Archive of Our Own

Air. That is what I am aware of most. The sound of it rushing past my ears, the force of my body pushing against it. Not my imminent death or Wesker’s, who struggles in vain. It is so dark, as we hurtle toward the ground, our trip down witnessed only by the moon and stars.

Chris. My only thought was keeping you safe, but I know what it feels like to have someone sacrifice themself for you.

Forgive me.

Except, I do not die and as it turns out, neither does Wesker.

It took me some time to realize. I was hazily aware of being moved, maneuvered, only to be submerged into unconsciousness once again. It was only after Wesker attached this device to my chest that he let me truly wake. I came to lying on a cold metal surgical table, completely nude, with Wesker standing at my side. When I tried to move, I could not – not because I was injured, I wasn’t sure why. I could not speak either, so I didn’t even have the dignity of letting him know exactly what I thought of all this – not that it would have done me any good.

He placed my new outfit on the table and told me to dress, and – seemingly because he said so – I did.

“Yes, Jill. Your intended swan dive for us did not go as well as I am sure you hoped it would.” I had no idea to what extent Wesker altered his physiology, so yes, I could fathom his survival. The bigger mystery was, how had I? I already knew if Wesker kept me alive I must have some use to him, and I was already seeing where this was going, if he could indeed tell me what to do and I would do it.

“Follow me.” I did.

“You notice you do as I tell you?” he asked as we walked. “The device on your chest is responsible. I do not recommend fighting against it, it did not end well for the first test subjects, but if you insist, I will increase the pressure. Know there is no hope, even if you do resist. Everyone in this world disregarding Excella, whom you will soon meet, and myself believes you dead. No one is looking for you.

“I find this most fitting. Just as I always intended, you will assist me in bringing about a new world order. I originally foresaw only a marginal role for you, witnessing those crude mutations in Raccoon City, but here we are together again, in circumstances I could not have imagined.

“You see, when you battled Nemesis and were wounded, you became host to a dormant strand of the T-Virus. The trauma of the fall seems to have awoken it. It is what enabled you to survive, and you will find that you are faster and stronger than you were before, which is of great use to me.

“Really, you should be thanking me; not many are given this gift, and it is only natural you should help me in return.”

That is that; that is my introduction to this new life, and the only explanation I get from him. After that, he only speaks to me to give me assignments. He doesn’t even use my name. He treats me as though I am nothing more than a servant to do his bidding.

Regardless of his warning, I do fight for my free will, but he was not bluffing. It hurts terribly, and the only reaction from him is a “Tssk,” and a simple shake of his head as he adjusts the serum pumping through my veins.

When I am not doing his dirty work – injecting people with his experimental viruses, executing anyone who has seen too much, acting as a security guard for himself, Excella, or Irving, as he brings Wesker’s cruel visions to life – I am left alone, though I do take note of what I see, in hopes that I can escape from here.

As time goes on, I think Wesker himself forgets that I am not just an automaton, and in his arrogance I see he needs to inject himself regularly to maintain his powers. I watch Excella as she does the honors, how she believes she and "Albert," are partners, and from what I can observe, how they could be something more than partners.

She plays a dangerous game. She doesn’t know Wesker like I do. He doesn’t care that she is powerful, intelligent, or beautiful. His mission comes first. Actually, to him it’s more than a mission: It’s a crusade. He believes he is absolutely right, and no cost is too high. He will run over any soldier, civilian, man, woman, or child that gets in his way.

Assignments, missions, crusades. I can relate somewhat. It reminds me of my favorite stories when I was young, King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. They took on quests, and no quest was too insignificant, too strange or too dangerous. I enjoyed all of it: the cast of knights and ladies, the costumes, the adventures.

When I entered the military, I wondered if I would feel like one of the knights, and experience their honor, strength and camaraderie, but that was not the case. Even though I was one of the knights, I was not one of the boys. Being the only woman in my training program, I was an outsider.

