Chapter Text
Chris's apartment is not anyone's favorite place to be right now.
Jill spends a lot of time here. Weekends and some afternoons after meetings. Holidays and birthdays. It's never a calm place, of course, but today is worse than usual.
Chris paces back and forth in front of the television. One one side of the room, Grace Ashcroft and her mini-me are sandwiched on the couch on one side of Claire and Leon. barry leans in the doorway to the kitchen with a frown. Rebecca occasionally peeks out from the kitchen.
Jill stands behind the couch and stares at nothing in particular.
Their…guest sits primly on the other couch at the opposite end of the living room, legs crossed and hands handcuffed in front of him.
"Credit where credit is due," Claire is saying, clearly holding back laughter. "He's just as smart as Wesker, injecting himself with whatever he happens to find around."
"Not a compliment I'm especially keen on taking, Mrs. Kennedy. I assure you I'm generally more cautious."
Even his fucking cadence is the same.
Claire scoffs. Chris stops pacing long enough to scowl angrily at Claire.
"So…why exactly did we bring him here?" Comes Rebecca's voice from the kitchen, where she is presumably still on the phone with Billy or whoever. "I mean, The Connections don't want him. He's uninfected. We could turn him in to the local authorities."
The apartment goes still, quiet.
Grace speaks up, which Jill doesn't expect.She wrings her hands in front of her. "The local authorities wanted to give him into BSAA custody. Obviously, that's…u-uhm. Non-Ideal? Zeno is…" Her eyes dart to him, and then away. "He's been cooperative."
"And I will continue to be so," he assures. "I have no desire for Blue Umbrella to dissect me or clone me. I know there is some…personal vendetta I've been dragged into here, but frankly I don't care."
"We don't have the resources to hold him." Chris has turned his scowl onto Leon, now. "Can't the DSO handle it?"
"DSO's as compromised as the BSAA or FBI," Leon shrugs, throwing his arm over the back of the couch around Claire. "Sherry's doing what she can, but it's not an overnight process. I'd rather not give the government access to diet Wesker if we can help it. So house arrest is the current best option."
They keep talking, but Jill's head is swimming. She stumbles to her feet. Thankfully, the ragtag group is too buddy arguing to say anything or have anyone follow her to the bathroom. Did she have lunch? She thought so, but all that comes back up is yellow-ish bile.
Fuck, okay. We're doing this again.
She composes herself - barely- and stumbles back into the hall, just listening for a moment.
"- can't," Claire is saying. "Grace and Emily are going to stay with us for the moment. Chris -"
"No. No, absolutely not."
She knows shy Chris gets belligerent about this/ She gets it. If anyone does, it's Jill.
This understanding does not prepare her for the betrayal that comes out of his mouth. "Why can't Jill take him? She's got that property in the middle of nowhere."
This is true. She has a lot of space, all to herself/ Claire and Leon have a house, but it's small, and they regularly foster kids displaced by bioterrorism, even if they weren't hosting Grace and Emily for the time being.
Barry has his family, his kids and his grandkids. Same with Rebecca and Billy, though if she remembers right, their oldest is almost done with highschool. Sherry and Muller are under too much scrutiny.
That leaves her and Chris, and objectively, she's in a better situation. But it still feels like a betrayal, coming from him.
He's treated her with kid gloves or almost twenty years, and she's hated it. So shouldn't she be happy? Isn't this a chance to prove herself?
She hears Rebecca's voice, slow and careful. "Chris, I'm not sure if-"
Jill steps out of the hall and into the living room, probably still pale, sick looking. No, I can do it. I have the room, he's right. And I can consult for Hound Wolf remotely, doesn't make much of a difference anymore."
She doesn't meet Chris' eyes. Can't. She's afraid she'll say or even think something that she'll regret later. Doesn't meet his eyes, either though. He doesn't get any sort of say in this - not that it stops him from commenting, because of course it doesn't.
"I'm amicable to this solution. Though I'll once again restate that no one's going to look for me from The Connections."
"Doesn't matter," Leon tells him. "Jill would turn them to paste if they managed to get that far."
Well, at least someone has some confidence in her. Even if she doesn't have any in herself.
Chris steps in then, almost sheepish, as much as a man of his age, stature, and reputation can sound sheepish. "You don't have to-"
"I will," she says. Not I want to or I can do it, but I will. Chris stays silent.
"It's not forever," Claire assures. "Give me and Terrasave six months, and we'll figure something else out. We'll at least have some more information dug up on this cloning program by then."
The carpet beneath her feet seems to shift, the world tilting slightly on its axis, but Jill steels herself, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning against the wall like it's deliberate. "Fine. Six months."
Month One, Day 0
"Would you be so kind as to unfasten these? I'm certain even if I were to do something stupid during the drive, it would barely phase you."
"No."
He seems surprised by the answer, the handcuffs he'd been holding out to make his point just kind of flopping back in front of him.
