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RE: Private Wars Pt. I

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Chris Redfield was called into the head physician's office in the United States BSAA headquarters, and he made himself comfortable in the large, black leather chair.  By this time, he was on the first name basis with the doctor having been sewn and mended by him several times in the recent years.  This visit, however, was not about Chris' health, but that of his partner, Jill Valentine, who had arrived with him weeks earlier from Africa.  For the few days Chris and Jill had been in the west African headquarters of the BSAA, Jill had struggled with fatigue and recurring nightmares as her body was going through the withdrawals of the drug, P-30, that has been forced into her system constantly via a pump placed onto her chest by Albert Wesker, the former head of the Umbrella pharmaceutical company, and Chris Redfield's arch nemesis.  Now that Chris and his partner were back in the states, Jill continued to struggle and had remained in the BSAA hospital wing with Chris being either by her side or the doctors' through all of it.
Presently the head physician, Dr. Hershel Rosenthal, a man of his sixties, entered his office through a side door and made his way to his desk.  "Good morning, Chris," he greeted politely.
"What's up, Doc?"
The doctor was perceptive enough to find the anxious note in Chris' flippant reply.
"Oh, nothing serious," rejoined Dr. Rosenthal.  "Just a personal yet medical matter we need to address."
"Okay."  Chris was still somewhat anxious despite the other's comforting, dulcet tones.
"Your partner seems to be recovering steadily from her withdrawal symptoms, which, with this case, is all we can ask for not knowing exactly what this P-30 drug is specifically made of.  There's no telling how long this will actually take, so steady progress is good progress, and her vitals are not a concern for us.  There is something that does concern me though, and that is Jill appears to be becoming progressively more depressed the longer she stays here.  This is not a surprise considering all the stress her body has been through as you can see from the pigment changes in her hair, skin, and eyes, however, depression will slow down the healing process."
"So what do you want to do?"
Dr. Rosenthal squinted his eyes in thought, but barely hesitated.  "I certainly don't want to prescribe any anti-depressants unless we absolutely have to seeing as that we don't know how they will react with the remnants of the P-30.  For the time being, I'm thinking that a change of scenery might be in order."
"How do you figure?" asked Chris.
"Well, nobody can really relax in a hospital unless they're on pain meds and have no choice," said the doctor smiling, "and rest is exactly what Jill needs. . . .  Well, that and a little TLC."
Chris raised an eyebrow.
"Which brings me to another matter," continued the doctor.  "Does Jill have any family that she might be able to stay with – someone who'll take care of her?"
Chris thought a moment.  The only family he knew of was Jill's mother, a woman not worthy of the title except in a biological sense.  "Not really," he said shifting in his seat.
"Hm.  That's what I thought," rejoined Dr. Rosenthal.  "She has you listed as next of kin."
"Yeah, well, she doesn't have any siblings," said Chris as he suddenly felt a little uncomfortable due to many unconscious and repressed emotions all having something to do with his ailing partner.  He never liked to think about how in this world, he was all she had, especially since the incident at the Spencer Estate three years ago.  The guilt was palpable when he let his guard down.
"Oh well, then," said the doctor with finality.  "This is an imposition one can really only ask family to –"
"Don't worry about it, Doc," interrupted Chris.  "Jill and I are basically family anyway.  I'll take good care of her."
"Oh, excellent," replied Dr. Rosenthal happily.  "I'll discharge her within the week."
When Chris Redfield left the doctor's office, instead of making his usual course to his partner's room, he went straight home; he had much work to do.

About a week later, Dr. Rosenthal had just left Jill Valentine's room before Chris made his way in.  He found Jill sitting up in her bed and staring out the window into the fading sunlight.  She turned her head to face him when she evidently heard someone enter the room.
"Hey, stranger," she said with some of her usual zest missing from her voice.
Her greeting took Chris off guard before he remembered that whereas he had still seen her every day that past week, she hadn't known he was there since he had only taken night watch over her, spending the night in the chair beside her bed.  He had spent the days preparing for her discharge.  Chris didn't feel like explaining his actual vigilance to Jill for reasons he never wished to acknowledge, so he let her believe in her impression for the time being.
"Hey, kid.  How ya feelin'?" he asked in a quiet, soft tone, feeling nearly guilty for not telling her where he had been.
"The same, I guess," she replied looking back out the window.  "They want to discharge me. . . ."  
Jill left her last statement hanging in the air, and Chris could feel her uneasiness  . . .  either that or he was confusing it for his own.  "Well, that's a good thing," he stated trying to change the note in the air into a positive one.