I also lacked my sense of mission, in that I was only a soldier, only told what I needed to know to get the job done. A single cog in the military machine. I had no sense of honor and accomplishment completing my missions, I didn’t even know what the end goal was most of the time. I decided to leave when my term was up.

When I was offered a job at S.T.A.R.S., I was so happy. I thought it would be a perfect fit for me. The mission was clear, the scope local. I could really feel I was helping, see it with my own eyes. I knew I would be one of few women, if any, but I accepted that.

But, I was not an outsider. S.T.A.R.S was a small group, everyone knew everyone, and I could see that they were not just co-workers, but friends as well. Chris introduced himself right away, invited me out for drinks with the rest of the squad. I had what I’d dreamed about; in this setting I was able to appreciate my co-workers skill and individuality. Their abilities and their humanity.

Barry’s fondness for his wife and girls was obvious, and I enjoyed hearing about their lives. I respected Chris all the more when I learned he and his sister were orphaned at a young age – that he had some of his paycheck automatically sent to her, saw firsthand his happiness when he snuck in a quick phone call with her while desk bound with paperwork.

It’s so strange to think about this now, because the very man responsible for my getting that job is the one who holds me captive. That nightmare of a night, when everything changed. I’ve wondered if that never happened, would Chris and I be as close as we are? Not only did Wesker engineer our meeting, he inadvertently strengthened Chris and I’s bond beyond all imagining.

Out of all us, I know Wesker’s betrayal hurt Chris the most personally. After losing his parents, then his position in the Air Force, being given a second chance with S.T.A.R.S. meant so much to him. And at the time, we all looked up to and respected Wesker – but especially Chris, though he wouldn’t admit it then, and I doubt he would now – and we lost that, lost the man we thought he was.

In my captivity, I sometimes feel I am losing the person I thought I was too. It’s not just the things Wesker makes me do – I know in my heart that it is he, and not I, who is truly responsible for my actions, even though they are terrible things to witness – but it is something about myself that I can no longer deny. How I truly feel for Chris.

I don’t only think of him as a partner. I’ve worked with other partners. We respected each other, and trusted each other with our lives. I was happy to see our mission safely accomplished, to see them return home to their families and friends, but they do not consume my thoughts like Chris does, during this time when my thoughts are the only freedom afforded to me.

I am reminded of Sir Lancelot and his dishonorable love for Queen Guinevere. He tried to serve her as a Knight should, and I too want to honor Chris as a partner should, but I cannot, not in this dark place, where these thoughts, these feelings for him are my greatest source of light, burning on in spite of everything.

Forgive me.

Wesker seems more pleased, more confident. So does Excella, and it makes my heart grow cold. I am sent to protect Irving, and am shocked when I actually need to take him away, that I am not just watching over him as he works. Someone has caught on, but I can’t see who. I am hopeful but afraid – I don’t want Wesker to make me hurt anyone else.

Then, guarding Excella in the lab, it could have been anyone, but it’s Chris, and my fear and joy double, triple. He’s alive, he’s still fighting, and he’s asking for me. Why is he asking for me? Oh Chris, I’m right here.

When we meet again Wesker reveals who I am. He’s having fun with this, enjoys the pain on Chris’s face when he realizes I am the one he’s been fighting this whole time, enjoys that I am only a puppet to control as he will, enjoys as Chris’ attempts to get through to me fail. The one saving grace is once again Wesker’s arrogance, because he leaves us, leaves me. Doesn’t lock me in room, or leave me under the command of Irving or Excella.

It’s just us, and that gives me hope, though with the additional injection I cannot stop myself from fighting Chris and Sheva. It hurts so much when he tears the device off, but I’m free. I’m myself, for the first time since I took that fall.

But I cannot enjoy our reunion, not with Wesker on the loose. I send him off as a good partner should. I tell them what I know and entrust him to Sheva’s care.

I am able to help them more than I first hoped, thanks to Josh’s aid, and we witness Wesker meet his true end. There is a certain justice to Chris and I seeing this together, the death of the man who intended us to die a decade ago in the Arklay Mountains. But I know that this man’s death means something personal to everyone of us on this plane, and to our companions in the struggle for a world rid of Bio-Weapons.

