Chapter Text
This is going to be hard,” Grace says, looking into the mirror. “But I can do it.”
Nine months have passed since Raccoon City and Victor Gideon’s care center. She is no longer FBI Technical Analyst Grace Ashcroft - she is Grace Ashcroft, Intelligence Officer. It’s her first official day at the BSAA post training, and she feels like she’s going to throw up.
C’mon, she thinks. ‘You shoved zombies into an industrial meat shredder. You can handle the first day jitters.’ She squints. ‘Right?’
Emily bolts out of the car at school drop off, a swift streak of red cheeks and silver hair, shouting a loud “Love you!” over her shoulder.
It’s weird to hear it again, that small word with big meaning. It had been like that with her mom, that casual love, but after…after Wrenwood, there was a wall between her and the rest of the world - something she could see out of, but no one else could see in. She grew accustomed to loneliness, wearing it like skin. Now, this new normalcy feels bizarre - forget the fact that suddenly she is a mother. What the hell is she supposed to do with that?
Up a crowded elevator to the 12th floor. She feels crushed in the middle of the pack, jostled between elbows and shoulders. She steps off the elevator straightening her sweater sleeves.
“Don’t worry, Grace,” Bea says later. “I’m partnering you with an experienced agent.”
“Oh?” Grace can’t stop staring around herself at the vast array of monitors, all lit up and flickering with rapid feeds of constantly updating information. “Who?”
She’s thinking about the data bases, the troves of information just a keystroke away. Her mom would have shit her pants at this kind of access. So much knowledge, so many possibilities.
She is so engrossed, leaning down to peer at a screen, that she doesn’t notice a new presence.
“Oh, speaking of,” Bea gestures. “Grace, meet Jill Valentine.”
Very recently, Grace had the shit knocked out of her. On multiple occasions and in repeated succession. It was a new experience for her, but valuable. Getting the shit knocked out of her was a bit like what it's like looking into Jill’s eyes for the first time - with a lot less ouch and a lot more wow.
She is pretty in a tough way. She has a quick, intense way of looking into Grace’s eyes before her gaze darts away to her mouth, and back again. She has a couple inches of height on her, though neither of them is particularly tall. Her lips look soft but her jaw could break concrete and Grace suddenly forgets how to form speech.
“Uhhh…” says Grace.
Jill holds out a hand, her eyes locking onto Grace’s. “Nice to meet you.”
Wow, does she know how to not be intense? Grace wonders. She gives a start when Jill shifts, a small frown between her eyebrows, her hand still out.
“Ah, s-sorry. Grace Ashcroft.”
She takes Jill’s hand and hooolllly shit. She can feel the calluses on her fingers. Her hand is incredibly warm against Grace’s cool skin. Ever since Raccoon City, she just can’t manage to stay warm. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe all that adrenaline burned her out like Superman snorting a line of Kryptonite, completely zapping her ability to regulate her body temperature. Whatever it is, Jill’s warmth is like a hot cup of coffee on a cold morning and if Grace had one less point of social decorum, she might moan.
Jill considers her with new interest, holding her hand still. “Leon’s Grace?”
Grace snorts. “Yeah, that Grace.”
“I heard about Raccoon City. That was a tough one.”
No shit, Grace thinks. She can’t sleep most nights. She stays awake, sometimes just sitting beside Emily’s bed, watching the ceiling and listening for the slithering thud of something sinister.
“Leon says you saved his life.” There is something like respect in Jill’s eyes, a new sense of appraisal as she looks Grace over. “Actually, he won’t shut up about you.”
Heat flares over Grace’s cheeks and she pulls her hand away from Jill. She shifts, awkwardly rubbing her neck.
“And the girl…Emily? You took her in?”
“Yeah - Uh, I mean, yes! I’m in the paperwork portion of the adoption. It’s basically a done deal, but you know, bureaucracy.”
“I’m familiar.”
She gives a small smile when she says it, and somehow Grace can’t imagine her following any rule ever.
Grace freezes as a realization comes to her.
“Wait, aren’t you like, the boss?”
“I’m not the boss.”
“She’s a boss,” Bea says.
Jill rolls her eyes. “I’m an SOA. I investigate possible bioterrorism threats in the field. And you’re going to be my brain in the data banks. I read your training reports - your instructor left a note of recommendation. He recommended you be placed here, not in the threat analyst division. And since you’re here, I take it you agree?”
How does she explain it to her? How can she explain that she has changed too much, too quickly, to ever go back to an analyst desk pushing reports? It’s not enough and just the thought of it makes her feel restless, itchy. Something inside her keeps burning, keeps her nerves singing and she feels like she might die if she stops moving. She wants to be out here, in the real world - She wants to be alive.
She opens her mouth but all of that is far too vulnerable for an office Monday and her shoulders slump.
Jill’s eyes are on her, assessing her, somehow picking up every thought slipping through Grace’s overheated brain.
“Do you drink coffee?”
Like six gallons a day.
“Yes.”
“Let’s go to the canteen for a cup. Thanks, Bea.”
Bea raises her eyebrows at Grace and smiles as Jill turns away.
You got this, she mouths.
Oh god.
Grace is still unfamiliar with the layout of the BSAA’s headquarters, but Jill knows the way and Grace follows, clutching a pile of folders Bea had handed to her to her chest.
“Those are about me,” Jill says, throwing a sideways glance at the files.
Grace resists the urge to hide them behind her back and Jill gives a soft laugh.
“It’s normal. We’re going to find ourselves in some very interesting situations. It’s important for you to know me and understand my background.”
She slows, placing a hand on Grace’s shoulder. “Here.”
The canteen is a simple affair - tables, chairs, a small counter where you order food, endless coffee and tea and a box of La Croix that has likely never been and will never be opened.
Grace sits next to a window that overlooks the parking lot and the city park across the street.
She takes her coffee sweet and surprisingly, Jill takes it sweeter. Grace watches as she dumps in an insane amount of creamer, takes an appraising sip, considers, and adds a splash more before she is satisfied.
Jill’s eyes remind Grace of storm clouds, but they lighten as the sunlight hits them, turning them a liquid shade of pale grey that makes Grace feel wobbly in the stomach.
“They don’t teach you how to be someone’s partner,” Jill says, nursing her coffee. “You get the technical training, the combat training. You learn the lingo, you get the clearance. But nothing they teach you imitates the dynamics between an agent and a handler. You and I have to learn how to talk to each other.”
Grace swallows. Her eyes widen and she hopes her face doesn’t show her panic.
“Which means,” Jill continues, “saying what you’re thinking out loud.”
“My mouth is really dry,” Grace says.
She closes her eyes. God, where is that singular Requiem bullet when you need it?
“And now you’re mortified.”
Jill’s smirk isn’t helping that mortification. If anything it burns her up more.
“Okay, so we’re going to work on communication.”
Grace cringes. “Sorry, you must think I’m a complete idiot.”
“No. Otherwise I never would have accepted you. You’re just young. We all went through it.”
Grace knows for an absolute certainty that Jill Fucking Valentine never had an awkward phase.
“Bullshit.” It slips out of her mouth accompanied by her most disbelieving eyeroll and she winces. “S-sorry!”
Jill’s grin is delighted. “You’re right. But look, I get it. We’ll work on it.”
Great, Grace thinks, watching the way Jill’s hair falls out from behind her ear. She wonders what it would feel like slipping between her fingers.
Real fucking great.