#p1-04

RECORD P1-04

Knew You'd Have My Back

Over the following weeks, routines settled into the apartment so naturally that neither of them ever acknowledged them.

Whoever got home first cooked dinner.

Whoever left first in the morning made coffee strong enough to wake the dead.

Whenever a mission or an investigation kept one of them away longer than expected, a short text message inevitably followed—not because either of them had asked for it, but because neither wanted the other to worry.

Some nights they barely saw each other at all, crossing paths only briefly in the kitchen at two in the morning—tired eyes, quiet jokes, leftover takeout shared straight from the container.

Other nights Leon stayed awake on the couch until Jill got home. He always claimed he "wasn't tired yet." Jill never called him out on the lie.

Leon even left her breakfast one morning, including a small sticky note:

In case you're hungry, I left you a Jill Sandwich.

Jill laughed quietly to herself while holding the note between her fingers.

She hadn't heard that joke in years.

Chris probably told him.

Or Claire.

Maybe Rebecca.

The entire surviving population of Raccoon City apparently shared stories about her behind her back.

Still smiling, Jill stuck the note to the fridge instead of throwing it away.

Only a few weeks earlier, the apartment had felt cold and hollow.

Now there were two mugs waiting in the sink, Leon's jacket casually draped over the back of a chair, his boots abandoned near the front door and quiet music drifting through the walls late at night to keep the silence away.

They were ordinary things—small, almost insignificant—but together they became constant reminders that someone else existed within these walls.

Somewhere along the way, Jill had stopped dreading coming home.

It was exactly what she longed for.

And although he would never admit it, Leon did too.

Since there were currently no known active outbreaks or suspicious deaths for once, most days found Jill at the B.S.A.A. training facility.

She shot until the recoil became muscle memory, sparred until every movement felt instinctive and repeated drills until exhaustion drowned out everything else.

It grounded her.

As long as she kept moving, thinking became optional.

"Hey, Valentine! Heard you got yourself a new roommate!"

Chris' voice carried easily over the sound of gunfire.

He was finally back after a mission somewhere up north—one he insisted on doing without her.

Jill lowered her weapon with practiced precision, performing the safety check at unbelievable speed before removing her hearing protection.

"Yeah, apparently the world's smallest coincidence," she said with a grin.

"But seriously—stop telling people stories about me. Especially the Jill Sandwich thing."

"Me?"

Chris placed a hand against his chest dramatically.

"You exposed yourself there."

Jill narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

Chris immediately started laughing.

"You seriously don't remember that night after Death Island?"

Alcatraz Island…

…but they had simply called it Death Island ever since, because that's what it had been.

Bits and pieces surfaced immediately.

Loud music.

Too much whiskey.

Claire unsuccessfully trying to water down their drinks.

Leon leaning against the bar, looking unfairly attractive for someone so annoying.

Chris nearly doubled over laughing.

"Leon spent all evening flirting with that girl just for you to walk over and steal her in like thirty seconds."

Jill finally groaned, covering part of her face.

"Oh my God."

"Poor guy looked absolutely devastated."

"Oh please," Jill scoffed.

"Leon Kennedy survives bioweapons on a weekly basis. I think his ego recovered."

Still…

She vaguely remembered Leon staring at her afterward over the rim of his whiskey glass.

Amused. Curious. Maybe a little offended.

The buzzing of her phone pulled her from the memory.

Leon: Won't make it home in a while, no need to worry tho. c u soon enough ;)

The small smile on her face faded before she even realized.

Now the thought of going home alone made something heavy settle in her chest.

Nights were the worst.

Too quiet.

Too much room for memories.

She didn't realize until now how quickly she had grown used to his company.

Chris noticed the change before Jill had fully recognized it herself.

Of course he did. After everything they'd survived together, Jill sometimes thought Chris could read her expression faster than she could herself.

Years with S.T.A.R.S., followed by years in the B.S.A.A., had taught them to read each other almost instinctively.

They had dragged each other from collapsing buildings, stitched wounds together in abandoned safehouses and stood back-to-back against nightmares no one else would ever believe.

Somewhere along the way, the lines between partner, family and something else entirely had blurred beyond recognition.

Neither of them ever talked about it.

Maybe because there was nothing left to say.

Or maybe because Jill could still remember the feeling of wanting him dead under Wesker's control.

Even now, years later, the guilt still sat too deep in her chest to fully look at.

"Everything alright?" Chris rested a hand gently against her shoulder. The gesture was familiar enough to hurt.

Jill forced herself to smile. There were things she couldn't tell him anymore. Not because he wouldn't understand. But because he would. And Chris worried too much already.

These days he was her partner, her oldest friend and unfortunately also her superior officer—which meant the second he realized she was spiraling again, he'd pull her from any field duty without hesitation.

"Yeah, absolutely," Jill said lightly. "Just means no dinner tonight. Guess it's takeout again."

Chris narrowed his eyes slightly.

Jill quickly added, "Man, I got way too used to this guy's cooking."

He wasn't convinced.

But he let her.

He knew that if she wanted to talk, she would.

Not sooner. But later.

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