Work Text:
1996
Richard “Dick” Valentine has always compared life to gambling. It was his way to explain the unorganized chaos of life to a growing Jill.
“You never know what hand you’ll be dealt. You have to be smart; keep playing or put out.”
Dick was a thief. Working under many aliases, it was hard to track him down. It wasn’t until he settled in the Rocky Mountains, for his daughter’s sake, that the fuzz began to connect the dots. He just couldn’t leave the lifestyle—the thrill, the riches. So, he started an underground gambling ring.
“Something a little more stable than the other jobs,” he explained to Jill when he was caught.
Jill can still remember it like it was yesterday. She had gotten home from track practice to see police swarming her house. She was held back behind the tape as officers escorted her father into a car. He never made eye contact with her.
Police identified her as his daughter, thanks to the one picture of her he carried in his wallet. After questioning her— “Yes he’s my dad, no I was not aware of his business, yes we have a good relationship, no he never did anything to me” —Jill was able to talk to Dick through a thick wall of glass. Towards the end of their conversation, Jill had asked him why it had all happened. He had regarded her with a vacancy in his eyes, eyes she inherited.
“I didn’t want to stop playing.”
Jill visited as much as she could before CPS moved her out to some relatives in the East Coast. Neither of them cried at their last meeting. They didn’t even talk during much of it. When their time together was up, Dick pulled her into a tight embrace.
Amongst the shouting of the guards, he spoke into her ear, “One Valentine is enough in here. Don’t be like me, Jill, don’t be like me.”
They were ripped apart and escorted to separate paths. He managed to turn around once to look at her before he disappeared back into the prison. She never forgot his face in that moment. It was the same one Jill got when she knew she was winning.
Jill learned most of Dick’s skills under his care. She would have fallen into a rebellious stage and used those skills for trouble had it not been for his words. Instead of falling into those urges, Jill pursued a career that would appreciate her skills. She enlisted in the Army once she turned eighteen. After she left the Army, she applied to an open position in Raccoon City. The police department’s elite S.T.A.R.S. had her full attention.
After a smooth yet intense interview, she had received a call the next day and got the job.
Jill easily adjusted to her new job. Being the B&E specialist, Jill was out of the office fairly often in the beginning. After a couple of months, things had cooled down and now she mostly did paperwork. Not that she minded, the pay is decent.
Jill was set to work the overnight shift. She was tying up her boots when her phone began to ring. She stood up, leaving one boot untied, and went to the kitchen to pick up the phone. The preliminary recorded message droned before Jill nonchalantly accepted the charges.
“Jill?”
Jill closes her eyes briefly at the sound of the roughened voice. “Hi, dad. What’s new today?”
“Ah, you don’t know how much it makes me happy to hear your voice,” Dick sighs with relief. “A good change from everyone in here.”
Jill nestles the phone between her ear and shoulder, placing her untied boot on the counter to finish up. “I bet. How’s your shoulder?” Three weeks ago he had been caught in the middle of a fight. He tried to get away but he was thrown into the fray, or so he says.
“Better than before,” he chuckles. “How’s work?”
“I have overnight again today.” Jill rolls her eyes. “Wesker is no longer being nice to me and is now killing me.”
“But you are being good, right?” Ever since the first phone call, Dick would always ask her if she was being good. She had tried to lie but he always caught her.
She set her boot down from the counter. “I am.” Dick didn’t respond. “Cross my heart.”
“Alright,” he grunts. “I’ll let you get to work. You’re in the big leagues so you can’t be late.”
She grins at the sound of pride in his voice. Jill is doing what her father wants for her. “Take care.”
“Take care, Jill.”
The door leading to the S.T.A.R.S. office swung open, causing Jill to stop and wait for whoever to pass. Barry Burton, their weapons advisor, stepped out with Kenneth Sullivan close behind.
Jill admits that she hasn’t really bonded with anyone in S.T.A.R.S. Being on the field, followed by filling out her reports quietly at her desk, she didn’t make enough time to talk to her coworkers. She must have given the impression that she’s a loner because even her coworkers have only interacted with her when necessary.
Barry, though, kept trying. If she would be standing off to the side or eating lunch by herself, Barry would join her and crack awful dad jokes. He has also helped her in choosing a customized weapon and how to utilize it. He became sort of like a father figure to her. She tried to imagine Dick as Barry, without a criminal lifestyle, but she couldn’t even conjure up an image.
Barry smiles and pats her shoulder as he walks by. “Good luck tonight, Jill. There’s a ton of paperwork with your name on it.”
“Not how I imagined how I would go out,” Jill jokes, earning a chuckle and a final pat on the shoulder. Kenneth holds the door open for her, walking in after returning his nod.
