Never has Jill craved such proximity to another living, breathing person – not during the long and physically draining hours of drill, or even her actual time spent engaged in combat. Until now, every challenge has been black or white: the classic dichotomy between life and death, something she is much too comfortably acquainted with.
He’s so close that she can feel the timbre of his voice vibrating on her skin. He’s warm against her, heart racing and body tense with fear. She’s just as rigid, almost mechanically monitoring her breathing as she attempts to soothe her nerves. Close your eyes, count to three. In, out, in, out …
She has nothing to lose but her own life … and now, well, Chris. There’s a sudden robust attachment that overtakes her, and the fleeting thought of losing him crosses her mind – but there is no fear. Instead, she is only further driven to survive. Jill Valentine is resolute in her duty. His life is valuable, to her and to so many others. She will protect him.
His hand finds hers, and the gentle squeeze intensifies her affection for him. A flutter of her heart, a momentary adrenaline rush. She’s reminded of what it means to be alive, to be capable of thinking and feeling. Despite the hellish environment that engulfs them, she manages a small smile.
“I am, too. God, this is unlike anything I ever could have dreamed of. And I’ve … I’ve spent a lot of time out there on the field, alone with my mind. I have come to know death, but this … this is something else.” Her voice trails off, and she closes her eyes before she can finish the tangent.
“Oh, Rebecca … she’s here?” The news brings wide eyes, filled with both surprise and hope. “You’re right – it’s best if we look for her.”
He’s asking if she’s injured. Unsure, she gives her body a cursory examination – nothing serious. A couple of scabbing cuts on her arms, some bruising along her trachea. Trifles, or ‘baby wounds’, as she’d refer to it back in the army.
“I’m okay. A little scratched up, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. How about you?” She reaches out to stroke his arm, fingers searching for any tender or exposed skin. “I’m certainly not a medic, but I have a few supplies on me.”
As they make contact, the desire to be closer (even physical contact isn’t enough now) befalls her. “I figured while we’re stuck here together … we should get to know each other a little better. You from around here? Have any family, friends?”
She’s scared as hell, but there’s an indescribable calmness in her eyes. She hopes it soothes him, too.
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