" maybe... " he would not know. outside that one tour, he never saw the place as it was, only the tomb it became. dozens of corpses all wearing the same clothes he was, like hallways full of his own bodies.

a clueless kind of love, like in the cheesy young adult novels he sees lining the window displays along the streets he walks downtown, toward his favorite chinese food place, his favorite bar, his favorite corner to pick up some comfort by the hour. outwardly, he has the knee-jerk reaction to call it stupid, dismiss it so it does not hurt him so much that he is utterly alone. the only contacts he has are people he has worked with. krauser, dead. sasha, paralyzed by his hand. luis, dead. angela, traumatized. the only ones who remain are hunnigan, who is literally paid to deal with him, then claire. claire is too good for him. he does not blame her for refusing to stay-- no, that is a coping mechanism. she would stay with him if he let her.

but he does not bend, he does not open up his rib cage and show his vulnerable insides. he cannot handle another heartbreak.

a slash of red, like an open wound in the universe. dismissed in the same instance. even if he ever caught ada, he would not know what to do with her.

" a tube top and-- " he cants his head, brows lifting, disappearing into the fringe of hair obscuring part of his face.

leon's eyes scan her, her entire body covered in shapewear. she looks like a woman who should be casually jogging around a park at four in the morning, ponytail swinging in time with the patter of her high-end tennis shoes, if not for the portions of skin peeking through tears, runs from snags, singed edges of her sleeves burned by gunfire.

" got any pictures because i lost my imagination decades ago. " he had unconsciously leaned forward, to the edge of his seat, hooked by the bait of her words.

outside the crowd roars again into an onslaught of questions. he climbs to his feet, tender steps as every jolt of his body sends a muscle spasm through his back. another surgery is on the horizon.

at the window, he slips a finger between the blinds and peers down. the three spokesmen have left the podium and move into a car. another has stepped up to face the audience of bloodthirsty reporters. he does not recognize any of them.

this hypothetical- this other life where the world is softer- it's heavy as he speaks it into being. it feels cruel to crack it open, to dismiss him outright. leon holds everything at bay, but she can see the loneliness clinging to him- as dark and thick as the death shroud they all carry. even as an arm of the government, jill can't bring herself to hate him. if anything, her heart aches.

how many times has she been saved by the people embedded in her life? not just physically, but in those desperate moments on the verge of drowning; lost in memories of blood and bodies, of scorched earth and grasping hands, of violence and hot breath on her skin. without chris, without claire, without sheva, where would she be? what would she be?

so she gives him a smile that lets the fantasy survive. it's not about her anyways. not really.

her words had been lighthearted- teasing- but there's a flash of regret as his gaze trails over her. it's benign; more observation than him ogling her, but she forgets sometimes how it feels to be perceived in her body, how quickly it drags her back to a stare behind dark glasses. to irving's wandering eyes.

even with chris, there are moments attention makes her squirm, makes her sick, and she trusts him more than anything.

there's the faintest crack in her voice, her shoulders tense as she shakes her head with a forced laugh, "i was a little too busy to take pictures. and this was a long time before 'selfies'." jill almost wishes her own imagination had burned away in those same decades. every day her mind paints vivid, all consuming scenes, and there is no comfort in any of them.

leon stands, peering past the blinds, and jill takes a moment. takes a breath. then, back straight and head high, she joins him, glancing out at the rabid audience.

jill recognizes the bsaa uniforms in the same moment leon narrates their arrival. she can't hide the way her brows furrow and her eyes narrow; suspicion towards her own people that she quickly buries. or attempts to.

what are they doing here? he's right- there's no jurisdiction on american soil, and they're lucky to show their faces without the government making a fuss. so for them to be making such a public appearance...

maybe it's as simple as them having to; the government insisting upon an explanation not only of the operation, but of her. or maybe something has changed. something she and chris have been kept in the dark about.

her response comes somewhat absently as she tries to catch any of what is being said, "they thought it'd be better if we weren't recognized..." safer for the civilians. how horribly and quickly that had crumbled.

