A/n: Written in 45 minutes because the music that plays when you have to fight Jill is HEARTBREAKING.

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I can't always say we got along well. Remember when you first joined Alpha Team? Whoo boy, everybody was stoked to get a new bomb disposal expert, especially a girl. Hey, we were all young a stupid back then, remember?

I miss being young and stupid.

And there you were, walking in wearing civilian clothes, and there I was, thinking you'd be another bimbo who'd melt for a young special ops guy like me. I sauntered over to you, cig daggling from my lips as I asked you if you needed help. You took one look at me, and saw through my façade, and said plainly, "I don't date smokers."

Right there, in the middle of the RPD lobby, you brushed me aside and went on your way. And remember my face when I walked into the STARS office and saw you there?

How was I supposed to know that you were the new recruit?

I've to say, even then, we underestimated you. Two teams, 12 people, and you the only female, you could understand why. It was a total sausage fest, wasn't it? And our 13th and youngest member wouldn't be joining us till a year later.

You'd complained, oh yes. STARS, Special Tactics and Rescue Service, always ready to respond to anything the cops were too pussy to deal with. Every mission, always in front of Barry, in-between Joseph and Brad, behind Wesker and I. I'll admit it was kinda sexist, but could you blame us for trying to keep the girl of the group safe?

It wasn't until a few weeks into it that we realized our mistake. Down at the gym, that damn Kevin Ryman…he'd been trying to get promoted to STARS for months, only to get the position handed to you. He never got the chance to get pissed when Chambers got the next open position a year later, but you know why. Then, though, you were pissed. It was the first of many times I'd witness the infamous Jill Valentine fury, but this first time…blue-grey eyes into chilling ice, lip curled…pure, Amazon fury.

To tell you the truth, I don't even remember what Ryman said to set you off. Next thing I know, you're in the ring, padding and boxing gloves hastily thrown on. The only thing I remember after that was you flinging him over your shoulder.

Amazon indeed.

That set off the great quest to find out just who you were, Miss Jill Valentine. Wesker already knew, of course. Bastard always knew. It had been Forest and Joseph who had found your file. As in, literally, your file. Haha, do you remember? 1997…nope, no fancy computers for us. Just get information old school. They made photocopies and showed us in the guys' locker rooms.

What? Don't give me that look. Yeah we cops got to keep things confidential, but there's no such thing amongst fellow STARS. Well, let me tell you, this wasn't the last time you'd impress me.

Jill Valentine, daughter of famous burglar, Dick Valentine. Expert in breaking and entering. 2 years training with Delta Force?

Well shit. That put my Air force and sniper training to shame. Needless to say, we never kept you in the middle again.

Then came the moment you and I were crammed behind those crates, bullets flying over our heads. Some freaky cult talking about worshiping The Plagues, called it's members Cattle, and themselves The Enlightened. You slammed a clip into your Beretta and winked at me, "Ready, partner?"

It wasn't until many years later that I'd learn that the cult we dealt with that day was an American chapter of the Los Illuminados that Leon dealt with in Spain in 2006. Didja know he and Claire have got a thing now? I-I'll tell you more later.

That word…Partner. It echoed in my head, still does, even today. We were part of a team, which in itself was part of unit, which in itself was part of a larger…thing. But within all that, we formed our own twosome. From then on, we watched each other's backs, every time the team was split up, it was you and me. Eventually, you became my best friend.

You were one of they guys now, and we even threw you a little party at Barry's place. That was when you met Claire. Oh, Claire. She was already reaching the end of her senior year in High school, yet she still felt the need to size up all the women in her big brother's life.

She took a shine to you immediately. You even convinced me to drag her to play paintball and laser tag with us. She even took your input when you said that Raccoon University was crap. I never thanked you for that. Had she been in Raccoon U on that night, she would be dead. All that play fighting with us special ops…that was enough training to save her life.

A lot happened over the next few months. I quit smoking, Claire moved out, Barry's youngest started school, Joseph bought a dog, Richard Aikens joined Bravo, and Rebecca Chambers soon after.

A series of grizzly murders…

The siren rang. Bravo team's chopper had crashed in the woods 24 hours before. Wesker had told us to wait before going in to search for them.

Why did we listen to him, Jill? All our friends…why did we listen?

Everyone was gearing up, and there you were, in your uniform and stupid hat, all ready to go. You planted a quick peck on my lips, winked, and with a cheeky, "Ready to go, partner?" you were out the door and in the chopper. I remember pinching myself to see if I were dreaming, and followed you guys into the chopper.

It turned out to be a nightmare. Kevin Dooley, ripped to shreds. Joseph Frost, eaten by undead dogs. Edward Dewey, hand ripped off and bled to death. Forest Speyer, pecked to death by undead crows, rose again, and finished by me. Kenneth Sullivan, eaten alive while his camera recorded everything. He was still alive when we found him in that hall, a damn zombie chomping on his neck. Richard Aiken, that brave, beautiful, fucker. Poisoned by a giant snake, and ripped apart by undead sharks not a few hours later.

All because that traitor Wesker needed fucking combat data! Wesker's the bad guy, remember Jill? The only survivors were chickenshit Brad Vickers, family man Barry Burton, 18 year old genius whiz-kid Rebecca Chambers, and you and I. The partners.

But it wasn't over with the Mansion. I wasn't in Raccoon City the night it was destroyed. I can't even imagine or describe the horrors you, Claire, and Leon went through that night. I'm glad you had Carlos to help you.

Remember Russia? One last night of horror, and Umbrella fell. Five years of fighting, and it was over in one night. Remember how when we got back to the base, after the decontamination showers hours of questioning, remember how we made love after? Remember how I told you that, covered in blood an entrails, you were still the most beautiful person in the world to me? How happy we were, happy that it was over?

It wasn't. Black market dealings all over the world had sky-rocketed the bio-weapon threat. We were the founders of the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance. We could've retired and left the fighting to the fresh BSAA agents. But we couldn't do that. Could you image us, retired at 29 and 31? We joked about that, too. Remember?

It wasn't but a few years later that I lost you. You stupid, stupid girl, I would've been fine! But you were you. There was that Jill Valentine fury again, the expression of protective rage on your face even as you tackled Wesker out that window.

You funeral was beautiful. All our surviving friends from the olden days, all the rookies you've helped me train, Claire and Leon. Everybody. Rebecca clinging to that convicted felon of hers, and Barry's little girls crying over 'Auntie Jill.' The families of our former STARS teammates were there too. All for an empty casket and a folded flag. Don't get me wrong. You funeral was beautiful, something to remember. It's just, as I stood over your grave and fingered the ring in my pocket, I couldn't help but think our wedding would've been more so.

That was two years ago. I've been assigned a new partner, and here I am. Middle of Bumfuck, Africa. And here you are. You've gone blonde. You're all skintight leather and machine guns. Memory wiped, working for Wesker, and your eyes still turn ice blue when you're pissed.

I lift my gun, and aim at the device on your chest, praying to god that

I don't miss. All I can do is this, and hope that you remember.

Remember.

Jill! It's me, Chris! Don't you remember me?

Remember.

Jill, stop! What're you doing?

Remember.

I pull the trigger.

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It's finally over. Really over. As in, 'shoved Wesker into a volcano' over. He won't hurt anyone anymore. I brush your hair aside. You're gonna want to dye it back to brown when we get back home, won't you?

You don't have to remember anymore. We're gonna make some new memories now.