Chapter Text
It was seven AM in Raccoon City, and the rain battered down hard against the window of Jill Valentine’s studio apartment. The apartment could be charitably described as cozy, or uncharitably as a shoebox, depending on how the observer felt. The tiny hallway next to the front door opened directly onto the main room, which was divided neatly in half between bedroom and kitchen by some of the kitchen counters, a half wall hanging from the ceiling, and a set of shutters which could be pulled across between the two. The bedroom contained a queen bed, a desk, and two nightstands with just enough room to walk around, leaving the kitchen as the only place for a card table and two folding chairs. One sliding door on the shared wall between kitchen and bedroom currently stood pulled open, revealing a cupboard, while a second door in the kitchen opened directly onto the bathroom. Jill stood in the middle of it all, dressed in her nicest black trousers and a long sleeved navy blue shirt.
She shifted the cordless phone to rest on her shoulder, using her head to hold it in place as she bent over to dig through the first of the yet to be unpacked cardboard boxes in search of her raincoat. “I told you, I just needed a fresh start, somewhere that I can settle down, be part of a team. The work I was doing with Delta Force was incredible, but I just, it didn’t feel right to stay.”
Understatement of the century perhaps, but she’d never known how to open up to her dad about all the ways Delta Force was less than amazing. The hazings that had gone on longer and been more intense than those faced by her male colleagues, the assumptions that she was in over her head and needed everything explained and demonstrated and assisted with in training, the way guys who had her back on the field no question turned and shut her out as soon as they were off duty, the offers of friendship rescinded as soon as the men making them realized she wasn’t interested in sleeping with them. And then her father’s federal court case was on TV and suddenly it was all of those and fingers pointing at her whenever things went missing, locks on every drawer and cabinet that’d previously been unsecured, conversations that ended as soon as she approached. She wasn’t a quitter, in fact she’d frequently been called too stubborn for her own good, but even she wasn’t masochistic enough to be the outsider forever.
Her father sighed in response, remorseful enough that she wondered how much he’d guessed. “You’re a smart kid Jill. If you think this is the right move, who am I to argue?”
“Thanks dad. That means a lot.” And it did. Dick Valentine might be a notorious crook, but he had always been a loving father who had tried to keep her on the straight and narrow. She wasn’t going to give up on Raccoon City if he thought she was making a mistake coming here, but his acquiescence made her feel far more confident.
“So, tell me about the job,” he prompted, tone warm in the way he always defaulted back to in conversation with her, ever since she was a little girl.
“It’s a new unit,” she told him, finally finding the raincoat at the bottom of a box and pulling it on. “Special Tactics and Rescue Service - S.T.A.R.S. Apparently Raccoon City has recently turned into such a metropolis that the regular cops can’t keep up with the crime waves anymore. They’ve been doing a big recruitment drive, and I was lucky enough to get accepted into the last batch of tryouts.
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” her father replied as she sat on the bed and began tugging on her boots. “If the others they’re considering are anything like the washouts around here, they’ll hand you the job as soon as you walk in the door.”
She snorted. “So max sec prisons are guarded by ‘washouts’ now?”
Her father might be miles away, but in her mind she saw the way he shrugged in response. “They can barely keep one doddering old man who was thinking of retiring anyway locked up. No competition for you at all and that Captain, what was his name again, will be a fool if he doesn’t see it.”
“Albert Wesker. I don’t know much about him, but apparently he’s some kind of big shot around here. I just hope I can impress him,” she admitted.
The joking dropped from her father’s voice. “Jill. You are a talented, dedicated woman, who would be an asset on any team. I’m not just saying that because I’m your father, I’m saying it because it’s true. You’ve achieved more than most people twice your age; if you don’t impress him it’ll be because he’s incapable of being impressed. So you head out there, and you call me again once you’ve got the job, alright?”
“Alright dad.” Her father’s faith in her never failed to make her feel better, but she delayed a moment longer. “Poker night there, isn’t it?”
“Yup,” her dad replied, popping the p. “I’m about to take those two-bit crooks for everything they’re worth.” She could imagine the ‘dad-glare’ he was giving her as she distracted herself with the thought of how entertaining it would be to watch a poker game where every participant was a convicted thief and known card-cheat. “And you’re procrastinating. Get out there and knock ‘em dead. Love you, Jill.”
“I love you too,” she replied, finally hanging up the phone. Just a job interview. She had this.
Albert Wesker didn’t appear to be impressed, although it was hard to tell with his dark sunglasses hiding his face.
It had started poorly. The closest park Jill could find to the RPD was about a block down the street, leaving her near completely drenched by the time she made it inside the foyer. Apparently the station was a re-purposed art museum, and it certainly looked the part with it’s high ceilings and beautiful architecture. Jill, about twenty minutes early for her interview, stood dripping just inside the front door and slowly looked around herself to admire it all.