Pulling out her chair and plopping on it, Jill ran her thumb down the side of the thick stack. The clock on her desk marked six in the evening.
She sighs. “Not how I imagined at all.”
“Imagined what?” asks Chris Redfield coming into the office. He heads to his desk, behind hers, unzipping his leather jacket.
“My early death,” she says, waving offhandedly towards the stack.
He hung his jacket on the wall with its back on display to the office. Jill admires the design—a blonde bombshell of a woman with wings delicately holding a nuclear bomb. There were a couple of rows of smaller bombs near her ankles. Emblazoned in gold across the shoulders it read, “Made in Heaven.”
Chris whistles lowly at the stack on her desk. “Rest in peace, Valentine, but,” he flips through the stack on his desk, “same goes for me.”
“Cool jacket,” Jill says, disregarding his comment.
His mouth quirks at the edges, glancing at his jacket. “Thanks, I know a guy who knows a guy. My little sister has the same design for her own.”
“You and your sister have matching jackets?”
“You make it sound so absurd.”
“No, I’m surprised,” she clarifies. “I mostly hear of siblings not wanting to own the same stuff as the other. Especially clothes.”
Chris shrugs, sitting down with his chair facing Jill. “My sister and I get along. It was her idea to get matching jackets and I thought, ‘why not?’ It is cool.”
His eyes softened when he talked about his sister. This is actually the first time she exchanged more than a few words with Chris. It’s wrong to assume, but she thought, from the few words they had exchanged, that he was a tough guy that didn’t give a shit about anything except justice.
“That’s sweet,” Jill responds. Chris looks away from her, his hands fumbling towards his stack of papers.
“Thank you,” he says, his back to her.
They worked steadily for an hour until Edward Dewey and Enrico Marini came in to start their shifts. Jill paused briefly to acknowledge them, returning her focus back to her work not soon after. Chris chatted with them momentarily before they took up to their work.
Jill keeps staring down at the page in front of her, not really seeing what is on it. She leans her head on her hand and thinks back on her conversation with her father. It was brief, the “take care” he told her kept repeating over and over. They were never the type to say “I love you.” His voice had become more rough over the last few years.
Loneliness crept on her. She remembers the times when she still lived in the Rockies with Dick. He would take her out a lot to go fishing, hiking, camping, star gazing. Sometimes he would even go to her track meets and afterwards they would get ice cream.
Then she remembers the other stuff. He would take her to keep watch while he entered some person’s house, usually in the more affluent neighborhoods. He taught her how to pick locks, hot-wire, work fuse boxes, sneak around and to not be noticed. The times when he would hand her a pillowcase or lock-box filled with money, a wild look in his eyes as he told her to hide it in her backpack.
Jill knew what he did wasn’t good. Her relatives had told her that he used to do much worse before she was born. They were her mother’s relatives so she didn’t really listen to them—taking it as some sort of family feud—but she still didn’t completely disregard their caution.
Yet she couldn’t help but miss her dad, the good and the bad times.
“Valentine.” Enrico snaps her out of her memories. He beckons for her to head to his desk, handing her some files. “Take these to Investigative then head on lunch. I can see you lagging over there.”
Her ears burn from embarrassment. “On it, and it won’t happen again.”
He nods curtly. “Wesker shouldn’t have given you two night coverages in a row.”
Jill promptly heads to Investigative. On the way, she admires the interior of the police station. It was once an art museum before it was renovated. They still kept some pieces from before, such as the statue in the main hall. Shivers run down her spine when she stares at the statue for too long.
After knocking on the door twice, Jill lets herself into the Investigative office. A trio of officers were hunched over a desk, studying a layout. Another officer looked up from her work and greeted Jill.
“Hey, how can I help?”
Jill steps to her, handing her the files. “Captain Marini sends these.”
The officer, Sawyer, opens a file. “I guess S.T.A.R.S. can’t do these, huh? I’ll make sure they get to my superior.”
Jill nods her head, turning to leave, when a man calls her.
“Hold on a moment. I have something for you.”
“Sure.”
The man, Marvin Branagh, looked back to the trio, now duo, he broke away from. “I’ll be back to help.”
Jill follows him back to the Operations Bureau. There were more officers on duty compared to Investigative and the S.T.A.R.S. office. They stop at what Jill assumed was Marvin’s desk, based on the family picture next to the computer monitor.
He hands her a thick file. “There’s a drug ring near Raccoon University. I would hand it off to another department but it would be best to run it first with your captain.”
“Is it that bad?”
Marvin crosses his arms. “From what little I did read, I can tell you that it’s a long chain of ‘he did, she did.’ Security cameras on campus provided nothing. I’m assuming there is someone outside of campus doing the supplying.”
