Jill often felt Chris staring at her; caught his eyes grazing over the scars on her chest, solemn reflection accentuated by unfading guilt.
She hated him for it at timesโฆ not for the fall, not for her subsequent near-exposure to Uroborosโฆ but for how helpless he made her feel.
| Potential storyline idea where a rogue group of B.S.A.A agents - who uncovered the unredacted documentation of what happened in Africa - lure Jill to a location under the guise of a regular mission . . .
and turn on her.
The searchlights scanned the forest endlessly in search of the (alleged) bioterrorist: Jill Valentine.
One battle may have been won, but the war was far from overโฆ and she was going to bring it straight to the B.S.A.A.
First, she had to make sure Chris wasnโt involved.
She's annoyed; her roots are showing already.
She's considering embracing the blonde ; letting go of the negative associations and spending less time focusing on it.
Every time it left her distressed, he won. Again.
and again. and again.
Her hair stood on end. She could feel it - eyes, trained intently on her back - and promptly turned around to scan the area.
Blue eyes searched the shadows until she spotted it.
A glare was directed toward the vantage point, her posture rigid and defensive.
"Great..."
Jill was self-sufficient in
almost every way, but
learning to cook was
never on her agenda . . .
Not until their daughter
was born.
She couldn't raise her on
take-out, after all.
She opened the fridge
and stared at the contents.
"What do you feel like having?"
"No wonder you're not
able to concentrate ; how
can you get anything done
if you haven't eaten?"
Jill was chiding him softly.
Chris had the terrible habit
of neglecting his own needs
in favor of a task or to put
someone else ahead of
his own.
Noble, but also not +
ใใ
about ' popping a
vessel ' .
" Yeah , wellโ what
can I say , you know
me well .
I think the last time
I've eaten wasโ
uh . . . . a few hours
ago ? Yeah . . . didn't
know it's been that
longโ "
the healthiest way to live.
She kneaded his
shoulders, strong and built
to last ; sculpted by years
of intense physical training
both on and off the field.
"I'll make us something,"
Jill suggested, pressing her
lips to his temple, "you
could always debrief me
while I cook." +
๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ I do ,
what happened is ๐อ๐อ๐อ๐อ ๐อ๐อ ๐อ๐อ .
part of me . . . & part of ๐๐๐ .
๐ฐ ๐ช๐จ๐ต ๐ฒ๐ฌ๐ฌ๐ท ๐น๐ผ๐ต๐ต๐ฐ๐ต๐ฎ ;
try to forget . . . or embrace it .
๐'๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ .
He's been here, looking for me. It's not him I'm afraid of-... it's what he might make me do.
To Chris.
To you.
Promise me, Claire, that you'll end this if I can't.