If they had to duck away from enormous spiked iron balls rolling at them down narrow corridors and jumping over trap doors that would otherwise send them to a bedding of spears, he could get a better kick out of it. Their current setting of soulless walls, where everything looks so sterile as if somebody’s just peeled the protective plastic off the furniture, might be more familiar, however. Nobody has taken the time to ready up some entertainment for them. It’s like they didn’t expect anyone outside of the authorized personnel to make it this far.

Helping Jill with her way up, his eyes fling from one corner to another; a deeply-rooted habit urging him to find the blinking red lights of cameras. There’s nothing, it seems. At least not for the bare eye to catch at a cursory once-over. The tightened grip around his knuckles beckons his scattered attention back to her. Again, he doesn’t ask. He discerns how her mind must wander elsewhere ( his does the very same ), but despite the swishing impulse of wanting to ascertain whether they should take a fiver, his tongue stays barred behind clenched teeth.

“ I’d give it a strong six, ” he estimates after a faux contemplating hum accompanied by a half as exaggerated scratch on his temple.

The site looks abandoned, though not like someone stormed out in a hurry. More like they haven’t returned from their lunch break, and never will. He strolls over to the desk, idle fingers leafing through loose pages filled with strings of numbers, a binary code he decides not to try to make sense of right now.

“ Taylor is a whole... robotics whiz. Research funded by taxes. ” When he sputters it aloud, his stomach wrenches in a revolting knot. The government’s involvement wouldn’t shock him, unfortunately, but the idea of reaching this resolution with Jill beside him momentarily makes him pale. She wouldn’t be too surprised, the agent reckons, yet neither of them need such... complications. Shaking away the preventive instinct prodding him to cower and change the subject, he banks on sincerity, “ He was looking into biodrones. ”

A rugged scrap of paper, a corner of what appears to be a sketch. Leon lifts it, discerning the faint grid and then the hasty signature at the bottom, the engineer’s initials.

neither of them linger on the way she'd gripped his hand too tight. like every moment before this- her composure cracking as trauma and worry threatened to pull her under- leon simply ignores it. and jill is grateful.

especially as she takes in her surroundings and struggles to get a deep breath.

white, sterile walls are more familiar now than her own reflection, and the fluorescent lights dig into her skull like an ice pick. but there's no sign of human experimentation here. there's nothing medical- just papers and white boards and a chaotic desk. it makes it easier to move on and start searching.

leon offers more information- sparing though it may be- and jill listens as she rifles through papers. at the mention of his work, she pauses and glances back, eyes sharp, "he was researching biodrones for the government? what were they intending to use them for?" there's an edge to her voice- not a directionless anger, but something cold and focused.

if they weren't in the middle of an investigation, if they weren't needing to work together, jill would grasp that thread and pull. but there's too much to do and she can't even be sure leon knows anything. besides, him offering this information is a sign of trust, or at least an olive branch. she won't throw it back at him.

so she lets it go, sidling up to the desk as he yanks a drawer and nearly sends the clutter to the ground. without a word, she shoots him a glance and kneels- fishing out a well worn lockpick. within seconds, the drawer pops open and she tucks the tool away, "i was alpha team's b&e specialist." she says it with a smile and a faint glimpse of pride, even if those days are long gone and tainted dark.

already she's going through the contents, grabbing what looks like a journal and handing it to leon without looking his way. and there, beneath unorganized papers, is exactly what she was hoping for; a neat little keycard, "they really should protect these better."

making sure he's ready, she positions herself by the door, card in one hand and gun readied in the other. if they're continuing deeper into labs, there's no telling what they might encounter. if there are infected, it's best she's leading the charge.

her fingers curl around the other's, slow and tender. not a trap sprung to ensnare jill, but connect. a promise always to catch her. sheva could never put into words why she feels the way she does, as if she has gained some love for the woman through her journey with the man who moved the world for jill. perhaps that adoration rubbed off on sheva. she feels as if she is a lifeline for both of them. chris would have killed himself looking for jill and now as jill looks for him, sheva must be there once more.

she laughs, grateful for the release of tension and sorrow. her smile is big, real.