I’m caught in a flurry of activity. Chris and I attend services for fallen members of the B.S.A.A during this mission, bid farewell to Sheva and Josh, then return to the United States and give our mission reports to headquarters.

I request Rebecca administer my medical examinations. I want a familiar face, and someone who’s been on both sides, researching and fighting B.O.W.’s. I feel somewhat nauseous and my appetite is low, my chest wounds are still healing, but other than that, I feel alright, and Rebecca writes me down as okay.

“It’s so good to have you back, Jill.”

“Thank you. It’s good to be back.”

Rebecca hesitates before speaking again. “Be gentle with Chris, okay? He took your disappearance really hard.” Before we can talk further, I hear Barry’s booming voice.

“I heard that Jill Valentine could be found here? But all I see is this beautiful blonde woman?!”

“I think it was a side effect of the injections. Your hair should return to it’s normal color, Jill,” adds Rebecca, suppressing a smile.

“Hi, Barry,” I reply.

“Ma’am, I don’t believe we’ve met before. Could you tell me where to find Jill Valentine? I have a beautiful bouquet of flowers here, courtesy of me and the missus.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“Alright, enough with the funny business,” says Barry, as he embraces me. “You earned ‘em. Wesker’s finally bit the dust. Or, a rocket launcher, as I heard it? Good riddance.”

Barry and I walk around the halls. “Your death hit Chris like a ton of bricks. You know that, right?”

“Rebecca was telling me that when you walked in.”

“Did she? Well, I’ll take it a step further. Jill, you’re a good woman, Chris is a good man. I know you’ve been through hell, but the one thing I know for sure is that you can never have too much love in this world. And blondes are supposed to have more fun, so this is your best chance.”

“Barry!”

“I’m saying it! Somebody’s gotta say it!”

I’m flustered. “At least you didn’t say ‘Gentleman prefer blondes,’” I try to joke, but it falls flat.

“I know it’s private business. All I’m saying is, I’d support you.”

I nod, try to smile, but find I can’t say anything more.

“Just think about it,” says Barry gently, patting my shoulder.

I go home to my mother’s. My parents split some time ago, but they are both staying with me now. At first, because there was so much to do, it felt like I had never left, but after the hustle and bustle died down, I feel how tired I am. How little noises scare me more than they should, how tense I am, even just standing in the kitchen cooking a meal.

I enjoy the simple things in life. Eating when I want to eat, walking where I want to walk, as my parents each tend to me in their own way. My mother has a fierce sense of honor and loyalty. When I am with her, I feel her guarding me, protecting me, as she has me participate in her daily routines: walking in the park, shopping, cleaning.

When I told her I wanted to join the military, she had no questions for me, but my father was dumbfounded. “Why? To make a difference? There are many ways to make a difference. You can make a difference by making someone smile, making someone laugh. Is it the activity? You could continue your athletics, be a hero that way. Why the military?”

My father is a man who loves life. Incredibly gregarious, but also someone who lives by his own set of rules, as evidenced by his skill at lock-picking, which he – to my mother’s dismay – passed on to me.

Their sheer differentness as a child confused me. I think that’s why I loved the King Arthur stories so much. The rules of Knighthood remind me of my mother, and the rowdiness and rambunctiousness of the characters remind me of my father. My mother, with her silent reminders that I still have my honor, my pride intact, that no one and nothing can take that away from me, and my father, showing me by example that there is joy and beauty in life. I am their only child, and I am so grateful they have come together for me in my hour of need. I love them dearly.

While with my parents, Barry contacts me asking if I will join him and his family at a beach house the B.S.A.A. owns.

“Sounds fun! I say go for it. Besides, the least your work can do for you is give you a free vacation,” says my father.

“I agree. Sometimes a change in place gives a change in perspective,” adds my mother.

“We’ll be here, if you need us.”

It’s been a long time since I’ve sat alongside the ocean. I let Barry know I will be there.

