Strength Through Wounding
AN - I'll keep it short and sweet this time. In my original plan, this was the last chapter. Technically it still is...the next chapter was the original epilogue so it brings the story to where I originally wanted to end it, and the final chapter will be a lead-in to the sequel. I hope you enjoy :).
Chapter title is from a song by Coheed and Cambria.
Thank you again to everyone who was kind enough to take the time to review: Sparkle Valentine, ditto9, Wootabulous, J.L. Zielesch, Ultimolu, Kenshin13, cjjs, KT324, tek, xSummonerYunax, Razial and Rock Lees Lotus. I'm trying to keep on top of replies, but I appear to be slipping lately, so forgive me. I do appreciate every comment! Also, I noticed a few more added this to their favourites so a big hello and thank you to all of you :).
Chapter Nine - Crossing The Frame
'I left in a sudden rush and never said why,
You couldn't know that I had no goodbyes.'
August 23, 1998. 7:50pm.
The days had trickled past with the consistency of thick syrup, clogging every sense of what he knew. Raccoon was his home, however troublesome his time there might have been. He found it hard to digest that at nine fifteen the following morning, he would be gone.
He double checked the name on his flight ticket, ensured that his passport was with him and that the details of the hotel he would be staying at until a suitable alternative was found were correct. Everything seemed to be in order, nothing left to do now but sleep.
Toxic particles burned the back of his throat as he inhaled the last of his cigarette. Given the tightness of their future budget and the implications upon his health, he toyed with the idea of quitting after the packet had been smoked, but knew that it was unrealistic; he had attempted to quit before and had gone three days when Wesker pressed a carton into his hands and ordered him to take a long cigarette break before returning to work.
Too many things were changing; why add to the difference?
He stubbed the cigarette out against the edge of his desk and stood at once to slip into his jacket. She was gone, that much was obvious. Waiting around for her any longer was pointless. In fact, the whole idea that she would listen and wasn't currently avoiding him was absurd.
As time wound on, he knew that he should have honoured her wish not to leave things between them in such a mess. His head ached every time he considered their final 'conversation'. If only his mind had been clearer, he knew he could have handled things so much better. Perhaps then they would be spending this night together as friends, and not tiptoeing around each other like strangers.
She did not deserve what he had thrown at her, but he had thrown it nonetheless and she had reeled from the impact. Would things ever be the same again? In that moment, he was not sure.
The door to the office swung open and he turned instinctively to the opening. Jill's casual expression turned to one of emptiness and she allowed the door to close, stepping back into the hallway quickly and quietly.
"Jill, wait!"
She was gone, and his words hit only the polished oak of the heavy door. Forgetting all sense of pride and righteousness, he dashed out into the hallway, faster than her legs could carry her away from him. He was gentle when he reached for her arm, enough that he could feel the thin fabric of her cardigan move between skin.
"Please, just listen to me," he begged.
"Why?" she demanded. "Every time I listen to you, I hear things I really don't want to."
A tug within his gut told him to pull away, to allow her to walk and leave things the way they were. But he did not want to. She needed to know that he was sorry, that he wanted her to be there at the airport as he left, knowing that things between them would soon be back to how they had once been.
"I'm flying out soon," he told her, aware that she did not know the exact time and date of his departure. "I'd love for you to-"
"To warm your bed for another night?" she interrupted with a curled upper lip. He could see now that she was fighting to remain composed. "Because that's all I'm looking for, didn't you know?"
"I'm sorry," he admitted, fingers still loose around her arm. "Last time we spoke…I was hurt and confused and I said things I shouldn't have."
"But you meant them?"
He could find no reply to this. At the time, he had meant what he had said, though his heart had not held the same sentiment as his vocal cords. They were words, not feelings; words could lie, and his sure as hell had that day.
"No," he insisted. "Jill, you have no idea how much you mean to me, how much our friendship means to me. I may be careless with my words sometimes, but I don't ever mean to be careless with your feelings. I know that I hurt you and I am sorry."