" i know he would, that's how i know he is one. he's so, hmm... bashful, i guess i'd say. " her head tilts, a cascade of braids falling over her shoulder, along the tattoo marking her as a warrior. " or maybe, i'm just used to blowhards. our team is full of people who like inflate their egos. " and it is well deserved. the west african branch has been handling this current outbreak incredibly well given the circumstances. everyone still breathing has been gifted medals of valor, promotions and praise. they take their commendations happily, and perhaps it is just part of their culture, but they celebrate louder in honor of their fallen brothers. " we fight for those who cannot and i can't allow guilt to dim my light, i shine for my people and for the fallen. "

she bears the dead as much as she fights for the living.

from the corner of her eye, she sees the older woman moving toward their table, a large serving tray balanced on her upturned palm. she stops beside their table and sets the plates before them. sheva gives a small squeeze to jill's hand then release her.

" thank you, auntie. this looks delicious. " she takes up the wooden chopsticks set on the napkin beside her plate. the woman nods to them and shuffles over to the counter where she had been when they walked in. " i hope you will. we've been getting sponsors to help pay for clean up. terrasave has been working just as hard as anyone on my team. i've even got to meet his sister. "

a secret smile flickers across her features.

sheva's hand is warm. familiar, despite never having held it before- as though they've known each other for a lifetime. her touch drives away memories of other, heavier hands, and jill is able to breathe again. sheva holds her in the present. all she sees is solid wood tables, soft light, and painted panels across the walls; no more ghosts.

jill laughs at sheva's choice of words, smile deepened with love as she shakes her head, "bashful... he really is, isn't he?" back in s.t.a.r.s he'd put on such a show; a playboy, a rockstar, a rebel. it was charming in its own way, but it couldn't compare to the truth of him. the softness. the heroism that expected nothing in return. that heart that was much too tender for the pain of this world.

inflated egos are far too familiar in their line of work, but there is no doubt in her mind that sheva's team has earned it where most others haven't, "you could take a page from their book. i think you deserve a little ego." she's just like chris- too modest in the face of incredible acts.

the older woman returns with steaming plates and jill, briefly, mourns the loss of sheva's touch. the anchor slips away and leaves her adrift, but the food makes up for it. even just the smell is enough to make her emotional.

jill thanks her and catches rice and seasoned veggies on her chopsticks, lifting the bite to her lips and savoring it like a prayer.

it tastes like memories. like the hole in the wall restaurant in raccoon city she and chris would spirit away to after work- a tiny place staffed only by an older couple that knew them by name. best chinese food she ever had.

she wants to believe they made it out.

flavor blooms across her tongue, green beans bursting and spice making the back of her nose itch. again her eyes burn with the threat of tears, but this time it is a warm wave of happiness buffeting her.

in this moment, jill is human again.

she sighs contentedly, digging in enthusiastically- eating just a little too fast and not caring.

but the way sheva mentions 'his sister' gives jill pause. she swallows her bite, a brow lifting as she catches the little smile and the something hidden beneath it, "i'm glad you two got to meet." her own affection tinges her voice, along with the soft edge of sadness; jill misses her. claire is family as much as chris is, "have you two been talking?"

jill can't help but frown slightly at the mention of the businessman, but she understands the necessity. it helps that everything else feels so optimistic. reassuring, "it's so good to hear how much recovery's been happening. if there's anything i can do-" there isn't. she knows there isn't; the knife that rends a wound can never be what heals it. but jill has to try.

tw for mentions/implications of sa

𝚆𝙴𝚂𝙺𝙴𝚁

wesker’s obsession with chris and jill was born at arklay manor as they thwarted his plans and, worse, insulted his ego. he became fixated on revenge, though it was always chris more than jill that drew his attention. wesker was unable to see a woman as an equal, but was simultaneously unable to acknowledge the psychosexual nature of his focus on chris. so jill became a proxy for those feelings; his anger at their closeness turning into a sense of entitlement to her.

wesker wanted her to pay, of course, but gaining access to her only deepened his obsession with drawing chris in to make him suffer. jill was, in many ways, a tool and an object, rather than a rival he respected. 

