Chapter 8 - Wake Me Up
Whatever I feel for you
You only seem to care about you
Is there any chance you could see me to?
Cause I love you.
Is there anything I could do just to get some attention from you?
In the waves I've lost every trace of you
Where are you?
Woodkid
Every single bone inside her body seemed to be broken.
He brought them ashore, clothes soaked, lungs burning with cold sea water.
And she was clinically dead. No pulse, no warmth, blood standing still in her veins.
Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. Sacrificing herself for Chris Redfield.
He placed her on the wet rocks and with both hands he put pressure on her chest.
He hoped that she would catch a breath and wake up. But she remained still.
No coughing, no throwing up, not even the slightest sign.
Nothing could wake her from this slumber. This was no fairytale.
Inexplicably a memory came back to him from their S.T.A.R.S. days.
How she smiled insecurely at him every time she handed in a report.
Proud of herself, hungry for his acknowledgement.
She was so naïve back then. And sweet. And beautiful.
He caught himself often trying to imagine, what it would feel like having those thighs around him, her firm breasts against his upper body and what she felt like inside. Maybe she was still a virgin.
At least she seemed very unaware of her attractiveness.
Unfortunately the privilege in taking it from her seemed to lie in the incapable hands of men like Chris Redfield.
Always on her tail, leaving a trail of saliva behind him.
Yes, his thoughts were so shamefully human back then.
Weak for a young woman, he should never dare to have.
And now the life was gone out of her. Nothing but a beautiful corpse without a soul.
But for him it wasn't over. A dead heart meant nothing to him. At least he rose up from death as well.
He fixed, what he could by pumping her full with chemicals and then putting her into cryogenic sleep, where she slowly altered into a fallen angel. Like he was.
And it came back. The steady beat of life inside of her.
There wasn't a minute, where he didn't silently enjoy looking at his creation floating in the clear fluid.
Naked as god created her. And he was her god. Hers alone.
The smoke of the cigarette in Chris' hands slowly drifts upwards, taking weird shapes.
An old habit he fell back in again, caused by the force of the recent events.
Like that he had an excuse to step out of the claustrophobic four walls that are Jill's hospital room.
Four days ago she suffered from a terrible relapse.
After a significant mental and health improvement that mainly came from the talks with Dr. Samwell, he foolishly believed that she finally might be reaching a part of the steep hill of recovery that would become easier, but instead she seems to have given up and fell back to hell again.
Dr. Samwell took him aside and explained to him that this is nothing abnormal.
By talking they have released the shock that was frozen inside her body and now that her mind is fully aware of what has happened to her, she reacts accordingly.
Still it was horrible to find her staring at the white ceiling, eyes empty and blank.
Yesterday he found her trying to scratch open the wounds above her breasts.
There was skin and blood under hear short nails.
Bloody stitches that healed to become scars.
Although the doctors had proposed cosmetic surgery a while ago, Jill had fiercely refused the offer to have it done.
Chris fumed inside, asking himself, if she had the stupid wish to be reminded of Wesker.
This morning her forehead had a thin layer of cold sweat on it and he immediately knew that the days in his gruesome hands have been haunting her dreams, completely consuming her sanity.
He had grabbed a cloth and soaked it in cold water to wipe over her forehead.
She gazed at him like he was a stranger.
"Hey, Chris."
He takes a last draw on the cigarette and flips it to the ground.
"Hey, Claire." He has called her.
"You know that smoking is bad for your health", she says, smiling shyly at him.
Looking at her kind, young, innocent face makes him want to cry.
She reminds him what a healthy human should look like.
"How are you?", she asks softly.
"Don't ask me … she's worse than ever, Claire."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Chris", she sincerely says and hugs her taller brother. "Let's get you something to drink in the café. You look like you're in need of one."
She puts a cup of coffee in front of him and drops down on the chair.
"Did you know that he raped her, Claire? More than once."
"No, I didn't know." There's real pain in Claire's eyes and she sighs affected.
She knows well what Wesker is capable of, since she had to experience her own encounter with him on Rockfort Island.
"She's a wreck. But that's not the sad part. The worst is that I ask myself every single day, if it really was rape. What if she wanted him Claire?"
Claire avoids meeting his gaze.
Memories of a younger Chris ranting about their Captain and his alleged fondness for a single young female. Jill.
"Don't be ridiculous", she says instead.
"Ridiculous? It looks like Wesker really reached his goal by taking the woman away that I love. He had everything of her. Every single piece. He probably still has her in his grave."
"Chris", Claire says intensely, suppressed impatience in her voice.
She hates, how he always felt so terribly sorry for himself.
"Don't say things like that. She might not see it, but she needs you. And we both know that you shouldn't give up on her. Neither your hope, nor your love."
"Have you been counting the days that she's been in here already?"
"Not exactly …"
"I have, Claire. It's 104 days. And I can't look at it any longer. She can't recover in here."
"I think the doctors are trying their best, Chris", Claire starts a weak attempt to calm him. "She was captured for over three years, constantly drugged with a fluid that ruined her." Her voice becomes quiet. "Raped … Jill isn't only carrying bodily damage, but also mental. It takes a lot of time to recover for the mind from …"
"Please, Claire", Chris says with hard to control impatience. "You sound like them already. Those people, I have given them a chance."
"Then tell me what you want, Chris. I may be your sister, but I can't read your mind. Do you want her out of here?"
He shrugs. Suddenly craving another cigarette.
"Have you thought of taking her to yours?"
Chris scrunches his eyebrows. "What?"
"Why not?", Claire continues, steadily holding her gaze with him. "If you think that it will help to get her away from here, I won't stand in your way. But if you do it, take her to yours. She might not be aware of it, but you're one of the only people she can trust right now. One of the only people, who have dedicated everything to her."
"Wesker has dedicated everything to her. But not me, Claire."
"Will you shut up", she hisses quietly. "I'll bring you into therapy, if you keep on talking like this."
