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Job hunting is the worst.
Rebecca had already done this part. She’d graduated. She’d gone to training. She’d applied and gotten the job of her dreams. She was on the way to a bright future as a member of S.T.A.R.S.
And then the mansion. And Raccoon City.
That’s really all she needs to say, isn’t it? Raccoon City. People hear it, and they look at her with questions on their lips, but what answers they do have are enough to speak to Rebecca’s job history.
Raccoon City. Former member of the disbanded S.T.A.R.S. Jobless. Homeless, since her apartment became a pile of bricks after the missile, and soon-to-be penniless.
Rebecca sighs and takes another sip of her latte. It’s an indulgence, like the raspberry shortbread she’d already eaten and thumbed each leftover crumb into her mouth. Her last expensive coffee before it’s down to drip-brew from the local gas station. Gross.
She goes back to the newspaper and stares at the listings, circled, crossed out, scribbled over. Most of these don’t pay enough because they are part-time work. She’s too over-qualified for some of the others, and technically under-qualified for a handful.
Rebecca’s riding the midline of being too smart, but lacking the necessary experience. She suspects her name has a black mark, too. Because of S.T.A.R.S.
She’s screwed.
Maybe she should just go back to school? Give up her ideas of serving in some capacity and stick to research and development instead. With what she saw on the train and in the Spencer mansion, there’s a good chance people trained to deal with pathogens and viruses will be needed in the future. There’s no way this is the end of it.
Stuff like this doesn’t go away just because of one incident. It’s probably going to get worse. A lot worse. She could be needed.
Going back to grad school is probably her best option, but she’s still going to need a job. Both to pay for it, pay for a place to live, for food to eat. Her severance package isn’t going to last forever. Honestly, it’s more of a ‘hush money’ package, along with a NDA she signed, but it’s still not enough.
Rebecca needs a fucking job.
A shadow falls over the newspaper. “You’re overqualified for all of those, you know.”
Rebecca stills at the unexpectedly familiar voice. It can’t be.
She looks up, her jaw drops, and she’s on her feet in a flash, chair thumping to the ground behind her. “Billy!”
He smiles at her from beneath the bill of a baseball cap, five o’clock shadow making for a useless disguise, though the wide-rimmed glasses help. Still, Rebecca spent far too long being within a foot of this man not to instantly recognize his face and his voice.
“Shhh!” Billy puts his finger to his lips, eyes darting around the library as if one of the soccer moms or college students studying might be spies for the government. “I’m dead, remember?”
Rebecca rolls her eyes. “No one’s here who’d recognize you. We’re an hour from Raccoon City.” Or what’s left of it. “And S.T.A.R.S is done for.”
Billy circles the table and bends down to pick up her chair, righting it. “I’d heard, but I wasn’t sure it was true.” He grins, hands resting on the back of the chair as he leans his weight on it. “Figured I’d check it out for myself, see if I ran into any old friends.”
Rebecca leans back against the edge of the table, her heart trying to pound out of her chest. She didn’t think she’d ever see Billy again, but here he is. Smiling at her. Cleaned up very nice. Impossibly handsome for a guy she once thought was a criminal. Has maybe starred in one too many of her fantasies, which up until this moment felt harmless because she didn’t think she’d see him again.
Oops.
“There aren’t many of those left,” Rebecca says, and her smile droops. She toes at the carpet with the tip of her shoe. “Believe it or not, things got worse after we went our separate ways.”
“Worse?” Billy echoes.
Rebecca nods. She looks around, but no one’s really paying them any attention. The college students are too busy flirting, that soccer mom is very invested in her Harlequin, and the librarian has her hands full with toddler story time.
“My whole unit was wiped out,” she says, though she’s careful to keep her voice low. “And most of Alpha Team, too. There were more of those things in the mansion. And worse.”
She shudders, a sick feeling curdling her stomach. Those nightmares haven’t left her alone either. There isn’t a single creature Umbrella hadn’t tried exploiting, including the poor humans subject to their experimentation. And Billy could have been one of them.
Billy shakes his head. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Rebecca.” His fingers rap over the slats on the back of the chair.
“A lot of people died.” Rebecca tucks hair out of her eyes, hoping that it hides the wetness. “My grief isn’t special.”
“It is to me.”
Heat flushes the back of Rebecca’s neck. She ducks her head and turns, busying her hands with stacking her papers and cleaning up the scattered mess she’s made of the table. “So, um, anyway. You didn’t come back just for me. What brings–”
“Who says I didn’t?” Billy asks. He pushes the chair into place below the table and moves to her other side, leaning against the table in such a way she feels a bit trapped. In a good way.
