Disclaimer: Any and all things not immediately recognizable as a registered trademark of Capcom's probably belong to me. Anything you do recognize as belonging to Capcom I am simply borrowing for the time being. I seek no monetary gain from this; I only wrote it for fun.

'Cause if I did have any sway with the Capcom folks, Chris would have a visible eye color in RE 5.

Summary: Post-Caucasus facility mission in 2003, Chris brings Jill tea and news.

Rating: K+

Anti-Umbrella installation
Krasnodar, Krasnodar Krai, Russia

Jill Valentine has patience.

It was a talent she's had to cultivate over the years. Her Daddy had tried with her when he'd taught her the finicky arts of working with locks, but it had been S.T.A.R.S. that had really stretched her capacity. Whether it was waiting for some situation to occur, or filing the paperwork after it finally did, or just dealing with the RPD's limited space for their group, patience was something they all need in spades. And she had adapted to that. It'd come in handy when they were no longer S.T.A.R.S., but anti-Umbrella resistance members, and the research and waiting portion of a mission could take months to come to fruition, not days or weeks.

By now, it stands to reason that Jill has patience down.

But after she looked at the closed door for the fifth time in fifteen minutes, she reflected, again, that there were places were her patience wore out much quicker than others. Little loopholes, so to speak. One was being interrupted before something she'd scheduled in big neon letters, like a shower or a much needed nap.

Another, as it turned out, was waiting for Chris to come back with tea.

Not that she was worried for him, per se. The mission at the Caucasus facility was a week and a half behind them at this point. The necessary quarantine time was done, as was the mission debrief. The fatal blow had been struck on Umbrella; they might not be dead yet, but they were bleeding out at this point.

Good riddance.

Besides, they were in a base staffed with operatives, both Russian and not, all of whom probably slept with weapons at this point. Someone would have to be suicidal to try and reach either her or Chris here. Umbrella officials are certifiably crazy, but she thinks they have a little more on their minds at this point than trying to swat a couple of persistent flies.

So - not worry.

Just - exasperation. 'Cause really, how long did it take to find the necessary canteen and come back with tea? Tea was a thing here; they had it all over the place. It was usually black, thick, and barely sweetened, but in deference to the climate, about a thousand degrees in temperature. She'd never pick it as her beverage of choice, but she'd grown almost fond of being served a little cup of lava in the morning; one could almost set a clock by how long it took to cool down to drinkable.

And maybe there's a little - frustration - mixed in with that.

They've been done here for a couple of days now, as the mission was always officially over once medical and debrief were done. And with Umbrella reeling, the number of missions was going to drop to nigh-nil anyways. It was "watch and wait" time now, patience time, to see what the next move should be.

But she hadn't felt patient and happy about that. Instead, she'd felt jittery, like there was something she should be out doing. From what she could tell, the same mood had infected Chris. Especially since all they had to do here was wait. Literally, in their case; they'd been told that if any news came through, they'd be informed, which had led Chris to stake out this particular room - a small, shabby yet comfortable parlor left over from the country's redder days - as the place to find them. Unfortunately, it meant one of them was always stuck there until the evening, and given that Chris's jumpiness was often worse than hers, that usually meant her.

His Russian was better than hers, too, making him better at the necessary eavesdropping. But that didn't matter right now, when he'd been gone for almost forty-five minutes to get some damn tea and she was freaking stuck here. In this cramped, odd smelling room with its glaring red color, strange pictures on the walls, and nothing aside from working on her Russian alphabet to distract herself with. And she'd already done that yesterday.

Times like this, she wished she'd taken up knitting. It was portable, it was oddly time consuming, and the needles could be sharp enough to threaten her partner when he wanted to go wandering around, better Russian or not.

She sighed and closed her eyes, willing herself to focus on her breathing. Part of this moodiness, she knew, came out of the fact that no one was talking about what came next. Sure, Umbrella was dying, but Umbrella had been a large, respected corporation for years, with its fingers in a lot of pies. Its corruption had run deep, and not all of those people were going to be as stupid as the ones she and Chris had run into. Many would have back doors, and some of those would certainly escape. Umbrella's death was a giant firework in the sky: big and bright enough to catch everyone's attention - and drag it away from those who'd flee into the shadows.

