip down memory lane. The morbidity of the moment was soon forgotten and for the first time in over a month, she could safely say that her smile was genuine.
The hallways that she took back to the office stretched past Irons' lair. Straying close to their suspicious boss was something they had all had tried to avoid, but her mind was elsewhere that day.
The last face she expected to witness leaving the stuffy office was that of her partner. Even in her delirious state she was caught off guard.
"Chris!" she gasped; the first word she had uttered to him since requesting that he refrain from further communication.
His expression was weary, hair in a more chaotic mess than usual, and the bags beneath his eyes were surely a shade darker than they had been the last time she had been close enough to witness.
"Hey," he greeted nonchalantly, attention elsewhere. She barely caught his wrist as he stepped around her, making for the freedom of the main precinct.
"Chris, wait," she pleaded. Words caught in her throat, every sentiment she wished to express seeming defunct. "We, uh... We've been cleaning out the locker room. We could really do with some help, if you're free."
The hand that held his wrist drew the majority of his attention, and she suddenly relinquished her grasp. Was it too much? She felt quite desperate, both for help and for a few encouraging words from a friend who had grown far too distant in the short space of a week.
"I'm not," he told her apologetically. "Sorry."
Once again, he turned to leave. What was he trying to avoid?
"Chris!" she shouted, though the raised voice was unintended.
It was frustration that turned him around, and though she could see in every element of his stance that he truly did not wish to engage in further conversation, she felt determined to press the matter. After all, he had not even tried to fight her order of silence. Was her friendship so easy to cast aside? Did he truly think so little of her?
"Look, Jill," he sighed. "I'm sorry about what happened last week. I'm sorry that I left without explaining why and I'm sorry that I hurt you. Trust me, that is the last thing I ever wanted to do."
He moved closer, even though his body seemed to be desperately fighting the movement. She wondered how he felt in that moment, knowing that all she wanted to do was to seek his embrace and offer to share whatever burden it was that had begun to suck the life from his features. She wanted to know that they were still the same friends they had been before Wesker's betrayal.
"We both got a little fired up," she explained. "I shouldn't have pushed, but you have to-"
"Jill, I can't talk," he brushed off. "I'm taking some time off. I filed for leave and Irons just granted it. I'm sorry."
"Leave?" she repeated, unsure that she had heard him correctly. "Chris, you can't just leave us!"
"I am," was all he had to say.
His lack of concern for their progress forced anger to fester within her. How could he just walk away after all that had happened, after all they had been through? Had he not scolded Brad for the exact same thing?
"Do you even care about the others?" she demanded, all friendliness falling from the conversation. "How can you just walk away after everything- After all-"
Choking up was not something she was all that familiar with. Her emotions were always restrained before they ran too deep. Anger, hatred...even love. It seemed that once again, her emotional safeguards had failed where Chris was concerned.
"Don't you dare suggest that!" he warned, body tensing defensively. She may as well have punched him, for all the pain she dealt.
"Then why leave now? We need all the help we can get!"
She watched as he raised a hand to his hair, face contorted in a battle of conflicting emotions.
"Face it, Jill," he laughed humourlessly. "I'm no good at dealing with these things. You always knew I would leave. You all did."
She stumbled from the force of his words, the connection to her dream searing itself into every organ that functioned in that moment. He could not just leave...how would she know that he would come back? There was still so much she had to say to him, so much that needed to be put right. To separate on such a negative note was terrifying.
Images of his corpse flashed through her mind. It had been terrifying enough in dreams, but in life it tore a hole in her sanity, forcing through all that she had striven to leash.
"Then don't leave!" she screamed. The sheer force of emotion in her words shocked even herself. She never was one to lash out in blind fury; that had always been Chris's comfort zone. "Don't leave them. Don't leave me!"
Her final insistence seemed to hit him on a level that inflicted at least minimal discomfort. She hoped that it would be enough to convince him to stay. If there was ever a time she needed him, it was now.
"I'm sorry, Jill," he apologised one final time. "Don't call me."
It shocked her to recognise that as he walked away, a small piece of her heart broke. All that was constant in her life, all that gave her hope and told her to keep holding on was walking away. More than that, he was walking away as broken as she had ever seen him.
Pride be damned, she wanted to chase him down and beg him to share his thoughts, or to listen while she shared hers; for if she did not, she feared that she may burst.
He had been wrong, and so had his fictional counterpart; there had not been one point in the two years she had known him where she had truly thought that he would leave. He had always been there and on many occasions had promised that he always would be.
She should have known better than to believe him.
AN - Please review :)