because of this, his and jill’s dynamic was a web of contradictions. wesker hated her for many reasons; her interference in his plans, her disrespect, her closeness with chris and the way she- not wesker- would always be the center of his thoughts. but he had also convinced himself that he desired her, and that the feelings born of his obsession were for her rather than her partner. he felt the need to possess her- to make her his and make her love him. yet, at the same time, he wanted nothing more than to inflict pain upon her.

the p30 allowed for both. 

with it, wesker was able to trap jill in her own mind. he could make her worship him, make her act as though he was her entire world, and he could make her his weapon. wesker was able to turn her into everything she stood against, and he made it clear he wanted her aware for every moment of it- taunting her with his ability to take her mind away if he chose, and acting as though it were a favor that he didn’t do so. 

the torture he enacted upon her was truly sick and yet, in every moment of it, his thoughts always were on chris. wesker knew that any harm he brought to jill would be another step towards breaking the man he was obsessed with. it was something he would frequently remind jill of, knowing it would also worsen her own pain in the midst of the horrific things he did to her. 

wesker’s treatment of her fluctuated constantly between a twisted sort of affection and violent, brutal hatred. jill preferred the outright cruelty, and it is the only version of events she will speak of. 

𝙴𝚇𝙲𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙰

excella gionne was an even more confusing set of contradictions. her dynamic with jill oscillated wildly, depending solely on wesker’s presence. 

excella greatly resented his obsession with both chris and jill. chris, however, was absent and a man, while jill was a constant and- though in a twisted way- was clearly favored by wesker. because of this, she was a threat; particularly given the mockery of a relationship wesker would force jill to pantomime. 

excella wasn’t stupid- she knew she was disposable to wesker and that she would have to use anything she had to keep him reliant on her presence. this became even more pressing as his research approached completion with access to jill’s antibodies. as uroboros grew stable, his dependence on tricell’s resources became thinner, and excella was well aware that there was a timer on her usefulness. 

like many women, excella had been taught to use her appearance to her advantage when it came to men. more than that, she understood that wesker was a man with an ego- practically a god complex- and clearly felt a need to be fawned upon and worshipped. it was something that worked heavily in her favor. at least until jill was brought in. 

excella did not have the same history with wesker and lacked his respect, therefore her flattery and submission was far less valuable to him when jill was present. 

from an outside perspective, excella’s hatred and derision towards jill appeared to be based in jealousy and, given wesker’s underestimation of excella and her intelligence, was also what he believed it to be. that misconception benefited her, given the way it stroked his ego, but it still wasn’t enough while he had jill.

it was only when wesker was absent that excella’s attitude towards jill would change. while some bitterness remained and she would, at times, still take her anger out on jill, her behavior was drastically different when they were alone. without wesker, jill posed no threat to excella’s position or safety. she was no longer competition. 

when it was just the two of them, the jealousy and contempt faded to something more personal. wesker’s absence not only meant a temporary reprieve from the fawning and fighting for attention, it also meant jill was hers for a stretch of time. during these periods, excella treated her more like a favorite pet than a rival. still not human, but not trash beneath her heel.

ironically, jill was the only one that would see excella’s persona drop. knowing that jill could not betray her, excella would talk to her. she would complain about wesker and his lack of respect- about how exhausting it was to keep him interested in her and how frustrating it was to pretend to be stupid. she would keep jill silent, but excella almost seemed to take comfort and relief in talking to her. 

even still, excella did not care about jill. nor did she make any attempt to protect her from what she was enduring at wesker and irving’s hands. 