It was like the base gardener had always said: just pulling out the plant doesn't mean you've gotten rid of all the roots.

There was already a demand for B.O.W.s on the black market. It didn't need to get any worse.

She has been over this, by herself and with Chris, a half-dozen times in the last few days. Sharing it hasn't done anything for the worry; if anything, it'd created a jittery feedback loop between them. Most days she's glad they're close as they are as partners, but sometimes -

The door handle turned, a hinge creak following a second later, making her body tense. But the step and the scent of hot water that came next are both familiar, and so she didn't turn to see him enter the room. She didn't look until he said, "Here," and a tea cup hovered into her view.

She took it gratefully, cradling its warmth in her hands.

He moved around to the sofa on the other side of the table and lightly set a tray down on it. There's a thermos of tea, a prepared cup for him, tiny pots of tea condiments and what look to be plain crackers. Then again, conjuring up biscuits on this base would've been a miracle, and while Chris is good, he's not that good.

It mollified her a bit; pulling all of that together would've taken time. But she still had to ask, "Did you get lost?"

His mouth quirked at her. "A little," he said. "Went over to the second building to see if their canteen was better. Ran into Gustaw, who decided I deserved a 'proper service'." He opened the sugar container and spooned in a pinch, then offered it to her. She declined with a shake of her head; taste was not the point of tea for her, heat was. Besides, unless it was something other than black tea, it always just tasted like hot tonic water to her. He dropped in another pinch, adding, "I thought he was gonna do something drastic when we couldn't find actual tea biscuits."

"He would," she said, holding back a grin. Chris, for reasons he could absolutely not figure out, had a tendency to inspire a mild fanaticism in some of the people he worked with. Gustaw was one of them; Polish by birth, he'd been working in the Czech Republic during their six month scrape with Umbrella there. Chris had naturally - naturally! - saved his life a couple of times, and by the time they'd left, Gustaw had been part of the anti-Umbrella movement. She'd mock him for it, but given she'd followed him to another continent, she really had no room to talk.

He gave her a look, absently stirring his tea. "He was especially upset that 'Mz. Vallenteen' would not have biscuits with her," he tapped the spoon on the side of the cup, "tea."

Then he glanced up at her, just to make sure that it had registered. It had, though it had never really mattered to her that Chris had more clout with the anti-Umbrella people than she, his partner, did. It was useful, sometimes, to have someone in the shadows as back-up. But Chris was Chris, and her status mattered to him, no matter how many times she explained to him why it shouldn't.

She raised the cup of tea and blew on the surface, not that it would be suitable to drink for another minute or so yet. "I'll let him know I don't actually care for biscuits," she said. "Though crackers, of course, are fine."

He shot her a grateful look, then eased back onto the couch with a sigh. "Thanks," he said.

Something about his voice had been tickling her brain, as if it sounded just off enough for her to recognize that it was. She studied him for a moment over the rim of her teacup, taking in the shadows on his face, the set of his shoulders, the way he held his legs, and the curl and compress of his fingers against his leg.

Four years of working and sometimes living with him had taught her a lot about Chris. The signs might be subtle, but they were there: something was on his mind, something that hadn't been there when he'd left.

Now came the fun part: getting it out of his mind. They weren't the most talkative people, her and her partner, but over the years they'd struck on a fine balance of holding back and letting it out. Given how closely they worked together, it was important to know when to share and when to not; the wrong bit of information at the wrong time could be a liability on a mission, no matter how naturally they worked together as partners. It always came back to that balance, and part of that balance was that sometimes, she had to go digging.

She blew on her tea again. "You didn't take all that time just getting tea, though," she said. "Even with Gustaw along." She turned the cup in her hands a little, letting a new portion of it sear her gloved hands. "What's up?"

He looked up with a hint of a smile, as if he were amused that she'd spotted it. "There's some...news," he says.

"News?" She did her best to keep the hint of excitement out of her voice, but wasn't sure it worked.

He nodded. "Comrade Dyrgin was also in the canteen, looking for his tea. And we got to talking." He blew on his own cup of tea.

Her eyebrows went up, but she waited for him to finish messing with his tea before asking, "And what did he have to say?"