Rebecca stares at him, knowing her face is pink, smelling his cologne and wanting to lean in for a better taste. “What?”
Billy reaches for her and Rebecca stills, unsure what he has in mind. He’s smiling as he hooks a finger under the chain around her neck, drawing it into view. His dog tags chime quietly, warm from her skin.
“You kept these,” he says.
Rebecca swallows. She swears her neck tingles where his finger brushed her skin. “I didn’t want to forget.”
“A lot of crazy shit happened,” Billy says with a bit of a playful tug. He’s looking at her now, brown eyes warm and soft. The same smile he’d had for her when they parted ways. “You almost died. Why would you want to remember that?”
He’s not wrong.
There were monsters and near-death experiences and disgusting leeches and horrible nightmares she’ll probably have for the rest of her life. She’s got a scar on her arm from one of those lizard creatures, and her knee hurts when it rains.
Even with all that, well, it wasn’t entirely bad. There’s a good memory she holds onto, and Rebecca says as much.
Billy chuckles and gives the necklace another tug before it slips from his fingers to clatter against her collar. “It was pretty terrible, doll-face. I’m not sure we’re remembering the same things.”
Her heart’s pounding in her chest. She tucks the dog tags under her shirt, wondering why he hasn’t asked for them back. “You came back though.”
“I did.” Billy grabs two books from the desk, piles them together and holds them out like he’s helping her pack. “Figured the least I could do was take you to lunch. You know, as thanks for killing me.”
Rebecca laughs before she can stop it. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” she says as she haphazardly stuffs everything into her bag and slings it over her shoulder. “All I did was tell a little lie.”
“A lie that meant no one came looking for me,” Billy says. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Is that a no on lunch?”
“I like lunch,” Rebecca says, and the smile that blooms over Billy’s face makes her quiver all the way down to her knees.
So they get lunch.
There isn’t much to choose from, here in this tiny town that’s a hop, skip, and jump away from Raccoon City. Where if they stand on top of the tallest building and peer toward the Arklay Mountains, they can probably see the faintest trace of smoke rising from fires that have yet to extinguish, even all these weeks later.
There’s a diner on the edge of town, the kind of place that serves breakfast all day, with milkshakes made from real ice cream, and the speakers blaring music from the seventies while the diner itself looks like it hasn’t moved on from the 1950s. Their waitress's name is Doris, and she looks like a Doris, all gray curls and red lips and grease-stained apron.
Billy loses the hat and the glasses, but not the smile, and Rebecca tries not to stare at him too much. He’d been handsome enough back then, dirty and crass and a wanted criminal. It’s worse now that he’s clean. She’s never wanted to run her hands through a man’s hair so much in her entire life.
They talk about their lives over chocolate milkshakes, greasy french fries, and hamburgers that are a little too well done, but something about blood oozing out of cooked flesh turns Rebecca’s stomach these days. So what if it ruins the meat?
Billy says he’s been keeping a low profile, putting his skills to good use, taking on odd jobs under a different name in a nearby town. No one asks questions of the handsome drifter who just wants a place to sleep and a little privacy.
(“Handsome?” Rebecca asks. She teases, “Their words or yours?”
“Both,” Billy says, smug. He grins at her around his straw, ketchup streaked at the corner of his mouth and she has to fight the urge to lick it away.)
Rebecca tells him about leaving S.T.A.R.S. right after the incident at the mansion. Just checking out of the hospital and turning in her badge the next day. Unrest was already starting to take over Raccoon City then, and it turns out, she left just in time. She wasn’t there, but she’s heard enough about what happened.
Chris still keeps in touch, though she doesn’t tell Billy that part. No need to let him worry.
(“You were lucky,” Billy says, and Rebecca tries not to let that word bounce around in her skull in a hateful echo.
Lucky. She hates that word.
“Yeah,” Rebecca says, and hopes the smile meets her eyes.)
Billy’s foot knocks against hers under the table. Rebecca’s eighteen and an adult, but that doesn’t stop her from tapping his back, runners to boot. It’s probably not enough for him to feel, but he grins, slouches, and taps her back.
“What?” Rebecca asks.
Billy shrugs and swirls one of his fries through the melting remains of his chocolate shake. “You looked lost in thought, doll-face,” he says. “I’m not boring you, am I?”
Rebecca shakes her head. “It’s not you.”
“Worried about the future?”