To her surprise he softly chuckles.
He always found it amusing, when his young sister lost her temper.
How often he teased her about it, when they were teenagers. Typical sibling wars.
Only that Claire has grown to become a woman, who is sharper minded than he is.
"Take her to yours", Claire repeats.
"Then how should I get her out of here? I can imagine that they are going to put up quite a fight. At least they like making money from permanent patients like she is."
"You have won bigger wars already", Claire smirks. "A few men with gowns shouldn't be a big problem."
After Claire has left he slowly makes the familiar way to Jill's hospital room back.
Bright lights and innocently white hallways he has walked down a thousand of times.
The first few weeks she was stationed in intensive care.
The fact that she didn't receive her 'stuff' anymore, her P30, made her crazy.
Cold turkey hit her hard.
She vomited, shivered, constantly tried to find something to kill her and screamed at everyone.
She was a mess and he couldn't bear to look at it anymore.
The intensity of sickness and disinfectants.
With each day the drug faded away in her body the loss of 'him' got visible in her eyes too.
How much she apparently needed him. Or how he made her needy for him.
She's awake, when he enters.
"Where have you been, Chris?", she asks.
"Claire was here."
"Did you smoke? I can smell cigarettes."
A lying smile cracks at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah … sorry."
"I want to leave, Chris. I don't think, I can bear another minute in here."
Chris sits down at the edge of her bed, the need to stroke her hand coming up inside of him, but he holds back.
She wouldn't appreciate him becoming physical right now.
She allowed him to touch her once.
One single time standing against the hundreds of times, where Wesker beat her, stroked her and bruised her in all her favorite places.
The taste of bile.
"Don't worry. We're leaving."
"We?", Jill asks warily.
"Yes, we are leaving. I have talked to Claire before and we both think it would be best, if you … stayed with me."
Jill turns herself away from him, wrapping the sheets tighter around her body.
"I can live alone. Neither Claire nor you have the right to choose what I am ready for and what not."
"Then tell me what's good for you, Jill" His voice is sharp.
She remains quiet and immediately he regrets having said that. He exhales.
"You know, you can trust me", he continues in a softer tone. "And you'd finally be out of here."
Still she doesn't put any effort into acknowledging his words and he gets up frustrated.
"Whatever. I'll go and talk to the doctors."
The door slams shut.
Inner agony and stuck words never to be revealed inside of her.
"Carcinogenicity?"
"Pretty much non-existent."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Pretty much? … We need figures, Jones. I haven't hired you with the expectation to receive words like these in return."
She snorted. "Hired? You kidnapped me, Wesker … wait, even better, science-napped me for your own purposes. The test result said 0,0000036% … not worth mentioning to me. But I hope you are happy."
"I'm never happy. Mutagenicity?"
The redhead eyed him curiously. Was he serious?
"Am I allowed to use the term 'very high' here?"
She tapped the pen against the table. Playfully.
"Lethal dose?", he continued unimpressed and she sighed.
"2 milligrams per kilo. We have to be careful with the dosage."
Jill heard them. And saw them.
How they sat together in the laboratory in Kijuju every single day, working on developing a deadly bioweapon.
This woman with the strange eyes. She was like a creature out of another world. A fairy.
She was as worthy as he was. And he also fucked her that way.
For some strange reason Jill disliked not being 'the one' anymore.
The one, who pleased him. The one, only he had eyes for.
Almost soundlessly she pushed the door open. She hated to burst into their sickening intimacy.
Her gaze was set to the floor as she spoke up.
"Our car containing the Uroboros samples got stopped by the B.S.A.A."
A robotic voice behind a tin mask. But her heart was still human below. And it was jealous.
"And I hope, you disposed of them", Wesker said in a tone that suggested a question.
Jill remained silent and flinched, when he hit his fist on the laboratory table.
Glass shook and faster than the eye could follow, he had her by her throat against the wall.
Her mask shattered to the ground.
"Wesker, calm the fuck down", his red-haired lover said.
"What has happened with the samples!"
He ignored them both. Another one of his episodes.
"She can't speak, if you hold her by the throat, idiot. Let her go."
This time she interfered and even dared to push him.
Jill desperately soaked in air and doubled up, trying to hold back the urge to vomit.
"Get the fuck out, Nebraska."
Suddenly he used her first name. It indicated to Jill that it was nothing but a little game they played by addressing each other with last names. Sickly sweet intimacy indeed.
"Well, fuck you too", she spat back and exited the laboratory.
At this moment Jill wished, she could have gone with her.
"Now once more. What has happened to the samples?"
Calmer. Still ready to jump at her throat.
"I'm not sure. We ran into hiding. Irving and I. I lost him though. I don't know, where he ended up. I think, he has the samples."
"You think he has the samples or you are sure he has the samples? Answer!"
"I-… I- …" Jill swallowed. Since when did she stutter? "I don't know, master."
Ten seconds later he had Excella on the phone. "Excella, try to get in touch with Irving. We need his exact location. Then send him to me."
He hates her.
Hates her guts, her vulnerability, her incomparable beauty created by a monster that saved her life.
He hates how she tries to make him fall with her weakness and arousal of pity.
She is like an impatient cougar. Deadly. Teasing him, making him fucking needy for her.
A mind game she probably learned from Wesker, directly transferred into her brain and forced to keep on playing it.
Under the shower he had to let off steam by touching himself almost every single night.
She probably knew it, the way she drove him crazy, but still she kept on playing her dirty tricks with him.
Is that what thankfulness for getting her out of this dirty shithole looks like?
She's even dirtier.
Walking past him after a shower, robe sloppily dancing around her naked curves, just barely covering, the way she licked a spoon clean before him and still she wouldn't let him near her.
Was this how she seduced Wesker, robbed him from his calculated and always oh so reasonable behavior?
