Strength Through Wounding
AN - I have to admit, I love Chris and Jill arguing. It seems almost natural for them, really. They're more like an opposite's attract couple, gelling in many ways but not always the expected ones. Anyway, this is the second half of last chapter (though I tweaked the dates a little and added some new stuff) so it sadly (or not) focuses mainly on Chris and Jill.
I decided to try something new with this chapter. A couple of new things, actually. Though upon reading back through it, I really can't tell, lol. This was another case of a chapter not quite coming out as planned. Oh well, what's done is done. I'm kind of trying to set things up for the sequel with Chris and Jill and their friendship/relationship, but also in a different way (keeping schtum on that one but it's probably obvious). I'm hoping to start (officially) on the sequel plan very soon so I'll let you know as soon as I get it down if it's going ahead.
Chapter title is from a song by Paramore.
Thank you again to everyone who reviewed: KT324, Razial, Sparkle Valentine, ditto9, Kenshin13, xSummonerYunax, J. L. Zielesch, cjjs, lunavixen and tek.
Chapter Eight - We Are Broken
'Give us life again
'Cause we just wanna be whole'
August 21, 1998. 11:12am
Chris had not been abroad in some time, and as such had grown out of touch with the ways of travel. Slowly but surely, his genius plan to temporarily relocate to Paris had begun to unravel.
Umbrella's presence within Europe was surprisingly strong, and he did not doubt that they would be keeping a careful eye out for the S.T.A.R.S. survivors and their families. Applying for a visa was a sure-fire way to alert them to their movements, but without one their stay in the French capital would be limited to ninety days and they would be required to hold return flight tickets. Ninety days was not a particularly long stretch of time in the grand scheme of things, especially if they turned up promising leads. Deportation was not a risk he was willing to take; deportation could place any one of them firmly into Umbrella's hands.
All that could be done was to move around Europe every few months, hoping that they would not run out of money or be caught. There had been rumours concerning a number of individuals sympathetic to their cause; ex-Umbrella employees and relatives of those harmed by their research. While Chris did not know what to make of these rumours, he hoped that they would find assistance in the form of fellow 'activists', as Rebecca had began to refer to them as.
If anything was found in Paris, at the very least Jill and Brad would be able to remain a further thirty days, arriving in the country a month after the others.
Jill... Part of him was reluctant to leave her, both in Raccoon and in Paris, but a larger part now insisted that the more distance placed between them the better.
He agreed wholeheartedly with her stance on the night they had spent together: it was a one night stand, at least for now. It made no sense to waste energy on a relationship, not now. He could not guarantee that he would be the most pleasant person during the fight, and perhaps he would drive her away.
It terrified him to consider the depths of his feelings for her, validated by that one, perfect night. Pushing them inside in lieu of the platonic friendship she adamantly requested was difficult at first but perhaps the best idea she had come up with in their two-year friendship. Once the initial thrill of her proximity had faded into icy fingers, he found that it came easily to avoid her and to avoid how he felt.
Still, it forced anger to surface when he considered her actions that night. If she would be so ashamed of giving herself to him, as her actions since then had suggested, why had she kissed him, why had she initiated anything? For the first time in his life he could not help but feel used. When feelings for his partner began to surface, he admittedly would not have minded; hell, he would likely have welcomed it, anything for a night with her. Now…now it hurt like hell.
The ring of his cell phone cut through his thoughts, as it did too often these days. Without even thinking, he flipped it open, no thought other than 'this better be important'.
"Oh, so you finally answered."
"Claire?"
Was it too late to hang up? Avoidance had served him well so far and he was sure that it served her just as well. The farther she was from him, the safer she was. If Umbrella thought that they had no contact, they were less likely to hunt her down.
"At least you recognise my voice," she chided. "Would have thought you'd forgotten all about your sister."
"Claire, this really isn't a good time."
"It never is with you!" she screamed, loud enough to startle him. "Do you realise how hypocritical you've been these past few weeks? If I don't answer you hunt me down, but you expect me to tolerate it?"
He had been told on many occasions that his sister bore a temper to rival his own, but had only ever seen this side of her in jest. His own temper had fallen beyond the barriers of his understanding; was this what he exposed others to?
"You don't understand," he insisted. "I explained last time we spoke; I can't keep in contact with you, it's too dangerous."