His eyes stayed on the cup of tea. "Well - you have two choices. There's the good news, and then there's the...interesting news."

She looked down into her own cup of tea, as if the surface would suddenly reveal what her choice would be. After a moment, she said, "It's probably bad luck to ask for the good news first, but - it's been a good month." Her eyes slid back to him. "So good news."

He shifted on the sofa. "We have retroactive approval from the Russian government for our mission at the Caucasus facility," he said.

That was good news. "So our Umbrella killing mission is not just a success, it's also legal. Go team."

The curl to his mouth widened to almost a grin, and he nodded. "It just came in this afternoon. He was going to come let me - let us - know once he'd gotten his tea."

"Saved him a trip, then," she said. "How thoughtful." She paused, eyes not quite meeting his, then finally gave in and asked, "And the interesting news?"

His eyes dropped back to the tea cup, then rose to look at her for a long moment. She held quiet and still, letting Chris have his moment of introspection, no matter how much it made her want to fidget.

She knew better by this point than to interrupt his train of thought; it would only delay the news that much more.

Then, to her surprise, he reached out and patted the seat next to him.

Her eyes widened a hair, and then she pasted on a lazy grin. "Trying to get fresh with me here, Redfield?"

"Only with your brain, Valentine," he replied, and patted the seat next to him again. When she didn't move, he added, "It'll put you in reach of the crackers - "

"Far be it for me to turn down Saltines," she sighed. She leaned over and set her cup of tea on the tray, then stood and slipped around the table to his left. She sat, retrieved her cup of tea, and then slid back in her seat, turning to face him a little. He picked up the little oblong dish of crackers and mirrored her, holding it out to her as he did. Obligingly, she took one and tucked it on the side of her saucer. He gave her a look, took his own, then set the dish back on the tray. He shifted back against the sofa arm, letting out a little sigh as he did.

"All right," she said as he settled in, "what's this 'interesting' news?" She couldn't resist adding the air quotes with her fingers.

He blew on the tea again, as if trying to clear his thoughts. Sometimes, she wished he thought just a little bit faster. Patience she had, but Chris did occasionally like to push the boundaries of it. Not intentionally, she usually thought, but at times like this, she wondered.

"There's been some...talk," he said, moving to dunk his cracker in his tea.

"Talk," she replied, a hint of flatness in her voice. Over the years, she'd come to hate mentions of...talk...because it usually meant the rumor mill had been in full force again. How many times did she have to say it: they weren't just partners, they were professionals, and no matter what she actually thought of Chris, there was that whole important ongoing mission that trumped, say, jumping her partner's bones. Had things gone a little differently in S.T.A.R.S...but they hadn't. With Wesker still out there, and the bioterror threat to the world in no way neutralized, the chance of things heating up between them was close to non-existent. Just the way it had to be.

His eyes met hers in a second of understanding. "Not that kind of talk," he said, fishing the cracker out of his tea. It looked like it had melted around the edges, but it still crunched when he bit into it. "This is about the Consortium."

It took her a moment to place the reference. "As in, Global Pharmaceutical?" She didn't add the mental As in, the dicks who've left us hanging for all these years while their Umbrella buddies ruin lives? It was understood at this point.

He swallowed. "The very same," he said. "Apparently, they've been talking to some of the higher-ups."

For a moment, all she could picture were very serious people in suits asking their superiors - who, if you went high enough, were also very serious people in suits - if she and Chris were 'involved.' She shook her head a bit to clear the mental image, then said, "What could they be talking to them about?"

Chris shifted on the couch. "That's the interesting thing," he said, dunking his cracker again. "According to Dyrgin - who says he got this secondhand from a visiting Russian leader -"

She waved a hand. "I'll get the paper trail from him later, Chris. Just...spill."

"Right." He shifted up a little on the couch. "According to his source, they want to put together their own response unit."

For a moment, she just looked at him. On his part, he continued to randomly swirl his cracker around in his tea, as if it would somehow cool it faster. It certainly wasn't going to make it taste any better.
"A response unit," she finally got out.

He nodded.

"As in - inspectors?" she asked. "Or are they talking about the kind of unit that includes combat training?"