"I guess," started Jill.  "But I don't have anywhere to go.  I'm sure my apartment isn't there anymore; no one there to pay rent for three years.  I suppose I can stay in the barracks until I find something –" she turned her head and stopped in mid-thought as she found her partner taking her things from the room's drawers and placing them into a suitcase.  "Chris, what are you doing?"
"Getting you packed to come home."
"'Come home'?" Jill was obviously confused.  "I have a home to come to?"
"Uh . . . yeah," replied Chris, not thinking about why he was stalling in telling her.  "Mine."
"Yours?"
"Is that so bad?" rejoined Chris in a nearly challenging, but far from angry tone.
". . . Well . . . no," began Jill.
But her partner was afraid to let her finish for reasons unknown to him, and he cut her off.  "You better get dressed then 'cause I'll have you all packed in a couple minutes."
". . .  okay . . . ." Jill was still confused and it was apparent in her voice.  She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but her partner was acting strangely even for him, but since she couldn't place it, she dismissed it.  Jill removed herself from her bed and took some clothes with her into the bathroom to change from her pajamas.  
Chris watched her carefully, and convinced himself that it was only because he was being protective of his recovering partner.

Within the hour, Jill and Chris were exiting the BSAA headquarters hospital compound with Chris carrying all of Jill's belongings except for a few floral bouquets that were still alive, given to her by members of the BSAA.  The flowers were the only items Chris would allow her to carry, and there had been a slight quarrel about that previously, but Jill had soon learned that over the three years she was away, her partner's stubbornness has only increased regarding particular matters.
Chris threw Jill's things into the Hummer, and Jill took one last look at the hospital.  It wasn't as though she believed she would miss the place, but she had a peculiar feeling about where she was going next.  It wasn't as though she didn't trust her partner of ten years; it wasn't as though she hadn't missed him, but something was different in his demeanor toward her.  It was as though Chris had somehow, within the past week or so, become nervous around her like a child being handed a Ming vase and told not to drop it in an earthquake.  Jill supposed she couldn't blame him though.  In the past few weeks she'd shown a much more fragile side having black-outs, fainting spells, physical weakness, and fatigue, but she did not like the worried look on her partner's face when she was having a bad day with such symptoms, and she wasn't sure if she liked the idea of leaving it up to him to coddle her, whether she needed it or not.  In fact, Jill Valentine wasn't sure if she was even prepared to see that side of Chris being directed at her.  
"Jill."  Her partner's voice awakened her from her anxieties, and she turned toward the Hummer to get into it with him.
Most of the familiar ride to Chris' apartment was a quiet one as Jill kept most of her attention out the window.  The time she was away had been forgiving in the aspect that most of the sites she'd grown used to were still there, which lent her a comforting feeling of stability.  She had many questions to ask Chris, but didn't know how to voice them so she didn't.  In a way, Jill was glad when she found herself looking around the Hummer's interior to find an unpleasing small, white, cylindrical object poking out of the vehicle's ashtray.
"Chris!" she chided, pulling the filter from the tray.  "When did you start smoking again?"
"Dammit!" came Chris, almost sheepishly looking out his window.  "I . . . didn't . . . I mean – I did start, but I quit again!"
"How long ago?"
"Well, you remember I never smoke on missions.  I haven't had one since Africa, and I wasn't going to start again."
"You swear?"
"I swear!"
"You better not start smoking again, Chris Redfield," warned Jill.  "'Cause I won't let you smoke inside.  You'll smoke outdoors, rain or shine, warm or below freezing – you got that?"
"Yes, ma'am," replied Chris almost smiling to hear some of his partner's feistiness return.  He was happy to have helped.

It had been some time since Jill had been inside Chris' apartment, but she was already aware upon entering that it was drastically different than the last time she had been in it.  It took her several moments to realize that many of the articles that hadn't been there before, were still very familiar, and then she recognized them as her own belongings from her own apartment when she still had one.
Chris had just sat down Jill's suitcases when she asked, "You kept all my stuff?"
"Well . . . yeah.  I mean, I had to get it out of storage this week, but it's all here – around here someplace."
She wasn't sure what to think of this.  Jill had been told that she was assumed dead after a certain amount of time had passed after her disappearance, which was standard procedure.  She knew that her apartment would have been rented out to new tenants surely, but the fact that someone had kept her things in storage for her was nearly as ludicrous as it was touching.  With her being assumed dead, and rightly so especially in the way it had happened, what reason would anyone have to hold on to her things?