“Alright, we’ll see what we can do,” Jill says.
“Enjoy the rest of your night.”
“I hope you’re joking,” Jill says with a roll of her eyes.
“Half joking,” Marvin grins.
She returns his grin. “Same goes for you.”
“No wonder it took you awhile to get back,” says Enrico as he receives the file. “I was starting to think you may have gotten lost.”
“Happened to me constantly the first week I started,” Joseph says from across the room. He must have come in while she was out.
“You just suck at directions,” Edward says, sipping from a mug decorated with the RPD emblem.
“This place is a maze. Everybody gets lost at some point.”
“I’ve found my way pretty easily,” Jill pipes in, digging in her desk drawer. Chris’s desk had paper strewn all over the top as if a tornado had struck. Judging by his head in between his hands, it was really going to be his early death.
“Everybody, Valentine, everybody.” Joseph motions to a couple of desks. “Barry, Redfield, and even our dear Enrico.”
Jill finds her wallet. “Enrico, really?”
She glances at him to see if he would deny it. He doesn’t, his lips thin.
“Shut up, Frost,” Chris moans in annoyance.
“Rumor has it that there’s hidden rooms and doorways, too,” Joseph adds, ignoring Chris’s complaint.
Jill gives him a look of disbelief. “I’m going on lunch.”
“The nonbelievers always get lost first!” Joseph yells before she shuts the door behind her.
It was two days later that Jill can confirm the rumor that there are hidden rooms in the RPD.
It was after the briefing on the drug ring when S.T.A.R.S. received an emergency call. A hostage situation by one man, armed and dangerous. The whole Alpha team wasn’t sent out. Jill, Barry, and Chris were to go in.
Upon arriving, they were quickly briefed and got to work. The whole neighborhood had been put under lock-down. The hostages and the man were located in the living room.
Jill went through a property to enter the backyard of the house. She hid behind the bouncy house and surveyed the yard. Chairs and tables were in disarray, balloons were still tied to the fence or were popped. Gift bags were tossed on the grass and the cake was squashed into a white and blue mass.
A soft thud came from behind her and then Barry joined her. Jill motions to him and he nods. She moves between the mess of tables until she was below the kitchen window. Jill could barely make out the sound of muffled yelling through the window. The living room should be spaced out from the kitchen. A good distance for her to work with.
Barry took her spot below the window as she moves to the backdoor. She holsters her gun to take out her lock pick and lock wrench. Jill makes quick work of the lock and quietly pushes the door in. The sound of something breaking and a cry covered the squeaky hinges of the door.
“Always stick near furniture or the edges of a room.” Dick’s lesson echoed in her head, as she follows the counter. “Step lightly and never scuff your feet.”
Jill was beside the entryway to a dining room. Peeking around the corner she could see the movement of shadows on the living room walls on the other side. Jill motions to Barry by the door to keep low to stay out of the light. He nods and goes in the other direction to the hallway.
She could hear the whimpering from some of the hostages. The man holding them kept mumbling to himself. When Jill was behind the dining table, she could catch some of his ranting.
“I worked too fucking hard for this family and this is what you fucking do!”
“You left me no choice.” A trembling woman’s voice.
The hard sound of hitting meat followed by a wail and shrieks. “You. Had. A Choice!”
“Control your breathing.” Jill moves closer to the threshold of the living room. “Atta girl.”
Jill lowers herself to close to the ground by a bookcase to avoid the light from the windows. The curtains and poles were on the floor. The man was looming over a woman, gun raised to the ceiling and kicking her. There was a group of children, seven of them, hunched together behind the man. One of the children, a little girl no more than five, saw her. Jill holds a finger against her lips.
Although it hurt Jill, she would have to let the man focus on the woman. The children had to be moved.
She made eye contact with the girl, raised her finger to her lips again and motioned for her to crawl to her. Jill could see her teary eyes as she got closer, and felt her trembling limbs when she pulled her into the dining room. The other kids had seen what the girl did, and one by one crawled towards Jill. Jill’s eyes kept shifting from the kids to the man, who seemed to be slowing down on his assault.
There was one more, a boy with soiled pants, when the man began to turn around. Jill hid back by the bookcase and urged the children to hide underneath the table.
The man curses. “Who the fuck is here?” A childish cry suddenly came. “Show yourself!”
At the sound of a hammer being pulled, Jill slowly stood from the ground and stepped away from the bookcase. Jill aimed at the man, his gun against the boy’s temple.
“Didn’t hear ya come in,” he says, conversationally.
“Please, sir, put your weapon down slowly,” Jill instructs, keeping her voice leveled.
His grip tightens around the boy’s chest. “It’s my house, my family and nobody’s business. Get off my property!”