It turns out to be great fun. It almost feels normal. We have campfires, play frisbee, go for walks. I am grateful to Barry for including me in his precious family time.

The night before Barry and his family will be departing, Rebecca and Chris show up unannounced carrying food and drink.

“Well, well, well... Ya leave the door open and who knows who’s gonna show up!”

“I’ve got your favorite beer, Barry,” Chris says flatly.

“We brought fixings for sandwiches too!” adds Rebecca.

It’s a lovely conclusion to a lovely trip. And there’s a soothing feeling, the four of us together. A sense of closure. We ran through the Spencer Mansion together, we got out together, and now we’re here together, while Wesker is gone from this world.

The next morning, Barry and his family pack.

“You know we’re heading out, but Jill, you’re still on leave. You should stay, enjoy the place. And Chris, when’s the last time you took a vacation?”

I can’t help it. I stare at Barry, because I can’t believe he’s doing this. He smiles casually in return.

“That’s a great idea! Chris, you could definitely use a vacation!” adds Rebecca, and Barry smiles at her.

“What about you?” Chris asks evasively.

“I actually use my time off. I wanted to come out here for the night, but I do need to be heading back.”

“Well, that settles it. You all set, Rebecca? You can ride with us,” Barry concludes.

“Yep, that’s that!” Rebecca smiles at us.

Chris and I wave them off as they drive away, and I am so embarrassed. I imagined many scenarios like this.

“Well, this gives us a chance to catch up. We didn’t get to with everything that happened,” he says.

I smile, and at least that’s easy. We have lunch and I ask him basic questions: “How’s Claire... Have you talked to Sheva... How is work….”

And I wonder... should I just say it? Is this really the same as Sir Lancelot? Neither of us are married, but when I was trapped within myself and thought of Chris, I had no actual plan to confess to him. I focused on getting through one day at a time.

The whole situation feels so awkward, but I feel human because of it. It’s a reminder that there is more to life than just surviving.

Our days have some pattern to them. We eat meals together. He makes us pancakes in the morning, with the explanation: “I cooked pancakes for Claire and I. It was one of her favorites.” He purchases ice cream cones for us on the beach.

We sit: I under the shade of an umbrella – sometimes reading, sometimes just sitting – he coming and going from the water. Chris gets a lot of attention. I’ve rarely been with him outside of work, so I haven’t seen this before.

I swam earlier with Barry’s girls, but the first time I went in after they left, I was anxious, and that night I dreamed of being suspended in the stasis pod, neither asleep nor awake, floating in solution.

It’s as if before, the light I had being with my family, then with Barry and his, kept these... memories?... Kept this at bay, and with them gone, they are coming back to me.

With a sad smile to myself, I admit this is not following any of the scenarios I imagined for us. I nearly dislocated Chris’ shoulder, among other injuries, while he was trying to save me. I know it was not me, and I know he does too, but when you are fighting or having someone fight you, deep impressions are left, deeper than the airiness of rational thought, leaving behind the wordless knowledge of danger: This person hurt me.

Chris comes back in from the water and sits down on a towel next to me.

“Is it the wound, why you don’t swim?” He doesn’t look at me as he asks, instead looking out over the water.

I shouldn’t be surprised by this, but I am. I brought a swim suit that covers my chest that I wore earlier in the trip. There is some discomfort during the healing process but I cannot honestly say that is why I won’t go in.

I want to answer with something, but before I do, Chris speaks again.

“Was there anything you left out of your report? About you and Wesker?”

I involuntarily pull back, as I realize what Chris is really asking, and there is a look on his face that I’ve never seen, despite all the horrors we’ve witnessed. It is icy cold, and it scares me.

I had fears about that. Would Wesker seek retribution, to humiliate me, in that state where I could not resist, but he did not. In a way I am grateful, because I know he could have, but it seems a repulsive thing to give thanks for.

Actually, this is easier to answer than Chris’ first question.

“No.”

He lets it sit a moment before replying. “No?”

“No,” I repeat.

He nods. “Alright.”

Then we are quiet. Chris sits, but he doesn’t read. He just looks out over the water.