𝙸𝚁𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙶

ricardo irving was a straight forward man driven by greed above all else. his desires were simple and his behavior was predictable; every decision he made was for his own benefit. 

jill was often sent out alongside him to assist in infecting the populace, but irving lacked the status and power of wesker and excella- not given even tertiary ‘ownership’ of jill. still, she was required to follow his instructions as long as they did not go against wesker’s design, and she was made to keep him safe as long as he was useful. 

like everything else about him, irving’s treatment of jill was simple. he knew about her from raccoon city and, of course, her involvement in the bsaa, and it was a rush to be able to exert control over her. he got satisfaction out of mocking her for what she’d become, but that was far from the worst he would do to her. 

irving took advantage of the power he had over jill for his own enjoyment. unlike wesker, he did not care about pretense or the illusion that she wanted him; she was simply a toy to play with. he viewed his abuse of her as something he was not only allowed, but owed.

much needed redesign of death island jill

she bathes in the cyan light of the device in her hand, all sharp edges and translucent glass. inside the coolant bubbles silently, stolen fingerprints magnified against the sides. the notification appears on her messaging application. a little '1' appearing above the envelop icon. it quickly becomes a two, a three. another chirp and an email has pinged. a loud roll of laughter erupts from near the bar. the homely woman behind the counter crosses her arms, shaking her head as she watches the man sitting in front of her downs another entire lager of cheap beer. square shoulders framing the head set in the center, the nape still tender with a healing wound. he is surrounded by a few regulars, they clap him on the back. the bouncer had thrown out some rowdy men from the far side of town after some shit talking had happened and as reward, they paid for his drink.

her head lists to one side, strands of blonde slip from behind her ear as the device is tucked within the confines of the pale dress, tight enough to move like a second skin on her body. she climbs to her feet and saunters over to the group. the others disperse, seeing her moving toward them, closing in.

her hand snakes over his shoulder, the muscles beneath the woven wool of his shirt hard under her fingertips.

" back to your cage, huh, bear? " the bartender states. that certain type of soviet block humor in how she teases him. the others joke about the woman in blue who holds his leash but the bartender calls him bear. it feels right. a brute, like all men.

" gotta go. " she brings her mouth close to his. " we've work to do. "

he shifts and the wooden stool beneath him groans and cracks as his bulk lifts upward. he eclipses her entirely. he turns his head toward her and his empty eyes look through her. she has broken him. the white knight removed from the board and into her palm. inside her chest, pride and hunger thrash about. there is more she can take from him, until he has nothing left.

he follows her obediently, stinking of alcohol and sweat. long drags off his cigarette like a steam engine barreling down the tracks. the patrons part, the path to the door clear. outside the air is cool in her lungs. spring has set in, the ground is bloated with snowmelt. the lights of the city reflect up at her as she turns to him and plants a kiss on his cheek. a lipstick imprint remains as she speaks to him with false intimacy.

" a friend warned me about someone, a hitman. i'm sure it was derek. " her sob story pours out of her, half truths she vomits into his hollow skull. painting herself as the perfect victim, trying to mine out the hero still festering inside him. " i need you to secure my place while i meet with her here, tonight. " her palm presses into his chest, a heart beats steadily in his chest. she fauns, appealing to him as she dresses in a color she knows triggers something in him. powdery blue and blonde hair. she wears his lost love like a costume. " i'll be home before dawn. wait up for me? " a grin too wicked to ever be mistaken for honesty, but for a man whose brain is still mending, half-lidded with grain liquor mixing with cheap hops churning in his stomach, she must seem sincere.

he nods, sways and lumbers off toward the low profile of a small two-door truck he folds himself into. idles a moment as he lights another cigarette, then pulls out of the parking space, up the street and around the corner.

another ding.

the woman has left the air port.

the bar is warm in a way that clings to her skin- unpleasant despite the overwhelming cold beyond the door. each breath carries the stale tang of beer and, beneath her tightly zipped jacket, jill's heart thunders and skips. she breathes deep, trying to regulate; the pacemaker should kick in before she passes out, but it's the last thing she wants to risk.

she's been so focused on just getting here, on finding chris, that she hasn't had time to stop and think. now, though, it's all she can do.

because he isn't here. and neither is that woman.

the bartender approaches and there's some relief in the presence of another woman. jill orders in faltering russian- a beer she's only going to sip at- and offers a tight smile.