“Shout if they have a knife,” Dick had lectured, “speak softly if they have a gun.”
“Please,” Jill repeats, “lower your weapon. The kid shouldn’t have to go through this.”
The boy in his hold keeps sniffling and holding back his sobs. The tension in the man’s shoulder started to slip away. The gun slowly pulls off of the boy’s temple and Jill braves one step forward… only for the man to aim the gun at her.
Her instincts kicked in and she jumps back behind the bookcase as he fired. Glass shatters from wherever the bullet had landed. The children beneath the table scream but thankfully don’t run out.
Another round was fired. A howl of pain. The clack of metal on hardwood. The boy came running around the corner and crashed into Jill. Heavy footsteps thumped and then scuffling ensued.
Jill looks over the boy, guarding him behind her as she peeks around the bookcase.
The gun was on the floor with a spray of blood. Barry had tackled the man and was wrestling him into submission. Jill pushes the kid to the table and goes in to assist Barry when Chris came in from the hallway.
“Get the kids out!” Chris orders. “We got him from here!”
Jill nods, holstering her gun. She goes back to the dining room to gather the kids and escort them out.
After hours of making sure every child was fine and returned to their parents safely, Jill was ready to head home and drop on her bed. It wouldn’t happen any time soon until she got the last kid, Derek, safe into his uncle’s arms.
The poor kid had been quiet ever since they left the hospital. His mother was left with several broken ribs and a grade three concussion. She wouldn’t be leaving the hospital any time soon.
Derek sat in the main hall, picking at his borrowed pants. Jill had placed the soiled pair into a plastic bag so she could hand it to his uncle. Jill kneels in front of him, pushing the bag beneath his seat, and holding out a carton of apple juice for him. He doesn’t take it. Jill resolves to sit next to him and set the juice between them.
Times like these of consoling the victim are always the hardest part of her job. It is easy to deal with the action; tears flowing, cracked voices, or dead silences...not so much. Barry, Enrico, surprisingly even Wesker, are much better choices when consoling a person.
But this is a child. Her father didn’t really baby-talk her while growing up. He did have a nickname for her but used it when he wanted to embarrass her or when he was proud of her. Dick raised her to be straightforward and to stay on her toes.
“Did you know that this place used to be an art museum?”
Derek didn’t respond.
“That’s why there’s an angel over there.” She points at the statue when Derek looks up. “Pretty weird to see one in a police station, don’t you think so?”
His shoulders raised up and down. At least he’s reacting.
“There is a room in the station filled with some leftover artwork.” Her conversations with Joseph then came to mind. “My co-worker even says that there are hidden rooms.”
Derek finally looks at her. “No way.”
“I don’t believe him but he swears its true.” Jill taps the juice box closer to him. “Apparently a couple of my co-workers have gotten lost before.”
The front doors opened but it wasn’t Derek’s uncle. Chris strolled in with a frown that lifted when he spotted Jill and Derek.
“Have you?” Derek toys with the juice box.
“No,” Jill says. She gently nudges Derek’s shoulder as Chris approaches them. “That’s my co-worker that got lost.”
Chris nods to her before kneeling in front of Derek. “You doing okay, bud?”
Derek nodded “yes” then “no.” “Can I see my mom now?”
Chris’ eyes softened. “The doctor’s are still checking her, but they did tell me you can go see her later when she’s feeling stronger.”
Derek stopped toying with the juice box, his head bowed down.
Chris’s hand engulfs Derek’s arm as he rested it there. “Is there anything you need?”
Derek shook his head, retreating back into his shell that Jill didn’t even dent. Chris stood up, patting Derek’s head, and motioned for Jill to step aside. They retreated to the front of the main hall, far away enough from Derek yet still keeping him in their sight.
“Has any family been contacted?” Chris asks her.
“An uncle from Stone-Ville. He shouldn’t be any longer.” Jill looks at Derek. “It’s awful what he’s going through.”
“I feel for the little guy. Barry will make sure that the bastard won’t get off with a slap on the wrist.” Chris’ voice veered to a lower tone towards the end. “We’re still—”
“Excuse me,” a man spoke coming up to them. A man with a heavily tattooed neck. “I got a call about my nephew, Derek.”
Jill greeted him, and both she and Chris gave him a quick rundown. Derek’s uncle, Patrick, didn’t interrupt either of them but Jill could see a vein in the corner of his eye popping out the more he heard.
“Your brother-in-law is going to stay in lock-up for the weekend until his initial appearance on Monday morning,” Chris informs Patrick.
Patrick curtly nodded and motions to Derek. “May I?”
Derek shot up like a bullet when he saw who approached him. His little arms didn’t wrap completely around Patrick’s legs as clear sobs reached Jill’s ears.