She turned from him and he released her arm once he was sure that she would not flee, allowing her freedom of movement as she raised an unsteady hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.
"Sorry is getting a little old, Chris," she laughed bitterly. "But if we're staying on that topic, I'm sorry about what happened that night. I never should have kissed you, or-"
"I care about you," he insisted, breaking through her words before she took back the sentiment of their time spent together. "Otherwise I never would have allowed things to go as far as they did. I don't regret what happened, Jill. I don't want you to ever think that."
Words, it seemed, escaped her. For a reason he could not discern, he pulled her close and was surprised to find that she did not fight him. His tenderness surprised even himself.
Then, she pulled back, fist swiping at shed tears.
"You can't do this," she growled. "You can't…you can't keep trying to charm me like this!"
Charm her? He had no ulterior motive, only the wish to apologise and to have her by his side on his final day on American soil.
"I'm not trying to do anything!" he insisted, tone harsher than he had intended. He had promised himself that no matter what she said, he would not lash out. He deserved whatever she threw at him and he would take it like the man he ought to be.
She paused with words on the tip of her tongue, breath trapped within lungs he wagered felt as empty as his own in that moment. After a moment's pause she let out a frustrated breath and shook her head, turning from him as she continued her stubborn journey down the hallway.
"So you're just going to leave things like this?" he shouted after her, halting her progress momentarily. Though she did not show him her face, he could tell that she wanted this no more than he. "Jill, please…"
"Just leave already," she told him in a small, fractured voice he barely recognised as hers.
He could not stop her as she walked away without so much as a backward glance; shoulders hunched defensively, expression unknown.
Part of him left with her, and the emptiness left in its wake drew him back into the office, closer to tears than he had felt in years.
'She gave up,' a small voice told him. He had waited so long to be granted a chance with her and now that he finally had, he had thrown it away. More than that, he had hurt her. That in itself was unforgiveable.
Two years of friendship, left to an uncertain future.
His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored the sensation. If it wasn't her, he didn't want to know.
'She walked away,' the voice continued, despair turning quickly to anger. Whether it was at himself or at his partner, he did not know. He had promised that he would not hold her to fault, but the instinctive reaction to blame anyone and everyone but himself threatened to surface if he could not resolve what he felt.
His cell phone rang again, all attention drawn to the irritation of the vibrations. Before he knew what he was doing, the cell phone was in his hand, and moments later existed in several pieces of varying size and shape as they bounced off the wall above his desk. Fragments landed amidst the mess, others bouncing onto Jill's neatly arranged space, one almost knocking over the dated picture of her father she kept next to her monitor.
Resolve found its way to him in this moment of violent fury; a path ahead just waiting to be walked. Perhaps it was for the best that she was the one to walk out; the thought of saying goodbye to her was unbearable at times. Severance was on her this time.
At least, that is what he forced himself to believe.
He knew she was calling. He always knew. His cell phone was never far from sight and he was forever texting his friends, even in the midst of conversation. There was no possible way he would not see her name flashing upon the screen.
"Pick up," Claire muttered as she was greeted once again by a seemingly never-ending series of rings.
Again, no luck.
She furiously ended the call, swearing violently at a passerby that almost knocked the stupid piece of technology from her hand. It had been a gift from Chris for her nineteenth birthday; a constant reminder to keep in touch when her old cell had fallen apart and she had shown an aversion to using public telephones. Ironic how now he was the one person she could never get a hold of on the damn thing.
"Chris cell," she read aloud as she redialled. She was sure that he had disconnected his landline.
Three rings this time, then a voice.
"Hey," spoke Chris's voice, more cheerful than it had been the last time she had heard it.
"Finally!" she exclaimed prematurely.
"This is Chris," his voice continued. "Leave a message and- Well, you know the deal."
"Chris…" Where were the words she had prepared? "Chris, you have to call me. I did some research and I… I know what happened."
Her words became but breath, memories of her late-night research in the library with the editor of the student body newspaper rushing to the forefront of her mind. To say that she had been shocked by what she found would be an understatement. Chris had landed himself in varying degrees of trouble in the past, from simple detention to one wrong word shy of a court martial, but she had never feared for him as she did now. She did not doubt a word of what had been said, but knew that the opposition he faced was both enormous and dangerous.