She snorted in disbelief, and he could visualise a single foot tapping impatiently against the ground.
"Maybe it wouldn't be so dangerous if you explained why? What have you got yourself into? I can help! Above board, below, I've met all kinds of people here."
Stunned silence fell as a frown wrinkled his brow. He should have been immensely concerned by this admission, but all he could focus on was a way to keep her out of harm's way.
"Claire, you're nineteen years old," he sighed. "There is nothing you can do to help other than keep yourself safe and stay out of my way."
"At least Jill had the decency to tell me the truth," she pushed.
"You spoke to Jill?"
Truthfully, he should have seen it coming. When he did not pick up in his own apartment, her attention would turn to the nearest likely alternative; his best friend.
"I called her because I thought you might be with her," she explained, her voice softer this time. "I know how close you are; I figured you'd be looking after her after what happened."
Chris swallowed painfully. Looking after her? Oh, he was looking after her alright; pushed her to the ground, reduced her to tears then bedded her and spent the following week cruelly avoiding her.
'There's nothing cruel about it,' he insisted inwardly. 'She made her feelings on the matter perfectly clear, you're just respecting her wishes'.
"I don't like the silence," Claire spoke, breaking through his fuming thoughts. "Please tell me you're not being a jackass to her. Chris, you always do this!"
"Don't judge me, Claire," he growled. "You're not so perfect yourself."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
He considered for a moment replying honestly; she lashed out when she was upset, more often than not at her family. All things considered, it would gain nothing.
"Claire, please drop this," he begged. "I love you, I just want what's best for you and trust me, this is not it. I'll call you soon, okay? In a couple of weeks. Now really isn't a good time."
There was an extended period of background noise before she huffed quietly.
"Alright," she relented. "If it's important enough to provoke an 'I love you', I'll trust you on this one."
"Thank you," he breathed. Claire rarely gave in without a fight, and when she fought it was very often to the death – or as close to it as one could legally get.
"Love you, too, big brother," she laughed gently. "Remember that, and let it guilt you into keeping in touch."
No matter how hard he tried, he could not force a smile as he ended the call. He would not call her, he knew that now. A letter, perhaps? A letter would explain everything and leave no room for misunderstanding. Even this thought carved another painful segment from his heart; she may have been a pain in the ass most days, but he still loved her and he did not like the idea of lying to her anymore than he liked the idea of lying to his teammates.
Once he was in Paris, there was nothing she could do. There was nothing any of them could do. Hopefully Paris would provide them with the leads they needed, and the ordeal would be over in no time at all. Umbrella would fall; they could move back to the States and continue with their lives. If all worked out, the mess that his relationship with Jill had become would untangle and maybe, just maybe their new life would be one they spent together.
Somehow, he knew that the road ahead was rockier than it seemed. Simply keeping his feelings in check was such a difficult task; sooner or later he would put a foot wrong and the possibilities that had begun to flourish would come crashing down around him. After all, it was always those around him who suffered; one day it was bound to strike far too close to home.
There was a definite air of sadness in the office that day. S.T.A.R.S. badges were all but handed in, the majority of their personal effects packed into boxes of varying shapes and sizes. All of the past two years packed away, all of that hard work undone. Even Rebecca was looking sombre these days.
"September twenty-second," Barry announced suddenly. Jill snapped her head up, looking at her friend through bleary eyes and contemplating his words with a sleep-deprived mind.
"Chris hasn't spoken to you, has he?" he asked once he caught on to her confusion.
"Why would he?" she scoffed. She had rarely seen Chris since Rebecca's birthday and on the occasions she had, all he offered was a polite "hey" or reluctant nod of the head. Despite her insistence on playing it cool, he seemed to have gone for a level several degrees lower than what she had in mind.
"Right," Barry chuckled humourlessly. While the others had also picked up on the sudden wall of ice between the two previously warm partners, none had found the courage to acknowledge or comment upon it. Conflict was not all that surprising where they were concerned. "He booked two tickets for September twenty-second; Stone-Ville to Charles de Gaulle. They're on hold at the airport, you just need to pick them up at the flight desk. Suppose he wanted to make sure you both don't stay any longer than necessary."
She hummed in mild interest. It was impossible to discern the thought behind his actions from so far away.
'It's what you wanted.'
"Not like this," she muttered beneath her breath.
