Okay, check it. What follows is a somewhat dark, serious story of the fallout of Jill's experiences during Resident Evil 5. The idea popped into my head and this story wrote itself, going in a direction I did not readily expect. These things happen. Picks up where the game leaves off. Serious, grown-up themes reside here, and if you cannot handle that or object to sex between two consenting, adult women, then you need the help of a professional.

This may or may not become a series, depending on the responses I receive.

Lastly, if there are any mistakes in grammar and/or spelling, I apologize. And if there is anything that craps on RE canon (I don't think there is) I may or may not care. You're welcome to check.As always, I appreciate any comments, concerns, and feedback you might have for me. I more than appreciate them, I thrive on them. So please take a moment to feed my addiction.

Disclaimer: Characters not mine. My interpretation.

"You're Sheva, right?"

Jill had gazed past Chris at the lithe, muscular woman standing behind her partner. Obviously a BSAA agent, the young woman had shrugged off the formality of tactical gear in favor of clothing that embraced modern African practicality and tradition. Skin the hushed smoothness of coffee with a touch too much cream, she gave a half nod of affirmation as if caught off guard at being addressed directly. "Yes."

"I'm so sorry," Jill had said breathlessly, still dizzy with the mind subverting effects of P30. "I had no control, oh but god I was still aware." She hadn't known why she felt such a driving urge to apologize to this woman. Perhaps because Jill, while not in control of her actions, had been part of the force rending apart Sheva's homeland, a tool Wesker had used to destroy the stability of the region. "Forgive me?"

Sheva shifted forward as if to reach out and touch Jill, but stopped. "It's alright," She said with a conviction that was as surprising as it was gentle. Their gaze had met.

That had been three weeks ago. Before Sheva and Chris had continued on their mission to stop Wesker, to prevent him from spreading Uroboros across the globe and washing the Earth with his perverted dreams of a viral evolutionary cleansing. And before they had succeeded, before Jill and Josh had swooped down in the BSAA chopper not to rescue them; Chris and Sheva did not need rescuing. They needed to be taken away from the smoldering volcano and the remnants of Wesker and Uroboros.

Time had seemed to pass so slowly since then. Sequestered safely in a hotel in Nairobi, Jill still did not feel she had returned to full strength. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror which was slick with beaded condensation from the hot shower she had just stepped out of and realized she had not returned to her old self in any way.

The process that had stolen her free will had also slowly robbed her of her body's natural pigmentation over time. Her hair had faded to a near white blonde, and the roots showed no signs of it returning to her natural chestnut brown as it grew out. Her eyes had paled to a light bluish gray and had not darkened. Even her skin had lost some of its natural tan; she was much fairer now, skin a creamy pallor.

It made the scars of the P30 device that kept her pumped full of the drug that allowed Wesker to control her all the more visible. Sheva had helped clean the puncture wounds on her chest, gingerly cleaning and swabbing each with antiseptic. She had initially bandaged it, binding her whole chest with sterile gauze, and also changed the bandages periodically. But as the wounds gradually scabbed and healed, the bandage was no longer needed.

Now they were freshly healed scars, bright pink and contrasting sharply with the milk pale of the surrounding skin. Jill stared at them in the mirror, a halo of pink dots around her sternum, in between her breasts. They were a stark reminder of everything she had endured at the cruel hands of Wesker for two long years.

It was worse than being Wesker's slave. A slave could still rebel, could buck under the control of her master, fight, defy his will. Jill did not even have that. She was a prisoner in her own body, agonizingly aware of everything she said and did but powerless to stop it. She could resist, but it was at best futile.

She remembered attacking Chris and Sheva during that final fight. She fought with an uncanny quickness and strength that shadowed Wesker's. All the while her mind cried and screamed for her to stop, for Chris and his new female partner to win, to beat her even while her limbs of their own volition blocked each blow.

There was something worth than death, worse than being Infected with the T-Virus. At least once the Infection reanimated her dead body she would still be dead, even if her body wasn't. The Infected were just mindless, empty shells. Whatever had made them human was still dead; the virus only reanimated their flesh.