"You've always been there for me when I needed someone," she continued, choking on tears she chased down with a hollow-hearted threat. "I just wish you would realise and accept when you need someone to be there for you."
She felt wetness against her cheek and laughed in frustrated humiliation as she wiped the tears from her flushed skin.
"You bastard," she chuckled. "You're making me cry now."
If he was in possession of all his senses, this news would surely make him call.
"I can't keep worrying about you," she sighed. "Aside from the fact that you're totally not worth it, I can barely concentrate on my studies. Mom and dad saved for years to get me here, and I don't want to throw that away."
There was also pride, and the family name. Chris had made no secret of his desire to enter the armed forces, as their own father had many years before family life; his college fund had pooled into Claire's, allowing her to attend her first choice college and live as comfortable a lifestyle as she saw fit. She failed to see the humour in the fact that her older brother had left the Air Force at roughly the same age their father had, hoping only that her studies had more longevity than their mother's; though she had no fixed career in mind she had many courses in her sights and intended to go the distance.
"Look, big brother." Her voice was more assured this time. "I have some time off next month and if I don't hear from you by then, I'm coming to you."
She swayed where she stood as the thin crowd surged around her. So many faces, but none that she knew. The phone was clasped tightly to her chest, no evidence of formerly shed tears on her cheeks. Every breath she drew in added to the urge to just jump on her bike and find her way to Chris right away.
Eventually she moved from her position and continued on her way back to her dorm. Though she hoped that he would contact her, deep down she hoped that he did not. It had been too long since she had last seen her brother; any excuse to drop by was welcomed.
For all the people in New York City, she still found herself feeling incredibly alone.
August 24, 1998. 1:45am.
The weight of her thoughts could have crushed her that night. If not, she was sure the guilt would. She knew that it was not the heat or the humidity that kept her awake that night; August never brought much in the way of discomfort.
Sleep was a rare commodity when much of her time and energy was focused on the coming months, and now that she had hours to spare her mind refused to fall into the slumber her body craved.
The LED display of her alarm clock glared back at her, adding to the frustration that was building to a crescendo she hoped would come to pass soon.
'Guilt, Valentine,' she reminded herself. 'You wanted an apology, you got one.'
Why had it not been enough?
She had expected more silence, possibly even anger. Either anger or a conditional surrender; he would want both parties to accept blame, and he would ask for it bitterly. What she had not expected was a full-blown apology, and the assurance that their night together had meant something – whatever that may have been – to him. It had caught her off guard, nullified every response she had rehearsed over and over in her mind.
Perhaps she had been too harsh?
No, she had most definitely been too harsh. All he had wanted was to say goodbye, to have her there as he stepped into a new life…and she had refused, had told him to leave and walked away.
What truly hurt was that she did not know which of them was more at fault, not anymore. She did not even know what time he flew out.
Tangled in sheets, she rolled towards her bedside table, plucking the phone from its cradle as she recited his number in her mind.
"The number you have dialled is currently unavailable."
Of course, he had disconnected his landline weeks ago. Would he even answer his cell this late?
There was no answer from his cell, only the usual phrase that led in to his voicemail. He never checked his voicemail; leaving a message would be pointless.
She did not bother to replace the phone, and let it fall to the floor instead.
Her intention had never been to leave bitterness between them, but lately their rapport had fallen into the tried and tested method of hurt and humiliation. In many ways it felt as though they barely knew each other, though she knew that no two people could possibly be more acquainted.
But what had previously been amicable had turned frustrating and quite unnerving. No matter what he threw at her, she found that her feelings for him did not change in the slightest. Conversely, she had put him through hell in the past and he had stood by her through the worst of it.
Was this what people meant when they spoke of unconditional love?
It was terrifying.
'Would things have been any different if Wesker had not betrayed us?'
She did not know the answer, and was willing to bet that Chris was none the wiser.