She was so sure that he had felt for her as more than a friend, so sure that their one night together had been more than just that – one night. Now, she was not so sure. How could he act so indifferent? Was that all she had been to him, a meaningless one-night stand?
"Jill, I-"
"Don't."
No, she meant something to him; he was about to tell her until she cut him off, she was sure of it. Stupidity; that was what forced her to suffer. What harm would it have truly done? Surely it would have been better than the nervous, paranoid mess her days had been since then. Did he love her? Did she care? She was not inexperienced, and yet had not acted in this way after her previous encounters. What was it about Chris that threw the norm completely off-centre? She had never truly cared what her previous boyfriends thought of her, only that they respected her. Why was she suddenly so concerned about what a man who so obviously respected her thought?
'You've never been in love before.'
What kind of stupid reason was that? Love was supposed to be a blissful feeling, one that filled a person with joy and happiness, that made everything seem less significant and the world seem a much better place. Love did not hurt, it did not scar. Love did not rip your entire world from beneath you, forcing you to tiptoe on broken glass. It did not take the taste from your food and pin you with the agonising feeling that your soul was being slowly peeled from your being.
No, love could not be the reason.
"Anything I can help you with?" Rebecca asked quietly. Jill laughed, wishing that she could. If she and all her twenty-three years and failed relationships could not inform a solution, the nineteen-year-old and her self-professed inexperience sure as hell would not.
Rebecca seemed to sense her discomfort, and sought to change the subject of conversation lest she find herself on the wrong end of an apparently poisonous tongue.
"Have you seen the news lately?" she asked.
Jill shrugged. The television often ran in the background but she seldom paid attention to what was being said. It was the same old bad news every day.
"Three more people have disappeared in the past month," the rookie explained. "Two from the Arklay area, one from the neighbourhood just off the pass. Apparently the pass guy left his house to investigate a noise in the middle of the night, never came back."
"Why haven't we heard about this?" Jill demanded, fury rising too easily.
"They don't tell us anything these days," Rebecca frowned. "Besides, Irons is touting it as a new serial killer, wants to give the case to the new unit. They blocked the forest off following the explosion, but some kids still sneak past. He's saying some copycat is milking the aftermath of the 'Arklay cannibals'. Personally, I think something didn't get caught in the blast. There were dogs in the forest when we landed, who knows what else could be out there?"
Once again, Irons' incompetence did not fail to astound her. The cover-up had Umbrella written all over it and she could only imagine his glee at the size of the pay check they would undoubtedly be slipping him this time.
No wonder he dragged the 'cannibal' investigation out as long as he did. She did not like to consider how many lives could have been saved had he not been hiding behind his greed; the thought made her physically sick.
'Serve and protect' was not a motto worthy of the R.P.D. under Irons' command.
Chris' voice reached them before the door swung open, Brad following hot on his heels. It pleased her to see that all had been forgotten – if not yet forgiven – in the weeks since the pilot's abandonment. Brad had tried harder than the rest of them put together, and deserved their respect if not their gratitude. It was perhaps a sign of a marked improvement in Chris' attitude that he had once again begun to treat their old friend as a member of the team. The same applied for Barry; a once strained relationship now ran as smooth as it initially had.
Why was it then that their friendship – the strongest within the group – had begun to fray at the edges?
The day of his departure was fast approaching, and every sleepless night that brought it ever closer drove home the knowledge that she truly did not want him to leave. It was almost enough to make her consider dropping her plans and following him to Europe. Heaven knew that they needed the time together, to repair whatever it was that had broken between them.
She waited until Brad turned for the photocopier before approaching her partner – if that was what he was these days.
"Hey," she spoke softly, achieving a friendly smile with the last of her waning energy.
Chris looked up briefly, eyes darting back down to the paper he continued to write upon once he acknowledged her presence.
"Hey," he replied, not half as enthusiastic. Fighting the urge to drop all friendliness from her tone, she closed her eyes and visualised herself breaking through the wall he suddenly erected.
"So I found a spare crate of beer when I was cleaning the other day," she lied. "Rebecca is staying with the Burtons tonight, and I was wondering if you wanted to come over and-"
"I can't," he stated bluntly.
She swallowed harsh words. He may have a genuine reason.
"Why not?" she asked. Whatever reason he had to offer, she was sure it was nowhere near good enough.