We are sitting on the beach again. I brought my copy of King Arthur this trip, and when Chris returns from swimming, he asks what I’m reading.

Today, it’s the story of Tristram and Iseult. Through a series of unfortunate events, they accidentally drink a love potion meant for Tristram’s beloved uncle King Mark and Isault, who are set to be married. Iseult does marry King Mark, but she ends up hating him, wanting only to be with Tristram. When King Mark discovers their trysts, he banishes his nephew, who wanders the land as a minstrel, yet he never stops loving Iseult, and she him.

“Maybe Iseult should have married Tristram from the start,” Chris says at the end of the story.

“They thought they were doing the honorable thing,” I explain.

“Maybe,” he replies. Then he looks at me, and the world goes silent and he is all that I am aware of. He leans forward, and I, without even realizing what I’m doing, lean forward to match him. We kiss and it’s nothing like what I imagined it to be. There are no fireworks, no giddiness. Instead, it feels like the opening of a chasm, a deep well, with no bottom in sight.

Chris pulls away, and I’m disoriented both from that and the kiss itself. In my shock and surprise, I grasp for something to say.

“Did Barry give you a pep talk about this too?”

Chris smiles, and I’m glad to see it. “No. But Rebecca encouraged me. It was her idea for us to come here. I wasn’t expecting her to ditch me the next day.”

I smile, but it’s a sad smile. I feel overwhelmed by seemingly everything: Chris’ presence next to me, the lingering sensation of his lips on mine, the people around us, the roar of the ocean, the brightness of the sun, my memories of the dark. I am not prepared for the ramifications of this. I feel my face fall, and suddenly I wish I were back home with my parents, back where I was safe, because I don’t know what to do.

“You need some time?” he asks.

I nod.

“Go back to the house. I’ll stay out here awhile.”

I nod again, pick up my things, trudge across the sand back to the house. I go up to my bedroom, draw the blinds, and lay down. Take some breaths. I pick up my King Arthur book, childishly wishing that it could give me the answers I seek. When it does not, I call home, and hearing my mother’s voice reassures me the world is still turning and I am okay.

I hear Chris come inside, the sound of the shower water running. I come out of my room rested, and start preparing dinner for us. I give him a smile when he comes in, but the feeling of quicksand, of being pulled downward is still present – in fact stronger than before.

We make small talk through dinner, then I suggest a walk on the beach. It’s dark out now, only the moon and stars, and I am reminded of that night hurtling toward earth. I look to the man I saved by doing so, the man who walked out of the Spencer Estate alone, who canvassed looking for me, hoping beyond hope that he would find me alive, and not my just my body, only to find nothing at all. I know how terrified, how heart-sick I would have been, if the roles were reversed, and I realize even though Chris appears calm he is most likely just as scared as I am.

“I never regretted my choice, to save you that night,” I say to him, and it’s the truth. In hindsight I see it was the only way. Wesker would have killed us both, and even if Chris had the chance to dive instead, he would not have survived the fall.

Chris doesn’t say anything, so I continue.

“My… feelings for you, I worried they were inappropriate. That it sullied our relationship, everything we had gone through together. But, those feelings gave me the strength to keep going. There were so many times I wanted to give up.

“So, if you feel the same, I want to try.”

Chris steps forward, embraces me, and says quietly, “I would like that.” We continue our walk, each of us lost in our own thoughts, tethered only by our clasped hands.

The next evening we are sitting by the beach house’s private pool. I have my swimsuit on and I’d like to work through this fear of mine. The pool is an easier place to start than the ocean, and I am waist deep at the moment, wading in. Chris is sitting alongside with his legs hanging in the water. Since I never did answer Chris’ question about why I avoid the water, I say to him, “I’ve been having… flashbacks. To being in the stasis pod. Being in the water reminds me.”

His face darkens. “I see... How do you feel now?”

I feel odd. I am standing here, and I know I am fine, but I want to get out. The water does not have a soothing or gentle presence. Instead, I feel held in place.