Huh. He'd really expected her to agree, hadn't he? That would be funnier if looking at him didn't make her sick. He sighs and slowly opens the car door with some difficulty and gracefully ducks inside. She gets into the drivers seat and slams the door closed with just a little too much force, wincing when she considers that she might have dented something. She's usually more careful.
"We'll stop for gas in around two hours. You can walk around a little then."
"No escort?"
She raises an eyebrow as she starts the car, just barely catching the corner of his sunglasses in the rear-view mirror before adjusting it. "You said you'd cooperate. Besides, you're not much of a physical threat anymore. Especially not to me - even with your combat training, you're only as fast as the average human now."
And you hadn't been able to say the same for Jill Valentine for a very, very long time now. Even before 2008, she'd had plenty of virus exposure.
He doesn't verbally answer, though she thinks she catches a slight now, and she's grateful for this, for even small mercies.
They drive. She'd thought about flying but then quickly dismissed it, deciding that she'd rather have a long stretch of road to separate herself and everything that had happened in the apartment, and the upcoming six months of having him exist in her space. He falls asleep in the back seat, at least she's pretty sure that he does. He falls asleep, and she entertains the idea of killing this man with the same voice, same mannerisms as her worst nightmare in as many ways as she can think of.
It would be so, so easy for her, too. Because of what she was made into. Wouldn't that be poetic, in some new and exciting way? Jill thinks about turning back instead, dumping him on Chris, saying, "I lied, I can't do this. I can't be near him without wanting to do something horrible to myself and him."
But then what? Chris would give her that pitying look. He'd throw the copy at someone with a life, someone who shouldn't have to deal with this for six months, and then they'd probably commit her again.
So instead of entertaining the idea of going back, she keeps thinking about killing him. She catches sight of him again in the rear-view mirror again by accident, and catches pale, nearly colorless blue eyes staring back at her.
The sight is startling, but she'd expected the vibrant, icy blue that had really stuck out during the STARS days. This is an atypical color, but in a totally different way. "Have you been staring at me the whole drive?" She asks, her teeth gritted.
He shrugs, almost lazily, and readjusts the glasses perched on his nose to once again hide his strange irises. "I've heard a lot about you. You're an interesting woman, Gillian Valent-"
Her hands tighten on the steering wheel. "Don't call me that. No. Don't talk to me at all. I don't care what you've heard, I don't care what you think you know about me."
There is a slight pause. He sounds almost disappointed. "Very well."
He keeps to it. She can give him credit for that. They take a break, she lets him stand up and pace a bit next to her while she gets gas. Chris texts to ask how it's going and where she is now. She gives a short, to the point reply. Fine. three hours out.
They drive for a while longer. Carlos calls, and sounds the most worried she'd heard in a while. She doesn't feel like talking, and he's kind enough to keep it short.
Her passenger doesn't say anything either. Hasn't spoken a word other than a curt yes or no since she'd told him not to.
Jill wishes that actually helped.
They arrive just after sunset. Her property isn't anything crazy, just about ten acres of sagebrush and rocks, and a house, but it had been what she needed when the BSAA had basically put her on forced retirement after Africa and nobody had even wanted her to consult.
So, Chris had dragged her out to a couple of spots, told her to choose a place to figure herself out. It was a move to placate her, of course. Even when she felt that she'd 'sorted herself out' he'd kept giving excuses.
But it was hers. Quiet, rural, the things she'd liked about living in Raccoon City, minus the forest. Something about the stars out here was just different. And it wasn't inconveniently far from civilization - the town was ten minutes out, and no one knew her there. Not as Jill Valentine, anyway. Not as a survivor of Raccoon City or a BSAA agent or any of it, just as Jill, the weird lady who came in for groceries sometimes.
The car bumps down the dirt drive until she pulls in front of the house and kills the engine. "C'mon. Let's go," she says as she steps out, and starts to climb the stairs to the porch without looking if he's following, since she can hear.
He isn't following, but he's not making a break for it, either. He's just…standing there, next to the trunk, staring up at the sky that reflects itself back up off the lenses of his glasses.
"Well? Are you coming in?" Jill asks, snappish as she finally manages to unlock the deadbolt.
His attention locks back on her. "Very well, I'm coming," he agrees, shuffling towards the door a bit awkwardly now.
It strikes her as weird for a second, maybe two, before she decides she doesn't care. They get inside, and she finally unlocks the handcuffs, very careful not to touch him at all. "Don't make me put them back on," she warns. "They'll stay off as long as I'm in the house with you. There's a guest room. Take it or the couch, I don't care." Jill tosses her keys on the table by the door. "You walk out the door at any point, and I get a lot less lax."
"Understood." He hovers in the entryway, but she ignores it, instead going into her own bedroom and firmly closing the door. Finally, it feels like she can sort of breathe again. Not enough. Not completely. Not enough that it stops her from downing an extra sleeping pill. That's the only way they work on her anyway - horse-sized dosages.
There are no footsteps in the house anymore. No shuffling around. He must have sat or laid down. She doesn't care either way. Let him move her things around, snoop, decide whatever he will about Jill Valentine.
