Chris stared at his desk in the S.T.A.R.S. office for a mong moment. It was supposed be there.
He shuffled papers back and forth, opened drawers, checked the floor. Nowhere.
He sighed. “Jill?”
She looked up from her own desk and hopped over, leaning on Chris’ chair. “What’s up, buddy?”
“Jill did you eat the candy bar I left on my desk?”
She didn’t say anything. Instead, she leaned forward and planted a kiss on his mouth.
She tasted strongly of chocolate.
He pulls at the device in her chest with desperation to bring her back, but his fingers slip when she makes a sickening sound and her body twitches. Years later he will kiss the spot between her breasts where the scar remains, and lay his head on her chest, in shared grief and memory.
Jill was babbling again, it was just something she did when stressed, open her mouth and let whatever inane thing came into her head spill out. Chris guessed she must have been nervous about the mission, because she hadn’t given him a moments peace since they’d stepped onto the chopper. He couldn’t blame her, just another day in a war on bioterror that never ended. But he couldn’t deny it was getting on his nerves.
“And then I said–”
“Jill. JILL.”
“Yeah, Chris?”
He leaned over and pressed his lips to her open ones, shoving his tongue between her teeth, muffling whatever protest she had. She melted against him as he kissed her, roughly, and desperately for a long moment.
When they finally broke apart, he took a breath and exhaustedly pleaded. “Please stop talking.”