Thank you so much for the warm reception with this fic. I appreciate you all so much.
Jill can understand his behavior to a certain extent. With five missing persons, no leads, and a second body now on their hands, it's reasonable for Chris to be frustrated. Hell, she's only been involved in the investigation for a week and it's already getting to her, so she can barely even begin to fathom how the rest of the guys are feeling. Any reasonable human being would be affected by this to some degree. She knows this, but she still cannot understand the way Chris is treating the dead man's window.
"If there's something you aren't telling us," Chris advises in an angry tone, "You'll be held accountable for hindering our investigation."
It's difficult to take him seriously when he's sitting on a floral-printed couch that's far too small for his stature. Chris stands out against the fine pieces of China, intricate damask wallpaper, and diminutive ceramic figurines that decorate the room to the point that it almost looks as though he was pasted into the room as an afterthought during editing for a magazine spread.
The elderly woman across from him wrings a delicate crocheted handkerchief in her fists and sniffles.
"I don't know what else to say. My Winston was a good man. He never missed a day of church and volunteered in the community."
Jill sees his eyebrow twitch in irritation.
"Mrs. Clusterluck—"
"Clutterbuck." Jill corrects him and Chris gives her a sharp glare.
"Mrs. Clutterbuck," he repeats, "I will say it again. If there's anything you're not telling us that could aid in this investigation, you will be charged to the fullest extent of the law."
The woman's eyes glisten with tears that threaten to fall. Her painted lips part as though she has something to say, but she closes them again and proceeds to choke on a sob. Jill feels like she's just been punched in the gut as she watches the old woman cry and she doesn't understand how Chris can sit there with a straight face and play the role of bad cop with an innocent grandmother.
"Chris," she calls out in a hushed voice, "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
He shoots her a nasty look.
"Anything you tell us will remain confidential." He continues to pressure her.
"Chris."
It's hard to think over the sound of the woman's whimpering cries and Jill sighs.
"If you loved your husband, you'll be honest with us."
She cringes at his words. It's too much.
"Mrs. Clutterbuck," Jill softly says, "I'm so sorry for my partner's behavior."
Jill doesn't have to look at Chris to know that he's fuming. She can feel his stare boring holes in the back of her skull as she kneels down in front of the elderly woman to take her hands in hers. Jill gives them a reassuring squeeze and smiles.
"If you think of anything that might help, please don't hesitate to call."
Mrs. Clutterbuck seems to appreciate Jill's approach. She dabs at her eyes with her handkerchief and gives her a weak smile, but the pained look on her face remains. Jill knows that Chris is an asshole, but she never would have expected him to be cruel enough to take his anger out on an old woman.
She finds him waiting outside, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the car and glowers at her.
"Listen, I'm just as frustrated as you are," Jill says, "But what you're doing right now doesn't help anyone. Especially not that poor widow who's sobbing in her living room right now."
Jill knows she's struck a chord. Chris clenches his jaw and looks away to seethe at the immaculately pruned rose bushes nearby.
"I used to be naive when I was new too, Valentine." He harshly says. "Trust me when I say that woman is hiding something."
If there's anything Jill hates, it's the way Chris addresses her by her surname. He speaks it like it's an insult, emphasizes the 'T' and spits it out so harshly that she almost feels ashamed of owning it.
"Chris, she's a grieving widow! Her husband was just fucking murdered! Can't you show a little compassion for once in your life?"
He only stares at her with an empty look in his eyes.
"Compassion, Chris," she says, sighing in frustration, "Do you know what that is? Should I define it for you?"
"No."
He uncrosses his arms and pulls away from the car in a languid manner that reminds her of the behavior of a petulant teenager being reprimanded by his mother.
"I'll apologize," he announces, "But not because of you."
Jill doesn't know why it feels like she's being stabbed in the chest. It's such a stupid argument. All of this is stupid.
Chris is halfway up the short set of brick stairs that lead to Mrs. Clutterbuck's porch when he looks at her from over his shoulder with an arrogant smirk.
"I'm only doing it because it might make her confess sooner."
He's infuriating. Chris Redfield is the most infuriating, childish, impolite man she has ever met and Jill doesn't know how long she can put up with his insolence. She knows he must have some talent to have been selected for S.T.A.R.S., but she has yet to see why Captain Wesker has chosen to keep him onboard.
As she stands in the woman's kitchen, Jill examines the proud photos of grandchildren that are plastered all over the face of the fridge. Hastily scrawled phone numbers, gaudy novelty magnets, and a handwritten note from the late Mr. Clutterbuck are displayed between the images and Jill feels her sorrow for the woman well to the surface once again.
"Mrs. Clustermuck," she hears Chris say, "I've reflected on my behavior and realize it was unprofessional. We are under a lot of stress with this investigation and I let it get the best of me. I'm sorry."
When the woman accepts his apology and they're returning to the cruiser, Jill side-eyes Chris and mutters, "It's Mrs. Clutterbuck."
It wipes the haughty smirk off his face and Jill considers it a victory. His silence persists even after they've arrived back at the S.T.A.R.S. office and he immediately immerses himself in case files without paying her any mind. Joseph gives Jill a questioning look, but all she can do is shrug her shoulders. Chris is an asshole and she's sure Joseph knows this. It's not something that needs to be spoken aloud.
Just as she's about to settle down at her desk, Wesker pokes his head out from his office door and says, "Jill. A moment of your time."
She feels everyone's eyes on her. Joseph is already mumbling something in Kevin's ear and Barry gives her a sympathetic look from across the room. Jill hasn't the slightest idea as to what Wesker's sudden meeting is about, but the looks on everyone's faces suggest that it's nothing to look forward to. She wonders if Mrs. Clutterbuck complained, if Chris's condescending attitude has finally gotten her in trouble, and it irritates her because she knows it was bound to happen at some point.
Wesker gestures for her to take a seat as he quietly closes the door behind her and pulls the blinds closed. It's cold in his office and the leather chair she's sitting in doesn't do her any favors, but she ignores it as best she can as he settles into his own seat. Jill can't tell what he's looking at on account of the dark lenses of his glasses, but she doesn't think he's looking at her.
The thirty seconds of quiet that they share feels like an eternity.