There was no chance of sleep that night. Resigning herself to this fact, she pushed herself off the soft mattress, dragging her feet as she made for the refrigerator. There was not much that lined its shelves, but she made sure that there was always something highly calorific hidden away for moments such as these.
She could not bring herself to open the door, eyes fixed on the magnetic calendar Rebecca had filled in on her arrival. A large blue circle had been drawn thickly around the twenty-forth, the days that followed devoid of any markings. August twenty-forth was the day everyone would leave. Chris to Paris, Barry to Canada and Rebecca to Ohio. With only Brad and her many regrets for company, she would embark on what would likely amount to be a fruitless investigation and then join the others for a short space of time before they were forced to move on.
Picking up a dishcloth from the work surface, she wiped clean the days that had already passed and wrote the word 'September' at the top of the chart. From the first until the twenty-second, she filled in every number, drawing a far larger circle around September twenty-second than was around August twenty-forth.
That was the day she looked to; the day when she would fly out with Brad and their new life would start.
A long stretch of empty squares marked the days until then. There were far too many, and nothing significant to note on any of them.
'You have to apologise,' she told herself. 'You need to accept the apology he offered, you need to make things right.'
Twenty-nine days was an unreasonable stretch of time to leave bad blood between them. He meant too much to her to lose, too much for either of them to throw aside their friendship for a wounded little thing called pride.
'Tomorrow,' she resolved. 'I'll find him tomorrow…and we'll set things straight.'
August 24, 1998. 11:17am.
The office was unusually empty as Barry packed the last of his important effects into a large duffel bag. There was ammo remaining beneath his desk, a spare gun and minor personal items that would also be left behind. He liked to think that he may be back one day, despite having turned in his badge that very morning. Jill would pack what was left and ship it out several days after her own belongings. Travel light, that was the plan. Most of what they had packed would likely remain in storage, so there was little sense in being sentimental.
"You heard this?" Jill asked, startling him with her sudden entrance. She held a broadsheet before her eyes, almost obscuring the entire upper portion of her body from view. "'Despite R.P.D. insistence that the case of the Cannibal Murders has been put to rest, three further incidents have been reported in the last seventy-two hours. Nineteen-year old Jason McDougal was reported missing by friends after crossing police lines at the Arklay border, student Portia Mulligan's mutilated remains were discovered just two hours after she was reported missing following a lone trip to the aforementioned area, and the derelict vehicle of construction worker Jason McDougal was found in the early hours of this morning on a quiet Arklay road. Suspicion is cast once again on the R.P.D., who are still reeling from the tragedy to strike the department's S.T.A.R.S. unit in the Arklay area just one month ago. With the public demanding answers, could they be found in the events of that night? Police Chief Brian Irons was unavailable for comment'."
She scoffed as she folded the newspaper and cast it aside.
"We work in the same damn building and we're hearing this stuff from the press?" she spat. "I can't even feel pleased that they are finally giving us a little credit. If Irons had taken us seriously, maybe these people wouldn't have died."
Barry hung his head. She spoke the truth, and it was sad to know that Irons would stick to his guns and sit on his fat ass. How many more people had to die before he took action?
He worried about Jill, about leaving her behind as they all left. If something was stirring, he sure as hell did not want her around when the wick burned out. Hell, Umbrella could move in on them all right now, silence them before the public decided to listen.
"It's not too late," he reminded her. "You can still come with us, you and Brad both. It would give us all peace of mind."
"We'll be fine," she assured him with a wave of the hand. "Another month and we'll all be in Europe. Who knows, by then we could have all the evidence we need?"
Barry did not believe this to be true. He did not believe that they would ever succeed in bringing the corporation to justice, but they owed it to their friends, to themselves and to the rest of the world to at least try. Until then they would be forced to run and hide, always afraid of what their enemy may do. That was no way to live the rest of their lives, not when something could be done.
"Have you spoken to Chris today?" Jill asked. Her fingers picked at a piece of splintered wood at the corner of Chris's desk, the chair she had lowered herself into groaning precariously beneath her weight.