He couldn't see why not – at least the looks he gave her back in their S.T.A.R.S days never failed to raise his suspicion, burning jealousy even.
Captain Wesker might have thought he had an advantage wearing sunglasses, but for Chris it was so easy to tell.
He wasn't as stupid as Wesker probably judged him to be.
That 'accidental' touch of his hip against her behind, when he taught them how to handle a Berretta or how his hand could remain way too long on different parts of her body, when he gave them lessons in hand-to-hand combat.
She was just so young back then and their Captain's job would have been put to danger, if he touched one of his soldiers inappropriately, right?
His blood young soldiers. How fucking honorable their Captain could act.
But still, Jill seemingly returned his gaze and always slightly blushed, when he complimented her shooting skills or her defeating Chris in training.
It was like adding salt to the wound.
Chris' crush on her was out of proportion back then and so he could never exactly tell.
He tried to forget about it and kept on falling for her with each day without ever receiving a touch, an attempt to flirt in return.
Was she in the end right with what she said?
That the drug was nothing but a poor apology to finally get near her Captain.
Just like he made her willing for him by pumping her full with chemicals, saving her life.
Probably it wouldn't even have needed P30.
Again, acid in his stomach and the glass of Coke enfolded by his numb fingers, he throws with such a force into the sink that it shatters.
The fluid hisses like a basket of snakes on its way down into the canalization.
The shards, fragments of his soul and heart.
Why does he even keep letting her tease like that, when in the end all the wanted was to be fucked by some other inhuman being?
Her mind never left the past. Never.
Nostrils flaring he bursts into her room – hell, his room, his bed he gave up for her just to spend each night on the uncomfortable couch.
Jill looks alarmed at his entrance, but isn't there something else in her eyes too.
Thrill? Eager expectation? She probably waited for him to lose it.
"It's enough, Jill. I'm considering bringing you back into the ward, if it doesn't end!"
"If what doesn't end?", she dares to ask cockily, slowly sitting up on her knees.
She's wearing a tight black tanktop, white shorts, no bra.
He's way too aware of her nudity beneath.
Images of 'him' fucking her senseless flashing in his mind.
Those hands, those killer hands, those monster hands on her soft, innocent, perfectly flawless skin – it disgusts him.
"I don't want to be saved, Chris! I can't be saved. So, stop playing the hero, who mends the broken girl!"
For a moment he considers to grab for her and beat her. Hard. His fists almost scream for it, but with the last bit of strength left he restrains it.
He is angry, yes. Infuriated even. At this very moment he is like … 'him'.
And it turns her on more than it should. But Chris finds reason deep within his core.
"I'm not trying to change you into the person you used to be, Jill. It's not what I'm asking of you either." Strained patience. "We both went through changes over all these years. And those can't be undone."
First, the answer is silence. It's always the same with her.
She doesn't only look like a ghost, she also acts like one.
It's hard to get hold of her attention without fearing that it might turn into thin air.
"What am I good for anyway, Chris?", she hisses bitterly, finally showing emotion.
This woman could be like a stone. Another feature she copied from 'him'.
"What's the point of you keeping me here? The only reason you got me here is to clean your conscience of guilty feelings. Can't you see that there's nothing I can give you? Stop giving me that sickening, hopeful look. I can't stand it anymore. Just as much as I can't stand swallowing these pills every day."
One condition Chris had to accept if he took her to his. Pills. All white. All big. All disgusting.
Three in the morning, three at lunch, one in the afternoon, one at night.
She worked like a clockwork. Her body awaited the dosage and started to ache, if she dared to forget about it.
Sweat on her skin and her nerves vibrating like burning blades. Memories of her cold turkey.
"We both know that you are always seeing him, when you look at me. Always! Tell me, if I'm wrong." The challenge hidden in her tone makes him dart her with a piercing look that touches the bottom of her soul. Shakes her awake.
"Why lie, Jill", he says quietly.
But when he speaks quietly it is almost worse.
She wants him to scream at her until her ears ring, washing the echoes of 'his' commanding voice out that would never leave. But she is destined to drown in it.
"Of course, I think of him, when I look at you. How could I not? Even when we were at S.T.A.R.S I always saw his pervy eyes following you. And how you enjoyed his flattery."
Visibly blushing, she turns her head.
"Spare it, Chris … this has nothing to do-"
"It does, Jill. More than you might think."
"Well, I don't want to hear it."
She crawls out of bed and puts on the next pair of trousers she can find.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?", he asks and grabs for her shoulders, when she tries to rush past him.
Her backside bumps against the white wall.
His fingers burn into her skin, never has she been so aware of a touch like his right now.
At least not since she 'woke up' from her endless nightmare.
She hasn't felt so intensely since the days before Wesker made her his experiment.
And for some fucked up reason Jill even finds it consoling to know that she's still able to have emotions.
"Is there something you haven't told me about you two, Jill?"
Back pressed against the wall, their hips only inches apart from touching.
His heat is radiating on her skin. Even through the fabric of her jeans.
"There isn't. Let me go, Chris. I need fresh air."
Her voice is calmness. Tired.
He can't tell, if it's the pale, snow-like texture of her skin, the bruises under her eyes that come from many sleepless nights or the fact how fragile her bones feel under his grip - he lets her go.
She grabs for the door handle, pausing a second.
"Jill Valentine is dead, Chris. Why don't you fucking see it? She died that night at the Spencer Estate."
Chris feels like he's falling apart.
"Maybe you're right", he gives in, too reasonably. "I should have given up on you. I haven't put everything into finding you, just to have to face this stranger in the end. I agree, it's best, if you get out for a while and leave me alone."
He locks the door behind her.
He hates her. Hates her so much … hates her … and loves her.
Oh … he was not pleased with her.
She failed her mission and he punished her accordingly. By ignoring her.
In the afternoon he left the door to his bedroom ajar and fucked his redhead scientist, knowing that she would hear it. There was only one reason why he gave her the room right opposite.