For some reason, Jill thought of her father. A hollow feeling blossomed in her chest, making it a little hard for her to breathe even when Patrick and Derek had left.
Jill was startled from a book slamming on her desk. She glares at Barry standing before her.
“That’s the first time you give me that look,” he says. “It’s refreshing. Are you okay, Jill?”
Her report isn’t even half done, and a headache was threatening to emerge. Sure, Jill can finish up her report at home and bring it in by Monday, but she didn’t want to go home.
“Not really but I can manage,” Jill sighs, handing Barry back his book. “I want to finish before I leave.”
Barry holds her tired gaze, trying to convey his message of “Go home, Valentine.”
He parts with a pat on her shoulder, leaving her alone in the S.T.A.R.S. office. “Don’t push yourself too much.”
Jill reviews her report until she got to where she left off. She needed to start on when her and Barry finished crossing the backyard. Easy, right? Usually yes but her brain was focusing on the mess in the backyard. Whether it was because she felt sorry, or she was procrastinating, Jill acted on the idea that popped into her head.
There were fewer officers on the night shift. The precinct was mostly quiet with the occasional footsteps echoing from the main hall. That’s how long Jill has been in the RPD today—she got to witness the change in bustle. It’s not the first time she witnessed this changed, and it made her bones heavier with exhaustion.
She walks the halls to head to the library around the corner, nearly bumping into Chris. Jill hadn’t even heard his footsteps.
“You’re still here,” she says. “I thought you left already.”
“I was thinking the same about you.” One of his hands holds a coffee cup, the other one touches his chest. “Are you nearly done with your report?”
Jill meekly smiles. “I barely started but I couldn’t focus on it. I was going to get something for Derek.”
“Yeah, what?”
“A stuffed raccoon. I remember seeing a box of them before.”
Chris scratches his cheek. “I forgot about those things. I remember seeing Elliot taking them into the library. I’ll help you, if you want.”
Jill was about to turn down his offer but thought about it. She could use this moment to further distract her. “I can use the company.”
The library was filled with criminal justice and law books, references, archives of past cases, and the history about Raccoon City and the RPD. It was well-lit from the buzzing lights overhead and dead quiet. Nobody really goes into the library after the evening.
“Why would Elliot bring the raccoons in here?” Jill asks, looking around for any sign of the stuffies.
Chris sips his coffee, shrugging his shoulders. “Beats me.” He observes Jill. “Why do you want to give Derek a raccoon?”
Jill pushes a hand through her hair. “It was his birthday today.”
“Oh.”
“Something to make up for today. It’s the least I can do.” Jill frowns at the sight of a door near the back as she approached it.
“That’s sweet,” Chris replies, following her.
Jill looks over her shoulder at him, not understanding his tone. Chris raises a hand. “I mean it. Usually, you’re quiet around the office that I don’t know how you really are.”
“That’s a fault on my end,” Jill says. “I still don’t know how to interact with you guys.”
“I’ve seen you open up with Barry and Marvin from Patrol. How’s it any different with us?”
Jill shrugs and places a hand on the door. “Has this always been here?”
“It’s a part of the building,” Chris uselessly comments, “So, yeah.”
Chris couldn’t see Jill roll his eyes. She turned the knob on the door and it creaked inwards. Her nose tickled from the dust from the dark room as she steps in. She runs her hands on the side of the wall, looking for a lightswitch. Her boot his something hard in front of her and she gasps at the sensation. Whatever light that had been provided from the open door was lost when it shut heavily. Jill heard Chris curse and winced when a sudden light appeared. Chris stood in the middle of the small room, hand on the cord of the single lightbulb.
In front of Jill was an antique oak table piled with boxes. It was clear her boot had struck the table. Her hip would have been bruised if she had kept on walking. Behind Jill, on the other half of the room, was a worn, leather chaise meant for lounging. A couple of bookshelves overflowing with books covered the wall. There were more boxes stacked in front of the shelves. Everything in the room was covered in a layer of dust.
“I’ve been in the library plenty of times before,” Jill begins. “This is the first time I’ve seen this room.”
“Same here,” Chris replies, setting his coffee cup on top of a closed box. He kneels in front of a box by the bookshelves. “Let’s hope one of these has the raccoons and get the hell out of here.”
“Say less,” Jill says, opening one of the boxes on the table.
After the first few on the table only revealed more books, yellowing paperwork, and the occasional art piece, Jill was starting to think that maybe Elliot never even carried the stuffies into the library. She pulls out a box from underneath the table and sighs with relief just as Chris whistles lowly.
Jill briefly looks over and does a double take. In Chris’ hands was a medieval flail—smooth wooden handle and a realistic spike ball chained to it. His eyes danced like a child on Christmas.
“Chris, no.”