"We're all busy these days," he muttered. "I have to pack."
"I could bring the beer over," she suggested. "It would be ironic. You know, you helped me unpack when I moved here."
"I haven't forgotten." His voice seemed so emotionally detached, as though he were simply going through the motions for her sake and not even giving consideration to her options. "I can manage on my own."
Her impatience became increasingly difficult to hide, as did the frown that she fought to keep from her forehead.
"Fine, you pick a date. Any time, anything. I just want to spend some time with you before you leave. Something normal before we take the plunge, you know. Like old times."
The rattling sigh that escaped his throat echoed what she had feared; 'old times' could never be returned to, not anymore. Something was different, and no amount of beer and amicable chatter could disguise that. A dull longing and the fear of an uncertain future.
"I can't," he repeated, his own lips twisting downward this time. It was obvious that he was hiding behind an ugly mask, and no amount of prying could peel it away. "I fly out in three days, there isn't time."
"Then stay," she asked. "Your ticket is exchangeable; you can fly out a few days later, wait for Barry and Rebecca-"
"I can't," Chris interrupted. His expression turned sombre and he made sure to look her deep in the eye. "All practicality aside, we both know it's best if I leave now."
Stunned once again by his words, she found herself incapable of reply. Words of her own pushed against her throat, but none surfaced. Would he truly leave without at least attempting to remedy whatever had went wrong?
Still, she could not find fault with his words. If he left, he would take with him all that tempted her, would sever contact while her sense was still at least somewhat intact.
"C-Chris, don't-" she stuttered, turning with him as he made to leave. "Don't leave things like this...please."
"You left, Jill," he growled. "I'm just going the distance."
As he left she felt the cool chill of fresh air breeze into the office. She looked up, the desk behind her digging almost painfully into her thighs from behind. No bemused utterance found its way to her, no confused glance shot in her direction. It was perhaps a small consolation that the others had not noticed the words they had exchanged.
A strange sensation overcame her then. A chill settled into her bones, skin seemed to slip from the muscle it covered; she did not entirely feel that she existed in that moment, and knew that she did not quite wish to. Anger shook her hands, though pain stole her sense of direction. She had half a mind to storm after him, demanding to know what made him think he had the right to treat her the way he had been lately, but the fragmented parts of the other half told her to keep quite and let it all pass.
Because after all was said and done, he was right; she had left, had rebuffed what she now understood to be plain friendliness. Had he mistook her frightened hostility? Did he believe that she wished for them to be less than friends? At the very least, she would have liked him to acknowledge that they had spent the night together, not carry on as though it meant nothing at all.
With a humourless, sarcastic laugh she heard the voice of one of her now ex-friends drifting through her consciousness.
"That man has had so much sex it must have lost all meaning by now."
Was she just another victim of his seemingly insatiable libido? What of his words before she had left; was he truly preparing to reveal hidden romantic feelings for her or was he trying to admit that he had been selfish in his loneliness?
Pain faded, anger flaring as her pride prodded the snarling beast. She wanted answers, and the respect he had once held her in.
It was time to sort out this misunderstanding, or sever all ties before the burn set in.
There was a small café just down the street, a venue quiet enough to hear the echoes of even the faintest thought. She loved to sit in that little café, often with her laptop on her knee as she watched the world rush by. That was the problem with this city; everyone seemed to be in an almighty hurry.
Her eyes found a young girl across the street, not much older than she. Legs bound by an impossibly tight pencil skirt, hair pulled back tightly from her face, lips stained rouge against a pale complexion. A young girl in an adult world, likely with a purpose.
Dark bangs fell into her eyes and she blew at them in annoyance, brushing brunette strands aside. When she returned her curious eyes to the sidewalk, the girl had disappeared into the crowd.
"People grow up far too quickly these days," a male voice chuckled behind her. She smiled at the familiarity in his deep tones but frowned at his sudden presence. Did he not know that this was where she went when she wished to be alone?
"That's cheap coming from you," she noted, eyeing up his battered Social Distortion jacket and beaten Chuck Taylors. "You plan on leaving puberty behind you any time soon?"
He noticed the direction of her gaze and laughed loudly, almost spilling the coffee he placed upon the low table before them.
"Come on," he defended. "Social Distortion is a timeless band. Like The Cure, Ramones, Misfits-"
"Keep listing poser punk bands," she teased. "It's really helping your case."