It was a cavernous space, the ceiling arched high above her head with what appeared to be two additional floors above her, if she was looking correctly at the balcony walkways lining the walls behind and to either side of her. At the far end of the room were a set of massive floor to ceiling windows, which she imagined the sunlight would stream through beautifully on a nicer day. As it was, the lights dotted around on the walls struggled to hold back the gloom, leaving massive shadows cast throughout the area. The area of brightest illumination, which Jill found her gaze drawn to, was the massive marble statue of a flag holding woman, standing on a large and ornate podium and flanked by staircases to the second floor.
Jill approached the solid looking reception desk, leaving a trail of damp footprints across the RPD emblem embossed onto the marble floor. The uniformed officer standing behind the desk looked up from the stack of forms he was filling in and smiled as she approached.
“How can I help you?” he asked. He was a friendly looking man around her age and height, with blindingly white teeth and a shock of ginger hair that he appeared to have unsuccessfully tried to comb down with his fingers at some point. The nametag pinned to his neatly pressed shirt had ‘Mark’ carefully printed on it.
She smiled politely back, trying to ignore the water dropping from her hair to her neck, and hoping she looked more professional than she felt. “I’m Jill. Valentine. I’ve got an interview at eight fifteen, do you know where I should go?”
“Oh sure!” Mark pointed to the door that had been to her immediate right when she first entered. “Just head through there, take a right down the hall, then the first door to your left is the conference room, that’s where they’ve got everyone meeting.” His eyebrows drew down in a frown as he shuffled through some of the papers on the desk. “But you might be waiting a while, looks like Marvin scheduled it for nine. Heck, I don’t even think he’s in yet.”
“Marvin?” she asked. “Sorry, who’s Marvin? The email said I’m supposed to be meeting Albert Wesker.”
Mark looked her up and down, eyes wide. “Wow, you’re here for S.T.A.R.S? That’s pretty intense stuff!” The smile dropped from his face as he flushed red as his hair. “Not that you can’t handle it, I mean you wouldn’t be here if you couldn’t, I just wouldn’t be able to, but that obviously doesn’t have anything to do with whether or not you can, I just. Assumed. Sorry.”
Jill opted to put him out of his misery quickly. “Hey, it’s fine, really. I would’ve thought the same thing in your position. But if you could just tell me where to go, that’d be great.”
The smile tentatively crept back onto Mark’s face, as he nodded rapidly. “Yeah, yeah, can do. Just go up the staircase back there,” he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, “take the big door on the left, and go all the way around the hallway. Door’s clearly marked, you can’t miss it.” He reached down behind the desk and pulled out a lanyard attached to a card with ‘VISITOR’ on it in block capitals that he then slid across to her. “You’ll need this.”
She picked it up and put it on around her neck. “Thanks Mark. I’ll see you around.”
“Seeya,” Mark replied. He picked his pen back up as she walked away, and turned back to the stack of paper. Still she’d only just made it up the ramp on the left side of the desk when she heard him call out. “Hey Jill?”
She leaned over the railing. “Yeah?”
“Just. Don’t let them push you around ok?”
Before she could ask him to elaborate on that, the phone on the desk began ringing. Mark shot her an apologetic look, then hurried to scoop it up. “RPD, Mark speaking. How can I help?”
She considered waiting around for his phone conversation, but she really wanted to set a good impression by being early, and so she proceeded through the building. Despite the miserable weather she passed a good few RPD personnel - a middle aged man carrying files down the stairs, a collection of officers sipping sodas and conversing by the men’s locker room door, and an older woman leaned against a vending machine reading the newspaper. Jill exchanged smiles with each as she passed, glad that the atmosphere of the RPD in general seemed welcoming.
Mark’s directions were solid, and she soon reached a wooden door with S.T.A.R.S clearly written on a sign above. She patted herself down, finger combed her hair, and tried to wipe the water off on her trousers. Then she took a deep breath and reached out to turn the handle and push the door open.
The office was a good sized room. The corner to the left of the door had been walled off into a second smaller office, door clearly labeled ‘Albert Wesker’. Said door was firmly closed, and although the walls were lined with windows all of the blinds were down, making it impossible to tell if anyone else was inside. Across from her were two sets of four desks each, both set into squares of two pairs of back to back desks. Each desk had a computer monitor sat on top; one square of desks were empty aside from the monitors, while the other set appeared to have personal belongings already scattered across them. To the left of the desks was what appeared to be an armory, and to the right were several banks of electronic equipment, some looking to be a radio setup, and the rest unidentifiable to her.
Seated at the empty set of desks were three burly middle aged men in RPD uniform. As one they looked up at the sound of the door opening, eyes fixed on her as she walked in. One, dark haired and grey eyed with a nose that looked to have been broken and then set badly at some point in the past, spoke up.