“Not so good, I’m afraid,” I say with a slight smile.

“What if you swam out to me?” he asks, as he pushes himself off the ledge, drops into the water, then swims to the center of the pool. My eyes widen, and I look down for a moment, embarrassed. I wish this wasn’t so hard.

He speaks again, more softly this time, but no less seriously. “Don’t you trust your partner?”

It’s always difficult, having your words come back to haunt you. This situation is so fragile to me, so much more elusive than when I said those words to him. I note the red light of the setting sun reflecting off Chris’ hair, the way it tints the surface of the water red as well. The contrast sharpens Chris’ blue eyes as he treads water, waiting for my response.

I can see the sky’s reflection on the surface of the pool, and it reminds me of Chris and myself, two different realities merged. Chris has been my partner and comrade for many years now, and certainly the trust that allows me to make my way towards him is based on that, but there is a new reality – he’s asking this as a romantic partner – my romantic partner – and it is as though there are two different screens overlapped. One I recognize, one I don’t, but they are together now, forming a completely new image.

I am in over my head now, but I keep going until I reach him, and once I do I wrap my arms around his shoulders. Touching Chris in the past always came easily to me – embracing him, holding his arm – but in the moment, all I can remember was the last time we were this close, when we fought while I was under Wesker’s control, and I am filled with sadness – remembering my fingers pressing into his throat, kicking him full force in chest – and I am once again filled with the need to atone, to apologize.

“I hurt you. I’m so sorry,” I say, as I place one hand along the side of his neck.

Chris sighs, then wraps one arm around my waist, kicking slowly with his legs to keep us stable. “I forgive you.”

Clouds move in, covering the already dimming light, and the memory of stasis comes back with full force, not only because of the water and the dark, but because I am with the man I dreamed about all those miserable days and nights, yet I feel removed. Here, but not here.

“How is it? Being in the water?”

When I do not answer, Chris starts swimming us towards the shallow end, where I touch my feet down. I want to get out of the water, but I don’t want to give up my hold on him, so I lead him out of the water with me.

“That was too much, wasn’t it. So much for trusting your partner,” he says, as we are drying off.

“No!” I surprise myself with my intensity, but there is so much sadness in his voice. He jerks towards me and I step in front of him, surprising myself once again, and reach up to hold his face.

“No,” I say again, shaking my head, running my fingers along his temples, as I’ve wanted to do so many times. Chris leans down, resting his forehead against mine, and I stand up on my toes to kiss him, before pulling away to say, “It was so kind of you. Thank you.”

He nods, then pulls away. “Let’s head in.”

In the lightness of his reciprocity to the kiss, and the tenseness with which he now holds himself, I realize I have failed in assuring him his efforts were very much appreciated. He doesn’t trust himself in his actions toward me, but more devastatingly, I also sense he doesn’t believe what I’m telling him. He also doesn’t trust me.

I sleep in the next morning. Tomorrow is a new day, as my father likes to say. As I walk to the kitchen I hear Chris talking on the phone.

“Yeah, I’m still at the beach house. What are you doin’?” He sounds happy, so different than last night, as we said our goodnights to each other, and for a moment, I want to stay right here just to listen to him, but instead I walk in.

He’s at the stove, making – of course, pancakes – as I wave to him, and get a glass from the cabinet.

“Hold on, Claire. Morning, Jill. These will be ready soon.”

I hear Claire on the other end. “Jill’s there? Can I say hello?”

Chris looks to me, I nod, and he hands the phone to me.

“Hello, Claire.”

“Hi, Jill! So, Chris is making you the famous Redfield pancakes? I actually think I do a better job, but this way you can get his best, since Chris can’t concentrate if he’s talking to someone.”

“Yes, I can,” counters Chris.

“Hey, I’m talking to Jill! Stop listening in, you’ll burn ‘em!”

Chris sighs and waves us off, and I head out onto the patio. I saw Claire briefly at the B.S.A.A. Headquarters, but I have to admit I feel more pressure talking with her now that Chris and I are seeing each other, however tenuous that feels right now. Everyone knows how close they are. Fortunately, Claire is easy to talk to.