"Well, the posers know how to pick good music. Oh, and The Cure aren't punk. Post-punk maybe."
"Derek, I am not getting into another argument with you over damn music," she chuckled, throwing her head back onto the soft cushions of the couch.
"Shame," he sighed, squinting at the lid of her laptop. "You have pretty good taste. AC/DC, right? Is that The Cult? But what the hell are Pantera doing on there? You never struck me as a metal head."
She groaned in frustration, drawing unwanted attention from the next table. Though she expressed disinterest, inside she was smiling. It was somehow not appropriate for a nineteen-year-old girl to enjoy heavy metal and the rush being at the wheel of a good engine provided, especially not in the city. High school had been tolerable at best, but it was the years after that had brought her home to what her family often referred to as 'her kind'. She did not care if it gave her a bad reputation; she was not looking to fall in with the crowd, she was looking to better her life and have fun, as all college-bound teenagers did.
"Pantera is one of my brother's bands," she explained. "I stole a few of his CDs and thought they were pretty cool."
"I suppose Zeppelin is another one of your brother's bands?"
A smirk could not be hidden this time.
"No, Zeppelin is all mine."
Her smile turned bitter at the thought of the many CDs that lay forgotten in her room. Possessing that which was rightfully her brother's no longer amused her as it once had. Although, she agreed that it at least gave her reason to speak to him. Conversation was wearing pretty thin these days.
"You okay, Red?" Derek asked, picking up on her discomfort.
"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied. "I just...miss him, you know?"
"You are close?"
How would one define 'close'? In some ways he was her brother, in others he was her best friend, and on some occasions he was her father, and exerted as much control over her as she was sure their father would were he still with them. He would do anything for her and she for him; unconditional love that she was sure Derek would not be able to understand.
Eleven years ago, they had lost everything. All they had was each other, and though she had expected him to turn away and lash out as most teenagers would have done when hit by the loss of their parents, he had instead turned to her, making sure that he made up for the love that was lost. He would walk her to school, prepare her lunch when their aunt was too busy, even help her with her algebra homework. Lord knew he was useless at math.
She had cried an awful lot in those days, over a loss she had not truly understood. He had cried also, but would never admit to it. He would fight, drink, spend weeks at a time in detention and began to smoke, much to her annoyance. In the end she had broken through his state of the art defences and ever since that day they had been each other's crutch, confidant and it had been the two of them against the world.
He moved away when he was eighteen, followed his dreams and became a pilot. Sadly, his dreams had not withstood the toll of his temper. He was passionate and dedicated, but too hard-headed for his own good.
"I'll take that as a yes," Derek coughed. He never was one to dive into deep conversations, and that was what she liked about him; when the going got tough, she could always seek him out and he would bring her back to the world she knew she loved.
"We haven't spoken much lately," she confessed. The thought of what he must have been going through to shun contact so readily frightened her.
Something had him spooked, something had twisted his perception and she had an extremely bad feeling about it all. She had taken to checking his local news online every night, but the website of every local newspaper had been down for the last month at the very least. Reports from other sources - more widespread media and tabloids - were sketchy at best. Mostly word about the impending dissolution of his unit, and the deaths of several men he had known well; no sign as to what happened to them, only rumours. It felt to her like a media blackout and that was what worried her; he was not unintelligent but if he had stumbled upon something big she did not know if he would be careful enough to make it through in one piece, especially when emotionally-charged.
"I've been thinking about taking a road trip," she announced. "I have a week off at the end of September...it seems like a good time. You can come if you want."
Derek appeared thoughtful as he mulled over this proposition. She knew that he was good with most machinery and currently owned a beast of a Hog. It would be a rush riding beside - or more likely, behind - it.
"Can't," he settled on after a moment's pondering. "Promised my mom I'd visit for a few days, won't have time for any detours."
She honestly had not expected him to agree. Part of her was glad; she often preferred riding alone, and believed that this would be one of those occasions.
"Where will you be going?" he asked. "Just out of curiosity."
"Michigan," she revealed. "Maybe. I don't want to leave, but I'm worried about him."
"Your brother, right?"