"Earlier," he admitted. "You two fighting again?"
Chris had been short with all of them lately, and somehow Barry knew that it would be Jill who bore the brunt of his foul temper. He had never worried in the past; Jill had always given as good as she got and was more than enough to handle Redfield. Now, he was not sure that any of them were the same person they had been prior to July twenty-fourth. She had issues of her own now, and it seemed that she had been shouldering Chris's troubles, too.
"You could say that," she laughed. A wistful, faraway expression fell to her eyes and she pushed back in the chair, turning her attention fully towards her comrade. "How are Kathy and the girls? This move can't be easy for them."
"It's not," he revealed grimly. Raccoon had been their home for many years, and he had never envisioned leaving the city let alone the country. The girls had protested greatly against the move, and Kathy had been unhappy but inevitably accepted that it was the safest option.
The chance that Umbrella would find them still remained, but Barry remained hopeful that all would go to plan. Even if it did, it would not stop him from missing them terribly.
"At least you have a family to go back to," Jill sighed. "You're doing the right thing."
Barry knew Dick Valentine well, but was less well acquainted with the other members of Jill's family. From what he had gathered through stinted conversation was that her relationship with them was less than amicable. They had all loved her mother, and her decision to marry Dick had not sat well with many of them; that her deviant behaviour during teenaged years set her up to follow in his footsteps brought a great deal of disappointment that she had not yet succeeded in shaking off. Though offers of reconciliation had been extended her way, she found it difficult to forgive the family that so readily dismissed the father she loved so dearly.
"Do you need any help with packing?" he asked her.
"No," she laughed. "You know me; I'm a last-minute kind of girl. It will help take my mind off things later if I leave it."
She pushed away from the desk and rose hastily as keys jangled from clasped fingertips.
"I should probably head off," she stated. "We're taking the day off before things get heavy. Besides, I need to talk to Chris before he leaves. Do you know what time his flight is?"
He knew that she could sense uneasiness before he spoke his reply. Shock settled into his thoughts as he ran her words through his mind over and over again, until he was sure he had not misunderstood her. Surely she had to be joking?
"He didn't tell you?" he clarified. Jill shook her head slowly, the corners of her lips twitching from a sadness he could not define. "Jill, Chris flew out hours ago. I thought you knew?"
The colour drained from her skin, a smile parting her lips.
"No," she insisted, lips twisting now into a moderate snarl. "No, he can't be gone, he would have-"
She choked on her words, a pale hand rising to cover her expression.
"Why didn't he tell me?" she wanted to know.
"Quite a sorry send off," Barry chuckled, gazing around the empty terminal.
"Rebecca was packing," Chris explained. "I told her not to bother, Brad too. Don't give me that look; I spoke to them both before I left."
Barry smiled through his beard; Chris was never good at goodbyes, and there had never been one as significant as this, not since S.T.A.R.S. had begun.
"What about Jill?" he asked.
Chris scowled, averted his eyes. His jaw set as he considered a reply, expression hardening considerably. Barry knew that a fight was likely, and cursed them both at their stupidity. Were they unaware of just how serious a move this was? The last thing they needed was bitterness, especially between the partnership that would likely be the cornerstone of their future work.
"We spoke," he answered cryptically. "Something tells me nobody cares that I'm leaving."
He ended with a laugh and Barry shook his head disbelievingly. Only Chris could joke in such a solemn moment.
"Just take care of yourself," he chuckled.
A number of rather unfortunate names rose within Barry's throat and though he longed to apply each and every one of them to Chris, he thought that it was best if he reacted calmly.
"I'm sorry," he apologised, for all the good it would do. "I thought you knew. If I had known- Believe me, I owe him a few harsh words for this."
Jill moved her hand, eyes bloodshot but dry. Whatever had passed between them before Chris had left had obviously not been resolved. Had he known, he would have marched up to Chris's front door and demanded that he set things right before he took off.
"I think I owe him something more," she spat; an attempt at a joke that fell unfortunately flat.