"Jill." Wesker finally deadpans. "How are things?"
The lack of inflection in his voice complicates the question. She doesn't realize what he's asked until she processes it a second time and it surprises her when she finally does. Is Wesker really asking about her wellbeing?
"They're...fine." She decides to say, but the look on Mrs. Clutterbuck's face haunts her as she lies.
Wesker doesn't react. He sits there unmoving, staring at whatever it is that he's looking at, and Jill isn't sure what to do.
"I see." Wesker eventually says. "And how is your partner?"
Jill feels her heart skip a beat. Is this a test? Surely Wesker already knows about Chris and his attitude.
"I…"
She pauses, lips still parted slightly as she contemplates how to respond.
"Let me rephrase this. Would you say Redfield is doing his job?"
It's a difficult question to answer. Is Chris doing his job? Absolutely. Is Chris doing his job well? Not exactly. Not as far as she is concerned.
"Well," she smiles, "Of course he is, but...you know how he can be."
Wesker doesn't miss a beat.
"No I do not. Please elaborate."
Jill's face becomes numb with the sting of embarrassment. She suddenly feels incredibly small in Wesker's office and it's as though he's just snatched her by the wrist and caught her red-handed. There was no doubt in her mind that Wesker was privy to Chris's rotten behavior, but his response left her questioning just how attentive their Captain truly was.
"Well…"
Despite her best efforts, she cannot find a way to effectively backpedal. Jill can't figure out how to nonchalantly play off what she has said. She feels guilty about it and part of her wonders if Chris really was as bad as she thought. Did he really deserve to be thrown under the bus like this?
Jill thinks about the anguish on Mrs. Clutterbuck's face and decides that maybe venting a little wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. She also thinks about Irons and the prejudice against her for being a woman and decides that she doesn't need Wesker's protection.
"It's not a big deal." Jill says. "His behavior is just...inconsistent at times. I can handle it."
She wonders if Wesker wears his shades for intimidation purposes because it's absolutely working on her. His stiff body language isn't enough to gauge his reaction and she isn't sure if she needs to continue with her damage control.
"Inconsistent?" Wesker asks as he leans forward to cross his arms on the surface of his desk. "Do explain."
Jill doesn't understand why she feels like she's the one at fault here, but she can't shake that familiar childhood feeling of sitting in the principal's office at school. Wesker's eyes are on her—at least, she thinks they are—and she suddenly begins to ramble.
"He's just…"
Just what? An asshole?
"...Explosive." She finally says. "Unpredictable? He's just rough."
Wesker remains silent.
"His approach is just different." Jill continues. "I don't think he meant to, but he made Mr. Clutterbuck's widow cry during the interrogation."
"I see." Wesker coolly says, seemingly unimpressed by the revelation. There's no way he hasn't heard this before.
"It's not that big of a deal," she repeats, "Just kind of embarrassing. I can handle it though."
Wesker nods and mumbles, "Indeed."
What the hell does that mean?
"Thank you for your time, Miss Valentine."
Jill feels like she's in a daze as she awkwardly leaves his office. She ignores Joseph's curious stare as she approaches her desk, but Chris suddenly pushes back from his own and blocks her path.
"We're going back to that girl's apartment." He announces. "Now."
The mutilated girl from before. Michelle Sanders.
Jill doesn't really have the energy to question his choice, so she merely agrees and steps aside to grant him space to pass by. She doesn't know what Chris is on about, but she resists the urge to question him because he's bound to give her a snarky response anyway.
Michelle's apartment isn't particularly impressive. It's the residence of a nineteen-year-old woman, one furnished with cheap IKEA furniture and cluttered by articles of clothing that are strewn about in what Jill assumes to have been the result of anxious preparation for some upcoming significant event based on her own teenage experience.
Chris is hastily wrenching open kitchen drawers and sifting through their contents as she sits on a barstool at the kitchen counter. She watches the muscle in his back flex beneath the fabric of his shirt as he slams one of the drawers closed and sighs in exasperation.
"What are you looking for?" She finally summons up the courage to ask.
Chris leans against the countertop, crossing his arms over his chest as he clenches his eyes closed in what appears to be painful thought.
"I don't know," he grunts, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, "Anything at all to help bring justice to a woman who was murdered?"
He's an asshole, but he isn't heartless. The lack of progress in the case is getting to him and Jill is just as appreciative as she is wounded to see the fleeting glimpse of anguish on his face. She decides to hop off the barstool to join him in the kitchen as she begins to carefully sift through the contents of one of the drawers stuffed full of take out menus, appliance user manuals, and other miscellaneous junk.
"What are you looking for?" Chris asks as he steps across the short width of the kitchen to peer over her shoulder.
"I don't know," she says, biting back a smile, "Anything at all to help bring justice to a woman who was murdered?"
Nearly two hours later, he's ready to call it quits. The rickety wooden chair creaks as he leans forward to rest his elbow on the desk, propping up his chin with his palm as he boredly scrolls through the girl's email inbox. He hasn't learned much by snooping through her laptop aside from her reckless shopping habits and penchant for cat memes.
"Chris," Jill speaks up, "Look at this."
Jill is sitting cross-legged on the girl's bed, surrounded by photo albums and boxes full of high school love letters and notes exchanged between friends. She's holding a plain piece of stationery in her hand and she wrinkles her nose as she skims over the perfectly looped cursive printed across the page.
"I don't know how our team missed this."
Chris rises from his seat to sit beside her. The bed frame groans under his weight and the depression in the mattress brings Jill a little closer to him, close enough to feel her hip brush against his.
"It's a threat." Jill tells him. "Blackmail."
Chris glances at the writing. He notices the small red and white logo printed in the bottom corner of the grey sheet of paper.
"Someone threatened her into silence about something in exchange for a high ranking position at Umbrella."
"What is Umbrella?" Jill asks, turning her attention away from the note to face him.
He tries to ignore the intensity of her piercing blue gaze. In their proximity, he can make out the various flecks of grey in her irises and it makes him a little nervous to be so close to her for reasons he can't understand.
"It's a pharmaceutical company." Chris says. "One of the facilities isn't far from here, but…"
"How did she get involved with Umbrella?" He asks aloud.