Why did they always have to be so damn loud?
That bitch even drove the birds in the trees away.
Afterwards the sound of the shower. And he did her again.
Lying in bed she burst out in tears. The dose was wearing off and bubbling up were hard to define feelings.
She wished him there. To kiss her tears away. Kiss her everywhere. Every single spot on her body.
But now it was always the other one, who demanded his full attention.
She cursed her name even more than Excella's.
She wanted to run away.
Her cloak sat tight, face smeared with tears and she balanced on the balcony's railing.
The rattling of the afternoon crickets lulling her.
It would be an easy jump. She would gracefully land.
And then? Where will you go, Jill Valentine? His voice filling her head with its dark din.
She remembered how it could change, when she was under him, fully consumed and lost and he would get them both closer and closer … sometimes he would even say her name, when he came. That moment, that one moment she wished he would always sound like that.
So full of lust. Craving. In love.
"Get off the railing."
He had entered her dormitory. Unnoticed as usual. He was like a panther.
"Please, master", she begged and went to her knees.
She wanted another dose of the drug. She wanted him.
Her little hands, dangerously and quick, trying to open his trousers.
She could smell her on him. His queen. The smell of her shower gel. And love. And sex.
Wesker's hands grabbed for her wrists and he weakly smiled. It was more a derisive smile of pity.
"Not now, Valentine. But there's something else you can do to make your failure even with me. I require you to train Miss Jones in a little hand to hand combat."
Her eyes meeting his. As blue as the most beautiful ocean. Gems carrying a furious flame within them.
He liked making her jealous. He savored every moment of it.
"Yes, master." The drug answered for her. It always did.
"You will also take her on the next mission I'll assign you to."
He pulled her into a standing position and yanked her head back, wrapping her ponytail around his hand.
"I can't afford another failure, Valentine. It's your chance to show your … leading qualities. Understood?"
"Yes, master", she managed to express in a whisper.
Slowly, delicately like someone enjoying a good wine he inhaled the scent of her exposed neck.
Jill's breath turned shallow, when his lips brushed over her throat.
She almost didn't feel how the device filled her with P30 at this moment.
After he was gone she staggered to bed. High from the shot.
Leaving him was no option. It was silly. He gave her everything.
And nothing.
She's strolling around the frontside of his house for over ten minutes already.
Pacing up and down the sidewalk, probably raising suspicion with her black coat and the hood pulled over her head.
In the end she rings at the door bell.
Nobody seems to be at home. Good. Quickly she turns around to get away.
Back into the cave of self-accusation. Then his voice behind her.
"Miss Valentine? What are you doing here?"
She turns around, hugging the coat tight against her body. She's gotten thinner.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Samwell, I don't know why I came here."
"You need to talk?", he suggests.
He's holding a glass of red wine in his hand.
It's strange to realize that he's a normal human being as well and not just a wise man, who sits behind a pen and a piece of paper all day.
He has a life, maybe a wife and children.
His house is empty though, when he lets her enter.
It's tastefully decorated with different paintings, sculptures and expensive looking oriental rugs.
"A glass of red wine?", he asks.
He is not wearing his thick black-framed glasses, which gives him a completely different aura.
For the first time she notices that his eyes are a dark blue color.
She shakes her head, silently.
Some things never change. No matter if it's happening in a therapy room at the hospital or in this man's living room - silence will always be her friend.
"Usually I'm not fond of my patients visiting me at home." He scrunches his eyebrows. "How did you even get my address?"
Jill suppresses a smile. "I worked for the U.S. army. I know how to get information."
He laughs and gestures to a black leather sofa. "Please, have a seat. Can I offer you a beverage?"
"No, I'm fine …" She shakes her head. "Actually I'm not fine. I had a fight with Chris. Things really got out of proportion this time …"
He sits down opposite of her. "Please, call me Joel."
"Joel … call me Jill then."
Slowly he takes another sip of the wine. "Alright, Jill. Tell me about the fight with Chris."
"He burst into my room today and said he would throw me back into the ward. He said that I remind him of … him. My capturer. I told him that the woman he loved is dead. That she died that night she disappeared. It's my own fault it got this far. I've been teasing him all week already and … he just made me so angry."
"But you're not dead, Jill. You're sitting right here, still breathing, still alive. But I do understand, what you were trying to tell him with this message. Although he is surely aware of you not being the same anymore after three years, he still won't give up hope."
"That's exactly what makes me sick! I can't see that puppy look of hope on his face anymore! I feel like a rat in a cage in his apartment. And to be honest I like driving him insane. In hope to make him get rid of me."
"You wouldn't do each other a favor, trust me. Don't shut him out, Jill. It's not his intention to make you feel trapped. He cares about you."
"He's in love with me, Joel. Of course I feel trapped … it scares me that someone is even able to love something like me. I'm a monster. I can't even love myself."
"Why does it scare you?"
"Because … because the past years I've experienced a different kind of … obedience … and I just feel that he can't give me, what I need. Just like I can't give him, what he needs."
"What is it that you think he needs?"
"Someone pure. Someone unstained. Someone … untouched by his enemy."
Blue eyes meeting hers over the edge of the wine glass. Joel Samwell softly clears his throat.
"Are you ready to talk about him? About your capturer?"
Jill narrows her eyes, but unlike her expectation to get the urge to run away, something inside of her tells her that she's finally ready. For him. Enough with playing hard to get.
"Would you care to share the wine with me? Then we have a deal."
To his surprise she smirks. But there's something behind her façade that freezes him.
The sound of wine being poured breaking through the charged atmosphere. He hands it to her.
And Jill Valentine finally speaks up.
"My capturers name was Albert Wesker." How numb she feels saying that name. "He was no stranger to me. He used to be my Captain for about two years."
"So you had a working relationship with him?"
"A working relationship", she affirms. Uncomfortable. Not meeting his gaze.