“I know.” He moves the handle to let the spike ball swing gently. “But you have to admit it’s cool?”
Maybe it would be cool on a display but seeing it swinging didn’t really ease her nerves. Jill took out a stuffie from the top of the bunch. A too-big head and too-big tail covered in red-brown fur, black gloves, a red bandana on its neck and comical yellow boots. The front of the blue overalls was emblazoned with R.P.D. It’s perfect.
“It’s a little ugly,” Chris says, coming to the open box to see the stuffies. He hit the stuffies in the box causing a puff of dust to erupt.
“Even the ugly ones need love.” Jill turns to the door. “We should head back.”
The doorknob didn’t budge. Chris stepped in and tried it. He began throwing his body weight against the door and that didn’t even cause the hinges to rattle.
He turns back to Jill, rubbing his shoulder. “You can unlock this, right?”
Jill examines the lock. “Yeah, I can but,” the breath that escaped Chris returns, “my tools are at my desk. If I had bobby pin, maybe. I don’t have any on me, though.”
“Well, me either.”
“Well, shit.”
After banging on the door, yelling, and turning the small room over for anything to pick the lock, Jill sat on the floor leaning against the wall and Chris against the chaise. He had the flail in his hand and lazily rolled the ball on the floor. Jill barely convinced him to not even try and whack the door with the flail.
So far their only hope was someone coming into the library and hear their yelling to open the door from the other side. Hopefully before Monday.
“Is your sister going to be okay?” Jill asks.
Chris looks to the ceiling. “She’s probably thinking that I’m putting in overtime. She’ll start panicking if I’m not back by lunch. You?”
“Me?”
“Anybody worried about you? Roommate, dog, boyfriend?”
“Nobody aside from dust bunnies,” she says, her lips curving. “Is it just you and your sister?”
“Yeah, since we were young.” Chris stares at the flail in his hand, an air of melancholy surrounding him. “Parents were killed by a drunk driver. My dad’s uncle took us in for as long as he could. He held on until I could finally take in Claire.”
Jill thought that he always mentioned his sister because they were close. She never could have fathomed that it was because Claire is his only family left. A drunk driver—it’s probably why he has a strong sense of justice.
What does someone say at a time like this? Dick said her mother died when she was young. She couldn’t remember her well to deal with the emotional aftermath. Jill wasn’t too close with any friends as a kid. She never had a pet.
Jill mustered all the genuineness to say, “I’m sorry you went through that. It’s amazing of you to keep it together for your sister.”
Chris sharply exhales. “Thanks but there were many times when I couldn’t keep it together.”
“Hey, it’s natural to have felt like that. Especially since you were young and lost your parents. Chris.” Jill waits for him to stop staring at the flail and to look at her. “How old is Claire now?”
“Seventeen. She’s already looking into universities.”
“That’s good. That means that you are doing your best to make sure she turns out alright,” Jill reassures him. “There may have been slip ups along the way but she wouldn’t be who she is today if it wasn’t for you.”
Chris let go of the flail, his knees bending up for his arms to rest on. “That means a lot, Jill. Thanks.” A beat. “Can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you have family?”
“I have cousins from my mom’s side. I don’t talk to them as much.” Jill chews her lip.
“What about your parents? Any siblings?”
How much is she willing to tell him? Chris told her about his family, although not in detail. She could do that, right?
Jill breathes deeply. “Only child. My mother died when I was a baby. My dad is in prison.”
Chris’ remains stoic, although Jill could tell his eyes were more open. He wasn’t saying anything, making her nervous. The only other time she felt nervous was the last time she had seen her father.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks but it’s okay,” Jill dismisses. Her throat feels scratchy. “I didn’t know my mother at all, and my dad is in prison for good reasons.”
Chris picks up his abandoned cup of coffee from under the chaise. He peers into it before offering it to Jill. She stretches from her spot and takes it, settling against a box away from the wall.
“Guess we have broken families in common,” Chris says.
“Yeah, I guess we do.” Jill drinks the remaining cold coffee.
“I didn’t expect you to like that type of music.”
“Really?” Jill glances at Chris over the file of an old solved case. “What type does it look like I listen to?”
Chris catches the raccoon stuffie in his hands to study Jill on the chaise. Beside her was a stack of old cases that she has already skimmed through. Her short bob fell forward and to the side, hiding half of her face. Jill glances again at him, raising an eyebrow.
“You look like you listen to those girl rock groups,” Chris says. “No Doubt, Veruca Salt, Hole.”
Jill smirks. “You seem to know more about them than I do.”
“Hey, sometimes this new wave of rock has a few good ones,” Chris defends. “If I like the song I’ll listen to it.”