"I don't know, but I swear I've seen this before." Jill brushes the pad of her thumb across the ink.
"Seen what? The logo? There's an Umbrella billboard on the highway coming into the city."
"No, the handwriting."
Jill squints a little as she leans closer to the page. Chris doesn't think it looks particularly unique.
"Print this nice only comes out of Catholic school." She says with a wry smile.
"How would you know?"
Jill laughs.
"I had a Catholic foster family for a while. I've had my knuckles bruised plenty of times over sloppy script."
Foster family? He hadn't realized she was an orphan. Hell, he hadn't realized much about her at all.
"Wait," she suddenly says, excitement evident in her voice, "I know where I've seen this."
She jumps to her feet and moves closer to the bedside lamp to examine in it the yellow light.
"I saw it on Mrs. Clutterbuck's fridge!" She exclaims. "This...it was written by Mr. Clutterbuck."
He feels his heart rate accelerate. If Jill is right, the link between Sanders and Clumberfuck is a huge break in the case. They had yet to establish any correlation or relationship between victims.
"You're sure?"
Jill nods.
"I'm positive."
Chris hasn't been this thrilled about anything in a while. He doesn't know much about Jill, but he's learned that she's too methodical to be wrong. Jill doesn't jump to conclusions. He trusts her on this.
"Jill," he admits, "You're a fucking genius."
The look on her face suggests she's confused. Her lips are parted slightly and he can see an unspoken question in her eyes. It annoys him to some degree. Is it really that surprising that he has something positive to say about her potentially finding a break in the case? What kind of person does she think he is?
"Alright. I want to talk to Mrs. Clustersuck again."
Jill frowns.
"It's Clutterbuck, Chris."
Same difference.
"Whatever."
Mrs. Clutterbuck sets a plate of shortbread cookies in front of him with an audible clink of China against the tabletop. Chris pays it no mind and keeps his attention fixed on her as Jill offers a polite thanks and kicks the side of his foot from beneath the table. He glances over at her, gives her a sharp side-eye, and returns his attention to Mrs. Clutterbuck.
"Mrs. Clutterbuck," he addresses, his eyes never leaving hers in an unspoken attempt at intimidation, "Are you sure there isn't anything you want to tell us?"
He had a suspicion that she was withholding information in the beginning and that hunch still remains. Chris watches her purse her lips as she looks down at the table. Her eyes dart back and forth before her eyelids flutter closed and she keeps them tightly shut until she's able to force a smile and look him in the eyes again.
"I'm afraid I can't think of anything."
She's lying. He knows it. The fact that she's continuing to withhold information is getting on his fucking nerves. What the hell is wrong with this woman?
"Listen lady," he snaps, "We know your husband was a lying, cheating piece of shit. If you want us to find out who killed him, you'll cooperate with us. Now."
"Chris—"
To his surprise, Mrs. Clutterbuck cracks.
"My Winston did not love those girls." She insists. "Everything he did was done for a good cause. He was a good man."
Chris doesn't understand how a person could be so delusional.
"Good men don't threaten the lives of women." He counters.
"I don't know anything about threats." She admits as she grips her coffee mug with trembling hands. "But those girls...it was necessary. He told me they were special."
"Special how?" Jill asks before he has a chance to laugh.
"Winston...he said they had special blood. Umbrella needed them because their blood had properties that would help create a drug to cure disease." She nods, tucking an errant strand of silver hair behind her ear. "It was his job to arrange the blood drives and recruit them. Some took more convincing than others."
"That's a crock of shit. You expect me to believe someone would willingly turn down the chance to cure disease?"
Mrs. Clutterbuck sighs.
"Winston couldn't tell them what the drug was for. It violated a legal agreement. Umbrella couldn't reveal its purpose until it was proven to work."
"Bullshit." Chris hisses. "You really believe that? Come on, Carol. Your husband was lying to you so he could fuck around with young women."
"My Winston wouldn't lie." She vehemently defends. "He was a good man."
"Yeah, he wouldn't lie...he'd just screw young girls and threaten them to keep quiet. Hell, maybe he killed them."
She seems appalled. Mrs. Clutterbuck presses her hand to her mouth as her shoulders begin to shake.
"He would never." She whimpers between sobs. "He is not a killer."
"Right. He's not a cheater either, right?" He laughs humorlessly. "He had to sleep with all those girls to save the human race!"
He feels Jill place her hand on top of his.
"Chris."
Something about the softness of her skin helps ease the tension in his head. He's furious—fucking furious—about the fact that someone could take advantage of a woman as clueless as Mrs. Clutterbuck, but the weight of Jill's hand against his makes it a little less infuriating.
"Fine." He acquiesces. "I'm done here."
He doesn't so much as say goodbye before stomping out the door and waits for Jill by the car.
"That's some shit!" Joseph exclaims through a mouthful of chili cheese fries. "That old broad's husband was fucking the girl who got mauled?"
Jill flinches at the glob of chewed up french fry that lands near her hand. She quickly swats it away and Joseph gives her an apologetic look as he swallows.
"Sorry Jill." He sheepishly says.
"Fucking disgusting, Frost." Kevin reprimands him with a grimace on his face. "You kiss your mom with that mouth?"
"You bet," Joseph retorts, "I kiss your mom with it too."
Chris snickers as he shoves a piece of his sandwich in his mouth. Jill would be lying if she said she wasn't disgusted by her colleagues' eating habits. Suddenly, her veggie wrap doesn't look quite as appetizing as it did before.
"I wonder if our guys knew each other." Kevin gestures towards Chris and Jill. "Our guy worked at Umbrella too."
Chris doesn't seem at all perturbed by the discovery. He shrugs and Jill can't understand why he isn't excited about this. It's another link between their cases.
"Wait, really?"
Kevin nods his head and Jill gives him a quizzical look.
"You don't think that's weird?"
She nudges Chris and he shakes his head.
"Nah, not really." Kevin tells her. "Everyone works there."
The conversation is briefly interrupted by Wesker's emergence from his office. He nods to the team and swiftly heads to the locker room.
"We don't work there." Jill half-jokes and Kevin smirks.
"Actually, you're tied to Umbrella too." He says, pointing at her as he kicks his feet up on the edge of his desk to make himself more comfortable. "Umbrella funded the Bright 21 Raccoon Project. You wouldn't have a job without them."