“Hey sweetheart, you look lost. If you head back to the main room, Mark at the front desk’ll help you find the regular RPD tryouts.”
Jill jutted her chin out and stared at him defiantly. “I’m not here for the regular RPD tryouts, I’m here to interview for S.T.A.R.S.”
He exchanged a look with the other men, then raised an eyebrow back at her. “You sure? No offence love, but you look a little young to be here. Might be better off heading down there, come back in twenty years. No one here’ll think less of you for it.”
“I’m sure,” she replied, fighting the urge to glare at him. Instead she crossed the room to the banks of electronic equipment, then pulled out a chair, removed her raincoat and draped it over the back, and sat down pointedly, folding her hands in her lap.
The men stared at her a moment longer, then the leader snorted, another shrugged, and they turned back to their conversation.
The next ten minutes passed awkwardly. The men continued to chat quietly amongst themselves, shooting the occasional glance across at her. Jill sat alone, wishing she’d thought to bring a book, or a towel for that matter, and trying not to look at the clock too much. At eight ten the main door was flung open, slamming against the wall, and a young man dashed in, skidding to a halt.
He was tall and broad shouldered, good looking in a generic ‘All American Guy’ way. His hair was short and dark, and he was dressed in a green polo shirt and dark brown trousers. He also looked almost frantic, although his expression relaxed into shamefacedness once he looked at the clock, then back to the door he had thrown open. “Sorry,” he called to the room at large, closing the door far more carefully.
The trio stared at him nearly as skeptically as they had looked at her, although Jill didn’t miss the lack of comments coming from them, despite the fact that he didn’t appear to be much older than she was. He locked eyes with them for a moment, looking as though he wanted to say something, then spotted her and hurried over. As he reached her he yanked a chair out, sat, then offered her his hand. “Hi. I’m Chris.”
She shook it, pleased that he didn’t try to intimidate her by squeezing down. “Jill. You’re here for S.T.A.R.S too?”
He nodded. “Yup, I’m just glad I’m not late. I need this job, you know?”
“Yeah, me too. I just moved here, and finding work has been tougher than I thought.”
“You can say that again. I really hoped an air force discharge would open a few more doors than it has been,” he replied ruefully.
He’d was ex air force? He seemed like the kind of guy who could take a joke, so she decided to try it.
“You know, I heard S.T.A.R.S is a field team. I’m not sure if they’ll have work for a former chair force guy.”
Chris paused and narrowed his eyes at her, just long enough for her to wonder if she’d gone too far too soon. Then he adjusted into a expression of mock pain, his hand coming up to splay across his heart as he leaned back in his chair. “Jill!” His tone dripped with fake shock. “Here I was thinking I was going to get to work with nice people, and then you wound me like that?” He dropped the act and grinned at her. “You’re ex-mil too? That’s awesome! Navy?”
“Army actually,” she corrected. “Joined right out of high school, then decided it was time for a change of pace.”
“I know what you mean. Loved the work, but I’ve got a kid sister at home, and I was sick of leaving her alone for weeks on end. Could’ve brought her on base with me, but this is her home, I didn’t want to disrupt things for her like that. And it’s my home too, so I figured it was about time I came back, maybe did some good here.”
“Your parents?” she asked, realizing as she did that it was likely a sensitive topic.
Luckily he didn’t appear offended. “There was a car accident a couple years back,” he said nonchalantly. “I’ve been taking care of Claire since.”
“I’m so sorry,” she replied, wondering if he would appreciate it if she reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.
Chris shrugged. “It is what it is. I’ve learned to live with it.”
That was when the door to Albert Wesker’s private office opened, and two men walked out. Both were tall, around Chris’ height, and both appeared to be in their early-mid thirties, but there the similarities ended. The first was a burly brown haired man with a neatly trimmed beard and mustache and approachable expression. He was dressed in an orange shirt and camo pants, and had a revolver holstered at his side. The second man was maybe an inch shorter, and had a slimmer, although still muscular, frame. His hair was blond and slicked back, and he was clean-shaven, revealing most of a classically handsome face. His eyes, however, were hidden by a pair of black sunglasses that left Jill wondering how he could even see. He was also carrying a clipboard, which he read off in a clear, clipped tone.
“Cooper, Alan?”
The man who had addressed Jill earlier lazily raised his hand at that. The blond man nodded in response, drew his pen across the page, and continued down the list. “Miller, Keith?” produced a raised hand and call of “Here,” from one of the remaining men, and “Phillips, Johnathan?” got the same response from the other. “Redfield, Christopher?” had Chris’ hand shooting up along with an enthusiastic call of “That’s me!” Then finally, “Valentine, Jill?”