His eyes rose briefly to meet hers. "No one is clear on that yet," he said.

She sighed. "Of course they're not," she muttered, more to herself than to him.

"It's just talk, Jill," he said. "But - "

He suddenly leaned over and put his tea down, then scooted forward a little. She understood the signal, and leaned forward a touch, too, enough for him to be able to lower his voice.

"Think about it," he said. "A bioterrorism response unit. A funded bioterrorism response unit. Doesn't it sound like the thing we've been talking about? About what's needed for the next step in this fight?" There's a thread of enthusiasm in his voice - a small thread, but one she can pick out.

She was not so easily swayed. "A GPC sponsored unit," she replied.

The slant of his mouth went cocky. "Like that can't be gotten around," he said. "C'mon, Jill, you know that."

Despite herself, she found herself grinning back a little. "Just might," she said. "And they would need people - with experience - "

His head bobbed in agreement. "People who have been out in the field, who have seen these viruses in action, who know how to contain and deal with the threat," he continued.

She gave her tea cup a meditative look. "Think they know how many of those people are out there?"

She meant it as a statement to how many lives Umbrella had affected, but for some reason, Chris leaned back. "More than they'd realize, I bet," he said, his eyes slanting away from her.

Her brow furrowed slightly at his sudden loss of enthusiasm. "It'd make them see the full effect Umbrella had on a lot of lives, that's for sure," she continued, but the words felt hollow in her mouth. Dammit, she had just gotten her partner talking; why was he pulling back from her now?

"Yeah," he said. For a second, he seemed focused on the threadbare edge of the sofa; then, he looked at her. "And maybe they'd be willing to do some of them favors, too," he said, voice softer.
"What kind of favors?"

"Oh, you know." His fingers tapped on the couch. "The usual compensation - money, provisions, plane trips home..."

She was about to tell him what they could do with that when the last phrase catches in her mind. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh - you think - you think they'd let us go - " She hesitated; the last home either of them really had had been burnt to ashes five years prior. She had sometimes wondered what they had done with the ruins of Raccoon City, but the thought of them rebuilding the city was - depressing, somehow. Not to mention possibly dangerous.

He gave her a little nod. "I think, after the work we've done, that they could spring for a ride back to the 'States," he said. He leaned back against the sofa arm. "Five years is a long enough trip to Europe, don't you think?"

She nodded absently, mind still caught up in the possibilities of being able to go back to the 'States. Not that she had family there, or really much in the way of - anything or anyone important. But she'd been born there, raised there, and though she'd enjoyed much of Europe, there were days when she burned to just - go back again. Be home again, regardless of actual living structures.

"It would be - nice," she said. "Even if it's just for a short time. You could see Claire! I could - well, I'd figure something out. I wonder how long they'd give us?"

He tilted his head, a line forming on his brow. "How long they'd give us?"

She nodded slowly. "This all depends on joining their response unit, right?" she said. She finally judged the tea to be cool enough to take a taste of; it wasn't quite, but she was almost used to that burn by now. "After all, it would take some time to gather the resources, the manpower, figure out the - "

Chris's head dropped, cutting her off. "What?" she asked.

He let out a little sigh, then slowly raised his head. "You know, you wouldn't have to," he said, and again, there was that softer quality to his voice.

"Wouldn't have to what?"

"Join this - this hypothetical response unit," he said. "Just because I would."

Again, for a moment, all she can do is look at him. Part of her understood what he was saying; after all, Claire had already left, and Barry spent more and more time with his family every year. But -

She leaned over and put her cup of tea on the tray, too. She needed her hands free for this.

She scooted forward, one hand reaching out to snag his free one. She curled her other hand on top of it, and very lightly, squeezed. His eyes darted between his hand and her face, and she wondered if he had started to get it yet.

"Chris," she said, voice level, "I wouldn't join this unit just because you did. This is as much my mission as it is yours." She applied a little more pressure. "Remember - I was there. I watched Raccoon City dissolve into groans and ashes." A little more pressure. "And if you think that I am going to let that happen to any other city every again - " She shook her head. "I won't. I can't, Chris. And - "

She met his eyes with the heat of her own. "You're not going to get rid of me that easily, Redfield." Another little squeeze, and then she let his hand loose and leaned back. "Like it or not, partner, you're stuck with me."