Of course it was her brother. Only hours had passed since their last conversation but she knew that it would all rest on the next. She did not know if he was still in the State he now called home. He could be anywhere, anywhere in the world. If it took a month to find him on the telephone how long would it take to find the man in person? He refused to reveal where he was, where he was going, what he was doing and what the hell had happened to drive him into avoidance; she realised that this may very well be a lost cause.
"Oh shit," she exclaimed as her eyes fell back to the screen of her laptop. "I have a class in five minutes! This is totally your fault."
Derek spluttered into his raised cup, coffee dripping down his chin.
"How the hell do you figure that?"
"I don't, I just like how it sounds."
He mocked her silently, knowing that she could see his expression in the reflection of the window. She would not mind, she never did. At the most, he would find himself nursing a dead arm for the rest of the day but the feeling would return eventually.
Laptop fell into oversized bag, latte drained hastily, and she turned on her heel to leave with a quick goodbye.
It was barely a split-second later that Derek saw a small wallet that was not his resting by his feet on the coffee table. He reached for it, pulling its bulk across the varnished table as he waved frantically in her direction.
All thought of returning said wallet to its owner dissipated as it slipped against his fingers, a small set of passport-sized photos fluttering to his knee. His companion smiled at him from each frame, her attractive features twisted into various goofy expressions. Beside her, a man; dark brown hair, eyes that could have been hers. He appeared to be thoroughly unimpressed with being dragged into the photo booth, though on the last frame he smiled as the girl shouted into his ear. A ridiculous grin, endearing in its almost juvenile quality; it was her smile...obviously the man was her brother.
"Hey, Redfield!" he yelled, halting her in the doorway.
"Oh thank you!" she blushed as she rushed back, almost tripping over a chair at least half her height on the way. "I swear I'll lose this one of these days."
And with that, she left, leaving only thought of Michigan and a misplaced brother behind.
Claire's smiling visage disappeared as he tugged on the old photograph, careful not to rip the paper. It was the last photograph; the last item that identified the locker as his own. It seemed so barren without his personal effects, but the R.P.D. was no longer his home. There was no sense in being sentimental.
He had been reluctant to clear out his desk, remove the guitar that had lain there for far longer than he could remember, and pack the trophies that the others had begged him to take. He possessed the originals at home; those in the office were simply Wesker's way of rubbing his team's success in Irons' face.
The door opened beside him; pushed with force but passed with casual nonchalance by his partner. Her presence both comforted and irritated him. Why did she press the matter?
She did not speak as she delved into the depths of her own locker, fumbling with something he could not see. Her stance was awkward; registering his presence but trying so hard not to react to it that she appeared stiff and almost mechanical in her movements.
He could almost hear a static buzz fill the space between them, white noise just waiting for an imprint. Truthfully, he felt bad for rebuffing her friendly advance earlier. A night of normality was the perfect remedy for the current gloom, but it was the thought of being alone with her that frightened him. He did not trust himself and in lightu of recent events he trusted her no more. Die Hard and a little beer would likely turn into an in-depth exploration of just how many spare condoms lingered by his bed.
'You may want to be careful,' his conscience told him. 'You've heard the rumours, so has she.'
It was all he could do to hide the cringe that came with thoughts of past gossip. Just how many women did she think he had been with; how many casual encounters? Truthfully, there weren't many. Girls would gossip, exaggerations would turn to facts, and somewhere along the line he had stopped correcting whoever spoke these misconceptions. It worked in his favour most of the time; his popularity amongst the male members of staff hardly took a hit and suddenly he found that there were many attractive women just dying to know if the rumours were true.
He had never thought of how his reputation may have affected the opinions of the women he came to care about. Jill hardly had the best track record of relationships. Though he had never found the courage to ask, he doubted that she had experienced a single one night stand other than the one they had shared. She was the kind of girl who fell in love, not distributed her affection freely. Yet she had initiated that night, knowing of his largely exaggerated history.
'She expected something more,' his heart told him. To give herself to him unconditionally, she must have connected the act to feelings that ran perhaps as deep as his own. If that were true, was her behaviour due to the same conflict that had plagued him since that night?
Deep down, he felt as though he should be ashamed of himself.
"Jill, I've been thinking-" he began, unsure of what exactly he was to say. Something to remedy his previous bitterness, he hoped.
"About your self again, no doubt," she spat, features still concealed by the metal of her locker door.