“Something like that.” She manages a smile, stirring the straw through her own shake just to keep her hands busy. “Where are you going from here?”
“Not sure yet.” Billy wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away that little ketchup blotch. “Odd jobs aren’t going to hold me forever, but being dead, I don’t have many options. What about you?”
“Go back to school maybe,” Rebecca says. She gnaws on her bottom lip, torn between wanting to do more, and wondering if there’s anything she has to contribute. “I don’t think I’m cut out for security work.”
Billy slouches back, one arm stretched along the length of the booth, sleeve of his shirt riding up to give her a peek at the end of the tattoo on his wrist. It looks longer and darker than she remembers, like he’s added more to it.
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit,” he says. “You kicked some serious ass on that train and in that mansion. You kept me alive even. Until you killed me that is.” He winks.
She wants to roll her eyes at him, except that wink makes her flush. Makes her turn bright pink and there’s no way he hasn’t noticed. He’s too observant for that.
“You did your fair share of keeping me alive, too,” Rebecca says. “I’m pretty sure all those monsters kept knocking me around like a pinball.”
“Yeah, but you always got back up,” Billy says. “You’re a fighter, doll-face. That’s one of the things I like about you.”
Like, her brain latches onto, and somewhere at the back of her mind, a too-eager woman is screeching with glee.
Rebecca tries to react like an adult in complete control of their emotions – cool and collected. “Like,” she repeats and takes a slow sip of the remnants of her shake. It makes a loud, slurping noise immediately. “As in… like?”
Billy’s grin widens, his eyes sparkling, and he’s so damn handsome, it’s unfair. “Well, I don’t take everyone I like out to lunch,” he says, and nudges her foot with his again. “It would’ve been dinner, but it’s a little too early for that.”
Excitement battles with rationality.
“You probably won’t be around for dinner,” Rebecca says. She doesn’t know if she’s managed to hide her disappointment. It’s been great to see Billy again, to get that confirmation he’s alive, but it’s bittersweet. He’s not sticking around.
Neither is she, honestly, especially if she goes after further education. This has been wonderful, but it’s temporary.
Billy’s smile softens into something more serious, and Rebecca’s heart thuds loud in her ears. “I could be,” he says. “If you wanted me to.”
Rebecca stares at him. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I could stick around for dinner, for breakfast, for whatever. I’m not needed anywhere else at the moment,” Billy says.
It takes all she has for her jaw not to drop. She waits for a punchline, but Billy’s just rapping his fingers on the back of the booth, his cheeks a little pink.
“Is that just because you don’t have anywhere else to go?” Rebecca asks.
“Can’t go back to the Marines. I’m not going back to prison,” Billy says, still staring at the far wall like it has the answers. “Still have a few friends with available couches, so if you’re not hungry, I have options.”
Heat crawls up Rebecca’s neck and into her cheeks. Hungry? She’s practically starving, and she doesn’t mean food. She spent the last several years in school and training without allowing herself time for fun. Her best friend has been her vibrator.
Rebecca takes a sip of her water, not that it does much to cool her down. “I have a couch.”
“Is that an offer?” Billy asks. He swings his attention back to her, his grin sweet and lazy. He keeps playing with her foot beneath the table, and every tap is a secret thrill.
Rebecca takes a deep breath. She faced down a leech monster and zombies and mutated creatures and gigantic insects. She can do this. No regrets this time, Rebecca.
“I have a bed, too,” she says slowly, stir, stir, stirring her straw around the melted remains of chocolate streaked with sprinkles. “And nowhere to be until I find a new job.”
“Is that right?” Nudge-nudge-nudge, their feet tap and tangle beneath the table. “I think I could be convinced.”
Rebecca’s heart pounds. Her tongue twists in her mouth, threatening to issue a stammer, but their waitress returns, clearing the table in short efficiency, and leaving the check behind. It’s just long enough for Rebecca to get a hold of herself.
“For how long?” Rebecca asks. Is this for just one night? Does he want to try and keep in touch? Does he want more?
Billy slides out of the booth, and Rebecca’s heart stutters, but then he grabs the check and holds out a hand to her. “Until you tell me to go.”
This time, they don’t say goodbye. This time, Billy holds her hands while he pays for the meal with a wrinkled twenty, and they walk to the small apartment Rebecca’s renting on a month-to-month basis. It came fully-furnished, including a queen-sized bed that’s just too big for one.
This time, he kisses her at the door, and Rebecca pulls him inside.
It may not be forever, but Rebecca’s going to hold on with all she has for however long she can.
***