While Jill stood there puzzling, Chris took the flowers from her, and then took her by the wrist.  "You haven't seen the best part yet," he said and pulled her with him.
Chris lead Jill down the main hallway and turned into what used to be Chris' office, but what she found was another bedroom, decorated in more of her things, arranged in a way very similar to how her own bedroom had been.  Jill couldn't help but gape slightly, trying to allow words to escape, but not being able to find the right ones.
"Claire's been in town for a while," said Chris.  "She helped me arrange everything in here.  I wanted a feminine touch 'cause I sure as hell don't know to do those things."
"That's okay," was all Jill could find to say.
"I'm going to put these in water," said Chris, and he left her alone in her old room in a new apartment.
Jill walked over to the bed and sat down, kicking her shoes off, trying to make herself comfortable.  Sitting on her pillows was a stuffed bear that she'd had for years that was wearing a little beret and a STARS uniform.  She slowly picked it up and hugged it, barely believing that it still existed.  Jill lied down on the bed and soon realized that it was her own bed, covered in very familiar clean sheets and a thick blue comforter.  So many times in the past three years, Jill had believed that she never would have the opportunity to see and feel these consoling things again.  So many times in the past three years had Jill longed to be able to appreciate these warm sights and sensations through so much of the cruelty she'd been forced to endure.  Remembering this thought, Jill became a little emotional, and tears began to streak down her face.
"Hey, Jill," called Chris returning from the hallway, "do you wanna –" but he stopped upon seeing her on the bed.  He slowly walked over and found that she had fallen asleep, and he was pleased.  Before, he had been nervous that she wouldn't want to live with him -- that she would find it strange even though they knew each other so well, but with all that she'd been through, maybe she felt differently about things.  Chris couldn't guess her feelings, but he would try to be as sensitive as he could to her needs for her sake.  Seeing her lying on her bed and having fallen asleep so quickly, Chris took it as a sign that she accepted his apartment as her new home, and that made him feel good.
Chris reached down by the end of bed where Claire had placed one of Jill's quilts and gingerly pulled it over his partner so she wouldn't get cold, and he was nearly overcome again with the relief that she was finally home alive and safe.
He didn't go to bed, but stayed awake most of the night on the living room sofa to make sure that if Jill needed anything, he'd be there to get it for her.

The following morning, Jill awoke to the smell of breakfast cooking and remembered that she was no longer in the BSAA hospital.  She looked around her new room, but this time instead of anxiety mixed with apprehension, she felt deeply thankful – thankful to be out of the hospital, thankful to be back home in the states, thankful to be alive.  She removed the quilt from herself, not remembering that she hadn't placed it there, and went toward the kitchen, which was where she found Chris.
"Morning, Roomy," he greeted cheerfully.  "Breakfast is almost done."
Jill looked at the clock on the stove and saw that it was after nine.  "Chris, why aren't you at headquarters?"
"Headquarters?  You kidding?  You think somebody finally drops Albert Wesker in a volcano and they don't give the guy an extended vacation?"
"But that was weeks ago.  How much vacation did they give you?"
"Well, not as much as all that," he replied.  "I just didn't take it until now.  Someone's got to look after Agent Valentine."
"I'm fine.  They wouldn't have discharged me if I wasn't," she pointed out.
"Yeah?" came Chris in an unconvinced tone as he licked some egg off his thumb.  "Tell that to the pale face in the mirror."
"All right, all right," recanted Jill.  "I still feel pretty run-down, but I should be okay in a few days or less."  She left the doorway and began to walk back down the hall.
"We'll see about that," muttered Chris to himself as he knew his partner better than that.  Upon the words leaving his mouth, he remembered something.  Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out the prescription that Dr. Rosenthal had given him to fill out for Jill.  He tacked it onto the refrigerator with a magnet.  "Hey, Jill," he called from the kitchen.  "Do you wanna shower before you eat?  I can stick this in the oven to keep warm or something."
"A shower would be wonderful," was her return.
"Claire and I fixed up the big one for ya."
Jill walked into the larger of the two bathrooms in the apartment and clearly found it furnished with feminine towels, curtains, and products.  Everything she needed of a bathroom was already set up and waiting for her.  
Chris stepped into the entrance of the room and leaned on the doorjamb.  "Yeah, we didn't know what kind of stuff you liked so Claire picked out a lot of her favorites and guessed at the rest."
"No, that's fine," replied Jill, standing on the rim of being touched again.  She quickly changed the subject.  "You're not using this bathroom?"