"What?"
No one seems shocked but her.
"Yep," Kevin continues, "They contributed a lot to the formation of S.T.A.R.S."
"I thought you said it was a pharmaceutical company?" She asks as she turns to Chris and he nods.
"It is."
It doesn't make much sense.
"Why does a pharmaceutical company have interest in funding a law enforcement team?"
Joseph drops his fork, glances back at the locker room, and leans in closer to his desk as he whispers, "Maybe they didn't want any competition from drug dealers. Maybe they're secretly manufacturing cocaine."
Chris rolls his eyes as Wesker emerges from the locker room.
"Captain," Chris calls out, "Frost reckons Umbrella's dealing coke under the table. Can we get a warrant?"
Wesker doesn't even pause as he makes his way back to his office.
"Utter imbeciles." He mutters under his breath, clearly less than amused by their antics.
Both Kevin and Chris laugh, but Jill can't shake the feeling that something just isn't right. She's not a Raccoon City native, but the fact that Umbrella has so much involvement with the community seems a bit bizarre. Maybe that's just how small towns work.
Jill forces a laugh and decides to throw Joseph a bone to lighten the mood.
"That'd be something," she plays along, "S.T.A.R.S. could be funded by drug money."
Joseph grins and says, "Now you're getting it, Valentine! It's all a cover to pay off the cops to hide their real scheme."
She can tell Chris is confused by her sudden willingness to play along. He regards her with a raised eyebrow and she laughs.
"Come on, Chris," she teases, "Admit it. It could be possible."
"What the hell?" He presses the back of his hand against her forehead to assess her temperature. "You feeling alright, Valentine?"
"Never better." She tells him. "I mean...we're about to solve two cases in one."
Chris leans in close, his hot breath tickling her ear as he whispers, "You're not serious, right?"
"Serious about what?"
He frowns.
"Serious about Joseph's conspiracy bullshit. You don't believe that shit, right?"
Jill can't help but laugh. She knows the fact that Chris believes her isn't a testament to her poor acting skills and decides that he's almost cute for being so dense.
"Maybe," she says, "Maybe not."
"Oh come on."
Jill grins.
"I mean, like, just think about it, bro," she whispers, emulating Joseph as best she can, "Like...what if…"
Chris buries his face in his hand with a groan.
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Seriously!" Joseph shouts. "What if though? What if Umbrella is killing everyone off because they found out that they're drug dealers? Like...the bad kind of drug dealers."
"Yeah Chris," Jill pauses to hold in a laugh, "What if?"
She can tell he's irritated. His attention stays fixed on her and she tries to maintain a straight face.
"Aw, Jill. Don't bully Redfield." Kevin speaks up. "He thinks you're serious."
Chris's face lights up and he looks at Kevin.
"She's not, right?"
Jill can't contain her laughter.
"Maybe, but…what if, bro?"
"Oh my god." Chris turns back to his computer with a pout. "You're all idiots."
"Pot calling the kettle black, Redfield!" Wesker shouts from his office.
The laughter that fills the room makes her feel strangely warm. For the first time since she started, Jill feels like she's actually a part of a team. Joseph bows his head low and glances at Wesker's office.
"How did he hear that?" He asks in a whisper. "He's a superhuman."
"I distinctly remember you insisting that he's a reptilian shapeshifter." Kevin reminds him.
Joseph purses his lips in a pout as he leans back in his chair, tilting it back on two legs.
"Yeah. It's still possible."
He frowns hard and narrows his eyes in contemplation.
"Maybe he made a deal with a demon for his superpowers."
Chris rolls his eyes and voices his opinion.
"Supersonic hearing? Pretty lame superpower. I can think of better uses for my soul."
"Get back to work, Redfield!" Wesker yells and Joseph's eyes go wide.
"See what I mean?" He asks, staring directly at Jill. "Something isn't right."
Jill thinks they just don't realize how loud they really are.
"Mhm." She nods her head. "I see."
Joseph beams.
"Man, I wish you were my partner, Valentine."
Kevin takes offense to the comment. He glares at Joseph and says, "What the hell, Frost? What am I to you?"
Joseph shrugs.
"A naysayer." He tells him. "A nonbeliever. No fun. A grump. Brainwashed."
"Right." Kevin says. "Got it."
Jill hides her smile behind her hand. Despite how weird and infuriating the guys are, she might be able to fit in after all.
Several hours pass in what seems like the blink of an eye. Jill knows their shift is up when Joseph trips in his haste to suddenly leave his desk, catching himself on the edge of Kevin's with a loud slap of his palm against the surface.
"My leg was asleep." He claims with a sheepish smile.
Jill remains at her desk as the rest of the guys begin to pack up their things.
"You know," Joseph says, "We haven't gone to Jack's in a while. We should go tonight!"
"Not a bad idea." Kevin agrees. "Might help alleviate some stress."
The questioning look she gives Chris prompts an explanation.
"It's a bar." He tells her.
She's never really been much of a bargoer. Jill just nods her head and continues reading the files she's pulled.
"Redfield!" Kevin shouts. "You comin'?"
Chris doesn't give him much of an answer. He shrugs and mumbles, "Depends on what my punk sister is up to."
"She's eighteen. She doesn't need a babysitter." Kevin counters with a knowing smirk.
Chris huffs.
"What about you, Valentine?" Kevin asks.
She shakes her head.
"I don't think so. I have some things to finish up here." She gestures towards the loose papers on her desk. "Thanks though."
Joseph doesn't appear to like her answer.
"Come onnnnnn!" He whines. "All work and no play isn't good for you!"
"If I'm not too tired later." She says with absolutely no intention of not being too tired later.
Joseph seems to accept the answer.
"Alright! See y'all at eight."
Jill thinks she'll be too busy curling up in bed to make herself present at eight.
Chris tells himself the same shit Claire always tells him. It's good for you to be sociable. It won't kill you to have a little fun every now and then. Maybe you can pretend you aren't a dick for once in your life. Just go out.
None of it really convinces him. He doesn't know why he agrees to go, but it's not like he has anything better to do anyway. Chris sighs as he pushes the door to his locker shut with a little more force than intended and pauses when he steps back into the office. Jill's still sitting at her desk with her back to him.