He shook his hand a little, not quite looking at her; when he did, though, there was something almost like relief in his eyes. "Copy that," he said.

"You damn well better," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Who else would put up with you?"

He shook his head then, showing a hint of a smile, and inside, she relaxed as well. Humor, she'd found, was an excellent way of keeping their balance intact.

"It's all hypothetical anyways," he said. "Not even out of the talking stages yet. But still - "

"Still?"

His fingers tapped at the couch again. "You're right. Something like this - it takes time to get together," he said. "Even if they push forward to get it off the ground, it won't happen overnight. Not with the GPC's bureaucracy."

"True," she replied, picking up her tea again. She took a short sip; it had cooled to an almost bearable heat. "They have a lot of channels to go through."

"Yeah," he said. "So even if we put our names forward and get selected - " he paused, as if to give space to the shared And they'd be crazy not to pick us " - there'll still be time between that and our actual call up. And - "

He paused again, fingers rubbing a loose thread on the sofa. She took another sip of tea, covering her impatience.

His eyes met hers. "And if they're willing to bring us back to the 'States during that time, I...I think we should take it. For ourselves."

She pondered that a moment, then asked, "Chris...are you suggesting that we take a vacation?"

"Yeah," he said.

Then his eyes went wide, and he quickly added, "Not together! Err - I mean - not that it couldn't be - "

She held up a hand, stopping him before he sprained himself. "I knew what you meant," she said. She raised her cup and smiled at him over the edge. "And while it has been charming taking in the sights of Europe with you, the last thing you need is me tagging along with you in the 'States."

Before he could reply to that, she went on, a sigh in her voice, "A vacation. An honest-to-goodness vacation. Going to a nice place...just to see a nice place."

He caught the thread. "Not to dig out some local informant who may or may not have good information."

"Or go on some sort of rescue mission."

"Or to pick up a 'special' operative from the middle of nowhere." There was a twist to his voice; he had really hated those field trips.

"And not a zombie, mutant dog - "

" - lizard-thing, bug-thing, Tyrant - "

" - or raving Umbrella psycho in sight," she finished.

They shared a moment of happy silence between them, and Jill had a feeling that if someone else walked in at that moment, they would have seen an expression close to bliss on their faces.

"What would you do?" she asked.

His eyes didn't quite meet hers. "You first."

She gave him a pointed look. He still didn't entirely look at her. "Don't make me pull rank, Valentine."

She scoffed. "You've never had any rank to pull."

His focus stayed on the back of the sofa, but something in his face softened. "Humor me, then."

She sipped at her tea again, eyes dropping to the rim of the cup. "You know," she said, voice soft and measured, "this is one of the things I went back to during those long nights. 'When this is all done, I'm going to - ' and then I would fill in whatever seemed best at the time." She raised her eyes. "It gave me a lot of ideas."

"Go on." Chris's voice was quiet, a gentle prod to continue.

She ducked her head. "That's the thing," she said. "I came up with so many places to see, things to do. For a while, I thought I'd combine them into a road trip but - it'd take me from Maine to California. That's one big road trip." She smiled to herself.

"Ever figure it out?"

She shook her head. "I tried cutting them into smaller trips, but it still felt like I was missing out on things. Big things, too, like the Grand Canyon." She raised her eyes. "Ever been out there?"

The soft look was still on his face, though his attention still seemed fixed on a loose thread on the back of the sofa. "Had a family vacation out there when I was thirteen," he said, and smiled a little. "Don't remember much, except Claire and I taunting each other to climb under the railings to get closer to the edge." A beat. "We both got in trouble for that one."

Her smile widened. "Is it really Grand?" she asked.

"From what I remember? It's really Grand." His eyes suddenly focused on hers, and his smile faded a little. "You should go see it, Jill."

That look on his face made something in chest twist; it always happened when he looked at her with that sort of expression, the one that suggested that he cared for her outside of their professional connection. It always made her want to touch him, to reach out and somehow reassure him that it was mutual.