"Nah, I don't need all this space.  Hardly used it anyway.  Figured you like the option to take a bath whenever you wanted."
"Where is Claire?"  Jill was trying to keep the conversation going so she wouldn't tear up again.  She also was trying not to face the mirror.
"You'll see her later.  She's helping me get your car out of storage . . . that is, if you don't mind being alone for a little bit this afternoon."
"Why would I mind?"
Chris shrugged and left Jill alone with her reflection.  "Just let me know if you need anything," he called.
After deciding that she didn't need anything else, Jill closed the bathroom door.   She prepared her shower and readied her accoutrement without the assistance of the bathroom mirror, which she preferred not be there in the first place.  However, she couldn't escape it once she was done in the shower and drying off her hair, which she also tried to ignore even while it was in her hands.  Being fully aware that this avoidance was silly since it wasn't going away any time soon, and she certainly couldn't renounce mirrors for the rest of her life, Jill resolutely picked up a comb to fix her hair, pretending to herself that nothing was wrong, and looked directly into her own reflection.
It has been easier in the hospital.  No one really cared if she looked sick; it was actually the most appropriate look.  However, in the bright bathroom light in the reality of the outside world, she couldn't forget her appearance anymore.  Jill lifted the comb to her once chestnut tresses with red undertones that flirted with the light that were now bleached with a hue she didn't recognize on herself.  She quickly began to comb through the strands that barely felt like her own all the while trying very hard to not think of how they lost their natural pigmentation.  Jill had nearly succeeded in finishing the task when she accidentally caught her own eye in the mirror . . . but the eye that looked back into hers really wasn't hers.  Her eyes were a bright sky blue, but these eyes, looking back at her could only envy the color her eyes had once been.  The blue that Jill's eyes held now was dull and barely present, substituting nearly a pale grey in much of its place.  And then suddenly, while facing these changes that were unfamiliar to her in this setting, Jill Valentine didn't feel like herself, but like the pawn of Albert Wesker, administering a plague around Africa to poor innocent people who hadn't the power to fight her back. And with that memory came the memory of feeling scared and powerless, never knowing when the next round of experimentation and testing the limits of P-30 on her body would begin or how much it would hurt.  
Jill broke down and began crying.  She tried to tell herself that reacting this way was ludicrous, she was home now and no longer Wesker's monster, however, that thought did little to suppress the guilt she felt from the lives she took under the madman's control.  She couldn't bring the crying under control no matter how hard she tried.  Jill grabbed her towel and stifled her sobs into it, not wanting Chris to hear.
From outside the bathroom, in the kitchen, Chris' instincts told him something was wrong.  The air had changed, and he picked up his head to listen.  Hearing nothing, but still feeling uneasy, he moved to the main hallway to see the door to Jill's room quickly close.  He nearly went to investigate, but figured he should let his partner get some clothes on first.  Chris felt that he was being paranoid and went back into the kitchen.  He told himself that if something really was wrong with Jill Valentine, she had nowhere and nothing to hide from him.
From the time Jill came back into the kitchen and all throughout breakfast, she was much more reserved than she had been earlier that morning.  Chris asked her if anything was wrong, but she only replied that she was feeling very tired, and her partner found it hard to argue as Jill actually looked paler and her eyes were glassy.   When she was done eating, Jill asked if she could help Chris with the dishes, but he refused her help and told her to go to bed.  She was thankful that she wouldn't have to dam her tears from his view any longer, and returned to her room where she could relieve herself from the welling of tears and not allow Chris to be the wiser.  She believed she had succeeded in keeping him from suspecting anything to worry about, but she had only fooled herself.  Chris, however, had a nagging feeling that she was hiding something, but logically this didn't add up.  He left her to her privacy against his better instincts.

Later that day, Chris was leaving the apartment with car keys in hand, making his way toward his Hummer when he saw his younger sister, Claire Redfield, a plucky woman in her late twenties who'd seen her share of zombified horrors and was sometimes a redhead, walking toward him and in the direction of his apartment.
"Sis!" he called with over emphasized joy that he never intended to sound remotely convincing.  "I almost didn't recognize you with your midriff covered!"
"Hey, Chris," she replied and tried to move past him, but without missing a step, her much bigger brother caught her by the arm and practically yanked her off her feet to be pulled along with him toward the Hummer.  "Chris!  I want to see Jill!"
"Nope.  You're leaving her alone.  She's too tired for your nonsense."
"Chris!"