Three years of military training had drilled the response into her. Her hand shot up in a salute and she called out “Here, Sir!” before she realized what she was doing. The trio snickered. Chris and the man with the revolver both smiled sympathetically. She got the feeling that the blond man was staring at her, but it was impossible to tell with his sunglasses in the way. She dropped her hand, feeling her face light up as she resisted the urge to shrink down into her chair.
“Good, you’re all present and on time,” he finally continued. His head turned to look at the mark on the wall from where the door handle had crashed into it. “Which one of you is responsible for that?”
Now it was Chris’ turn to flush red and Jill’s turn to flash him a sympathetic smile as he raised a hand, the trio continuing to snicker to each other in the background. The sunglasses remained pointed in Chris’ direction for a good few seconds, then he scribbled something down on the clipboard. “Thank you for your honesty, Mr Redfield. Try to be less careless going forward.”
Now he addressed the group as a whole. “My name is Albert Wesker. With me to assist today is Barry Burton. You may address me as Wesker and him as Barry. While I hope you all read the emails sent out to you in full, I would prefer to cut down on questions by making sure we’re all on the same page, so I will summarize. Due to an increase in crime in Raccoon City, I have been authorized by Police Chief Brian Irons to form a special unit - S.T.A.R.S - with the objective of handling cases the regular force cannot. This unit will be broken down into two teams, Alpha and Bravo, working opposite shifts. The former is under my direct command, and the latter under the command of Captain Enrico Marini. Bravo team is now fully operational, while my own Alpha team still has two spots remaining. It’s those two spots that I hope to fill today, from the five of you. The process will be as follows: first group physical testing in marksmanship, close combat, and your ability to complete an assault course, followed by one on one interviews with myself. After that Barry and I will discuss what we’ve seen from each of you, and I will make my final judgment and contact any of you I plan to hire via phone between fifteen and sixteen hundred.” He paused for emphasis. “I reserve the right to dismiss any of you from this process at any time should you do anything which suggests to me that you’re a poor fit for S.T.A.R.S. Now, is all of that clear?”
Five calls of “clear” filled the air. “Good, follow me.” And with that he spun on his heel and headed out the room, Barry close behind him, leaving the five of them to scramble to their feet and hurry to catch up.
The marksmanship section went smoothly enough. Barry and Wesker stood together, watching the five of them shoot and muttering to each other. Much to Jill’s relief they were tested on pistols, first standing still and shooting at various ranges, then running a clearly marked course. Chris blew the rest of them out of the water on both speed and accuracy, leaving Jill to fight for a respectable second place.
It was the assault course where the trouble started. Ever since the roll call, the trio of RPD officers had been staring at her more and more frequently, and she was soon to learn why. The course itself was a challenging setup, but she’d run what felt like thousands of them in Delta Force, and so she completed it quickly and smoothly, accepting a high five from Chris as he passed her to take his turn. Before he could start it, Alan yelled out from the sidelines where he was waiting his own turn.
“Hey Wesker!”
They all paused, Jill starting to feel a little sick. She didn’t know what was coming, but she felt like it had something to do with her.
“What is it Cooper?” Wesker asked briskly.
“It just doesn’t seem fair to have her do something like this with the rest of us,” Alan drawled out. “With her daddy being a crook and all. I’d say that gives her an unfair advantage on a course like this.”
There it was. Jill felt her ears start to ring, as she stared at a point on the wall, avoiding everyone’s faces. Of course someone had to recognize her from the TV broadcasts of her father’s court case, and of course he had to bring it up in front of everyone. She fumbled for an explanation, one that wasn’t too defensive, or just some kind of clever response, struggling to keep her breathing even.
Before she could open her mouth, Wesker spoke again. “Are you implying that I wasn’t aware of Ms Valentine’s familial connections prior to you bringing it up?”
Alan sputtered, “I was just.”
“Suggesting that I didn’t fully vet all of you before inviting you here? Hinting that you know how to do my job better than I do?”
Alan’s mouth snapped shut.
Wesker turned to her then. “And you, Valentine. You’re not letting Mr Cooper distract you, are you?”
She shook her head, not trusting her ability to keep her voice from proving her wrong.
Wesker nodded to Chris. “When you’re ready, begin.”
Chris came over to her while Keith was running the assault course. Jill stared straight ahead, pretending to be very invested in Keith’s performance as an excuse to not look at his face.
“Hey, about what Alan said,” he started.
“Yeah, I guess you’ll be watching your wallet from now on,” she replied, aiming for light, but ending up somewhere around bitter.
“No. Hey, Jill, I. No. He shouldn’t have said that. Whatever your dad did, it’s got nothing to do with you.”
She tentatively turned to look at him, shocked and relieved to see nothing but sincerity in his eyes. “You mean that?” she asked.
“Yeah, I do,” he said, nodding. “That surprises you?”
She shrugged. “A bit yeah. It’s part of why I left the army. Lot more guys like him than you in my unit.”
