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Jill held her head in annoyance with one hand, the other typing her report about everything that happened in Alcatraz. She had always hated paperwork, she was a woman of action and the more time she spent filling papers, the more she wished she was out there, helping civilians.
Alcatraz was a special case, though. Her great return to the field, of course, but not only that. It had ignited a feeling she had grown too familiar with: pure, unbridled rage. She let out a frustrated sigh, pushing her chair away from the computer for the third time that day. She couldn’t help it, something was weighing on her every time she thought back to the case, something that had been building up for years, when everything was simpler and she wasn’t half the woman she became.
She stood up, picking up her cold cup of the bitter coffee the BSAA provided them with. Her feet instinctively took her to the break room, as empty as the rest of the HQ. Everyone had left for the night, either to go home or to work a case.
Jill couldn’t go home. Her apartment felt too big, too empty. Too lonely. She couldn’t live with that, not when the silence felt so loud.
She filled her cup, the noise the machine provoked providing her with some much needed peace. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, taking a sip of her now warm beverage, letting it soothe her nerves. And yet... It wasn’t nearly enough to help her mind quiet down.
She let out another frustrated sigh, stepping out of the break room, back to her computer. The sooner she’d be done, the sooner she’d be able to move on. She sat in front of the monitor, eyeing the half written report displayed on it like it personally wronged her.
Soon enough, she was typing again, the sound of her keyboard loud and aggressive. The rage had returned, along with another feeling Jill knew all too well: terror. She forced herself to write it all in one time, pushing down the images haunting her mind. Of course, by the time she was actually done, she was even more enraged than before, at Dylan as much as at herself. And like every time she felt such a rage, she walked down towards the BSAA’s shooting range in hopes of clearing her mind. At this time of the night, she was the only one there, which was something she always enjoyed, the reason she secretly came every night.
Over the years her recovery took from her after what happened with Wesker, Jill had developed her own unique way to cope with unwanted emotions. A couple custom targets she could lash out onto whenever she was alone. This time, there would be three.
The way she reached for her equipment was too casual, a reminder of how many times she came here. The holes in her custom targets would be impressive instead of terrifying if there weren’t so many. She settled behind the counter, charging her gun and covering her ears with the headset, a shuddering breath escaped her as her index made contact with the trigger, the cold metal heavy in her hands.
The first shot hit the new custom target in the leg, and a sense of dark satisfaction filled her for a few seconds, as if it would somehow make the images in her mind less real. It didn’t. Instead, they intensified and she could feel her blood turn to ice at the memory of her friends, pale due to Dylan’s virus. She could hear Claire’s pained whines, Leon’s panting… But more than anything…
She remembered Chris, all sweaty, pale and shivering. Chris, that light at the end of the suite of tunnels her life felt like. Her lifeline, who had just scolded her the previous day for putting herself in danger, now in the verge of transforming into one of the monsters she still had nightmares about.
Another shot hit the new custom target, labelled under Dylan’s name in an attempt to dim her rage, and this time she wanted to hear him scream. It was irationnal of course, so out of character for her. Jill, ever the force of nature, ever the calm one, the voice of reason. But there was a line that couldn’t be crossed, and Chris was that line. She glared at the target again, shooting it in the hand, as if it would stiffen the sound of a cane slamming the ground as Dylan explained what he planned for her. To be faced with the obligation to kill the people she cared about, for humanity’s sake.
Humanity can go to hell…
It had been a one-time thought, one she vowed never to let in again. And yet, she remembered how true it felt back then, like she could have sacrificed everything just for one person.
In a way, I’m not any better than the monsters we fight…
That thought had been a recurring one, ever since Chris got her back from Kijuju, like Albert’s voice always in the back of her mind. She shot the drawn blonde head next to the Dylan target, straight between red eyes, and it felt like she was facing her demons again , killing them. For a minute, Jill felt like she could take a new breath. It still wasn’t enough, though. Her gut was churning, the fear and rage always coursing through her veins. Another shot, straight in a black mass on the target’s chest, because such a monster couldn’t have a heart, could it? She pictured the sound it would have made, had she had the chance to kill him herself.
Isn’t this one big family reunion?