She dreams.
They are never good dreams anymore, just nightmares. She hears His voice, now fresh in her head. Feels his hand on her hair, on her heart where there are still those circular scars that won't heal.
The first couple of days are rough. She doesn't know how to exist with someone else in her space, much less someone whose very appearance startles her. She avoids him, he avoids her. The house is small, but they both become pretty damn good at it.
Until Leon calls. "Yeah, we're following a lead. Ask him about Perseus."
Jill sighs, and turns the phone on speaker, tossing it onto the couch. He turns and looks at it like it's a foreign object. "Talk," she tells Leon. "We can both hear you."
"Perseus," Leon repeats. "Tell me about him, Zeno."
The man in question scowls. "I already told you about him, he was another clone. He's been dead for two years. Would it be safe to assume you have information to the contrary?"
Great, Jill thinks. Just what we need. More off the grid clones.
"Sure," Leon says. "Well. Maybe. Sort of. Looks like Perseus was living in a certain village in Romania between 2017 and 2020. Any idea what would have happened to him after that?"
"No. I was working with Dr. Gideon full time just before Perseus' return, living between Rhodes Hill and a place in the next town over. All of my contact with The Connections was going through an intermediary. Last I heard was about his death in '24."
"Hmm," Leon hums thoughtfully. "I'll talk to Chris and Mia and get back to you both."
Jill gestures for Zeno to toss back the cell phone. He does, she catches it effortlessly, and stomps onto the porch, taking it off speaker and bringing it up to her ear. "Why are you acting like he's on the team?" She demands.
Leon pauses. The silence on the other end of the line seems to ring in her ears. "He's been cooperative," Leon says finally. "And helpful, even, all things considered."
"Is that the baseline now? 'Only tried to kill us a little'?"
"I mean in our line of work, that isn't half bad -"
"Don't joke."
"...sorry. But it's true. Gideon was a pain in the ass, but really a mild nuisance at best. Zeno was even less than that. He's like, a bureaucrat who happens to share some DNA with Wesker. In comparison, he's basically harmless."
She thinks he's being stupid about it, and would usually tell him so, but all of the energy seems to have been zapped out of her with the words basically harmless.
Leon still seems to pick up on her attitude regardless. "Look, I didn't know the guy, and the news articles don't do it justice, I get it. But I can tell you a lot about Zeno and how the guy acts under pressure. He's a dweeb."
"You're almost fifty, should you be calling anyone a dweeb?"
Leon offers a noncommittal sound. "Whatever. Point stands. And now without any sort of parahuman abilities, it's doubly so."
"I don't care how harmless he is. The issue is that I don't want him in my house."
Even without the reasons why, it's the most honest she's gotten about the whole thing. As soon as she says something, she regrets it. Leon will tell Claire, of course, and Claire will tell Chris. And how will Chris react? More pity?
"Leon?"
"...Yeah?"
"Just…leave it alone, okay? It's just a difficult adjustment. That's all."
"Okay. Yeah, sure," he says, though she doesn't think this has solved the problem. "Uh. Like I said, I'll call if I find out anything else."
"You do that."
The next few days are as silent as the ones that had came before. Much to Jill's relief, Chris doesn't call, nor does anyone else. There are no more leads from the DSO, Hound Wolf, or on Sherry's end.
There are more nightmares. She wakes up one night screaming. He has to have heard, but he doesn't ask about it or mention it. Just like he doesn't ask why she's taken to working out most of the day, usually outside in the yard. Not because the weather is good for it, that's for sure. But because if she's bone tired, it makes the nights a little quieter.
Although, she notices that often when she comes back inside, he looks almost envious. It takes her a couple days to puzzle it out before she finally figures it out.
She's toweling the sweat and rain off her face in the mudroom, and he is pretending he isn't watching her from where he carefully sorts his clothes into the washing machine. "You're jealous," she realises finally.
His head snaps up. "What?"
"You're jealous. You miss your abilities."
He scowls at her then, sharp edges that she hasn't seen on him, but suit him too well. "Wouldn't you?"
She doesn't need to even think about it. "No. Hell no. I've tried for years to cure this."
He goes silent, still. Looks her up and down again and then scoffs. "So you'll be taking Elpis, when it's deemed to be safe?"
That's a harder question. Why is it a harder question? "...Yes," she answers again, after a too-long silence.
His disbelief is palpable. "Even at the cost of being able to protect those you care about?"
It's her turn to scowl at him. "I don't need the parasite or a virus or whatever else to protect them." He gets a look on his face. "What? I don't. There are plenty of normal people in this fight."
Slowly, with one last little look of pity over his glasses, he turns back to the laundry. She throws her towel at him before she can really think about it. He turns his body to dodge in an all too familiar motion. It makes her wince at first, until she watches it hit him anyway as he side-steps about three seconds too late.
He blinks at her behind his sunglasses, still half in a lean. She looks at him, her shoulders up to her ears as if bracing for something.
What a dweeb.
He sniffs, turns his nose up in the air, and goes back to doing laundry.