"Valentine? You plan on going home any time soon?" He asks and she looks back over her shoulder at him.
"Yeah," she quietly says, "In a little while."
His curiosity gets the best of him. Chris stands behind her and reads over her shoulder.
"Sarah Matheson?" He reads aloud. "Isn't that one of Frost and Ryman's cases?"
Jill nods her head.
"Her sister was an intern at Umbrella too."
Chris is surprised that she's still on her Umbrella bullshit. It doesn't raise any red flags for him. About half of the entire city is employed by them.
"With all due respect," he sighs, unsure of how to get his point across in the least offensive way possible, "I think you're grasping at straws here."
Jill tilts her head back to look up at him. Her dark hair falls away from her face and he's unable to tear his attention away from her pale blue eyes once again. Chris doesn't understand why they suddenly have an effect on him. He doesn't even understand what that effect is.
"I just...have this weird feeling." She earnestly says.
He sees it in her eyes. Chris knows these disappearances are keeping her up at night too. Jill has already taken some ownership over the cases. She has developed some kind of personal stake in this too.
"Alright."
Chris drops down into his chair and takes one of the folders off of her desk.
"What are you doing?"
He thinks it's pretty obvious.
"Trusting my partner's hunch." He nonchalantly says as he flips a page.
Jill doesn't say anything. When he looks at her, she's staring at him with this blank expression on his face that he decides doesn't suit her.
"What?"
She smiles slightly, shaking her head as she returns to her own research.
When he finds the link, he's not sure if he's surprised. Chris didn't anticipate the Umbrella lead to be legit, but he knows Jill is thorough. It was a fifty-fifty shot.
"Umbrella is the common thread they all share." He realizes. "This guy's dad did environmental services at Umbrella."
"And this one was a pharmaceutical rep for an external company. That can't be a coincidence."
It's something, but Chris doesn't know if it'll bring anything to fruition. Raccoon City isn't particularly large or prosperous and many rely on Umbrella for employment out of necessity.
"We should go," Jill says, "To Umbrella. See if anyone knows anything."
Chris isn't sure it'll hold any water. They can pitch it to Wesker, but he doubts it's enough to obtain a warrant.
"We'll have to talk to Wesker about it in the morning. You need to get some rest."
Honestly, she looks like shit. The dark circles beneath her eyes give her a gaunt appearance and her hair is disheveled from the way she anxiously ran her fingers through it as she pored over the files. He notes the tiny scabs worn into her lip from her nervous chewing and the slight tremor of her hand that he assumes is a result of too much caffeine.
"Seriously," he reiterates, "You need to get away from this shit tonight. Come to Jack's with us."
Her smile seems forced as she shakes her head.
"I think I'll just go to bed."
Chris thinks about using Claire's spiel on her and insisting that it'd be good for her to socialize, but the hypocrisy of it isn't lost on him. He doesn't really care enough to argue with her.
"Sounds good," he says as he stands, resting a hand on her shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze, "See you tomorrow."
He doesn't hang around. Jill's still gathering her things when he leaves the office and he mulls over their discovery as he walks to the bar. Yeah, all their missing persons are tied to Umbrella in some way, but it could easily be a coincidence. In the off chance that there is something nefarious going on, he doesn't think it's a Frost-esque conspiracy. Maybe there's one shithead working at Umbrella who likes to snatch up people. Hell, maybe it's a serial killer. Maybe they're all dead.
Oh shit. Maybe it was Clutterbuck.
He plays the widow's explanation over in his head again. She had said something about blood drives, how her dick of a husband was in charge of recruiting donors. What were the odds that their missing people were all donors? What if Clutterbuck was an even bigger psychopath than he thought?
Chris does his best to push his thoughts aside as he steps inside of the bar. If he lets himself get too carried away, he might start sounding like Frost, and Chris thinks he'd rather end up dead himself than ride the conspiracy train.
Jack's isn't much to look at, but he appreciates the chill of the air conditioning and the cozy familiarity of the place. He spots Ryman in the corner, perched on a beat up couch as he observes a game of pool being held between Frost and Speyer.
Speyer. Chris snorts a little at the sight of him.
"Doing what you do best, I see," Chris greets him as he nods to the table, "Playing with balls."
Speyer's bent over the edge of the table to study the arrangement of balls to line up his shot. He looks back at Chris from over his shoulder and scrunches up his face in disgust.
"Pay close attention." Speyer advises with a smirk. "Because we both know it's the most action you'll see for a while."
Chris brushes him off with a nonchalant wave of his hand as he accepts the beer Kevin offers him. Speyer makes his shot and whoops in excitement.
"You see that?" He asks and Chris shrugs.
"Didn't give enough fucks to watch."
Frost snaps his fingers to try to catch everyone's attention and says, "Yeah, yeah, whatever."
Speyer narrows his eyes as he stares down his nose at Chris. Who the fuck does he think he is?
"Well, maybe if you get Ryman drunk enough, he'll do you a favor."
"Whoa," Ryman points an accusatory finger at Speyer, "Don't bring me into your petty dick measuring competition."
"Yeah," Frost interrupts, "It'd be a waste because Redfield will win anyway. I mean, have you guys seen the size of his feet?"
Chris thinks he probably should have just gotten plastered at home.
"I'm taller." Speyer grunts.
"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night." Chris counters. "But seriously, Frost...don't ever talk about my dick again."
Joseph shrugs as he snatches the cue from Speyer. Chris all but throws himself onto the couch as he makes quick work of his drink.
"Shit, it's not a race." Ryman coughs and passes him another beer. "Chill out, man."
Chris gives him a pointed look and says, "That's what I'm trying to do."
He doesn't really need judgment from any of them. Chris doesn't know why he's suddenly so pissed off again, but the alcohol is bound to help. After his fifth, he's calm enough to shoot the shit with the guys. After his eighth, he thinks he's fucking hallucinating when he sees a blur of blue approach in his periphery.
"Oh! My! God!" Joseph shrieks. "Jill! You came!"