The words echoing in Jill’s mind made her let go of the gun with a startled gasp, a metallic sound breaking the sudden quiet as she stopped shooting. They had haunted her, of course. The memory of how she wanted to kill Chris and couldn’t do anything about it had always plagued her, a reminder of the violation Albert inflicted to her. But usually, shooting the target would make her feel better. This time, it didn’t.
I think the odds are fair, two on two. Right, Jill ?
She reached for her gun again, gritting her teeth in pure rage, shooting the Albert target in the head once more, as if it would shut his voice in her mind. As it didn’t, she pointed it at the third target, unlabeled, her hand trembling over the cold metal. She couldn’t realise how short of breath she was, how everything around her seemed to narrow down to that one white sheet of paper. She never gave it a name, but she had a clear idea who that target was. It was still blank, not hit by a single shot over the months it had been around. But in that moment, with her heart beating in her ears, her teeth gritting together and the cold sound of Albert’s voice in her mind, Jill had half a mind to shoot it at last.
A loud bang echoed in the shooting range, followed by the sound of the gun falling to the floor and a soft thud. For some time, it was so quiet one might think the target changed. That was, until shallow breaths echoed in the empty room, followed by discreet shuffling.
Lost in the despair clinging to her chest like it had so many times ever since Raccoon City, Jill didn’t notice the sound of the door opening and the heavy footsteps on the pavement, inching closer to her. He sat quietly beside her on the cold floor, pushing the gun away from her in a surprisingly shaky hand before gently reaching for hers and squeezing her fingers. A warm, familiar touch that always brought her back from the hell her own mind could easily become. Still, she couldn’t look at him, not when he could see the targets, the bullets that pierced them and the tears rolling down her pale cheeks.
Of all human being in this world, Chris was always the only one allowed to see her break, even though she tried to avoid it anyway. He was her safe place, and the sensation of his strong hand covering hers, trembling with a vulnerability she knew better than anyone else, was like her tether to the world. She was a kite flying high in the sky, he was the rope connecting her to the earth — at least if the sky was hell and earth was just a little less awful.
After what felt like ages, Jill finally allowed herself to lean closer to Chris, to let her head rest against his shoulder as they’d done so many times. Her hand turned under his, her palm connecting with his as their fingers intertwined in a grounding touch they both needed.
Chris, who was always one for big talk when it came to the world’s suffering, found himself unable to speak, the words dying in his throat. She could deny it all she wanted, he knew what the third target represented, knew how things could have ended. All he wanted was to plead her to tell him why.
Why?!
Instead, he wrapped his free arm around her waist, pulling her in his lap, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. She didn’t stop him, she never did. She buried her face in his neck, feeling the discreet tremors in her partner’s chest against her own, her free hand traveling to comb through his hair carefully.
“Don’t go crying on me, partner…” She murmured teasingly in a vain attempt at alleviating the heavy tension buzzing between them.
Just as she expected, he let out a low chuckle that only felt wrong and pulled away just enough to look at her, letting go of her hand and her waist to cup her face in both hands, pressing his forehead against hers silently.
I can’t lose you too.
It was impossible to know who that thought belonged to at first. Maybe to him, maybe to her. Perhaps, too, did it belong to the two of them, for very different reasons. Unspoken words still hung loudly between them and both could hear them clearly. Jill met his gaze, her own tired and still filled with that quiet fear that haunted her more and more since Alcatraz.
“What’s plaguing you, Jill?… I can see it in your eyes…” He whispered, his voice more of a shudder brushing against her lips with how close their faces were. “Ever since Alcatraz, you look… off.”
She wanted to deny it, to pretend she was fine, just a bit tired — the evident consequence of her return to the field. But if there was one thing she knew better than anyone about Chris, it was how stubbornly protective he was, especially when it was about her. One glance from him towards the Dylan target made her sigh in surrender as she shifted to sit more comfortably in his lap. Of course, she was stubborn as hell too, and there wasn’t any chance she’d outright admit her hatred for the crippled man was only about her partner if she had a say about it.
“It’s what that bastard did…” She half-admitted, absently brushing a rebellious strand of hair away from his eyes. “I don’t remember any mission where you all were infected before… ”
“Claire was, on that island a few years ago. Leon back in Spai-…” He forced himself back into silence as he slowly processed what she truly meant. Everyone was infected at least once before… except for him.