"Hey," he hushed as he moved towards her, ready to at least attempt to repair the damage his idiotic colleague had inflicted. "I'm sure it was a misunderstanding. It didn't mean anything."
"You're right about that," she spoke quietly.
With an assurance that she would be alright that barely touched upon half-hearted, she fled the confines of the office, Chris's actions hanging painfully in the humid air.
How warm was Paris in August? It was perhaps the most important question that she had failed to research in the days leading up to her departure. She did not know what to pack in her suitcase and what to leave with her parents. An assortment of cardigans and summer dresses had been thrust into the over packed luggage and in the end she decided to leave it as it was.
Her own apartment had been gutted days ago, and now the few possessions that had yet to be shipped ahead remained in Jill's smaller apartment, ready to be shipped to Paris once they were settled.
"I can't even speak a word of French," she groaned as she flopped down onto the sofa. The phrasebook she had found in a discount book store in town had proved to be completely useless; the simple fact was that she butchered the language.
Amongst Jill's many talents appeared to be a passable ability to speak conversational French; why was it that she would be left in America? She was essentially a walking phrasebook. Barry spoke a little German and Chris liked to think he could speak a little Italian, but French eluded them all.
The front door opened behind her but she did not think to turn to greet her temporary roommate.
"Do you think you have time to write down some useful phrases before I go?" she asked. "I almost flunked high school French."
There was no reply, not even movement.
"Jill?"
As she turned to her friend, the familiar uniformed body turned from her and rushed towards the master bedroom without so much as a "hello".
The first thought to cross Rebecca's mind was that of the one member of their team that had already departed. She had warned Chris not to do anything stupid, and it very much appeared that he had. She could think of no other reason why she would be so upset that she would shun company.
"Jill," she called tentatively as she walked slowly across the plush carpet. No sound came from the bedroom, though the door remained open just a little. The midday sun illuminated both rooms, though it seemed darker beyond the door.
She pushed against polished wood, moving forward more quickly this time when she saw her friend perched on the edge of her bed, tears falling freely down her cheeks. She had never before seen Jill cry, and though she tried desperately to cover her eyes, there was no hiding the truth of her state of mind.
"What happened?" she asked in as soothing a voice as she could muster. It was always she who would be comforted; she had no experience in being on the other side of such an exchange.
"He left," Jill choked, not quite believing the words that she spoke. "He left and he didn't even say goodbye."
Her words hit Rebecca hard as she considered them. She had spoken to Chris last night; he had assured her that he would talk to Jill!
She did not know what to do other than offer her arms. Jill remained stubbornly still, refusing comfort in lieu of hurt cleverly disguised as rage.
"I told him to go," she whispered quietly. Rebecca raised her head, devoted all of her attention to her friend's words. "We had a fight, and he tried to apologise last night but…I told him to leave."
Several phrases, each a cluster of words on either side of 'stupid' came to mind, but she thought to keep them to herself; something told her that Jill already knew.
"I didn't think he would," she laughed, choking on the sound a second later.
"I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it," Rebecca tried to offer. "You always fight and make up, this is probably just another-"
"No it's not," Jill stubbornly interjected. "I don't even know if we're friends anymore, I don't- I don't know what we are."
Rebecca swallowed her empathetic pain solemnly. The tables sure had turned in the weeks since that night; if someone had told her then that she would be comforting a distraught Jill Valentine, she would have laughed in their face. There was nothing amusing about this, nothing that could be described as pleasant in any way.
Something niggled at her consciousness, something tucked away in the back of her mind. A vision loomed just out of view, teasing her with the obvious nature of its composition.
"Are you going to tell me how you did this?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. Chris grimaced, and not entirely from the pressure she applied to his bruised knuckles.
"Do you expect me to?"
She smiled. Of course she didn't, and she didn't particularly care. What she cared about was the possibility of a broken bone this close to departure; he would be unable to fly out if he had been careless enough to inflict such a severe injury upon himself.
Blunt trauma, she surmised; possibly from collision with a stationary, inanimate object.