“I like a little bit of everything, too,” Jill says, setting aside the file. “But soul and classical are my go-to.”
“Once we get out of here, I’m schooling you on good music.” Chris tosses the stuffie to Jill, starting a game of catch. “We’ll start with Queen—”
“Obviously.”
“—followed by Eagles, Pink Floyd, and whatever’s next on my shelves.”
Jill tosses back the stuffie away from Chris, causing him to follow it. “Okay, as long as I can also school you on good music.”
“Who’re we starting with?”
Jill catches and throws back the stuffie wider and to Chris’ other side. He barely catches it and narrows his eyes at her.
“We’ll start with either Chopin, or my dad’s favorite, Otis Redding.”
Chris tosses her the stuffie. It goes over her head and she reaches for it. Jill feels her weight rock on her heels and she falls back. She lands on her butt, her back hitting the chaise, making it scoot backwards. The files topple to the floor and the box in front of her gets kicked over.
Jill sat stunned as Chris held out a hand to help her up. He kept biting his lower lip to keep from laughing.
“No more tossing the raccoon,” Jill says, taking his hand. “Laugh it off. That’s the first and last time you’ll see me fall.”
Chris bursts into laughter.
“You asleep?”
Jill kept her eyes closed. “I’m resting my eyes.”
“So you’re going to sleep.”
Jill sat up in the chaise. Chris was messing with the boxes on the other side of the room. “At this rate, no.”
“Good,” Chris says, and points to the boxes behind the chaise, “help me with those.”
“What are you going to do with them?” Jill hefts a box into her arms, setting it beside him.
“I’m trying to see if I can make a box fort.” Chris scratches his cheek. “I’m just killing time.”
“I like building forts,” Jill huffs, bringing over another box.
Chris whips his head in her direction. “Really?”
“When I need to kill time,” Jill smirks.
“Hey, Jill,” Chris started after a while of silence.
“Yeah?”
“You dodged my question from earlier. The one about how you can open up to Barry and Marvin but not the team.”
Jill picks at the corners of a box. “I don’t know. I find myself comfortable around them, but they’re still strangers to me.”
“But what about the team?”
Jill pauses, chewing her lip. She could use her excuse of being out of the office in the beginning. Chris would probably suggest she start going to the bar when the team did.
“I don’t know you guys, that’s one thing,” Jill responds. “Also, I was taught to not get too attached to friends.”
“Seriously?”
Jill nods. “We moved around a lot when I was growing up. When we would move to someplace else, my dad would say to be happy we got dealt a new hand.”
“Was he into gambling?”
“Oh, definitely.”
Chris stacks a box onto the foundation they made. “That sucks. I remember when we moved to my great-uncle’s house I had to leave behind my best friend.”
“Did you ever see him again?”
“I didn’t see her again, but I know she always wanted to be a firefighter.” Chris cracks a smile. “We became friends because she whooped my ass in basketball.”
“Somebody beat you in something? I would’ve loved to meet her.”
“You’ve never had a best friend?”
Jill stacks a box, the fort taking shape.“No, couldn’t get attached to friends meant I couldn’t have a best friend.”
“I’ll be your best friend,” Chris says. “If you can beat me at something.”
Jill chuckles. “Even if I do, you are not worthy of that title, yet.”
“Hey, what are you guys doing?”
Something touched her shoulder and Jill’s hand shot up to grasp whatever it was. A yelp had her open her eyes to see an officer standing over her. His nametag read Elliot. Behind him the door was open and propped by an object.
Jill sat up on the chaise, releasing his wrist. “What time is it?”
Elliot backs from her to let her stand. “Almost six in the morning.” He stares at the box fort Jill and Chris had finished. “I see you guys were busy. How long have you been in here?”
Jill picks up the stuffie from the table and throws it on Chris’ sleeping form inside the fort. “Chris, we’re free!”
To Elliot she says, “Too long.”
Chris sat up, grumbling. “Whatd’ya mean?”
Jill helps Chris in climbing over the fort. “Get home before lunch. I can’t imagine how Claire will panic.”
“Why did you guys even come in here?” Elliot asks as they began to walk out. Chris mostly shuffled out the door.
Jill stopped Elliot from closing the door. She hurdled over the fort, picked up the stuffie, and hurdled out. “Because I wanted to be a good person.”
Jill didn’t bother with Wesker in the office. She ignored his quizzical eyebrow and collected her unfinished report. Looks like she won’t have a relaxing weekend. Chris’ desk was semi-cleared. His leather jacket was gone from the hook.
She received odd and amused looks from the few officers as she made her way to the parking garage. Jill figured it was the stuffie in her arms. She will stop by the hospital before heading home. Hopefully, Derek and his uncle will be there.