"There was more to it?", Joel asks with raised eyebrows.
"Well … Chris must never know about this, but I had a brief … well … affair with him. He was the leader of our team and of course I admired him back then. He was powerful, he had control. I was always so proud of him paying so much attention to me. I liked how he complimented me. Young, silly girls like me fell for that."
It was her birthday and she was a little bit tipsy.
She wasn't serious, when she invited Captain Wesker over to the party she was throwing.
She mainly did it, because she felt obliged to do so.
At least Barry Burton talked about it all day already and she didn't want him to feel left out.
Aware to her Captain Wesker was in his thirties.
He didn't bother about 'children parties' as she expected him to describe it.
Most of all she wouldn't have expected him to really come.
But he stood there. Right under her door.
She had to clutch the bottle of beer tight against her chest.
Surprise didn't even get close to describe what she felt at this moment.
Excitement. Heart throbbing. Maybe even butterflies in her stomach.
And he brought her flowers. Lilies. Her favorites. How did he know?
"Captain Wesker, what are you doing here? Isn't it past your bedtime?" Chris Redfield behind her.
She felt like punching him at this moment. Wesker ignored him.
He had a lot of respect for Redfield, when it came to work, but he couldn't stand him on a personal level.
"May I ..?"
"Of course. Come on in, Sir", Jill said. "It's a pleasure you found time to drop by."
"Anything to drink?", she offered. "A beer?"
"Don't Jill", Chris said surly. "People like him are probably too good for stuff like that. Why don't you get your expensive Pinot? Or probably Chardonnay? What do you say … Captain?"
"I'm impressed people like you even know these words, Redfield", Wesker replied coolly.
Jill stood between them, embarrassed.
She liked Chris, but she hated how he acted like she was his girlfriend.
"Chris", she pressed. "Don't you think you could go out in the garden and help Barry with the grill, hm?"
Chris stepped away, murmuring something about crab cocktails and escargots.
"I'm sorry about his behavior", she apologized. "I think he had a few too much …"
"You're not responsible for him. I've learned to not valuate a word coming out of him after work. Actually, I never bother about anything he says."
Jill laughed and accepted the flowers he handed over to her.
She hoped, he couldn't see her blushing.
Even though her face already felt very warm due to the alcohol.
Apart from Chris, who kept sending intense glares to both, Jill and Wesker, during the evening, nobody seemed to mind having their Captain around.
Barry even challenged him to a drinking game, which Wesker politely refused.
Chris took his place with pleasure.
"The old man will probably die from poisoning, Barry", he said. "Let me show you how this works."
Wesker had not more than a derisive smile for that. He acted the same way he acted at work.
Distant, quiet. Hard to get.
She was intimidated, when the others made themselves on their way home and she realized that she was alone with him.
Even Chris left. He was probably too drunk to notice the fact of Wesker still being there.
Barry had to assist him getting inside the car.
"Someone might have to throw up Valentine's party tonight", he laughed and punched Chris friendly on the back, before turning worried. "Just don't do it inside my car. I bought it last week."
"Shut it, Burton", Chris murmured and immediately dozed off on the backseat.
Jill giggled. "Good night, Barry. Thanks for coming by."
"Thank you, Valentine", he said and gave her a hug. "You old lady."
Then he was gone.
"It looks like it's getting late", Wesker suddenly said behind her.
"Sir … Wesker … I mean …", she said clumsily, feeling lost on how to correctly address him.
"Are you going home as well?"
"I could. But in case you need a helping hand in cleaning up, I'm here."
It was clear to her that she hoped to hear that from him. That he would stay.
At least she had enough alcohol inside of her to finally become more courageous.
At the same time she told herself to not be silly. He probably saw nothing in her. He was just polite.
Silently they placed the dirty plates and glasses in her small kitchen and she filled the sink with warm water.
"How old have you turned, Valentine?", he asked, when she started scrubbing.
"Twenty-two, sir."
"We're not on duty, no need to call me 'sir'", he answered not unfriendly.
"Sorry", she murmured and smiled.
That same insecure smile she gave him, whenever she handed in a report.
He gave her a long look.
Noticing the unblemished skin of her face, the hollow of her cheekbone, how rosy her lips looked and when she turned towards him, it was too late to look away. She had caught him staring.
He forgot that he wasn't wearing his sunglasses. He had to be careful where his eyes wandered.
"I've never seen you without your sunglasses", she said neutrally, continuing to clean the plate in her hands. "Is there a reason you always have them on?"
He shrugged. "Old habit."
"So, why are you not wearing them tonight?"
"It's dark, Valentine", he smirked, slight sarcasm in his voice.
She felt stupid. She blamed the beer. And also the cocktails she had.
They robbed her ability to think clearly.
The air got steamy, because of the hot water and Jill soon had a layer of sweat on her skin.
The still warm summer air floating in through the open door didn't really help in cooling down.
It stuck the dark bangs of her hair to her forehead ran down between her breasts.
She never showed cleavage when in uniform.
But tonight she wore a strapless blue top. And a short black skirt. Very short even.
Suddenly the strange wish to be the one to make her sweat, right under him, came up.
He could smell alcohol and soap in the air, cherry blossom perfume coming from her flawless skin.
The sweet scent of the lilies he had brought her.
Mostly he noticed how those beautiful blue eyes were set on him once in a while.
Shy. Admiring. Anxious. Expecting.
Twenty-two years old … Twenty-two … it was always in his head. An endless echo. She was practically a child to him.
But still he did it. Because he knew that she wanted him to.
That moment he took a step towards her, she dropped the plate into the sink, splashing the soapy liquid on the floor and met him practically midway.
Her hands were still wet from the dishwater, but still she embraced him, soaking his clothing.
He kissed her exactly the way she always imagined he would. Deep and experienced.
"Where's your bedroom, Valentine?", he asked while spreading kisses over her neck.