Her words stung, buffered only by anger at being spoken to so harshly when he had done nothing in the moments preceding. It did not matter what he had done before that time; this was the here and now.
"Careful with that tongue," he snapped back, unable to fight the natural response of waging a verbal war with her. "Might get frostbite."
The violent clang of metal against metal reverberated around the room as she slammed her locker shut, whatever it was that she had been searching for suddenly forgotten.
"You barely speak a word to me in almost a week and when you finally do, it's to insult me?" she scoffed, disbelief only existing in her words.
It hurt him to realise that his behaviour did not appear to surprise her.
"Actually, I was about to start a conversation," he corrected. "You may want to hold your venom a little while longer next time."
Sinking into the usual cesspit of anger and bitterness, he knew that he would not be crawling out any time soon. It was easier to fight with her, and he did not know how he would react to tenderness after the chill.
"I'm sorry," she apologised. What surprised him was that she was genuine, even bowing her head in shame. Anger ebbed away slowly; what the hell was he supposed to feel? A maelstrom of emotion raged within him and he could not decide which to bring to the forefront. The strain of them all would surely cripple him.
"No you're not," he sighed, though he was unsure if she heard.
"Chris, I want answers," she demanded softly. "Why are you avoiding this? Why are you avoiding me? I thought we were friends, or has that changed?"
Silence again, broken this time by a soft breath of disappointment. What did she want him to say? The truth? He dared not speak the truth.
"I'm leaving soon," he spoke. It was all he seemed to say lately, as though it were an automated response. "I can't-"
"Are you?" Her interruptions were beginning to annoy him. "Or are you running away?"
His entire being froze, even his breath caught in his lungs. He had been searching for the answer to this question for many days now. There was much to look to in Paris, but also much to leave behind; Raccoon, S.T.A.R.S., late friends, betrayal. Paris promised a new life and time to think without outside distractions. Paris promised a month without her influence, without her presence clouding every one of his senses. If he were to keep his feelings in check and work out where they stood, he needed to be far from her, where they could make no mistakes and where they could not hurt one another.
"I...I don't know," he choked, amazed that he had found the voice to speak so honestly. If his sister's words were to be believed, all he ever did was run away.
Jill covered her lips with her hand, pulling fingertips across skin as she mulled over unknown thoughts.
"Was it a mistake?" she asked.
He was hurt that she was capable of such thoughts. How could it have been a mistake?
"Jill-"
"What happened?" she pleaded, voice weighed down by tears he hoped to God she did not shed. "What was it to you? You barely even speak to me anymore, Chris. You act as though nothing happened but you're still pushing me away."
He blinked at her words, head aching from the pressure of her accusation. The woman before him was not the friend he had known. Though she had suffered from the workings of love and romance before, she had always remained strong, pride intact when everything else slipped away. He had never seen her in such a frenzy, so wound up over a matter that should have been trivial in the grand scheme of things.
"It didn't happen," he told her, echoing what she had come to realise many days ago. However, she was not given the answer that she sought; had it been a mistake?
In many ways, perhaps it had.
"Of course," she whispered, choking on her words. "But...why are you avoiding this? One night stand aside, we're still friends and I don't want to leave things like this between us."
Anger resurfaced, pushing troubling thoughts to the forefront of his mind. He did not see why he should do all the work when it was her attitude that had changed the air between them.
"Then how do you want them?" he asked, his voice almost a growl. She was taken aback by his sudden aggressiveness but reacted with as calm and composed a demeanour as she could find it in her to put across.
"Back to how they used to be," she requested with a smile and wide eyes that almost swayed him to her point of view. But his anger was too powerful a force to overcome.
"You don't want that," he laughed. "Things were normal, they were fine. I went back there and you shot me down."
"Chris, no!" she insisted.
"Don't put all this on me!" he roared, loud enough to force her back a half step. "I was fine, I was just peachy. You were the one who wanted to put it all behind us; you were the one who told me to 'be careful' when all I was trying to be was your friend! You don't want that, Jill; you don't know what you want."
Something switched in her eyes, and he could feel the effect of his words. It seared like a white hot dagger to the skin, but he had no apologies to offer. He spoke the truth, why should he apologise? If she was unable to handle it she should not have pressed the matter.
"I never meant it like that," she professed. "I was scared; I didn't want for things to change."
He laughed bitterly, confused when she failed to see the humour in her admittance.
