Chapter Text
2009, Summer.
Excitement swept over her from head to toe, passing shivers through her entire body as Jill stopped in front of the tall building of the rehabilitation centre, located a few miles outside New York City. The sun illuminated the white building, reflecting the rays from the many windows. When the taxi car had just pulled into the grounds of the large centre, Valentine's first thought was of the mental asylum, and ideas of escape were in her mind before it was too late. At least no one was forcing her to come here and take a year's leave. She herself wanted a cure for the nightmares that had haunted her every night since the events in Africa, and she hoped that this centre would help.
In front of the main entrance was a large flowerbed with brightly-coloured flowers; further away, on the green lawn, unhappy people like herself strolled or played chess. Clutching the handle of her suitcase tighter, Jill braced herself and finally made her way up to the porch. She was greeted at the reception desk by a lovely middle-aged woman, who immediately asked her name and age.
"Jill Valentine, thirty-five years old." Calmly she replied, pursing her lips and glancing around nervously. The lobby of the building was as bright as the facade. The interior was done in a simple and minimalist style: a couple of beige sofas, a coffee table, mirrors and a television. So far Valentine has not noticed anything suspicious. You can relax, it's definitely not an undercover asylum. Filling out the form again, Jill handed it back to the receptionist, who volunteered to escort her to the room where she'd be staying for the next year. At the same time, this short lady in a white coat and inconspicuous rectangular glasses talked about the treatment plan, about the many cleansing procedures and appointments with the psychotherapist, praised their centre up and down. It turned out that there was a swimming pool, tennis court and basketball court in the backyard. The third floor of the centre itself has a large library, the fourth floor has a fitness room, sauna and even an entertainment room with TVs and computers. There was no time limit. The doctors provided a specific schedule for each patient, and while this place Jill could compare it to a very nice hotel, only here you were under the close supervision of specialists. But that wasn't such a bad thing. It was off to a very encouraging start, so the woman's mood improved slightly. She was even able to force out a smile when the receptionist stopped in front of the door number two hundred and five on the first floor.
"Here's the key card." She held out the card. "You can make yourself comfortable and then come down and I'll introduce you to the attending physician and the psychotherapist who will be giving you your sessions."
"Good." Nodded Jill, smiling at the corners of her lips. She hesitantly stepped to the door, opened it and stepped into a narrow corridor with paintings of some landscape in black frames. She walked a little further and saw a large double bed right in the centre of the room, finished in the same light shades of ochre. There was another painting on the wall opposite, in place of a television. Apparently "patients" were not allowed to have too many luxuries in their rooms. There was also no desk, only a cupboard to the left of the bed, and a window to the right overlooking the backyard. At least there was a bathroom with a small shower. Jill took a tired breath, tossed her suitcase and backpack onto the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed. Now she had to somehow get used to the fact that there would be no going out anytime soon, nothing but daily treatments and therapies. God, how can I not go crazy in this mess? It was incomprehensible. Valentine pressed the bridge of her nose with her fingers and whispered to herself:
"You've been out of hell so many times... Can't you face it? It'll be all right."
She forced herself together, got out of bed and headed away from her temporary shelter, away from all her friends and acquaintances. Of course, visits were all agreed to in the contract and nothing was forbidden. It was only a sanatorium, a very expensive sanatorium, which was not easy to get into. But the B.S.A.A. bosses kindly paid for everything, so to speak, for all the services to the nation and the country. So she has to forget all her fears and get the hell out of rehab so that she can go back into action.
Over the past week, Valentine had time to explore all seven floors of the building. The first floor was empty, except for the archive, where all the documents were kept. The second floor was the living quarters, as were the sixth and seventh floors, and the fifth floor was entirely devoted to doctors' offices and treatment rooms. It was possible to move freely in the whole complex. There were a lot more campers than Jill had thought at first, but that didn't bother her so much when she had to go to her first session with the therapist. A slight jitters gripped her just before the white door to the office. Jill tapped her fingers on her file folder, waiting to be called in for her appointment. God, she wasn't used to dumping all her problems on strangers, wasn't used to having a heart-to-heart talk with anyone, and having to do it right now was truly frightening. She tried to convince herself time and again that it was for her own good, that it was for work. An absolute necessity that needed to break herself. Her last name rang out, but Jill let it pass her ears. Her nerves were giving out rather badly and she had to hope it wouldn't get worse in an hour. Valentine finally got up from the couch, walked leisurely into the spacious office, where the doctor's desk was across from the window, the sunlight streaming directly into his back, so she couldn't see him in the contrapuntal view.
"Hello, I'm Jill Valentine." The woman introduced herself, placing a folder on the table in front of a man in a white coat, who was writing something enthusiastically. He silently pointed with the tip of his pen to a cushioned chair opposite the desk, and Jill obediently sat down, now looking more closely at her doctor. He was a man in his forties or fifties, his eyes hidden behind the glass of small glasses, and his hands were already showing signs of advanced age. He finished fiddling with his papers, got up from his chair and closed the blinds so the sunlight wasn't so bright. Jill took a better look at his face, realizing at the same moment that the man was a kind man with a soft smile. The kind they often depicted on posters in hospitals, where they reached out to patients. Valentine grinned at her thoughts, waiting silently for the conversation to begin.