“How’s it going in paradise? Chris hasn’t made some insane goal of swimming five miles a day has he? I’ll ask him, when you put him back on.”

We talk for a few minutes, and her cheer and humor do my heart good. Just as I’m about to go back inside, Claire says, “Jill, be good to yourself, you hear? I know you want to get right back in the saddle, but some things take time, you know? You and Chris have that in common – you both work so hard, you forget you need to rest! So, put Chris back on, and I’ll tell him too!”

“Thank you, Claire. It was good talking with you.”

“You too!”

I head inside and hand the phone to Chris with a smile on my face.

Chris is just finishing up.

“What? No, I only swim three miles a day, run, lift some weights.” Then he laughs, and it’s a beautiful thing. “Claire, I’m joking. Look, the pancakes are done. I’ll talk to you later, okay?… Love you, too. Bye.”

He hangs up the phone with a smile on his face too, and we sit down to eat.

We spend another idyllic day on the beach. Going into the evening hours, Chris takes a business call, and I finish reading my King Arthur book, then sit alongside the pool to contemplate it.

King Arthur was terribly injured, at death’s door, and to save his life he was taken away to the mystical realm of Avalon, attended by his half-sister Morgana, who for so long had been his enemy. He was then put into a deep sleep, to awaken only when he was needed most.

I see parallels for myself. I too was at death’s door, only to be saved by an enemy, Wesker. I was put in stasis, and when I truly came back to myself, I was able to assist in stopping his plans.

I watch the water’s surface rippling in the light breeze, and I decide to try again. I walk down the steps of the pool, and float on my back. The water still evokes being trapped, suspended, but I also acknowledge that same suspension sustained me while I was near death, allowing me to heal. And as I float here now, my mobility is lessened, but when I relax, I feel the water supporting me, holding me up.

I look up into the sky, and see the first twinkling of the stars. The stars still remind me of my crash to the rocks below, but just as they witnessed that descent, they also witness this moment of reflection.

“Jill.” I was so lost in my thoughts I did not hear Chris open the patio door or walk to pool’s edge. He’s giving me space, but I hear the concern in his voice.

“I’m alright, Chris.” And, staggeringly, I realize I am. I’m not at my best, but I’m okay, and I smile to myself. My beloved King Arthur stories did give me answers I sought.

I am lounging on an inner tube, having ventured out into the ocean today, looking up at the clear blue sky. I’ve been thinking of Claire’s words, and she was correct. Chris and I always kept going, kept busy. For me, it was my way of managing the horror I had seen. It gave my life purpose, as it did for many of my colleagues, as so many of us were dragged into this nightmare, trying to fight our way out.

Contrast that to this dreamlike setting: the sun in shining, children are playing, and the man I love is resting under an umbrella on the beach behind me. Still, doubt creeps in. That first kiss, everything lined up. It was easy, thoughtless. Ever since, we’ve been missing each other. We’ve switched places from earlier this trip, but we are no closer to each other than we were before and I don’t know what to do.

I hear my father in my head chime in with his oft-quoted, "Fake it till you make it," and I have tried that, but I realize that may in fact be the problem. Chris and I know each other too well. I can’t fool him, and he can’t fool me. We are far past casually getting to know one another, or even putting on our best to impress each other. There is no hiding here.

With this in mind, I make my way back to shore and over to where Chris is sitting. He greets me with a smile. Before, I would just smile back, pretending everything was fine – but really it was more of a wanting – wanting everything to be fine, for us to be a normal couple, at the beach, vacationing together. Not me feeling like a shell of my former self, but presenting myself otherwise, because I thought that would be better. Wanting Chris to see me in the best light possible, even when I feel anything but.

Now, I realize I am not giving him the credit he deserves. This is a man who’s lost his parents, fought the living dead, witnessed horrific mutations, lost comrades and friends to these abominations and still didn’t run away, still kept courage.