"We had sex, Jill!" he pointed out. "What did you think would happen? That we could brush it aside and never speak of it again?"
His silence was met with hers. They had been friends for so long, and his feelings for her had clouded his judgement of such issues in recent months. Even so, something lingered in the crossed lines that ran from one friend to another and it had not slipped past their attention; each felt it, though neither was willing to admit to it. It was obvious to both that even a kiss would bring about a cataclysmic change. So why let things go so far?
He should have known better than to press the subject when it was his temper that spoke, but he was riled up and was in some sick way enjoying the closest they had been to a conversation in almost a week.
Confusion gripped her delicate features and she fought desperately against the rush of feeling that came forth. The floodgates were open, and not all of what passed was pleasant.
"I've made such a mess of things," she whispered, perhaps admitting to guilt.
"Yeah," he agreed, though it did not echo his true feelings. "You should have realised that before you started all this."
"What?" Her voice was stronger this time; sharp edges as opposed to fraying doubt. He knew that his accusation was inappropriate; he was placing blame when there was none to be cast about.
"Who kissed who, Jill?"
Why could he not stop talking? It was his pride that spoke, wounded by her rebuffal when he had only tried to do right by her. It told him that she needed to be reminded of her place in all this, of what she had done that could have been done differently to avoid this mess in the first place.
"Oh no," she gasped disbelievingly. "You did not just say that."
Her anger added fuel to his furnace and he rounded on her, making sure to look her in the eye as he spoke.
"You act like I'm at fault, but you were the one who wanted to forget what happened, you were the one who made the rules. To hell with what I thought, with what I felt. Why did you even kiss me in the first place? What did you think would happen? If you were just looking for a quick-"
The palm of her hand cracked against his cheek, the pain welcomed by the heart that scolded him something terrible. When he looked to her again he saw that her cheeks glistened with newly shed tears. Suddenly, malice left him in the cold, shaking from the weight of what he had said, of what he had done.
"You- you better check yourself, Chris," she spoke gently, trying her best to maintain an even tone through her anguish. "You said that no matter what you do or who you become you will always come back; did you ever think that one of these days I might not want you to?"
Her composure had faltered significantly and he had been left with no reasoning for what he had inflicted. Whether or not she had hurt him or damaged his pride, she did not deserve what he had dealt. Her fault had been at a misunderstanding; his was intentional and sadistically malicious. A wish to inflict as much pain as she had dealt. He never expected to deal a whole lot more.
Her hair flicked in the artificial breeze as she turned, and he reached out to take hold of her arm. She was pulled to his body in rush of movement, her warmth soothing in his arms. But she fought against his hold, against his hypocritical attempt to comfort her. It was intimacy that had forged the foundation of the wall that now stood between them; how could it possibly heal her?
"Don't," she instructed as she succeeded in pulling away, heading for the door without a moment's pause for thought.
As she lingered on the threshold, he watched her turn again, drawing a shaking breath before addressing him, adding an afterthought to the mistaken words he could still feel, burned in to the surface of his skin.
"If you find my friend, tell him I said thank you," she breathed unsteadily. "Because for one night, he made me feel…adequate. And that's not something I feel often these days."
The door slammed shut behind her, leaving the imprint of her words upon his guilt. He had not asked for her evaluation of that night, of what it meant if romance was taken from the equation. He had not asked, but she had revealed nevertheless.
Strange, the knowledge that her experience had been a pleasant one did not bring tender relief to his conscience. It stuck in his gut like a knife, twisted at the hilt until there was nothing left but regret and the deeply painful knowledge that he had needlessly hurt one of the few people he truly cared about.
It burned through his veins, igniting fury deep within. Before he knew what was coming, his fist ploughed into the steel surface of his locker door, again and again and again, until he cried out weakness that flowed beneath the pain.
It was possible that his hand was broken; he did not care to move his fingers. The thin metal had bent against the repeated impact, likely damaged irreparably. But why should he care? It was no longer his locker, these were no longer his changing rooms; this was no longer his precinct.
And maybe, just maybe, Jill was no longer his friend.
In that moment, the pain in his knuckles was inconsequential. He could lose the hand; the hand mattered not to him. Hell, take his entire arm. But take Jill, take his friends...
To Chris Redfield, that was where loss truly began.
AN - Please review :)