"Well, Miss Valentine, I am Joseph Morgan, your personal psychotherapist." The doctor introduced himself, smiling softly, and Jill nodded in response. "I took up your case almost immediately after you left a questionnaire on our website. Honestly, all the doctors here were very enthusiastic about taking it on because we don't often see cases like this."
"I must be flattered." Jill muttered uncertainly, frowning slightly. "Don't you often work with the military and their post-traumatic syndromes?"
"No. Most soldiers are refused by the state to pay for such expensive rest, and that's a pity." The man grinned and sat back in his chair. "We have all the facilities here to get a man back to his normal routine. Except, the big downside of our rehabilitation centre, I think, is that it's too luxurious. You get used to it pretty quickly, and half of the patients have to be literally kicked out after the treatment period is over."
The woman silently laughed. Perhaps that was unlikely to happen to her. She wasn't going to make any friends here, and she thought she was only here for one purpose, which she was going to accomplish. Before she realized it, Valentine had buried herself in her own thoughts and was practically listening to what Dr. Morgan had to say. The man immediately noticed her aloofness, noting something for himself in the case file, and coughed softly to bring Jill out of her thoughts.
"Miss Valentine, tell me, how often do you feel like you're falling out of reality?" He asked politely, and Valentine immediately felt extremely uncomfortable.
"More and more often lately." The woman admitted. "It's all because of the experience. I can trust you, can't I?"
"Of course. Our conversation is strictly confidential. Tell me everything you think you need to know and then I'll decide which therapy is best for you, okay?" The doctor gave a friendly smile and Jill nodded again in response. Looking at him, it was impossible to say no. He was the kind of man you could easily trust with all your innermost secrets and be assured that he would never tell a living soul anything. It took her a moment to organize her thoughts into coherent sentences and... Valentine had begun her story from the beginning. From the moment she joined the elite S.T.A.R.S. police unit in Raccoon City. Memories, one by one, swept over her in unpleasant waves, sending chills down her spine. A shiver ran through her body, and she herself grew horrified at how horrible this heartfelt confession was coming out. Putting it all together, there seemed to be nothing else going on in her life. There was only this hopeless darkness. It was surprising that it was after the mission to Africa that she needed rehabilitation, not after the incident in Raccoon City or in the Arclay Mountains. Apparently, Jill had held on well, but eventually the dam of horrible memories broke, and now the whole nightmare was pouring out of her in a black waterfall. The doctor listened intently and at times nodded, allowing her to continue. With each word she spoke, the wrinkle between his eyebrows became more pronounced and his expression darker. Jill paid no attention to the change in his mood, quietly continuing to remember everything. Suddenly a doubt crept into her head that today she was unlikely to get to the day she had been reported missing and then dead. There was too much to tell.
The psychiatrist's sessions were making her feel better, but not by much. The nightmares returned, and now Jill woke up every night at about two or three o'clock, jumped up automatically and went to the bathroom to wash her face with cold water. She would stand in front of the mirror for ten or fifteen minutes, gazing into her own reflection, trying to understand how she, so strong and unwavering, had managed to break down? Dr. Morgan had helped to reveal the scars inside that, just by touching them, made her feel more than just uncomfortable. It brought tears to my eyes. And something had to be done about it. Somehow she had to deal with the thoughts in her head and try to bring back the strong woman she had always been. But for now, it seemed utterly impossible for Jill. She washed her face as tears came to her eyes again. God, how vulnerable she had become because of therapy. Ready to literally cry for any reason or no reason at all. Valentine snorted grudgingly, gathered her thoughts and stepped out of the bathroom. The warm rays of sunlight crept through the white curtains, enveloping the entire room in soft light. Jill pulled on a blue tank top and then jeans to go for the 'obligatory' walk, and besides, Rebecca was supposed to be visiting today. In the large backyard, the few people who got up as early as she did were entertaining themselves. Some were already swimming in the pool, some were playing on the court, and some preferred to play a game of chess. Valentine had gone to the farthest part of the patio where the lounge chairs had been placed, with the small tables in between. There was no one there at the moment. The silence and the gentle, warm breeze were a pleasant relief from the oppressive thoughts. The woman put her face in the sun and closed her eyes for a moment. As bad as she felt, the place was still good. Perhaps this was the rest she needed the most. Jill, as if she felt someone else's gaze on her, lazily opened her eyes and saw Rebecca looking for her among the other "vacationers" of the centre. She had to wave her hand to get the brown-haired girl to pay attention to her. Rebecca smiled and hurried to shorten the distance. As she walked, Valentine noticed a small bag of groceries in her hands. How much it looked like her, Jill thought in between, already smiling at her.
"Hello, Jill." The girl said hello, hugging an old acquaintance and then taking a seat on the lounger next to her. "So, how are you?" The bag was on the table and Valentine peered inside curiously. She had brought some fruit, juice and something else, apparently as a gift.
"Sucks." Jill admitted honestly with a nervous chuckle.