Jill had been alive and aware of everything.

Shuddering, she tore her gaze away from the mirror and finished toweling dry. She dressed in some of the clothing provided by Sheva. Nothing BSAA or distinctive, but civilian clothes: a light button down khaki blouse and jeans, hiking boots. Jill stole another glance of herself in the mirror. The sudden fairness of her features made her appear much, much younger she realized.

And dressed like this I look like a damn foreign aid worker or some nature photographer, she thought, amused.

Someone rapped gently on the bathroom door. "Jill? Is everything okay?" Sheva's voice was muffled through the door.

"Fine," Jill responded and quickly finished lacing her boots. Sheva had become her de facto babysitter. There was a mess of plagas in Kijuju, and Chris and Josh had promptly returned to the field to finish the cleanup. After so many years of fighting, Chris did not know how to do anything else. What would he do now that Wesker was dead? Tricell was still involved somehow. There would still be work for the BSAA, even if Wesker was dead and Umbrella gone.

Sheva was more than attentive. She had helped tend to Jill's wounds every day, checking the progress of the healing. She ensured that Jill ate, despite the fact that she rarely had much of an appetite. Fresh, clean clothes were already laid out on the bathroom vanity whenever Jill took her evening shower. She was always there within moments whenever Jill was ripped from her nightmares into wakefulness, screaming.

There was a genuine concern behind everything Sheva did, every gesture. She had not stayed with Jill out of some feeling of obligation to Chris, Jill had realized. The younger woman truly wanted to be there, to take care of her.

And while Jill, though surprised by it, appreciated the gesture, she still felt… hollow, vacant. It was as if she were going through the motions, no longer herself. Three weeks had done nothing to assuage the lingering guilt and shame.

When Jill opened the door, she blinked, startled to find Sheva still attentively standing by the bathroom door. "I'm fine," she insisted.

Sheva seemed to accept this and stepped back. "The plane leaves tomorrow at noon. Do you still feel strong enough to fly?"

No, Jill thought dismally. "Yes," she nodded and carried her bundle of dirty clothes into the bedroom, hearing the heavy thud of Sheva's stiff leather boots behind her. "I still feel weak," she admitted, shoving the dirty clothes into her duffel without bothering to fold them. She was already packed. There was not much left for her to do tonight. She had been packed except for the essentials since this morning.

"You should be at your normal strength," Sheva said gently. "The P30 gave you enhanced strength and speed, you're used to feeling stronger, but you are probably just as strong if not stronger than before he… before the drug was administered."

Jill wished it was just her physical strength she was concerned about. "I'm going to lay down for a bit."

Her mind shuddered because her body couldn't. Jill longed to squeeze her eyes shut, but the P30 would not let her. Sometimes she could gain minor control of her facial expressions, but otherwise she simply stared blankly, dully ahead.

Excella trailed her finger along the line of Jill's jaw. "So pretty," Excella whispered cruelly. "It is no wonder Albert wished to keep you around."

As bad as Wesker was, as diabolic and malevolent as he could be, he was too self-absorbed, too preoccupied with Uroboros to focus much of his attention on Jill. Instead, he found a new way to humiliate her without diverting his concentration, and he forced her to cater to the needs of his partner, Excella.

A true sadist, Excella Gionne thrived on the power she held over others. Helpless, Jill fed her insatiable need for control.

It had been Excella's idea to wrap her in that ridiculous hooded robe and mask, to clad her in the trappings of a perverted angel of death. Daily, she was subjected to Excella's relentless taunting. A plaything, Irving liked to call her.

"It seems your old friend Chris Redfield is in the field. I wonder how you'll feel when you snap his neck." Excella would say. Or, "You are the new angel of death for Africa. The BSAA bioterrorist. Ironic."

Jill was sometimes allowed to respond, sometimes not, depending on Excella's mood. Sometimes, she would have to simply stand still as stone and endure the merciless taunting.