For a moment, he's confused because she sure as hell doesn't look like his partner. Chris takes in the sight of her dressed in tight jeans and a navy blue v-neck and he's pretty sure his partner isn't shaped like this. He swallows hard as he forces his attention away from the exposed skin of her chest and tries his best to bore holes into the wall with his eyes. His face feels hot and there's a nervous bounce to his knee. Chris doesn't know what the hell this is, but he blames it on the alcohol without giving it a second thought.
"Yeah," Jill smiles as she tucks her hair behind her ear, "I needed a break."
The long, feminine curve of her neck makes his mouth dry. Speyer's low whistle makes it taste bad.
"Well, well, well," he says as he saunters around the pool table to close some of the distance between himself and Jill, "Who might you be?"
"Oh!" Joseph pauses to excitedly set down his drink, causing some of its contents to slosh around and splash onto the floor, "Oh, oh! This is Jill!"
He motions between Jill and Speyer with an erratic wave of his hand.
"She's, uh, one of us! She's Redfield's partner!"
Chris feels Speyer's eyes on him but he refuses to look at him.
"Redfield's partner, huh?" Speyer asks. "Too bad you're not on Bravo."
Chris decides to take interest in the grime caught between the wooden floorboards at his feet. At the very least, it's a hell of a lot more interesting than Speyer.
"Forest," he introduces himself, "Forest Speyer. I'm Bravo's Redfield...but better."
He looks up just in time to see Jill accept his handshake. Chris doesn't know why the sight of it makes him so mad.
"With all due respect," Jill says, "I highly doubt that."
Chris feels flushed. He lets out a long breath and looks up at the ceiling. Is his heart racing?
Speyer laughs.
"I like this one." He says.
"As if she needs your fucking approval." Chris thoughtlessly quips.
Speyer glares at him.
"As if she needs your defense?" He smugly asks.
"Wow," Frost stands between them and crosses his arms over his chest, "I told y'all I didn't bring my measuring tape so save it for another time."
He chooses to let it go. Chris leans back into the couch and closes his eyes as he takes in a long, slow breath. Claire's always telling him to do shit like this, but it never really helps. He looks up at the ceiling and studies the water stain that spans several tiles until he feels the couch sink beneath someone's weight beside him.
Chris doesn't have to look to know it's Jill. There's something about her presence that has become all too familiar to him. They share a moment of quiet before he clears his throat.
"You're here." He states the obvious and cringes inwardly at his own words.
He feels Jill shift beside him.
"I am."
He feels her lean against the back of the couch and, to his surprise, she continues.
"I couldn't get my mind off it."
She doesn't have to tell him what it is. He knows.
"Yeah, I get it," he pauses to take a sip of his beer as he watches the guys debate pool rules, "I'm glad you came."
He coughs.
"I mean…"
Chris clears his throat again.
"Because it'll help take your mind off of it." He clumsily explains.
He feels her shoulder brush against his while she laughs. When did they get so close?
"Sorry about all of that," he rambles, "With Speyer. He's an asshole."
Chris pauses.
"A bigger asshole than I am."
Jill laughs again and says, "I find that hard to believe."
He feels uncomfortable, like he's ten times too big for the couch he's sitting on and as though everyone is watching him.
"Do you," he doesn't look at her, but points towards the bar with the neck of his bottle, "Want a drink or something?"
When she doesn't reply, he looks over at her, and she smiles. Jill's already holding a bottle of beer that she's resting on top of her thigh and he feels like the biggest idiot on the planet.
"I'm kind of drunk." He confesses and hopes she accepts his excuse.
"Most people get sociable when they're drunk," Jill tells him, "Not socially awkward."
Chris thinks she's picking on him, but he can't really tell. His mouth is moving faster than his mind and he doesn't know why he says it, but he leans in close and whispers, "You clean up alright, Valentine."
She lets out a quiet laugh and says, "Wish I could say the same about you."
He can't fight his grin.
"You're definitely drunk." Jill assesses and he nods his head.
"Definitely kind of drunk."
Wanting to punch Joseph in the mouth isn't uncommon for him, but when he bounds over to them to whisk Jill away to play a game of pool, Chris wants to punch him even more than he ordinarily does. He reconsiders this when he sees her lean over the edge of the table and the hem of her shirt rides up to show the smooth skin of her lower back.
"Close your mouth before you start catching flies." Ryman mumbles as he sinks into the couch beside him again.
"What?"
Ryman gestures towards Jill with a subtle flick of his finger as he takes a generous sip of beer.
"You're practically undressing her with your eyes."
Frost is hollering and Chris isn't sure why, but the vexed look on Speyer's face suggests that Jill might have shown him up in his own game. He likes that.
"Not sure what you're talking about."
Jill circles around the table, stopping when she's positioned across from him. She stares down at the balls scattered across its surface and he knows she's thinking hard about her next move by the way she's holding the inside of her lower lip between her teeth. Eventually, she leans forward, and the neckline of her shirt falls so low that Chris has to force himself to look away.
His mouth is really fucking dry.
"That's what I'm talking about." Ryman says.
"Fuck off." He grunts. "It's nothing."
"Uh-huh."
Chris decides he'd rather punch Ryman than Frost for once. Fuck, he's annoyed.
"Just be careful."
He doesn't know what the hell Ryman's on about, but it's irritating the shit out of him just like the sly look Speyer has on his face as he stares Jill down.
"You're all pissing me off." He announces. "Seriously."
Kevin slides to the edge of the couch, straightening himself out to fish through his pockets. He tosses a crumpled pack of cigarettes into Chris's lap. Ryman doesn't have to talk and Chris prefers that he doesn't.
Snatching up the battered pack of cigarettes, Chris looks up to see Speyer rest his hand on Jill's shoulder. He's about to lose his shit, but she smacks it away and says something he assumes is smart because Frost laughs and Speyer pouts in response. Chris holds his tongue as he makes his way outside and he appreciates the deep breath of night air that he breathes in. Maybe Claire was right after all.
He leans against the brick exterior of the bar as he fumbles for his lighter with trembling fingers. Fuck, he doesn't know why he's so raving mad. Maybe it's the stress. The case is probably getting to him. Speyer doesn't help. Frost is fucking annoying. Ryman thinks he knows everything. Jill didn't have to show up looking so hot.