Jill unlocked her car as a motorcycle stopped behind her car. Chris still had his helmet hanging on the handle bars. He wore his jacket, the angel on the back covered by a heavy-duty backpack.
“Where are you headed right now?” Chris asks.
“I’m stopping by the hospital before I head home and crash,” Jill replies. She holds up the stuffie. “Can you believe the amount of looks I’ve gotten by carrying this?”
“Can you blame them? A badass, ex-Delta woman actually has a heart.” He smirks. “They’ll get used to it.”
Jill observes him as he messes with his hair before putting the helmet on. She had accepted his company in the beginning as a distraction. Jill wonders if she could allow herself to know him more.
Keep playing or put out , as Dick had taught her.
Helmet adjusted, Chris brings his backpack around him. “By the way,” he pulls a cassette tape from the front pocket, “here. Have a taste of good music.”
Jill reads the writing on the tape. Queen.
“You’re still using tapes?”
“I can’t give you the vinyl now.”
Jill smiles. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Chris’ eyes widen. “What?”
“Bring your vinyl tomorrow for lunch. My place.” Jill pulls out a pen from the files in her arms, ripping off a corner of a page. She scribbles her number on it.
Chris takes the number, shaking his head and chuckling. “You serious?”
“Yeah, we’ll listen to music and hang out.” She pulls out her car keys. “Keep playing or put out.”
“I’m game.”
1998
“What are you up to tonight, Jill?” Dick asks.
Jill shoulders the phone as she slips on her boots. “Movie night with some coworkers. Edward and Forest have been insisting that it would be team bonding.”
“Your captain is also going to be there? He doesn’t sound like the type.”
“He isn’t. Wesker said he had other stuff to do.”
“Are you driving yourself?” Concern laces his words.
“I’m picking up Chris and Forest. I hope I survive the car ride.”
Dick softly laughs. It warms Jill to hear it.
“Have fun, Jilly-bean, and be safe.” He is quiet for a moment. “It makes me happy to hear you happy.”
Dick didn’t say it, but Jill could hear an apology between his words. He had been moved several times from the prison in the Rockies. He was now in New York. Over the years she has offered to visit. To see him in person after such a long time. Dick always turned her down. If she pushed it too far he would hang up. It had happened a couple of times before.
“I can come and visit soon, dad,” Jill says. “It’s not as far as before when you were in Florida. I can be—”
“I don’t want you to see me, Jill. You go on and enjoy your night.”
Jill mashes her lips together. “Ok, take care.”
“Take care.” And Dick hung up.
Jill drove to Chris’. Nina Simone crooned on low volume when he got in the car. After a couple of years on the same team as partners, Chris knew that Jill only got down after calls from her father. He asks her if she was still up for tonight.
“He said to enjoy the night so that’s what I’m going to do,” Jill says. “Where does Forest live again?”
Chris directs her and he watches her from the corner of his eye. “Did he give an excuse again?”
“He said he didn’t want to see me.” Jill concentrates on driving. “His birthday is coming up and I want to see him, though.”
“Like you said before, he probably feels like shit for how he raised you. It’s still tough on him.”
“I know.” Jill slows down as she enters Forest’s neighborhood.
“Want me to go with you for moral support?”
Jill shakes her head. “I should stay away from him. We’re both better off.”
Chris rolls his eyes. “Ok, stop doing what he tells you to do. You’ve always done whatever he tells you. For once, be a rebel and go see him. You want to don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Then go! If you need support, tell me and we’ll turn this thing into a road trip, too.”
“Thanks, Chris,” Jill says. “I’ll think about it.”
“Alright.”
Something slams on the trunk of Jill’s car and she brakes. The door opens and Forest drops into the backseat.
“What the fuck? You kept rolling by without stopping for me.”
“I thought you lived more up ahead,” Jill defends. “Chris was giving me directions.”
“You dickhead,” Forest tells Chris.
“Love you too, sweetheart,” Chris teases.
“What movie are we gonna watch?” Jill asks, driving to the movie theater.
“Dark City. After that we’ll hit the bar and this time, Valentine,” Jill holds his eye contact through the rearview mirror, “you’ll lose at pool.”
Chris snorts. “She’ll smoke your ass again. Pick something else.”
“What aren’t you good at, Jill?” Forest asked her.
Jill parks the car. “I’ve never got the hang of poker.”
Forest laughs as he exits the car. “Alright, you’re going down, Valentine.”
Jill and Chris stay behind as Jill locks her car. Chris looks at her amusedly. “I recognize that look in your eyes.”
“What look?” Jill asks innocently.
“You’re gonna beat him in poker, huh?”
Jill bumps him with her shoulder, smiling. “I don’t know what hand I’ve been dealt yet. I am my father’s daughter, though.”