He didn't want to be here, that much was obvious. The road was thin and bumpy, the car rocking violently as he attempted to manouvre his tiny vehicle up the narrow hill. The car rocked, and he swayed with the car, the seatbelt cutting into him. He reached the top, and stopped his car, but didn't get out. He rested his head on the steering wheel, closing his eyes, the cold wheel soothing his tired eyes. He didn't know if he could face getting out of the car. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at it as if trying to pull away from his bad thoughts. He dropped his hands and lifted his head, eyes searching his dashboard for his cigarettes, pulling them into his pocket. He took a deep breath, opening the car door and braced himself against the cold air. Pulling his jacket tight around him, and closing the door behind him, he surveyed the area. He had parked a little away from the grave, as he felt wrong pulling right up beside it.

Chris approached it wearily, unsure of what to do. He looked down at the gravestone and touched the top of it lightly. The headstone was small and grey, mounted on a small slab, surrounded by patchy, short grass. He kneeled in front of it, tracing the words.

"In loving memory of Jill Valentine."

His fingertips followed every curve, over and over, repeating her name, as if he could permanently imprint the feel of her name on his fingers, to hold some form of her touch with him for a little while longer. Chris knew she wasn't buried there, but he was still hesitant. Unsure of what to do, he fell into a sitting position, and pulled his cigarettes from his pocket, and felt for his lighter. Pulling it out, he turned it over to study the inscription, a present from Jill.

"Chris Redfield, S.T.A.R.S, B.S.A.A, and best person ever!"

He laughed, bitterly. She always had a brilliant sense of humour, and at the time he'd loved it. He'd carried it with him always, and flicked the catch to annoy her. He lit up a cigarette, and took a deep drag. He felt like shit, having not slept for three days. He was unshaven, and couldn't remember if he was unwashed. Pulling on the cigarette, he exhaled a cloud of smoke, remembering how he used to tease Jill by blowing a cloud lightly in her face, making her cough and protest.

He felt like shit.

He missed her. Chris had avoided coming out here, but he knew he had to at some point. "Closure", they'd said. He'd get over it, somebody else had said. He was suspended because he almost punched his head in. Nobody understood. He had considered handing in his badge, because he'd failed the one person more important to him than the B.S.A.A.

Finishing the cigarette, he threw it away from him, pulling himself up and heading towards his car. He had a bottle of some form of alcohol in his car, he'd sit for a while and drink. He sat in the back, and found a bottle of whiskey, unscrewing the cap hurriedly and taking a swig. Lighting another cigarette, he juggled his alcohol and smoke, blowing smoke rings and drinking.

He didn't want to be here, that much was obvious.

A/N, super short again, but I've just got my internet back!