Chapter Text
It had been a few months since coming home from the incident in Africa. Jill was still adjusting to life apart from the possession/mind control freak of a B.O.W. Wesker had manipulated her into. The four circular scars on her chest were a painful reminder of the past three years.
She tore her eyes away from the mirror, shrugging a thick turtleneck over her still sickly pale skin. Her almost white hair matched, making her large blue eyes stand out in an odd way. She had cut the mane into a more manageable bob almost as soon as she had come home, just for some familiarity in her abused skin.
The front door to the apartment jostled open, sending a cold bout of air tumbling in. Chris wrestled with getting the door closed as another gust of wind pummeled after him. He knocked into the side table that had a very dead-looking orchid and a pile of bills teetering off the edge. The brunette slammed the door shut, mumbling a slur of curses under his breath, and managed to grab the orchid mid-fall.
He stared at the door for a moment, his shoulders raising and falling in a few exasperated breaths before he turned and saw Jill peering at him from the entry to their bedroom.
“Ah, shit. I woke you up?” He yanked his green-knit beanie from his head. “I got breakfast.” He held up a crinkled McDonald’s bag in his other hand. “I hope hash browns sound okay. Not sure if they’re still warm anymore. It’s freezing.”
“McDonalds?” Jill sighed. She took the bag from him and laid the contents out on the counter.
“Hey, third times the charm.”
“If Piers finds out you’ve been eating this junk—”
“Well, he won’t if you don’t tell him.” Chris plucked a cheese and ham biscuit up and grinned at her. He was trying anything to cheer her up. Even if he stayed up at night staring at the ceiling, counting how many bullets he’d driven into his nemesis.
A cold hash brown found its way into Jill’s hands and she glanced at the clock. “I thought you’d gone into work. It’s past nine.”
“I’m not going in until you come back with me.”
“Chris…” she groaned, “You’re a Captain.”
“Yeah, and I’m on leave until my partner gets better.” He grabbed another biscuit and ripped into it. “O'Brian understands. He’s got Piers and Jessica and all the rest who can do his work for now. It’s not a big deal.”
“I’m not going to get better, Chris.” She set the food down and looked into his brown eyes. His large frame took up the entrance to the kitchen and the bright morning sun hit his overgrown locks, making them shine.
“We’ll get you pills, meds, something.” His large eyebrows were knitted together in concern.
“What do I tell the doctors, Chris? ‘Hi, I’m Jill Redfield. I was captured by the former leader of Umbrella and recently discovered Tricell. I was held hostage and experimented on for three years. I was ordered to kill my husband and I felt nothing.’” Her voice broke into a sob. “‘And now I’m in delirious pain?’ What will they say, Chris?” She stuck her face in her long, slender hands.
“Jill…” He gently pulled her into his arms and held her. He laid his head down over hers and rubbed her back. “We’ll figure it out. The BSAA has to have some medical professional who can look at you. Hell, I’ll track Chambers down and see if she can help.”
“She’s probably got a family. She was smart to get out of this line of work…” Jill murmured softly, sniffling. She kept her cheek pressed to his heart, not looking up to him.
“Don’t change the subject—”
“Christopher…” she sighed again, pulling away from him.
“Jillian.”
Her blue eyes snapped to him and she furrowed her eyebrows. “Don’t call me that, Redfield.”
“Hey,” he chuckled, “I apologize.” He raised a hand in plea and then grabbed a hash brown from the counter.
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “So, you’re really not going in today?”
“I will if you’ll go in with me, Jill. We can run a few tests…” he trailed off at the look on her face. She clenched her jaw and turned to look at the sink behind her.
“No... tests?” he continued in a softer tone, “Possibly just talking?”
She didn’t reply. She twiddled the hand towel between her fingers that her mother had bought them for Christmas years ago. Flashes of Kajuju played back in her mind; things that appeared only after the mechanic was removed. How could she have implanted the plaga in someone, let alone hundreds of innocent people? She was made to be a passionate fighter; someone who stood up for justice and took down the parasite. How could Wesker so quickly take that away from her? He made her the murderer of so many.
“Jill?” Chris’ voice was soft. He laid a large hand on her shoulder and looked down at her. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
Her chest constricted at his words. She turned and looked up at the man she loved. The brutish, angry, fiercely loving leader she devoted her world to who looked at her with sorrowful eyes. She could see his nights spent drinking, falling asleep in front of the tv, not eating and desperately looking for a distraction behind the weights.
“I’ll go with you.”
…