When Excella was in a particularly cruel temper, she would allow Jill to speak, to spit and curse as Excella pressed her body against the smaller woman's, letting her struggles excite her before…

Jill broke into wakefulness as if she had been submerged in water and abruptly reached the surface. Gasping, she felt the slick of sweat on her skin, uncomfortably cooling in the evening air. Pale moonlight ghosted through the open windows of her room, along with the earthy scent of the African breeze. The crispness of the sheets was abrasive against her hypersensitive bare skin. There was no other presence in the room; she was alone.

She choked back the first sob, biting down hard on the inside of her cheek. The second one escaped her. They were dry sobs; as much as she willed the tears to come, they would not.

The door creaked open, "Jill?" Sheva was at her side, sitting on the edge of the bed, both her arms around the smaller woman before Jill could protest, before she could recover, stall Sheva, and fool her into thinking everything was okay.

The sobs continued as if each ragged gasp were forcibly torn from her. Part of her wanted to push Sheva away, but she was frozen. Her hands fisted into the sheets bunched at her waist, knuckles whitening, her jaw clenched as she cried through clenched teeth. It was not so much a dream as it was a memory that woke her.

All the pain and suffering Wesker and Excella had used her to unleash on helpless people. The brutality she had survived. The guilt and shame of being used. It lurked beneath the surface of her consciousness, always there, never truly forgotten. There was no peace, even in sleep. It always resurfaced.

And Sheva's touch, her closeness was infuriating. Far from being comforting, it felt as if Jill could feel it beneath her skin, maddening. The soothing caress of Sheva's hand sweeping up and down her back stung with gentleness. The stroke of her fingertips as she reached up and tucked an errant strand of pale, blond hair behind Jill's ear was agonizing. Worst of all were Sheva's whispers; each gingerly uttered word of comfort was a heartrending curse.

Jill did not want this comfort; she did not deserve it. She needed something more, something visceral and feral.

So when the sobs subsided into whimpers, when her fists relaxed, when she was able to, she scooted away from the other woman. "I can't—"

Nonplussed, Sheva only closed the gap between them again. "It's okay, Jill. You're safe."

This time, Jill did not pull away. She pressed herself against Sheva, crushing her lips against hers with wild recklessness. The African stiffened with abrupt contact, but did not pull away, gradually kissing back but gently, which only served to frustrate Jill further.

She bit down on Sheva's lower lip hard as she lifted herself onto her knees. One hand fisted in the front of the other woman's shirt, the other seized her hand, pressed it in between her legs, to show her what she wanted, needed.

Sheva gasped audibly and lurched away. "No," She shook her head, trying to extricate herself from Jill's relentless assault of lips and teeth and hands. "Jill, no—" She stumbled off of the bed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand when she finally escaped Jill's grasp. "Not like this."

The burn of tears was fresh behind Jill's eyes, but still they would not fall. "Why not?" She growled in frustration. Pale green eyes regarded her with fondness, causing her stomach to turn.

"Because… Because…" Sheva stammered and rubbed her face with the heels of her palms. "You mean more to me than that," She confessed, casting her eyes aside as if ashamed of the admission. "I won't use you like that, especially after everything you've been through, I—"

"I am not made of goddamn glass!" Jill threw up her hands and gaze up to the ceiling, exclaiming as if to the heavens. She climbed off the bed, untangling her legs from the sheets. "You, Chris, you're so afraid of breaking me. I am not a doll."

"That isn't it, Jill." Sheva insisted plaintively.

"Then what is?" She made another lunge for Sheva, but she was quick and strong. Under the effects of P30, there would have been no contest, but now Jill was easily shoved away. "I need this."

"Why?"

"Because I need to feel, something besides the guilt and shame and weakness and…" It was a piss poor explanation. She could hardly understand her own feelings, let alone explain them to someone else. There was an aching hunger in her, not quite sexual in nature. It went deeper than that, a vein frenetic desperation that touched more than the physical.

When she saw the African woman still gazing at her with unfettered affection, Jill decided she would have to try a different path. She shoved Sheva back, hard so that her back hit the wall with a thud. "Because I raped your homeland. Because I killed your people."