It was wonderful seeing the change on his face. It was wonderful seeing him lose control.
And that all because of her. Only her.
"Right up the stairs", she said breathless and closed her eyes in enjoyment. "First door left."
He picked her up. Briefly Chris came into her mind. Poor, drunk Chris.
He would probably shake his head in disbelief, if he saw her right now.
Completely disappointed and disgusted by her actions.
If it weren't for him getting so drunk tonight, she would have probably ended up in bed with him.
Well, it was his own fault. He ruined whatever there was between them with his moody and jealous behavior.
Driven by insecurity, yet astonished about her sudden courage she kept on kissing her older Captain, quickly shoving all those other thoughts away as his hands worked their way over her body.
Stroking, yanking, pulling. Palpating every single curve and every bit of exposed skin. Undressing her.
It's not like she was wearing a lot, but the more clothing passed from her body, the more bothered she became.
When she fell on top of her bed, watching him unbuttoning his shirt, her heartbeat was almost unbearably loud to her ears. She suddenly felt sober.
He placed himself on top of her, enjoying the view on her silhouette in the pale moonlight.
She was even more perfect than in his fantasies.
Her breath intensified in fear and strange expectation, when she felt him aroused against the inside of her thigh.
"You've never done this before, haven't you?"
She swallowed and shook her head. Was it that obvious?
"No … I haven't. But I want you … Captain."
She locked her thighs around him in a daring way.
A soft gasp brushed her lips, when he brought a finger inside of her tight entrance.
She knew the feeling, she was no stranger to it.
But it was only her own hand that has been exploring and pleasing herself before.
This is her Captain's finger. It is longer, thicker, something new.
She didn't even want to think about how he would ever fit inside of her.
"I'll be gentle, don't worry", he purred. "Just … relax."
Of course she couldn't relax. Not a second.
Although he took her slow as promised her muscles were too tense, her breath too nervous, the pain a bit too unbearable at times.
But still she tried to give everything. Everything she could. To leave an impression.
He was probably used to other women. Experienced women.
And she believed to have never felt so clumsy in her entire life. So completely lost.
She had always been an agile fighter, but using this agility in bed with a man felt strange.
At this moment she felt like a clueless child.
But he was a good, patient leader, the first perfect lover.
Eventually she got into it, found his rhythm and even experienced something that came close to a release. Then it was enough.
Her lips felt swollen from all the kissing, the inside of her thighs bruised.
He could have probably gone on for a lot longer, but he sensed her exhaustion.
She was glad to catch a break.
"Happy birthday, Valentine", he said, placing a last kiss on her mouth and then parted from her.
"And the worst part was that he didn't even stay. Not once. Having to see him at work the following days … as cold and calculated as usual … I admit it hurt back then. I put too much expectation into this anyway. But still he seemed to want me. Again and again … our affair lasted almost a year. Unnoticed to everyone. We were good at playing games. That jerk Wesker anyway. He was the master of not showing emotion. The only times I've seen him loosen up was in bed."
Jill sighs and takes another sip of the surprisingly good red wine.
Since she hasn't had alcohol in a while it goes to her head a bit too quick for her taste.
But the feeling is welcome. It makes talking about this uncomfortable subject easier.
"I badly wish, I could make it undone. I let him take my virginity. Don't they say your first time should be something special with someone special?"
Quickly she empties her glass and stretches it towards Joel. She wants more. He pours.
"If Chris ever finds this out … that I gave myself so easily to a goddamn traitor and murderer. He won't ever look at me again."
"Don't be so harsh on yourself. We all make bad decisions and mistakes in our life. Even me. I can't say that my first time was glorious. I was eighteen, I got my own first car and took my girlfriend out. Rebellious as I felt that night, I suggested her to have sex in it … if you can even describe it as that. There wasn't much space and she kept bumping her head against the ceiling and I believe, I got myself a strained muscle. At least I could hardly walk the next day."
Jill giggles. "Sounds painful."
"It was", Joel chuckles. "But see this, Jill. The thing about making mistakes or getting the feeling to regret something is that we learn from it afterwards. That's what they are here for. Imagine how inexperienced and unfulfilled we all would be, if we never dared to jump over our own shadow and just allow ourselves to do things without thinking about the consequences. You couldn't know that your Captain was a traitor back then. Nobody could see it."
"That's true. But I was always aware that Chris had a crush on me. It was obvious anyway. I regret, I haven't given him a chance, because I believed I could become the girlfriend of a powerful leader. But in the end I had to realize that for him it was nothing but sating lust. Every other person around me would have probably seen it with folded eyes from miles away."
"Chris is still here for you. After all these years he is the one, who is still by your side. It's not too late to tell him how you truly feel."
"I know. It's scary."
"It might sound like an inappropriate question, but evaluating your past with Albert Wesker, I'm curious to hear, if the sexual activities continued, while you were his captive?"
Suddenly it's like the heat of Africa is back on her skin. The caressing of silk under her.
Him between her legs. For hours and hours. And how she enjoyed it. She shudders, feeling sick.
"Yes … but it never felt like rape to me to be honest … although it probably was. I never struggled. I never fought against it. Not once. Of course I've told Chris the opposite. That he abused and hurt me. I lied to protect him. I only told him what he expected to hear anyway. What do you think, Joel? Is it rape, when you're brainwashed?"
"That's a difficult question you're asking me", he answers a bit taken aback. "But since you weren't master of your actions I tend to say that it was rape."
"Jill Valentine. Rape victim", she says bitterly. "Who would have thought I'd ever say these words about myself one day."
"Let's not look at it from only one side though", Joel continues. "At least you used to have feelings for him. Just as much as he seemed to have feelings for you. They only lasted briefly, yes, but they were there. Do you remember what feelings you had, while being under his control and how you feel now thinking about it?"
"I …" Jill swallows, momentarily speechless. How put in words what is so clearly carved into your soul, your heart? "I don't know."