"Well you're lucky," she warned. "If it was broken you wouldn't be able to move your fingers. I'll bandage it up anyway; it should help with the pain."
"Thank you," he grunted as she pressed clean gauze against the broken skin.
He was a man of few words tonight, and far be it from her to push unneeded conversation, curiosity got the better of her and she forced a question into the open.
"This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the sudden funk you've fallen into, would it?" she wanted to know. Chris did not raise his eyes sarcastically to hers as she had expected, but instead dropped his gaze to the desk and found solace in silence.
"Forget I asked," she muttered.
Her words appeared to have struck him down, and though she felt the need to apologise for her probing, she could not bring herself to break the silence. Prior to this moment, she would have assumed it impossible for him to fall into such a low mood without at least the company of anger.
She would have preferred it this way; at least with anger he seemed alive.
"Jill, did-" Rebecca cut herself short. How to phrase this appropriately? It was a loaded question, and no matter what the answer, it would likely provoke a response that would only drive her deeper into sadness. "Did you and Chris- That night you went missing…it was Chris, wasn't it? You slept with Chris?"
The sudden influx of tears confirmed her suspicion. It seemed that the dam had been broken and nothing was going to stop her now. The tissue that Rebecca offered was barely enough to stem the flow.
Jill folded to her this time, left with no option but to accept what was offered and hope that it would be enough to see her through the night.
"H-how did you know?" she stammered.
A hunch. An unacceptable answer but the truth nonetheless.
"He hurt his hand the other day," she explained. "He wouldn't say how, but I noticed the front of his locker was caved in. He wasn't all there, and I've never seen him that way…except when it concerns you. Whatever happened, he was really upset about it, Jill."
To her surprise, this information did not seem to cheer her up.
"It's all my fault," Jill muttered. "It's all- I kissed him, I initiated it. Ever since then things between us have been…different. He was my best friend, Rebecca, and I ruined all that for the sake of one lousy night."
Rebecca moved her hand along her back, soothing her tremors enough that her words made sense.
"Well, it wasn't so lousy," Jill laughed with a smile that was a little more genuine this time. "He…wasn't quite what I imagined, you know? It was like he cared, like- For a little while he even had me fooled…"
Though her words hinted at bitterness, Rebecca could see in her eyes that she could not bring herself to regret what had happened, to claim it as a mistake and move on. Perhaps that was where the problem lay.
"Are you in love with him?" The question fell from her lips before her mind recognised what a stupid idea it was.
"Isn't it obvious?" came a reply in the form of a whisper.
Rebecca's heart sank with her words. She did not know much of love, but her young heart believed – or rather hoped – that it came without complications, and that if two people were in love they would be together. Chris's love for his partner had been so obvious he may as well have shouted it from the rooftops; if Jill loved him back, then what was the problem?
It was here that Rebecca's capacity to help reached its inevitable limit.
"Sometimes I don't want to," Jill added as a bitter afterthought. "And now…I really don't want to love him, but it's too damn late. We've both been at fault lately but he hurt me and that should have been it; I swore I'd never again be with a man who could hurt me so easily. But…it's Chris."
Dismay aside, Rebecca felt the frustration that had apparently been gripping Jill in recent days. Had it been any other man, she would have feared losing her friend to an abusive relationship, but she knew Chris; he would never intentionally hurt anyone who did not thoroughly deserve it. He may come across as a brute sometimes, but he was caring at heart.
"I'm scared-" Jill continued, and Rebecca was happy to let her do so. "I'm scared that he has lost respect for me. I'm scared that things will never be the way they were."
"That's not true," she hushed. "He cares for you; anyone with a little sense in their head can see that. Have faith, and it will all work out. I'm sure of it."
Jill scoffed as she dabbed tears from the corners of her eyes.
"So what are you going to do?" Rebecca probed. "Don't tell me that this is it, because there is something there to be salvaged. If it's Umbrella that's getting in the way, they won't be around forever."
Jill smiled sadly.
"I'm going to wait for him," she breathed. "It's all I can do."