"That wasn't you—" Sheva protested, but Jill shoved her again, willing her to fight back.

"Wasn't it? My hands were stained in African blood. My hands spread disease and cruelty. My hands held the weapons that killed hundreds, thousands." Jill pushed herself against Sheva so that their faces, lips were separated by a few scant millimeters of distance. "A bioterrorist. I might not have been in control of my actions, but I was still aware. The villagers in the marshes even welcomed me. At first."

The change in Sheva's eyes that she had been longing for flickered, just long enough for her to push Jill away but she would not relent.

"Villagers, Delta Team, Kirk. For God's sake, Sheva! I was part of it. Wesker and Excella's Angel of Death!" Jill scoffed and turned away from the other woman. "Africa was perfect for their experiments. Who cares what happens here? Already so much war and violence in Africa, what is a few more dead?"

Like a frayed rope that finally snaps under the weight it bears, Sheva seized Jill by the upper arm and yanked her around. The hand she raised was only a flicker as her palm connected with her cheek, whipping her head to the side.

It was silent. Jill felt a little bit of the heaviness in her chest dissipate with the burning sting of her cheek. Slowly she raised her eyes to Sheva, who despite still breathing heavy with restrained anger, already tasted the regret of her actions. But Jill would not give her long to savor it. Instantly she was pressed against her again, kissing her hungrily.

This time, Sheva responded in kind, her kiss no longer gentle, loving. Her touch was no longer comforting, but rough. There weren't many clothes for Sheva to rip away; Jill slept only in underwear and shorts. Hooking a thumb in the waist band of both, Sheva yanked them down, letting them settle around Jill's ankles, leaving her as naked as Sheva was clothed.

Experienced, calloused fingers roughly dipped in between Jill's legs, exploring for only a moment before being withdrawn. Jill whimpered and rolled her hips forward, desperately seeking the return of that sensation.

But Sheva did not oblige. She tore away the rubber band that restrained Jill's hair in a ponytail and fisted her hand in her hair at the back of her head. She jerked roughly, pulling the other woman's head back to grant her access to her neck and shoulders, biting and sucking and the exposed area.

Jill reached for Sheva to pull her closer, but was thwarted by a fresh jerk to her hair. Jill cried out softly as Sheva pulled her down by the fistful of hair, forcing her to her knees. Knowing her intentions, Jill reached up to unbuckle and unzip her trousers but Sheva batted her hands away without a word. Instead, Jill was forced to watch as Sheva slowly unbuckled her belt, unzipped her trousers and lowered them down her hips.

Wordlessly, Sheva took hold of Jill's hair again, and pushed Jill's head between her legs. Using the wall to support her, Sheva moaned huskily as Jill sucked and licked. A steady hand on the back of Jill's head held her in place, and she tried pulling away once to see what would happen. Sheva jerked her back, and pressed into her tongue harder, riding her mouth until her entire body tensed, and with a great shudder, relaxed.

Sheva released her head, her breath ragged and heavy as she recovered from the violence of her orgasm. Sitting back on her heels, Jill wiped her mouth, refusing to look the African woman in the eye. She yelped partly in surprise, partly in pain as she was jerked to her feet by the upper arm and roughly guided to the bed.

Laid on her back, Jill peered up at Sheva long enough to watch her struggle out of her boots and trousers before laying herself on top of the smaller woman. Grabbing her by the wrists, Sheva pinned her hands over her head and mounted her, pushing into her with her hips. Jill felt her face redden and flush with shame, and turned her head to the side, to look away; she knew Sheva could feel exactly how very wet she was, practically drenching Sheva's thigh with her arousal.

Sheva's rhythm did not start out gradually, but with frenzied passion, hard and unforgiving. Jill cried out with each thrust of her hips, and struggled against the weight of the other woman's body, the grip she had on her wrists, but Sheva only held her tighter. The tension of impending climax built within Jill. She felt it and so did her lover.

"Don't you dare cum without my permission," Sheva hissed harshly in her ear, heavy with the threat of consequence if she were disobeyed.