As usual, she balanced out that emotion with sass. "Good to hear it lives up to its name, then," she said, and continued before he could reply to that, "But there's so many other 'Grand' and amazing places. Mackinac Island. The temple in - Tennessee, I think, the one that looks just like the Acropolis. Parts of Yellowstone. The Painted Desert. The Redwoods." She turned her free hand up as if to ask, "How could I choose?"

"Did you end up narrowing it down?" he asked, and his voice held the same soft quality as his face.

"Not really," she admitted. "But if I had a vacation now - in February - " She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I think - maybe - the Pacific road. Interstate 5 to 101 North. Just me, a car, and all that sunny road before me. Lots of cities to stop in and beautiful places to see." She smiled. "Unless I just got stuck in San Diego. I'd be okay with that - they have good seafood."

"That whole road has good seafood," he pointed out.

"And the problem with that is?" she laughed.

"Wouldn't you get bored with it?" he asked, tone lighter than before.

"If I do," she replied, arching an eyebrow as if that were even possible, "there's always In-and-Out."

His eyebrows went up. "Huh. Didn't even think of that."

"And they call you the brains of this team," she said, impulsively reaching over to tap him on the forehead. He mock-winced.

"They certainly don't call me the beauty," he replied.

"I know." She gave a soft, heartbroken sigh. "Barry, he gets all the good compliments."

His eyes widened. Then he grinned, and then, he laughed. It wasn't that rare a sound anymore - not like those days in 1999 and 2000, when she had practically had to paint herself as a clown to get any other emotion besides something grim out of him - but it happened infrequently enough that, even though it was her joke, it still made her grin back.

It didn't last long, though. It never did, though this time, the grin seemed to want to stick around. "I'm going to tell him you said that," he said.

She gave a little so-what shrug and set her tea cup back down on the table. "So," she said, "what're your big plans for a vacation? Visiting Claire? Got your own list of places to go?" She leaned in towards him. "Your turn to humor me, Chris."

He seemed about to say something, then looked away. He shifted away, too, rubbing at the back of his neck, and it took Jill a moment to realize that he seemed - nervous? It was such an unusual emotion on him that it took her time to parse it right, and when did get it, it made her feel confused. Despite what they'd been through, Chris had always seemed to have an unassailable confidence. He got frustrated, and he got angry, but rarely was he - nervous. Once the mission was on, he was set and solid, and it was her department to have the pre-battle butterflies.

His nervous tinged silence lasted long enough that her confusion gave way to impatience. What, she wondered, was so difficult about her question? Why the hell did he keep putting it off? Was she missing something here, or had Chris always had a problem with the word 'vacation'? But - he'd been the one to bring it up, so...what did that mean?

Finally, just as she was about to reach over and shake him, he looked sideways at her. "Keep a secret?" he asked, voice low.

"Of course," she said, lowering her voice to match. "Just you, me, and the sofa."

He seemed about to smile again, but his eyes slid to the ceiling. "Really," he said. "Just between you and me."

She let a moment pass, then said, "Chris. Look at me."

He did. With a deliberate motion, she reached up and crossed her heart.

"Just you and me, partner."

For a moment, his face straightened, and the look in his eye took on a depth she didn't recognize. Then he gave a little nod, and it was gone.

"All right," he said. He changed position on the couch so that he lounged against it, head resting on the back edge, no longer facing her at all. "My honest-to-goodness vacation plan would be this."
A beat.

"Mm-hmm."

Another beat. Then, "Really? Just...sitting on a couch?"

He cracked a smile. "Not just any couch."

"You have one in particular in mind?" She tried to keep the dryness out of her voice, but it was hard. If he just told her and got it over with, it would be done. Why was he stalling?

He nodded. "I do." His head rolled to the side as if to look at her, though she couldn't see his eyes. "Honolulu."

She blinked. "Hawai'i."

"Yup. I'd go, rent a room in some cheap little hotel," his fingers traced the air in front of him, "and just - stay there. Relax." He sighed. "You know, that thing I've forgotten about."

She propped her hand on her chin. "So you'd go to Hawai'i...and do nothing?"

"Yup."

"Huh." She tried to match the words "Chris" and "inactive" and got a big red X in her mind. "Wouldn't you get bored?" she asked.