When she tried to avert her gaze, he gently stopped her, bringing his forehead against hers again with a shaky breath, pretty telling of how heavy the moment felt to both of them.
“You can’t handle the idea of me dying and you thought I could ?” He muttered in disbelief, his voice breaking on the end of the question. Too many times before had he almost lost her, in the Spencer Mansion, in Raccoon City, on all these missions… To Wesker too. But nothing was worse than the idea of losing her to herself. “Shit, Valentine… I thought you knew by now I can’t lose you. What would I do without you?…”
“Guess you’d be biting those cell bars…” She replied in blunt humor. He knew better than to take it personally. He knew the armor, the way she kept hiding her pain under half smiles and sarcasm.
He sighed shakily, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks in circular grounding motions, as if he couldn’t stop himself from touching her even the barest bit. His eyes met hers again, a bit glassy with tears she knew he was struggling to keep in. Guilt washed over her, reminding her of why she had always kept her custom targets hidden in the past.
“Hey… It’s okay. We can fix this.” He reassured her, noticing the shadow in greyish blue eyes and brushing a tear away from them. “I got you, p-…”
Partner.
That term sounded wrong with the weight of the moment, unfit for whatever tension lingered between them every time one of them was suffering.
“Jill…”
The name was dropped like a prayer and a plea all at once, familiar yet carrying a yearning both had felt for too many years, for her, for her happiness. For this hell to end. But as usual when things were a bit too serious, Jill pulled away, pushing herself up from the ground to dust her pants. Then, she was picking up the gun and the headset, putting them back where they belonged.
All the while, Chris watched her, shaking his head and standing as well but giving her the space he knew she needed. As she walked behing the counter to take down the Wesker and Dylan targets, he kept his eyes trained on her, the athletic silhouette he knew so well, the scars he witnessed for years, the way her hair was still flawless as ever in every situation. She truly was a work of art, and for once, the Redfield caught himself growing exhausted of the distance they kept like a safety net between them. They had almost crossed the invisible line a few times, in near kisses and sidelong glances that meant too much. Still, one of them always pulled away.
If only…
He was so lost in thoughts he didn’t notice her walk to him after tossing the custom targets in the trash can, stopping inches away from him.
“Getting all distracted on me , Chris ?” She whispered, her fingers lifting to trail along his jaw in a tender touch that was only for him. He glanced down at her, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as his hand reached up to cover hers, pressing it against his cheek.
“Just… keeping an eye on you, partner…” He replied shakily, frowning as he noticed her shaking her head with a soft click of her tongue.
Before he could ask why she reacted like that, she pressed a tender kiss to his cheek, her expression turning just a bit playful, so warm, so Jill.
“If you keep calling me that I’ll start thinking you forgot my name.” She breathed in his ear, the smile on her lips widening at the subtle blush on the tip of his ears.
This time, he didn’t let her pull away. Almost twenty years of beating around the bush had been more than enough. When his lips brushed against hers in a soft but searing kiss, she didn’t try to move backwards, to deflect what they always knew was hanging between them. He enjoyed the way she relaxed in his arms, his heart beating softly in his chest, matching hers. They stayed like that a moment, foreheads pressed together, arms entangled.
When she finally moved away, it was reluctant, her hand immediately reaching for his as she stepped back and glanced at the last target still hanging, unlabelled but unmistakenly her.
“I’ll take it down…” He murmured, pressing a tender kiss to her temple before walking towards the target.
She watched as he carefully undid the knots holding it to the railing, his eyes darting down to the faint replication of the P-30 on its chest. With the same care he always showed her, he folded the target, enough to put it in the trash can with the other two.
“Thanks…” She muttered after a moment of silence, stepping towards him and wrapping her arms around his waist, her forehead pressed against his shoulder.
He silently returned the gesture, his hands settling in the small of her back to keep her pressed against his chest, his nose burried in her hair. The scent of gunpowder barely bothered him, it was too familiar, too Jill.
“Next time they come back to haunt you… come to me, okay ?” He pleaded against the top of her head, his arms tightening aroud her.
“Okay…” She replied in a breath after a moment of silence, pulling away from his shoulder to meet his gaze.
Calm, steady.
If the fear and the demons she always fought wanted to come back, Jill finally realised she wouldn’t be alone to face it this time. She had Chris, and he had Jill.