Chris reached out, resting one hand firmly on her shoulder. “Hey, their loss is Raccoon City’s gain, right?” He looked down at his hand then and yanked it back, smiling apologetically. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. It’s what I’d do for Claire, but we’ve only just met, I mean you barely know me.”
She smiled back, noting that Keith had wrapped up on the course and headed back over to his friends. “It’s fine. I don’t, I don’t mind.”
The sound of Wesker clearing his throat cut through the air. “If you’re all done chatting, the final group assessment will be in close combat.” He waited for them to all gather around him before continuing. “I’ll be splitting you into pairs. Your goal is to drop your opponent three times. You’ll be assessed on technique, efficiency, and your ability to adapt to your opponent. I want you all to be aware that while winning is of course the preferable outcome it will not guarantee you a spot in S.T.A.R.S, while losing will not disqualify you. Any questions?”
When no one spoke up he continued. “Pairs will be Miller and Barry, Phillips and Redfield, and Cooper and Valentine. You have five minutes to warm up, then I want you two,” this addressed at Jill and Alan, “on the mat.”
Jill dropped into her usual series of stretches, noting the other four starting to do the same. She did her best to block out everyone around her and focus on the warm up, but she could never help being aware of her surrounding, and so she noticed both the deepening frown on Chris’ face and the surreptitious exchange of money between the trio.
Five minutes passed quickly, and she made her way onto the mat. She took a loose stance, sizing Alan up as he swaggered on. “I’ll make you a deal love, go down fast and easy and I’ll split the money I’m about to win off those jokers with you. You can buy yourself a coffee with it while you apply for other jobs.”
Jill rolled her eyes at him, resisting the urge to curse him out. He wouldn’t be so smug in a few minutes, she could already see the way he favored his right side, and the fact that he wasn’t taking her seriously was another point in her favor. All she needed was to stay in the zone, and for Wesker to tell them to start.
However, the next voice she heard belonged to Chris. “Does nobody else see how unfair this is?” he yelled out. “I mean, he’s the biggest guy here, he’s twice her size, and he’s mad she’s been showing him up, and you’re seriously giving him the chance to take that out on her?” Jill turned her head to see he had rapidly approached Wesker, who had made no move to back down, and was now within a foot of him. She watched, her own anger growing as Chris dropped his shoulders and forced his voice to calm. “Come on man, let me fight her, at least that way she’s not gonna end up in the hospital.”
So that was his game, boosting his own chances by making her look like she couldn’t cut it. She couldn’t believe she’d actually trusted his friendly act.
“Butt out of it, Chris,” she loudly snapped, surprised when Chris looked at her with what appeared to be genuine shock on his face.
“I’m just trying to help!” he replied.
“Me or yourself?”
His eyes widened in sudden understanding as Wesker spoke up. “Pair her with you, and leave everyone here wondering what was her genuine ability and what was you going easy on her? No, Redfield, like the rest of you Ms Valentine will prove whether or not she can handle herself against a serious opponent.”
Chris backed down, folding his arms across his chest.
“If there are no other objections, you two may begin when ready.”
Alan, apparently aiming to be the fastest to beat his opponent, charged her as soon as Wesker finished talking. Jill ignored the way his friends were cheering him on and adjusted her stance lower, waiting for him to reach her. As soon as he was in range she reached out, grabbing his left hand with her right, and aiming her hips for his. She slung her left arm across his body as she pulled him forward, bringing his own left arm over her shoulders. In one smooth motion she straightened up and yanked his arm, using his own momentum to flip him over her, where he slammed to the ground.
She dodged back out of range before he could grab her ankles, chancing a glance at their audience, who were now conspicuously silent. Keith and John had matching expressions of disbelief, as they stared at her with something approaching grudging respect. Chris’ own shock was mixed with excitement, and he pumped a fist into the air with a quick shout of “Hell yeah!”. Barry looked impressed, but not shocked, suggesting that he’d read her file, and Wesker was as unreadable as he had been all morning. Or, not quite, if she looked closely she could almost swear one of the corners of his mouth was smugly upturned.
Meanwhile Alan’s shock was quickly mixed with rage at the way he’d been one-upped. He hauled himself up from the floor, face reddening in anger, and charged her again. She noted the way he had shifted his running posture in an attempt to make it harder for her to pull the same move on him again. Knowing that if he managed to grapple her it would go badly, she dodged his charge. He spun, ran at her again, and she dodged a second time. The third time she feinted one way, then dodged the opposite. He fell for her feint, allowing her to get under him while avoiding the grapple attempt and drop him again. This time he growled as he got to his feet. Now he had apparently given up on charging her, and approached slowly, blocking her into a corner of the mat and preventing her from dodging him. He grabbed her, both hands closing around her throat, then began forcing her down towards the mat, hands squeezing down hard. Jill, unable to breathe and already starting to feel a pressure in her nose and her head beginning to go fuzzy, brought her hands up, curling them over his lower arms and plucked them from the inside to loosen the grip on her throat. At the same time, she used the way she was holding him as leverage to lean back, adding more power to her right leg which she kicked it into his crotch. Before he had the chance to recover, she had her hands behind his head and pulled it down at the same time as she drove her knee into his face, colliding it with his nose. She dodged out and around until she was behind him, then used her body weight to force him to the ground while he was off balance.