"I think, you do", Joel says, eyeing her sharply, encouraging. "You haven't closed the chapter with Albert Wesker yet and you search the blame for it in yourself, don't you?"
"Of course I blame myself. I blame myself to not have fallen in love with Chris back then. It would have been the only right thing."
"I disagree. The thing between you two … you weren't ready for each other back then. You needed all those years of development to see what there truly is. You're ready for him now, Jill. I'm sure. Close the book about your Captain, throw it in a corner, burn it, rip it apart … whatever pleases you. Destroy history and have a fresh start with a clean slate. Just let be Chris part of it."
"Isn't it funny? I had sex with Albert Wesker, the most deceitful, arrogant person on the planet and yet I am afraid to become physical with the man, who loves me the most."
"Well, do you love him too?"
She remains silent for a few seconds. Thinking. Staring at the scarlet liquid in her glass.
It looks like blood in the grey light of the afternoon.
It has started to rain and single drops keep knocking against the living room's window.
Somehow she feels at peace.
"Yes", she says. Suddenly there's a soft smile on her face. "Yes, I love him."
Most nights he first laid down behind her, nose rested against her neck.
He didn't move. Only inhaled the scent of her skin, her hair, while his hand found her breasts, feeling the steady beat of her sacred heart below.
How alive she was. How aroused. How wet and warm. And it was all for him.
No one could take this. And no one would.
Those nights he would take her deep until her breath would almost burst with intensity and he had to silent her by pressing his mouth on hers, swallowing her moans.
Other nights she was too much to bear, too overwhelming with what she caused inside of him.
She was weaker than the other, but so much more dangerous.
Those times he felt like dragging his teeth across her chest to taste her heart, smeared with blood.
He felt like tilting her skin with his fingertips, ripping her apart.
He felt like forcing the device off her chest, the little claws leaving gashing wounds and Jill Valentine would wake up. His Jill Valentine.
And then he would grab her hair and ask her.
Ask her, if Chris Redfield ever touched her the same way, kissed her the same way, fucked her the same way.
But on such nights she answered to him accordingly.
She grazed her teeth along his collarbones, clawed her nails into his shoulder blades.
He was glad, he healed so fast.
On such nights her skin felt like burning fire, ready to consume and damage him.
On such nights she disliked the way he felt inside of her.
She was the forbidden apple in his Eden he took to many bites of.
One day he would choke on it.
She comes back. Like he knew, she would.
Casually he tries to cover the fact that he paced restlessly through the apartment the whole afternoon.
Regretting how he had talked to her.
Winter is slowly approaching and her cheeks are slightly rosy from the breeze.
Signs of life on a dead face. In her hand she's holding a blue plastic bag.
"Been shopping?", he asks, briefly looking away from the TV screen.
Suppressing the urge to just walk up to her and lay his arms around her body, holding her.
It would be his way of saying sorry.
"Mhm", she murmurs. "I'm going for a shower."
The door shuts close and he's left alone again.
The words from their argument are still heavily hanging in the air like Damocles' swords, ready to pierce them.
Jill is gone for ages and eventually he dozes off, while the eight o'clock news are on.
When he startles awake the primetime movie has already started and Jill is sitting on the armchair next to him.
She has put on her tanktop and white shorts again. This time she's wearing a bra though.
Her knees are pulled up to her chest and she has wrapped her arms around them.
At first he had planned to watch her for a while, unnoticed, but something has happened to her.
"Your … hair", he utters dumbfounded.
She turns her attention away from the screen and cracks into a light smile.
"What about it?"
Her face isn't framed by blonde hair anymore, it has gone back to the way it was.
A dark chocolate brown that suits her eyes.
She must have dyed it, while he was snoring in front of the TV.
"It makes me feel like I'm twenty-three again", he says in a joking way.
"Why twenty-three?"
"It …" Chris is visibly embarrassed. "It was the year I met you."
"Oh …"
Warmth in her cheeks. A smile on her face. They have become such a rarity the past months.
Then the atmosphere changes.
Chris gets off the sofa and falls down on his knees in front of her, putting his hands to the right and to the left of the armchair she's sitting upon. And Jill stays. Not afraid anymore. Her conscience is clean.
"Please, Jill. What do I have to do? Who do I have to be to wake you up?"
He buries his face against her lower stomach, so desperate for an answer and at this moment her heart breaks.
With gentle, caring hands she enfolds his head and leans her cheek on top of it.
Controlling her breath to not cry. Controlling that incredible pain inside of her.
Seeing how cruel she truly was, how she has hurt an innocent person, who is nothing but simply in love with her.
Someone who would give his life for her just like she gave hers for him.
"I am awake, love", she says and strokes him, over and over again. "I am awake now."
Jill can feel her heart mend. Beating for him.
Finally her body is ready to bring up the courage to face her fears.
She puts her fingers under his chin to lift it up, to look at him, to show him what she really feels by leaning in to kiss him.
She puts the soft surface of her mouth on his and at first he is hesitant.
But not a second later he returns it like she knew he would. Wildly. Hard.
Like only this way would prove him that she is real.
That she won't fade into a ghost like she always has.
"I'm so sorry", she sighs sadly, catching breath, when she places her thighs around his upper body, taking him between them.
He reads the sign she is sending him with this gesture and pulls her close against him to lift her up. Their lips almost never part when he brings them into his bedroom.
He practically rips that damn flimsy tanktop off her body.
That teasing piece of cloth finally gets what it deserves.
He lets her straddle him, resisting to wipe away the lose strands of her hair that are tickling his face as she bends down.
He lets her take him inside of her and it happens in almost one smooth go that makes him use the Lord's name in an unholy way.
He lets her take him at her desired speed, a loving pace.
They're fulfilled.
At this moment she's so fucking beautiful to him and the woman he always dreamed to have back then.
His partner. His lover. His Jill Valentine.
And she lets him hold her tight.