Rebecca waited until she had fallen asleep, though Jill had not asked it of her. She did not know the reasons for staying, only that it felt right. She was reluctant now to leave, knowing that Barry would be knocking on her door within the next few hours. Though she knew it was perhaps not the best idea to leave Jill in such a state, there was little that she could have done to help. She was strong, she woul dpull through this on her own.
All her goodbyes had been spoken, though her heart had not yet adjusted to the change. Raccoon had offered her so many promises; a new life, a fresh start. S.T.A.R.S. was her big break, her chance to prove that being naturally intelligent was not the limit of her abilities. Instead, she found a life she would not have wished on her most bitter of enemies.
A casual glance was cast back to the now-sleeping form of the woman she had initially felt needlessly intimidated by. It was strange to find that it was she who wore a mask of bravery while the more experienced of the two stole several hours of freedom behind tear-stained eyelids. Rebecca did not feel that she had come full circle - not just yet - but she felt a certain sense of closure as she considered her short yet meaningful time in Raccoon.
She may not have been given the life she had promised, but she had found friends that made the loss seem inconsequential.
As she allowed the bedroom door to close slowly behind her, she felt a sudden belief in destiny, fate and all that she had previously labelled as 'unscientific'. This was where she was supposed to be; she knew that because she would not trade it for all the comfort in the world.
August 24, 1998. 11:53pm (CET).
"Bienvenue à l'aéroport international Charles de Gaulle . S'il vous plait préparer votre passeport pour inspection. Si vous n'avez rien à déclarer, prières de vous mettre en file d'attente à la gauche."
Chris looked up from his passport, selecting a few familiar words from the announcement but understanding none.
"Welcome to Charles de Gaulle International Airport. Please prepare your passport for inspection. If you have nothing to declare, please queue to the left."
'If only it was that easy wherever you go,' he thought with amused trepidation.
"Bienvenido a Aeropuerto internacional de Charles de Gaulle."
With no intention to subject himself to a crash course in multi-lingual welcome speeches, he hauled his bag further onto his shoulder and set off towards the pre-designated customs line. Passage through the checkpoint was swift and painless; nothing to declare, no visa to be checked and no questions to answer.
The sun had already set, the hour far later than it would have been in the city he had left behind. The day had likely concluded, Barry and Rebecca departed...
'What of Jill?'
On every occasion that his thoughts drifted to her - which happened quite frequently - he was overcome with the unpleasant sensation of intense nausea; fear so profound that one was willing to end it by any means necessary. At least, that was the closest approximation he could draw. He knew that it was far more likely the result of guilt stemming from cowardice.
Because he was a coward.
His initial reasoning for witholding the time of his departure from her had been an immediate reaction to her request; if she wanted him to leave, then he would and she would have no right to complain after speaking such words. Then, the reason began to slip away and he knew that he was simply using it as an excuse.
Running away from the mess he had caused was far simpler than facing his mistake. If experience taught him anything it was that he would only screw up further, and there would truly be no hope for them.
Then he realised that he could not find the words to say goodbye, not to her. With the animosity that burned between them, his mind would fool his heart into believing that it was a final farewell, and he was sure that it would shatter in the wake of such an event. There was still something between them, something that would pull him back to her if he lost his way. Already he felt the desire to be with her and to put right what had went wrong. It followed the urge to flee, and to seperate himself from those he knew and loved so that they were no longer pawns in this battle.
It was his guilt that pulled him back, told him that he could not move on until he met with Jill and with the others and made sure that there was nothing to regret.
But at what cost had this been?
He knew that she had not been serious, that she had merely been naturally defensive after his emotional attack. But it was easier to believe her, easier to think that she wanted him to leave.
Stubbornly, he pushed aside thoughts of what he had left behind. He could not bear the wounds they inflicted when the most dangerous fight of their lives lay ahead. They would be with him soon, and there was not a damn thing he could do until then.
He was alone, as he had wished for; his plan set in motion, five minds set on vengeance. Umbrella's demise awaited, and by the fury of hellfire...they were coming.
AN - Please review :)