I too kept going, kept fighting, kept hoping, against all the odds. And I sit down next to him and look at him, really look at him, and I see my partner. Someone who, despite the struggles, the trials and the danger was there and had my back, and see that that hasn’t changed now.

He’s looking back at me, and there it is again: the world going silent; I recognize him leaning forward, and realize I am already starting to do the same; experience the same sinking feeling as our first kiss when we meet once again. It’s just as overwhelming as it was then, but I recall from last night – the power of water to hold but also support, and that’s what this feels like – the weight of it is immense, pulling us down, but it’s also regenerative, in a way that I cannot express.

I awake early the next morning and I am arguing with myself. I am having the idea of going to Chris’ room, but I’m unsure. We’ve kept our separate bedrooms – actually, we’re sleeping on separate floors. If I wait, I can test the waters, so to speak, get a better gauge of his reaction, because my current idea involves simply getting up and knocking on his door, but I feel strongly now is the opportunity. I could lie, if his reaction seems adverse, that I knocked for some other reason, but I do not want to lie. There’s already been enough confusion.

I sigh. I’ve trusted my instincts many times, but do I trust them now, in this situation? I decide I do, so I get up and make my way down the stairs to stand outside his door. I consider taking a few deep breaths before knocking, but I don’t think it will help, so I rap the door a few times and wait for a response. Chris opens the door promptly, with tousled hair wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt I suspect he just pulled on. He looks surprised, though you would only notice if you knew him well.

“Everything alright?”

Now I wish I had planned this better, had something to say when he opened the door.

“Can I come in?” This could have sounded casual if I didn’t duck my head right after I said it. Chris’ eyes widen, and he goes still.

“Do you mean... what I think you mean?”

I look up and nod, though my face burns red.

He steps out of the doorway, and I walk in. This isn’t Chris’ actual bedroom, but it still feels intimate, like it’s his space. I remember all the dreams I dreamed of him and I together, all we’ve gone through together, how he was always there, the light at the end of the tunnel.

When we kiss, it’s like entering a different world. I have difficulty telling where I end and he begins. The sheets smell like him, and he quickly loses the clothes he just put on, tossed to some corner of the room. I’m so happy have my hands on his back, his shoulders, feeling, knowing he is safe.

His dismay is visceral when he sees the scars on my chest; the memory of him pulling the device off is unpleasant for both of us. I see the guilt, the horror in his eyes. I say to him what he said to me.

“I forgive you.”

He shakes his head, and I know it’s not enough for him. It wasn’t enough for me either, but some things take time, and then we are kissing again, and I forget about that, pulled back into the experience of the two of us together; the warmth of his skin, the beat of his heart, his inhalations and exhalations.

Eventually, Chris pulls away long enough to say, “I… brought protection. It’s in my suitcase. Do you want me to get it?”

I take another moment to look in his eyes, because I just can’t get enough of them, of him. The blue is clear in the bright light of morning, and I know it’s time.

Before we leave the beach house, Chris and I make a conference call to Barry and Rebecca with the news.

“What did I tell you! What did I tell you?! We make a good team, Rebecca.”

“Chambers and Burton Matchmakers, at your service! I’m so happy for you two!”

“So… I do get to be best man at the wedding, don’t I? I mean, I think I earned it. And I give excellent toasts. You haven’t lived till you’ve heard a Barry Burton toast.”

“We just started dating, Barry,” I reply.

“Only technically. And my girls can be your flower girls… I guess they’re old enough to be your bridesmaids, huh? Well, I don’t care. They’ll always be my girls to me. We’ll barbecue, I do a mean barbecue. And Chris, you and Claire can wear your Made in Heaven jackets, for a match made in heaven. Am I right, Rebecca?”

“When you’re right, you’re right, Barry,” she replies.

I am so appreciative for Rebecca and Barry’s enthusiasm and support, and as Barry continues planning out the festivities, I am so grateful that I held out during those dark, lonely nights. Held on to the hope of my friends, my family, my freedom, and the love of my partner, who is laughing and smiling alongside me at Barry’s imaginings in the full light of day.

Finito