But Claire's vocal protests didn't have the strength to free her from Chris' grasp or coerce him to take her to Jill.  Before she knew it, she was practically tossed into the Hummer with the door closing on her and her brother then entering on the driver's side.
While on their way to the storage garage, it had taken a few minutes before Claire began to forget being irritated with her brother and gave into asking questions.
"How is she doing?  Is she doing any better than when she was in the hospital?"  She noticed her brother shift in his seat.  She wasn't sure if this was an uncomfortable reaction, or if it done in earnest.
"Hard to say," he replied.
"Well, does she like the apartment?"
"I don't know."
"Did she say anything?  What did she say when you brought her home?"
"Geez, Claire, I didn't know you had joined forces with the Spanish Inquisition," rejoined an irked Chris.
"Well, you're not saying much!  And what's eating you anyway?  I never need to grill you like this!"
"I don't know," he replied more quietly.  "Guess I'm worried about her, is all."
Claire calmed herself down to her usual caring self without the antagonism of older brothers and sincerely asked, "What's going on?"
He shrugged.  "I guess I thought once I got her home she might be okay again."
"Well, didn't the doctor say that it's typical for a person to be depressed after being sick for a long time?" offered Claire.  "I mean . . . especially all she has been through –"
"I know.  I know!" said Chris, cutting her off.  As much as he would have liked to, he still couldn't hide his feelings or pretend that he wasn't bothered by this more than he was for reasons he couldn't reconcile.  
Claire Redfield knew her brother better than that, and beside that fact, the job she took as a bio-tragedy counselor gave her good practice in learning how to read people.  "What's really going on, Chris?  I know you're willing to do whatever it takes to get Jill healthy again, and you're generally more patient with her than this."
"Who said something else was going on?"
As Chris' sister, Claire wanted to get really aggravated with him just then, but reverted back to counselor mode masking her words with the casual air of a little sister because her brother was more perceptive than that.  "You.  Your actions.  You're acting like . . . you're mad at yourself, or something."
He generally didn't keep secrets from his sister, but Chris was still quiet for a moment before he answered.  "I guess I could be."
"Why?"
He looked out the side window briefly before returning his eyes to the front of the Hummer, and made sure that he wouldn't look back at his sister so she wouldn't see how freshly his emotions were churning.  "You know . . . " he began, "when Jill threw herself at Wesker, knowing that they were going to crash through that window just to save me, she probably figured she was going to die, but . . . dying would have been easy.  She didn't figure on him saving her life just to experiment on her and control her mind. . . .  She was tortured for three years, Claire."
She wasn't sure where her brother was going with this, but she didn't like the feeling she was getting in her gut about it.  "And how does that link back to now?"
"I can't help but wonder . . . if during all that time she was going through all that, if she ever thought . . . it wasn't worth it."
"You mean . . . as in, she thought it wasn't worth it saving you?"  His silence was all the confirmation Claire needed.  "Chris, you can't go there.  She's been your partner for ten years, and the two of you have been to hell and back together!  I'm sure that never even crossed her mind."
"You can't know that," returned Chris quickly.  "Can you look me in the eye and honestly tell me that even after being tortured for three years all because you tried to save someone's life you could keep the rosy disposition that it was all worth it just because that person was still alive?"
Claire sighed uneasily.  "I guess that would depend on the person I did it for."
But Chris just shook his head.  "I can never make that up to her, Claire."
"I think you should talk to her."
"And say what?"  Frustration and anger was seeping into his voice again.  "Do you think she could honestly answer that question to my face?"
"If she believed it was worth it."
Chris scoffed.  "Yeah . . . exactly."
It was at this point they had reached the storage facility and Chris was soon parking the Hummer near the garages.  Claire couldn't help but be relieved that their ride together was over as she was all out of encouraging words for him that couldn't be proven false.
A post Resident Evil 5 fanfic. Look out for SPOILERS. Chris brings Jill home from the hospital after the ordeal in Africa. This should be a happy event, however, personal demons lurk in the minds of the both partners that will either bring them closer together or tear them apart. . . . Personally, it damn well better bring them closer together . . . . What do you mean I should know what happens? . . . . Well, yeah, I know what happens, but I can't tell you what happens here or you won't read it, now will you? I mean, I've got to leave something of mystery, right?
© 2011 - 2024 CapnHannahSolo
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Mochaeii's avatar
While I was reading, my brother snuck up on me and yelled "TIMBER!!" I nearly jumped out of my seat because I was so caught up in the story. :) Good job