alone for the moment, she fishes into her pocket and retrieves the printed and carefully folded photograph. jill's eyes strain as she inspects it for the thousandth time, frustration mounting in her chest before she finally concedes and pulls out her glasses. she has to get used to them, she knows she does, but for now that flash of anger remains each time she finds herself needing them. another drop in the bucket. another thing wesker stole from her.

even with the aid of lenses, jill has to hold the picture close to her face to make out the details- the pixilation certainly not helping. it's hard to tell, but chris looks tired. broken down in a way that grips her heart in a fist. maybe it's just her imagination, though, because he's very clearly smiling as he holds this stranger.

in another life, this woman would have been entirely unfamiliar but, here and now, it's like looking at a distorted mirror. the same pale hair, the same blue clothes... who is she? why is she with him? somewhere in the back of her mind, the thought crosses that he's found someone else. that he's here by choice. but jill doesn't even allow the worry to register; pushing past it before doubts can creep in. something's wrong. it's the only explanation.

as the bartender returns, jill thanks her before flipping the photograph around. once again she relies on her her long unused russian, "do you recognize this man? or the woman he's with?"

his attention snaps to her as she opens up her mouth and divulges a roll of distant thunder, a true laugh. he savors it, wide eyes returning to their half-veil state as he soaks in the spotlight of her smile. it could have just as easily drove her from the room. his odds of success were never good but he took them anyway, he was a gambler at heart. the greater the odds against him, the more willing he was to double down. push the limit of his good luck streak. it was harmless, if there was nothing else he knew, he was aware just as much as anyone else was she was spoken for.

" mhm. " he nods as he hums an affirmative. " 's true. i was recently single, " an old wound, the last good woman in his life had left a burn on him when she had told him she would not follow him to raccoon city. every year, around the day, he exploits his resources to look her up. she married years ago, has two kids and moved down south. it makes sense, she always used to talk about wanting to live some where it never snowed. " and i was looking for a rebound, then you walked through the room. marvin, he uh, he called out. said something to you. i don't even remember what it was, funny how memories work, huh? "

he remembers what marvin looked like as he died. as his dark skin turned ashen, a dullness dropping over his eyes, the shaking breath coming to a wet, gasping end. a few moments of stillness. of deafening silence marked only by the patter of rain on the high roof of the building, then a revolting miracle of life returned. the body jolting, shaking then leaping toward him. leon looks down at his palm, there is nothing in his grip but he can feel the bite of the gun as he pulled the trigger.

" i said something smart ass and someone smacked the back of my head. ' don't even think about it, rookie. ' he said. ' she's out of your league. ' then marvin, he kinda laughed and said you were with redfield, the pair of you just didn't know it yet. " leon's smile pulls tight to one side as he peers into the past. " hey, maybe in another world. " in that other world marvin had lived, perhaps he had had a shot with her and they shared an apartment that overlooked the zoo.

it had been frustrating- being one of the only women in the rpd. it was a constant fight to be taken seriously, to be more in their eyes than a trophy to be won. but not with s.t.a.r.s. not with alpha team; even in the flirtation, in the teasing, there was respect.

it feels the same here in a way that makes her nostalgic.

leon describes the first time he saw her, and she can't help but agree; memories are funny. because this same moment exists in her past, and yet she could never pick it out from a thousand others.

but marvin she will always remember. his kind eyes. his good humor.

his body splayed out by irons' desk in the pit- all that life ripped away with nothing left but a note.

jill can't help but wonder who it was that deterred leon. must've been someone that liked her; to most of them she was just a stuck up bitch who thought she was out of their league. she's glad it wasn't all of them...

she can't help but laugh again, sighing softly as she pinches the bridge of her nose, "i'm starting to think we were the only ones at the station that didn't know." partners from the start, but too young and stupid to see the depth of it.

now it feels like this ring on her finger has been there her whole life.

he talks about another world and gives him a smile, gives him a, "maybe," but it's impossible to imagine a life where she chose anyone but chris. that's not what the hypothetical is truly about, though; she can see the weight of loss in his eyes and that faded reflection, that dream of a better world. the same dream of a better world haunts them all.

taking the compliment feels wrong in the wake of all the death she'd left behind. and it feels wrong without holding carlos' name right there beside her own. but she doesn't argue, just lets the light tone carry forward, like a tiny raft in this vast sea of horrors, "wait until i tell you i did it all in a mini skirt and tube top." again, young and stupid. but at least she'd looked good.