Chris freezes in the midst of bringing the now lit cigarette to his lips. Jill wasn't hot. Isn't hot. She's just his stupid partner and he's definitely kind of drunk and hasn't been laid in god knows how long.
The coolness that dissipates through his airway and lungs brings him relief. His mind is still as he takes another drag of his cigarette and briefly holds onto the noxious air. Claire's been pestering him to quit and he knows he probably should, but now definitely isn't the time. She'll complain about the smell of his clothes when he gets home and the thought preemptively annoys him.
Chris finds his fleeting peace in the chilled night air and his nicotine fix until the bar door swings open and reminds him where he's standing. He huffs and tosses the butt of his cigarette onto the pavement, snuffing it out with the toe of his boot as he looks up to see Jill standing right fucking in front of him.
He doesn't say anything. She tilts her head to the side slightly and gives him a scrutinizing look.
"You okay?" She asks and it sounds genuine.
"Just peachy." He mumbles. "You beat Speyer?"
Jill has a pretty smile, all white teeth and an unmatched dimple in the side of her cheek.
"Of course I did."
He likes that.
"Good."
Jill looks up at the night sky.
"You know," she says, "He actually is a bigger asshole than you."
His own laugh surprises him. It escapes him before he realizes it's about to happen.
"Impressive, huh?"
She's still smiling.
"It's the only impressive thing about him."
He likes that too.
"You did good today," he tells her, "With the cases and crushing Speyer."
Jill looks skeptical, but she thanks him anyway. Chris guesses he really is a huge fucking asshole for her to so readily doubt his compliment.
"I hope it leads to something." She suddenly says, voice soft as she runs her fingers through her hair in that nervous way. "The Umbrella lead."
Chris leans against the wall, watching her as he agrees, "Yeah, me too."
Her demeanor is different now—despondent in a way that he hates.
"Look," he pulls himself away from the wall to move closer to her, "Even if it doesn't, we'll figure it out eventually."
Jill purses her lips in an expression of disbelief, but she nods anyway.
"Yeah, probably."
She's looking at everything but him. Her gaze lands on the wall above him, the scraggly bush beside him, and the dirt on the toe of his boots.
"Do you ever…"
Jill hesitates like she's not sure she should speak.
"Do you ever think ab—"
The door to the bar clatters open, nearly slamming against the wall it's fastened to as Speyer comes tumbling through.
"Oh hey Jillllll," he slurs, his smirk faltering when his eyes falls on Chris, "And Redfield."
Chris hates Speyer, but he fucking loathes him when he's drunk.
"I didn't know you were still here." Speyer cooes as he saunters up to Jill. "Need me to walk you home?"
Jill wrinkles her nose and takes a slight step away from him.
"No thanks. Chris was about to take me."
He doesn't remember agreeing to that, but Chris certainly isn't going to complain because Speyer is giving him this envious look that makes him feel victorious.
"Bummer."
Jill smiles politely and says, "Maybe next time?"
As they bid their farewells, Jill stops once they're out of Speyer's earshot. She stands on her tiptoes and whispers in his ear, "There won't be a next time."
Chris thinks it's the heat of her breath that makes him feel flushed. He chuckles under his breath as he falls into step beside her. Raccoon City is pretty dead on a Thursday night and he appreciates the relative quiet of the city.
"You don't really have to walk me home."
He shrugs and asks, "Where do you live?"
"Literally just down the street," she says with a laugh, "The dead end past that fancy boutique."
"Meh, I have to pass by it anyway to get to my place."
He's lying and he doesn't know why. Chris lives in the complete opposite direction, but he doesn't want her to walk through the empty street alone for whatever reason.
"I suppose I'll allow it then." Jill teases.
Chris isn't a small talk kind of guy. Definitely kind of drunk Chris apparently is.
"Where'd you learn to smash guys in billiards?"
Jill laughs.
"One of my foster families had one."
"You mentioned that once before," Chris recalls, "A foster family."
"My parents died when I was young," she explains, "Too young to be self-sufficient but too old to be adopted. I didn't have any blood relatives to take me in."
Chris feels it in his chest. He suddenly feels like he can relate to her.
"My parents died when I was a kid too." He says. "Eleven. Ended up raising my little sister because the aunt who had custody was a drunk and never around."
Jill sighs and says, "Geez, that's rough."
Chris shrugs.
"It is what it is. We got through it."
He notices the boutique she mentioned, one with a striped awning and frilly blouses on display in the window. It's the type of place he wonders if Claire would have liked to shop at had he ever had the money for it. Instead, she was cursed with his hand-me-downs and bargain bin t-shirts, and he thinks Claire could have turned out a lot differently with a real parent.
"That explains a lot about you."
Chris doesn't know what she means and he doesn't want to ask. She hesitates at the staircase leading up to her apartment complex when they arrive.
"Thanks for the escort," she smiles, "Even though I didn't need it."
"You're welcome for the escort," he smirks, "Even though you didn't need it."
She's nearly the same height as him while she's standing on the bottom step. Even in the yellow lamplight, he can tell how stunningly blue her eyes are. He studies the constellation of little scabs on her lower lip again and the way the edge of her dark hair brushes against her pale neck.
"Do you...want to come in?" She asks.
He thinks he does, but he's not sure.
"I can make you some coffee to perk your drunk ass up."
"Kind of drunk." He corrects her.
"Your kind of drunk ass then."
Chris wonders what her scabbed up lip would feel like against his and if her hair is as soft as it looks when she's raking her fingers through it.
"As sweet as the offer is…"
He follows the long line of her neck to the curve of her collarbones.
"I gotta get home."
His stomach sinks at his own words. Why the hell did he say that?
Jill nods her head and he tries to pretend there's disappointment in her smile.
"See you in the morning?"
Oh shit. He does have to work, doesn't he?
"Yeah."
It's the alcohol that makes his stomach flutter when he walks away. Definitely.
Jill isn't surprised that Chris is late. Though it isn't uncharacteristic for him, she can only imagine how shitty he feels. She only had a couple beers and still wanted to die when her alarm went off at four in the morning. Chris was surely having a hard time after his...dozen?