She backed away until she was out of his range, then bent over, hands pressed against her thighs as she breathed heavily. She watched Alan slowly pull himself up off the ground, take a step towards her, then turn away and rejoin his friends, who patted him on the back sympathetically.
“Go home, Cooper.” Wesker’s voice rang out through the room. Her head shot up, and she straightened, looking at him in surprise.
Alan appeared equally surprised. “What the hell?” he spat out. “Weren’t you the one who said losing wouldn’t disqualify us?”
“I did say that,” Wesker replied, tone icy. “I also said I reserve the right to dismiss any of you at any time should you prove to be a poor fit for S.T.A.R.S. I can teach you better combat technique. I don’t know if I can teach you to control your anger, and quite frankly your jump to strangulation as an appropriate move in a fight where the only thing in danger is your ego, leaves me unwilling to find out. It’s not your loss that’s disqualifying you Cooper, it’s your willingness to threaten the life of a potential colleague. Go home, before I report you to Branagh.”
Alan glared at her, Wesker, and the room in general. Nobody spoke as he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
“Barry, supervise the fight between Phillips and Redfield. Valentine with me. We’ll be done in time for me to observe the last match.” With that said, Wesker turned and began to walk across the room.
Jill hurried to catch up with him, reaching him by the time he reached the wall of the gymnasium. He gestured towards one of the low benches resting against it. “Sit down Valentine.”
She did, eyes on his face as he knelt in front of her. She was well aware that she was the shortest person in the room by at least a good six inches, but there was a difference between being aware of it, and having Wesker’s head still above her own in this position. Up close, she found herself noticing the little details she had missed earlier, like the way his hair was sprayed in place rather than gelled, and the appealing woody and citrusy scent of his cologne. She found herself wishing he wasn’t wearing the sunglasses; while she imagined he was looking at her face, the fact that she couldn’t see his eyes left her feeling a little like a bug under a microscope.
His left hand reached for the collar of her shirt, pulling it away from her neck. He inspected the place Alan had grabbed her, then reached up with his right hand to trace it, surprisingly gently for such a brisk, no nonsense man. She resisted the temptation to shiver as the leather of his gloves brushed against her neck, but couldn’t resist the slight wince of pain when he lightly pressed his thumb down for a second. He let out a quiet hmm, then tilted his head back towards her face. “How are you feeling? Any nausea, dizziness, difficulty breathing?”
She shook her head in response. “My throat’s a bit sore, but that’s all, I think. And, well, my neck hurt when you pushed your thumb down on it, but I think you saw that.”
“Good. There’s some redness there, but it should fade. So should the pain.” He pulled his hands away then, resting them on his legs. “You tell me immediately if you start to feel worse, understood?”
“Understood,” she repeated. Then, emboldened, she looked directly into the dark lenses of his sunglasses and continued. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you. Pairing me up with him, I mean. I saw your face when I dropped him that first time.”
Wesker paused, then inclined his head in acquiescence. “I did. I knew from your records and his actions leading up to your fight that it would produce results that were, interesting, although I’ll admit I didn’t expect his little outburst.” He stood then, and offered her his hand. She took it, letting him pull her to her feet. He let go of her hand and looked if he were about to turn away for a moment. “Valentine. If it had gone on a few seconds longer I would’ve stepped in. I don’t make a habit of putting people in danger for my own amusement. Now, shall we rejoin the others?”
A rhetorical question, it appeared, because he walked away then, leaving her to trail behind him. They made it back over in time for her to watch Chris finish beating John 3-2.
Back in the S.T.A.R.S office the mood was greatly subdued. Barry had made his excuses and headed back down to the shooting range, leaving her waiting with Keith and John while Wesker interviewed Chris in his private office. Neither of the men made any move to speak to her, but their conversation didn’t appear to be about her anymore either, instead seeming from what she could overhear, to be a passionate debate about last night’s baseball game.
Finally the door opened and Chris emerged, looking both thoughtful and far more exhausted than he had before going in. He looked around the room, spotted her, and walked over. “Wesker said you’re up next,” he told her, tone even.
She stood, grabbing her now far drier raincoat from the back of the chair. “Thanks,” she replied, keeping her own tone just as neutral.
Chris held up his hand to halt her. “I just wanted to say, good luck.”