His head rolled a little towards her, mouth quirking. "I might," he said. His eyes flicked to her. "And they don't have In-and-Out."

She rolled her eyes a little back; as if they didn't echo each other all the time. "Really, Chris," she said.

His eyes lifted to the ceiling. "Maybe," he said. "But there's lot of beaches out there. I could walk down to one, see what I could see."

"The ocean, mostly," she murmured.

He let out a sigh, and it sounded oddly mellow for Chris. "Have you ever seen the color of the ocean over there, Jill? It's blue, a blue like you've never seen before, a blue like - like you don't find in nature outside of gemstones. Turquoise and aquamarine and sapphire, all lined up, all stretching out in front of your eyes." His voice had dropped to a whispery, reverent tone, a little like the one he used when talking about a particularly good cache of weapons or supplies, but mostly like nothing she'd ever heard from him before.

"It sounds amazing," she said, voice volume matching his. "Have you been before?"

He shook his head. "Nope," he said. "I had buddies in the Air Force who stopped over there, though. They said it was gorgeous." He chuckled. "Plane guys, ya know? And they were talking about white sands and the beauty of the ocean and all the hot - "

He cut off suddenly, and she had to choke back a laugh. "The hothouse flowers?" she teased.

He said nothing, and she let out the laugh. "Chris," she said, "there are gorgeous and under dressed ladies on the beaches of Hawai'i. There are gorgeous and under dressed ladies on most beaches around the world." Her grin widened. "Even here, if you go down to Sochi at the right time."

He licked his lips, and once again, she read nervousness in his frame. Twice in one day - and didn't it figure that the thing that would make Chris Redfield nervous wasn't a life and death situation, but a discussion of doing nothing and looking at pretty girls on a beach?

Oh Chris, she thought, giving him a fond look, you really have no clue sometimes, do you?

He swallowed. "That's not the reason I'd want to go, Jill," he said, voice coming out a little rushed.

She couldn't help continuing to tease him. She got so few chances to when it came to this sort of thing. "You did say you wanted to relax, Chris."

He lifted his head to look at her, then straightened up and turned to face her completely. "Not like that," he said, voice low. "Being out among people - sure, that's different, and it could be relaxing. But really, Jill, I just want a break. Some downtime. A chance to be with my own thoughts for a while." His hand slid along the couch and brushed hers where it lay. "That's all."

She slid her hand up further and slipped her fingers between his, letting them twine. There was more stirring beneath those words than she really could acknowledge, then they both could acknowledge fully, but that didn't mean she couldn't show him that she understood. Because she did.

She'd have to try hard, very hard, to fail to understand him at this point.

Finally, she gave a little nod, breaking eye contact. "I think, Chris," she said, voice rueful, "that your vacation idea is better than mine."

His shook his head. "Nah, a road trip sounds nice, too." His fingers tensed against hers one last time - a squeeze - and then moved away.

"Sure, sure," she agreed. "But at least you know where you want to go. I don't even know that."

"You'd figure it out, Jill," he said.

"I guess," she said, then reached over and picked up her tea cup again; her hands needed the warmth. "If we get the chance."

He was quiet for a moment. "Yeah," he said. "That's a pretty big if. But - " His eyes met hers again. "I'm gonna keep hoping."

She gave him a little smile. Were there still threats out there in the world for them to face? Yes. Did they deserve a break before getting back to it? Yeah, they did. Just for once, they did.

"Me too," she said.

~Fin~

Author's Note(s): So here we go, first story in shape to publish. You nervous? *I'm* nervous. But aside from that, this was inspired by a common conversation between Lovely Beta Faye(tm) and I about how fictional characters are really bad at taking breaks. And then wondering, well, what sort of break would these two take? It sorta went from there.

Krasnodar Krai is a Russian state close to the Caucasus mountains, and one that seemed ideal for setting their base of operations. (Why am I trying to inject realism into a Capcom story? It's a disease, I swear.) It also contains Sochi, which aside from being the site of the next Winter Olympics, is a famous Russian resort town.

In-and-Out Burger is a California burger chain known for being a) awesomely delicious and b) rare outside of California, making it c) something everyone wants when they go to California. It's been around since 1948; I figure Jill can know about it.

Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it! :)