"Why?"
"Well, I go to all these treatments and, on top of that, I have sessions with a therapist." Coughing softly into her fist, she said and stared at the swimmers in the pool. "The therapist is good. He helped me make sense of a lot of things, and it turns out..." Jill pursed her lips, as if she was ashamed to admit it. "...that I have a lot of problems in my head."
Rebecca smiled sympathetically and squeezed her palm in hers for support.
"But I'm hoping to make a quick recovery. The bosses have gone out of their way to pay for me to stay here for a year. I think I'll get out early, even though it's practically paradise." Jill snorted and shifted her gaze to her friend.
"Okay. What's all this about me? Better tell me, how are you? What's new with the campaign? No news from Chris?"
"I thought he'd call you at least occasionally." Frowning, Rebecca said. "What a dumb-ass idiot. Probably taking on a bunch of work now so he doesn't have to remind you of his existence unnecessarily. He always does that when someone close to him is hurt. It's his way of trying to 'atone'." She snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "In particularly severe cases it comes down to drinking and... God, I hope he hasn't started drinking because of you."
Jill shook her shoulder vaguely, saying anything was possible. Sure, she knew Chris well, but what had happened in Africa, what she had done, had not only ruined her reputation, but partly devalued their long-standing friendship. Redfield had lost all confidence in her, thinking that she would go berserk and attack him at any moment. And it wasn't Chris's fault. It was only her fault. Jill frowned, as did Rebecca, once again thinking too hard and letting half the words pass her lips. But I guess Becca kept scolding her obnoxious work colleague.
"You know, Jill, I won't be able to visit you often, but I'll try really hard." Becca began in an apologetic tone, smiling sadly. Jill nodded understandingly in response. "But you know, Claire wouldn't mind very much. I know you and her didn't get on very well, but she was always interested in you. I, I think she could certainly find some time. I'll ask her about it first, of course." The girl smiled awkwardly. "It's just... I wouldn't want you to have only doctors to keep you company. Otherwise you could really go crazy that way, and Chris, rest assured, I'll tell him off."
"Thank you, Rebecca." Valentine grinned, leaning back on the chaise lounge. "I appreciate your concern, but I don't think Claire will make my situation any easier. It's been a long time since I've seen her and Chris hasn't told me much about her. I'm not sure she'd want to mess around with me."
"Well, don't be too quick to say no." She laughed sincerely, feeling her friend relax a little in her presence after all. "Claire is wonderful. Honestly, I'm surprised you two aren't close. I feel like you have a lot in common. Besides, she's been asking about you for a long time."
"Really?"
"True, true." Becca nodded, resting her elbows on her knees. "That was before Africa. Chris didn't tell you? I can't say for sure, of course, but I think she's always admired you. And as far as I know, she still has no one."
"Rebecca, are you serious?" Jill snorted and looked curiously at Becca, who shrugged her shoulders in response. "I'm definitely not in the mood for a relationship right now, much less with Chris's little sister! My partner's! I can't take her any other way and..."
"I get it, Jill." Rebecca interrupted her. "I was just suggesting, I'm not telling you to have a relationship with her. She's a good person, very caring and sensitive. Anyway, I think she can distract you and diversify your grey days." She said, staring into the distance again.
"I appreciate your help and support, Becca. But I'm afraid getting close to someone isn't going to help me get rid of my nightmares."
"I'll text her anyway." As if letting her words pass her lips, Rebecca declared and rose from the sun lounger. Jill rolled her eyes irritably, but couldn't contain her smile.
"And don't think about Chris. I understand that you're hurt by him, but he's always been like that, wouldn't you know it. And if Chris keeps being brutally stupid, he's going to lose his most valuable friend." The girl brooded.
"I'll try."
Rebecca smiled broadly at her, gave her another hug and said goodbye. Valentine glanced at her friend, seriously pondering her words. In part Rebecca was right that she had missed being with her friends. No one but Chris and Becky were probably going to visit Jill in that halfway house, even though it wasn't that far from New York. It was as if no one wanted her but them. It even felt like a shame. Jill hugged her shoulders, glanced at the clock on the building, and sighed, realizing that it wouldn't be long before she had to go to another therapy session and then get her pills. It was like being in a mental hospital. Suddenly the idea of seeing Claire took on a new colour. Maybe if she had a new friend who could spend a little more than her allotted twenty minutes with her (or less?), she would definitely feel better. Talking and seeing Rebecca was making her feel better. She was becoming herself again, and even managed to joke around until Chambers disappeared outside the building. And then everything was back to normal again and again: nightmares, tears, memories, and a terrible feeling of guilt, emptiness, and loneliness. I wanted to scream for help, but it was unlikely that anyone would respond to the cry for help. If Redfield Senior didn't bother to show up next week, she'd end up disappointed not only in herself, but in him as well. Christ, does he really not care that much? Can't he face the truth and pull himself together? Was it that hard to do? Jill gave another disgruntled snort. As soon as the big hand on the clock stopped at six and the little hand at eleven, Jill put all her thinking aside, got up from the chaise longue and strode back into the building. Need to get something to eat and go to therapy.