The small, suspicious, part of her that had jumped out earlier wanted to snap back some comment about how ‘of course he thinks she needs luck’, but she wasn’t so paranoid that she couldn’t recognize it as the olive branch he clearly intended for it to be. “Thanks,” she repeated. “You too.”
Chris smiled back, tentative and rueful. “He’s intense, but it’s nothing you won’t be used to,” he said as he stepped out of her way.
Jill nodded in response, then walked over to Wesker’s private office, trying to appear more confident than she felt. She knocked once on the ajar door, then entered, carefully closing the door behind herself.
The office was a small space, with just enough room for a sizable desk, two chairs - one on either side of the desk, and a couple sets of short cupboards with a handful of empty glasses on top of them against the far wall. Above the cupboards and set into the wall was a large plaque with ‘S.T.A.R.S’ on it in bright letters at the top, ‘Special Tactics and Rescue Service’ at the bottom, and ‘Raccoon Police Dep.’ in a circle between. The room was lit by two standing lamps on either side of the cupboards, as well as a small desk lamp, giving what would be a cozy atmosphere under different circumstances. Along with the lamp, the surface of the desk held a small black telephone, papers and files arranged into three neat stacks, a stationary cup with two black pens and a pencil in it, a mostly full glass jug of ice water, and two glasses - one half full and the other empty.
Wesker sat behind the desk, pen in hand and clipboard resting in front of him. He motioned to the chair on the far side with his left hand, picking up the jug with his right hand at the same time. As Jill draped her raincoat over the back of the chair and sat he filled the empty glass, then pushed it across the table towards her.
“Thanks,” she said.
He nodded in reply, taking one of the files off the top of the far left pile and resting it in front of him. Reading upside down, she saw her own name written on the front in tidy letters. As he opened it she looked back up at his face, trying to calmly remain looking at him as he spoke.
“Jill Nicole Valentine, born September 15th, 1974. Straight A student throughout a frequently disrupted education, joined the army directly out of high school despite gushing university recommendations from multiple teachers. Accepted for Delta Force training at twenty, where you once again excelled, particularly in close combat, marksmanship, bomb disposal, and lock picking, leading to your enlistment in Delta Force at the completion of said training. Your father was convicted on multiple counts of grand larceny two months ago, which you weathered without a blemish on your permanent record, despite the prosecution’s original attempts to tie you to him as an accomplice. It’s an impressive resume, Ms Valentine. So why are you here?”
She had found herself starting to relax the longer he talked, and almost sighed in relief at the easy first question. “A couple of reasons I suppose. I wanted to be closer to my father, I wanted the chance to settle down somewhere while still being challenged at work. S.T.A.R.S looked like-“
He held up a hand, cutting her off. “You appear to have misunderstood me,” he said, a clear note of impatience in his tone. “Your exit from Delta Force was abrupt, and your choice to come to a city like this was unusual. This is a long term position Ms Valentine, it requires both commitment and dedication. So I’ll ask you again, and this time I want the truth not a rote answer. Why. Are. You. Here?”
She reached for the glass of water, taking a long sip from it as she tried to collect her thoughts. Wesker raised one thin eyebrow above his sunglasses, a clear acknowledgment of her delaying tactics, and wrote something she couldn’t read down on the clipboard.
“I needed a fresh start,” she admitted slowly. “You heard the comments Alan and his friends were making, about me and my dad. I’d never, never fully felt like part of the team in Delta Force, but after my dad was convicted it just got worse and worse. I’m not a criminal, and I was sick of being treated like one. A guy I knew from the army mentioned S.T.A.R.S forming, and I figured I’d give it a shot.”
Up arched the eyebrow again. His pen scratched over the clipboard, and he coolly replied, “So you have issues working as part of a team?”
What. The. Fuck. Of course that was what he’d taken from her words. Her heart raced in her chest, and her ears started to ring as she stared at him in disbelief. “That’s not, I mean that might be what I said sounded like, but it’s not what I meant, I, I,” she fumbled to defend herself. Screw it, if he was going to misinterpret everything she said she’d just say what she felt. Her voice raised and she glared back at him. “You’re the one misunderstanding me. I don’t know if it’s because you don’t know, or whether you don’t care, about what it’s like to be in my position, but I don’t care. I’m sick of being treated like I’m less competent than everyone else, like I don’t know what I’m doing, or like I don’t care and I’m just trying to, to meet guys or something. That’s why I left Delta Force, because I was hoping S.T.A.R.S would be different, that it wouldn’t just be some ‘boys club’ where I had ‘issues working as part of a team’ because nobody would let me try.” As she finished speaking and the adrenaline began to dissipate she started to feel sick. What was she thinking, saying that to him? She’d blown it now, she was never going to get the job, she was-.
“Are you finished?” Wesker asked calmly.
Resigned, she nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good.” He took a sip of his own water. “Were you aware, Ms Valentine, that your average performance across all three of the practical assessments today was the highest out of everyone?”