As long as he hauls himself into action, he can keep his mind busy, and he definitely needs it to stay occupied now. Whenever he walks into another assignment thinking it will be a formality for a seasoned agent like him, much to his chagrin, it turns out to be quite the opposite. Although he wouldn’t wish for Jill to keep that information to herself, knowing that Claire is somewhere around here too does weigh heavily over his head. She’ll be okay. He has to remind himself. Over and over again. This bitter mantra.

“ Sure you haven’t seen any statues around? ” Endless riddles remain painfully ridiculous to him. He always expects them, in a way, but it never stops astonishing him how some people must have too much time on their hands and a quizzical liking for medieval torture devices to forge those absurdities. It’s truly a surprise that so far the floor hasn’t opened up beneath them to toss them further down into an elaborate chamber scattered with skeletons of the ones that haven’t been so lucky to crack the code granting the key to their escape.

If only that could be the end of their worries now. Shuffling slightly to the side, his gaze more amused than the situation calls for flickers to her, “ That’s what I’m counting on. ” Partly, it’s another joke rolling into their lighthearted banter, however, stumbling upon the horrid familiarity of an undercover lab would — perhaps ironically — make it all a tiny bit less confounding for him.

He watches her survey both directions before giving her a terse nod and heading left. After a short crawl, there comes relief for his sore back when the tunnel goes into some sort of an anteroom, where he can stand up. Fucking finally. Having a look around with his flashlight, he spots a ladder leading to a manhole.

“ Jackpot. ” His boots soon make it up the rusty bars, keeping himself steady with one hand as he climbs them. Warily, gloved knuckles slowly push the cover up, the flashlight rendered needless as it peers into a bright room. Shoving the metal plate aside after checking for any nearby intruders, he shortly announces, “ Looks clear. ” He shuts the torch off and exchanges it for his gun. Sneaking out, the agent crouches by the opening, offering a hand until Jill makes it out as well.

he gets another soft laugh from her as she shakes her head, "i guess whoever built alcatraz was more into minimalism. though i'm sure whoever has taken up residence here has plenty of statues on the way." the location is something that's been turning over and over again in her mind- trying to figure out why here. sure it's isolated, but that's not hard to find. were the labs here already? were they built recently? has alcatraz always been yet another base for the wealthy and their sick experiments? if it has, the american government is certainly well aware. joke as they might, it would explain the lack of puzzles; not a creation of an eccentric, but a government site designed for efficiency.

jill glances at leon, as though she might find the answers just by studying his face. of course, there's nothing but exhaustion and that smile he pulls as easily as his gun.

the tunnel widens around them, water dripping in rhythmic echoes. together they turn, taking in the space, before they both hone in on the same thing; it's rusted and slick with moss, but against the far wall is a ladder.

she hopes this will lead back to the main building- back to chris and claire- but intuition tells her they've gone too deep for that to be possible. so she waits as leon scales it. ready to catch him should the rungs give way.

as he pushes the manhole to the side, a bright glow cuts the perfect mockery of a halo above his head. the illusion shatters as he opens it completely, and jill's stomach twists.

she would know that cold white light anywhere.

though she doesn't need his help climbing free, jill accepts the extended hand anyways. there's something steadying in it; reminding her of countless, cascading moments where chris' warm, calloused fingers wrapped around hers.

again the worry spikes sharp beneath her ribs and her grip tightens a little too much around leon's. but then she's out and she's letting go, eyes closing for a moment as she centers herself. reminds herself chris isn't alone. reminds herself edonia will never happen again.

quickly, she brushes past the moment and joins leon in surveying their surroundings. it isn't the main lab- that much is clear- but it has to be connected.. she glances to the steel sliding door and the neat little box just beside it, "on a scale of one to ten, how likely do you think it is that someone just happened to leave theirs in here?"