Joseph stole a rolling chair from one of the receptionists in the West Office. As he slowly spins around in it, it emits an ear-piercing squeak that makes her want to throw it out the third floor window. Maybe Chris is rubbing off on her.
"Joseph," she sweetly says, "Can you...not?"
"Thank fuck." Kevin hisses. "I was about to choke him out."
Joseph gives them both an angry look. He relents, putting his elbows on the edge of his desk and resting his chin in his hands as he pouts.
"It helps my hangover. It's like the spinning cancels the spinning out."
"Yeah, well, it makes ours worse." Kevin complains. "So cut it out."
Jill looks up at the clock on the wall. It's a quarter past nine and Chris is nowhere to be seen. She wonders if he called in sick, but something tells her that Chris is the kind of guy who could catch the plague and still show up to work the next day.
"Your girl," she says, addressing both Kevin and Joseph, "Sarah Matheson. Her sister was an intern at Umbrella."
Wesker enters the office. Jill swears his entire closet consists of nothing but black attire.
"So what?" Kevin asks as Wesker pauses.
"Where is Redfield?"
Jill looks at the empty seat beside her.
"Late I guess."
Wesker clicks his tongue in annoyance and pulls open the drawer to a filing cabinet.
"You really think the Umbrella stuff is relevant?" Joseph inquires.
Jill nods.
"Barry's guy...his dad worked at Umbrella too."
"I still don't think it's a big deal." Kevin says. "Umbrella is a huge company."
"It might be worth asking around though." She insists.
"Hey Captain, is that enough to check them out?" Joseph asks.
"Insufficient evidence." He deadpans.
The doorknob turns and Jill whips around to watch Chris casually stroll through the door as though he isn't hours late.
"How nice of you to join us, Chris." Wesker sardonically greets.
"Always appreciate the warm welcome, Captain."
Jill wonders if Chris has treated all of his superiors the way he does Wesker.
"In my office." Wesker demands. "We have a matter to discuss."
Chris groans as he unceremoniously drops his bag into his chair.
"I've been late sixteen times this year. I know."
Sixteen? Yikes.
"That is not the nature of the discussion." Wesker barks. "Though your tardiness is unacceptable."
Wesker doesn't give Chris much of a choice. He simply heads to his office in wait and Chris pauses after he's sidled past Jill to whisper, "Wish me luck."
Jill holds up her crossed fingers and gives him a sympathetic smile. She didn't wish a visit to Wesker's office upon anyone after her experience and, truth be told, Chris had redeemed himself a little the night prior. Though he was still a jerk, he had somehow managed to be less of an asshole than usual the night before, and she genuinely felt some sympathy for him despite his past conduct.
Her exhaustion wasn't merely a product of her hangover; Chris's actions had kept her up too. The alcohol had helped Chris loosen up in a way she had never seen before. Beneath his sharp exterior, Chris seemed to be a decent human being. Something was weighing heavily on him, something that she couldn't quite discern on account of the massive walls he had built around himself, but it made her understand him a little better. Maybe his dickish behavior was a byproduct of something greater. Maybe Chris had a thorn wedged somewhere between his ribs and he was lashing out on instinct.
He mentioned a sister. Like herself, Chris was an orphan, but he hadn't been alone. He admitted to having raised his younger sister and she wondered what sort of relationship that type of tragedy created. Surely they were close. Surely Chris had someone in his life to help him through his struggles.
It had kept her up last night. Jill couldn't suppress her curious thoughts. She wondered why he was so flippant and how he could change his entire personality as though he had merely flipped a switch. Chris insinuated she was incompetent and naive earlier in the day, but that night he had murmured compliments in her ear.
The recollection makes her feel warm. Jill doesn't need his approval, but the way he treated her that night had been appreciated. Was it solely because of the alcohol? She isn't sure. Part of her hopes that it hadn't been; the same part of her that wonders what that smoldering look in his eyes was when they stood outside of her apartment complex.
Anger, probably. This was Chris after all. He was probably furious with her for some reason and she doesn't know why thinking about it makes her heart skip a beat. It couldn't have been a look of endearment. Chris hated her, didn't he? He never wanted her around from the beginning, but she still can't stop thinking about the way he looked at her.
Chris isn't her type. Jill knows this and that her thoughts are wasted on him. She doesn't feel anything for him, not like that, but she can admit that he's handsome in his own way. Were she a little more drunk and he a little less of an asshole, she might have mistaken that look for something more, and that night could have ended a lot differently had she been a lot more drunk.
She feels embarrassed just for thinking about it. Jill buries her face in her hands and lets out an exasperated sigh. Chris turned out to be a decent human being. So what? He still hates her. He's still not her type. He still acts like a bratty toddler sometimes.
And he still looked at her like that last night. God, he was infuriating.
"You alright, Valentine?" Frost calls from behind her and she nods even though she doubts he can see it.
"Just tired." She explains. "Thanks though."
Wesker's office door swings open. Chris looks angrier than he ever has and she can't even begin to imagine what he had been reprimanded for. Wesker seems to know exactly how to push his buttons and she feels sorry for him.
Until she looks him in the eyes and sees something she can't mistake this time.
Chris Redfield hates her.
"Hey Ryman," he says, staring her down as he walks past her, "You were right about this one."
Jill doesn't understand what's happening.
"What?"
Chris laughs humorlessly.
"Heard about your little talk with Captain, Jill," he spats, "I thought a lot of things about you, but I never would have taken you for a fucking snitch."
She feels like she's been punched right in the chest.
"It wasn't like that," she tries to explain, "I didn't go to him. He t—"
"Right." Chris slings his bag over his shoulder and roughly pushes past her. "Get fucked, Valentine."
Jill doesn't know what to do. She feels like she's going to throw up.
"Can we talk?" She quietly asks. "There's a misunderstanding here."
"Nah," he pulls open the office door and glares at her from over his shoulder one last time, "There's no misunderstanding here. I see what kind of bitch you are."
He slams the door so hard that the sound of it makes her flinch. There's an awkward quiet that fills the office and she sits there, dumbfounded as she stares at the door. Her eyes feel hot and her vision is a little blurred, but she blinks hard and looks down at her desk because there's work to be done and she has cases to solve.
"What the hell was that?" Joseph finally asks.
"I don't know." She says. "I really don't know."