Jill moaned helplessly at the command, bucking her hips even harder in response, but she held back. Sheva ground against her mercilessly, shuddering once as another orgasm rocked through her, but never slowing, the thrust of her hips relentless in their assault. Jill bit her lower lip as the urge to be swept over the precipice into orgasm built within her, but she complied.

But she could feel and smell the wetness of both women on their bodies, slick against their thighs, musk and sweat on the air. Her nipples were painfully hard from the friction of Sheva's coarse shirt rubbing against her with each thrust. Sheva's breath was rasping in her ear. And still the tension between her legs spread, consuming her until it was all she felt, all she could feel. She was overwhelmed by the feeling, overwhelmed by the powerlessness, overwhelmed by the strong woman pinning her to the bed, using her, taking her.

"Please…" Jill whispered, finally feeling her resolve crack.

Sheva ignored her.

"Please, Sheva… Please let me cum…!" Jill was greeted by further silence, and felt the corners of her eyes begin to leak with involuntary tears. Violently, she pushed against Sheva, struggled in earnest. "Please, Sheva…"

There was the faintest brush of lips against the rim of her ear as Sheva nuzzled closer to whisper, "Cum for me, Jill." Gone was the authoritative tone, the demanding rasp, replaced by… infinite kindness.

And Jill came. She rocked against Sheva's thigh wantonly, letting the other woman carry her through the orgasm that ripped through her body ruthlessly. She screamed as she came, feeling the orgasm rock her small frame, her entire body thrashing with the intensity of it. She surrendered to it completely, and to the younger woman holding her down.

It seemed to last forever, her body still heaving with the throes of it as Sheva collapsed on top of her, already gathering Jill into her arms as if anticipating the harsh flow of tears that followed.

Jill wept, the tears finally flowing freely as Sheva held her gently to her chest, as if cradling a child. The floodgates finally opened, she let the tears flow and she cried. She cried for every life taken while Wesker and Excella controlled her, cried for the humiliation and torture she endured, cried for the grief and horror she had caused and witnessed.

Sheva let her cry, let her sob until there were no more tears left, and Jill whimpered and heaved. The caress of her hand as she stroked Jill's back was now welcome; the whispered words of comfort were now consoling. Now, Sheva brushed away the tendrils of hair matted to Jill's brow, it was reassuring.

Not every wound was healed, but Jill felt better, more at ease in her own skin. She might not look like the old Jill Valentine, she might never be that person again, but she was a little closer.

Hesitantly, she gazed up into her African lover's eyes, afraid of what she might find there, hoping that she understood the drive, the need for this catharsis. There was no fear, no disgust, no judgment or contempt etched onto Sheva's features. There was simple, unrestrained adoration there, and Jill found it no longer turned her stomach.

Despite this, Jill whispered. "I… I'm sorry."

Sheva's hand held the back of her head, gently this time, pulling her closer as soft lips were pressed to Jill's brow. "Shhh… it's alright. I think I understand."

They were silent; Jill was more than content to be held, her head against her lover's chest, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, and Sheva was happy to hold her, wrapping her arms around Jill and holding her close. Minutes slipped by. Feeling the heavy fingers of sleep tugging at her, Jill shifted, not wanting to succumb to its seductive hold just yet. "Did you mean it when you said I meant more to you than…?"

Exhaling an unsteady breath, Sheva nodded. "Yes. I did."

There was an uncertain yet thrilling flutter in Jill's chest, something she had not quite noticed before, had been too preoccupied by her own self-pity to pay attention to. "So, where does that leave us now?"

"We have a very long plane flight tomorrow," Sheva replied matter-of-factly, masking her own uncertainty. "And we will have plenty of time to talk about it then."

Jill accepted the postponement of the conversation and did not reply; she had already forced Sheva through enough that evening. It would be a further unfairness to corner her into this conversation tonight if she did not want to talk about it.

Surprisingly, Sheva continued after a few moments of silence. "But whatever you decide to do, wherever you want to go, we can do it together, I promise."

Ducking her head, Sheva grazed her lips across Jill's faint smile.