His lips wander over her the scars above her breasts, over skin that has always been forbidden to touch.
Tonight she lets him do everything with her.
Because she loves him.
It feels great waking up in the middle of the night and finding Chris sleeping next to her.
She hadn't realized how much she had missed human company.
He is sleeping on his back, almost too peacefully and she decides to not wake him up.
Although she wouldn't have refused a second round with him right now.
Well, it will be morning soon.
Chris stole her share of the sheets and therefore she decides to make a brief trip to the kitchen.
Maybe for a cup of tea. Or something to eat.
While the water is warming up, she opens the kitchen window and deeply inhales the chilly autumn air outside. It is going to be full moon in three days and the world is flooded in its light.
Jill smiles at the velvet sky.
For the first time she is feeling … happy. Yes. Happy is the right word.
She is at the place she wants to be with the man she loves.
It's like she finally got her good end anyway.
Of course the demons won't ever be far.
They will always remind her of the wounds that have to be mend. Of the words that have been said.
It's a sword with two sides and they can only try and find the right balance to not get cut into pieces by its blade. But she's ready to go this way with him.
Joel Samwell was right. Right from the beginning on.
Just as she's musing about a present she could buy Joel tomorrow as a little thank you and especially as an excuse to have shown up at his home uninvited, an unfamiliar noise coming out of the living room activates her defensive senses.
"Chris?", she says into the pale gloom of the moon falling in through the open curtains. No answer. She catches herself trying to grab for the handgun that used to be attached to her upper thigh over all these years. Old habits never die. But tonight there's nothing. Only naked skin.
Then his voice …
"And … was the sex with Chris Redfield as good as you expected it to be?"
She must be dreaming. Things like that only happen in dreams.
It must be the aftershock from the cold turkey.
What other explanation is there to Wesker's presence in Chris' kitchen? He is dead at least.
But for some reason this feels way too real. Her throat goes dry, her breath shallow.
"I can smell him on you. How long did he last? Two minutes?"
He is really there. Humiliating her. As cocky as his old self used to be.
The cold temperature floating in through the open window makes the hair on her skin stand up.
"You're supposed to be dead. I saw you die in that volcano."
She doesn't raise her voice. Keeping it casual, quiet, dangerous.
Chris should stay out of this.
He ignores her words. "I see you've changed the color of your hair. A pity. I liked it."
Jill snorts. "Is that so … I guess that was only because it reminded you of yourself. Fucking narcissist."
He chuckles darkly. "I see you haven't lost your ready wit from back in the old days. I like that even more."
"Why are you here?"
A change in the atmosphere. It's getting serious. Playtime is over.
"What an unnecessary question, Valentine. You know that there's a job we need to finish."
Is he talking about Kijuju? The six billion cries of agony?
"Still not seeing that you can't realize that project, Wesker? Give it up. It's hopeless."
"We both know that this world needs to be changed. Once and for all. And unfortunately for you, I need the anti-bodies inside of you. And so does Miss Jones."
She quietly gasps. So his red-headed lover is still alive? He can sense her tenseness.
"Are we still jealous?"
"Fuck you", she hisses. "I was never jealous. I love Chris."
"Of course you do." Mocking. "Too bad you won't ever get the chance to get married. Or give him children. My serum made sure of that, didn't it?"
He steps towards her. Too close for comfort.
"Have you told him about the little affair you and I had together? You were my favorite toy back then. Just like you were my favorite toy in Africa."
His breath caresses her neck, just like the tip of the needle he is holding against her skin. P30.
"Remember what we did, while you were on this stuff. Don't you want to feel powerful again?"
P30. Sweat on her forehead, her tongue slowly moving over her upper lip and her heartbeat so incredibly hard.
P30. Right at her neck. An inexplicable crave boiling up in her stomach.
"What is there that Chris Redfield can offer you? He gave you up, Jill. Don't you see it? He might have fucked you tonight, but you're not what he wants. He's not what you want. Not anymore. Ain't I right?"
"Then who am I?"
"Mine", he says. "One of god's angels."
She chuckles, noticing how insecurely and nervous it sounds.
Nothing can distract her from the memory of how her blood was singing every time the drug consumed her body. Singing with his voice.
She is starting to shake. A junkie and the center of her universe.
"Come with us, Jill. Come with us and become what you used to be. I'll give you as much of this …" The pressure of the needle against her vein intensifies. "… as you want."
The liquid shoots inside of her. Cold and hot at the same time.
Wandering through her system in a matter of seconds.
"Your boyfriend took what's mine, so I'm going to get, what he owes me. It's just fair, isn't it? Too bad I can't make you watch him die, when Uroboros will finally be spread."
The drug runs through her blood like impurity and she softly groans, blindly reaching out for something to hold on to in the dark. And she finds him. His body that she knows just as well as her own. Still.
Her weak fingertips enfold the fabric of his top, her forehead falls against his chest.
The shot races through her like electricity and she momentarily believes to be blind.
"Why are you doing this?", she says, breath exiting in ragged pants. "You psychopath …"
The touch of her hands is burning. Even through the layer of clothing he is wearing.
He puts a gentle hand around her throat and pushes her against the cold outside of the fridge.
"Do you have any clue how much I'd like to fuck you right now, Jill Valentine? Just to show you, where you truly belong to. To remind you who your god is. I would even want Chris to hear it."
She fights through the fog that the drug has led her into.
"Fuck … yourself", she forces out weakly and falls to her knees, when he lets her go.
She knows, she should try and grab for a knife on the counter.
She knows, she should scream for Chris. But she can't.
Her limbs don't respond and her voice is stuck in her throat.
Her body does not agree with the sudden dosage of P30. Craving or not.
It's like one of those bad nightmares. Only that this time she is awake.
"Chris …", she breathes weakly.
"You were always so protective of him, weren't you? This time there's no Chris Redfield to save you, Jill."
The world goes black.