“Who's going to keep watch?”

“Fine.” He grumbled and began to follow her inside. “Where's the food?”

“Good. It'll keep me warm outside.”

Jack dropped his serving of Heather's stew onto the counter with such force that it sloshed out of its dish. "What kind of question is that?"

"I told you — I can't overlook what you did." Krauser shook his head and turned away from her. "You're only with me now because I can't trust you not to make this situation worse. Two men have wronged me in my life, Heather, and you're in love with one of them."

"What choice do I have? Am I supposed to let you go out on your own, risk my safety, and get yourself hurt?"

"You're suggesting I just let Wesker hurt you?"

"You helped me when you didn't have to. You might have fucked me by parading around with Wesker, but I still owe you."

"I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen."

"Got enough there for one more?"

Jack sighed as he eventually brought the bowl to his chest. Heather was outside already. All that conflict, just for the two of them to trade places. He made his way back to the porch, still cradling his dinner. She was out there somewhere.

"Food's good." Jack announced himself with a quiet, indifferent statement. He didn't want to scare her after all. He crept into the moonlight, still eating as he watched her. "I never was good at that, skipping stones."

"No." He answered softly. Finally, his bowl was empty. "I'm happy just watching, Heather. The sight of you isn't what's been bothering me."

"I invested in you. I took a chance." The dishware had grown cold in his hands. Krauser still held it, as if setting the bowl on the ground might somehow disrespect the chef. "I don't like being vulnerable, Heather, but I made myself vulnerable when I told you about Wesker."

"You keep saying that. You shouldn't have gone. You were manipulated. I've heard you, Heather. I hear you. But just because you know you fucked up, doesn't mean that I'm over it. Just because you've apologized, doesn't mean I can bury that shit. You have to let me process it."

“Ugly one, isn't it?”

“Still chasing ghosts...”

“None of us can.”