She’d hoped, but no, she hadn’t thought that. “But Chris did so well at the marksmanship.”
“He did,” Wesker acknowledged. “But Mr Redfield was held back by his performance in the assault course, and no one completed their close combat bout as quickly or cleanly as you did. Your defensiveness distracts you from your own accomplishments Valentine.” He paused then and inclined his head, “but I believe I now understand why that is. Please send in Mr Phillips when you leave. I’ll be in contact.”
She stared at him. “That’s it? We’re done?”
“I had questions about you, which have now been answered to my satisfaction.” He snapped her folder shut and replaced it carefully on top of one of the piles, lining the edges up neatly. “As I said, I’ll be in contact.”
The dismissal was clear and final. She stood and retrieved her raincoat again, her head fuzzy as she exited his office. Numbly she approached the two remaining men, told John to head in and see Wesker, and left the S.T.A.R.S office, where she was surprised to see Chris leaning against the wall of the hallway. He peeled himself off of it as she passed him and walked alongside her through the hallways.
“Hey Jill, Wesker bite your head off as well?”
“Something like that,” she replied.
“If it makes you feel any better, I think that’s just how he is as a person,” Chris continued. “Listen, I wanted to apologize, for what happened earlier. Those guys wouldn’t stop giving you a hard time, and it made me so mad just thinking about what if Claire was in that situation, and how I’d want someone to stand up for her. I should’ve known it would come off wrong.”
She smiled tentatively at him. “It’s fine, really. Like I said earlier, I’m used to guys like Alan, but you’re nothing like him. I shouldn’t have snapped back.”
Chris grinned at her. “Yeah I’m nothing like him, I’m good looking, friendly, charming, do I need to go on?”
She snorted in response, which got him to start laughing, which set her off more. The tension drained from both of them as they laughed together in the foyer of the RPD. As the laughter slowly died down, something occurred to her.
“Were you waiting around this whole time just to apologise?”
“No, I also wanted to ask if you wanted to grab a coffee. You said you’re new in town right? Figured the polite thing to do would be to give you some pointers, where to go, where to stay away from, ‘Raccoon City’s must-sees’.”
Jill looked back at his earnest smile. This was meant to be a fresh start, she decided, and it would be nice to have a friend. “That sounds great, thanks. Where are we headed?”
“You’ve got your own car, right?”
She nodded.
“Cool. It’s this little hole in the wall place, on the corner of 32nd and Oak, right by the library. Just take the a left, go straight for three blocks, then your next right and you’ll be there. Parking sucks of course, but the coffee is totally worth it.”
“In this weather? You’d better be right,” she joked as they exited the building and turned their separate ways. “I’ll meet you there.”
Jill made it back to her apartment dripping wet again, but pleasantly warmed from the coffee and conversation. Chris had turned out to be great company, funny and genuinely friendly in the way that she had always envied in others. He’d shared stories from his time in the air force which she had ribbed him for, and had then prompted her for stories from her time in the army, which he had ribbed her back over. She’d found out that he was about a year older than her, loved trashy action movies and pineapple pizza, and that he’d been discharged for insubordination ‘and would happily do it again. Orders are one thing, but sometimes the right thing to do is to go against them’. She’d shared her own love of horror films and thai food, and told a few of her own stories about her father and his exploits, enjoying the way that he’d laughed at them instead of judging her. Eventually they’d had to return to their homes to await Wesker’s call, although they had exchanged numbers before parting. Chris had been adamant that regardless of whether they got into S.T.A.R.S or not, they should keep in contact, and she had been only too happy to agree.
She hung her raincoat up on the coat rack, tossed her keys onto the counter, and toed off her shoes, leaving them next to her bed. She sank down onto it with a sigh, picking up her dog-eared copy of Stokesbury’s ‘A Short History of World War 1’ and tried to focus on it instead of glancing over to her phone.
One laborious chapter and an indeterminate amount of time later, and the phone finally rang. She dropped the book down on the bed and hurried to pick it up.
“Jill Valentine?” Wesker’s voice came through clearly before she even had the chance to say hello.
“Yes,” she replied, hand white knuckling the phone as her heart raced in her chest.
“Congratulations, Valentine. You’re officially a member of the S.T.A.R.S Alpha team.”
She leaned heavily against the wall, legs shaky under her. “Thank you Sir, Wesker, I mean. I won’t let you down.”
“I wouldn’t have hired you if I thought you would,” he replied. “You’re to report to the S.T.A.R.S office at eight hundred hours sharp on Thursday. I’ll see you then.”
“See you,” she repeated, her hand holding the phone dropping to her side when he hung up. She’d need to call her dad to tell him the good news, and Chris to find out if he was in as well. But first, she had some unpacking to finish. Looks like things were finally starting to work out for her.