Xavier x Caleb x Reader ✦ Small town au ✦ Read on ao3
A prince, a knight & a poet
After several years of moving around and suffering from your unreliable income as a freelance writer, you decide to return to your home town searching for inspiration and stability. You're welcomed by old friends, in ways you didn't expect. You meet new friends who make you feel capable and valued in brand new ways. Even your overactive imagination couldn’t have anticipated what those friends would become…
✦ Word count: 37.4k ll Completed series
✦ Slow burn, friends to lovers, love at first sight energy, jealousy (duh), roommates, domestic fluff, suggestive themes, alcohol, sexual tension, clothed sex, polyamory, guilt, hurt, comfort
Summary: Life has battered & bruised you, so you aren’t expecting to find solace in a bar-regular, and yet you do.
Pairing: re4!Leon x bartender!reader
WC/Tags: 4,552 / one night stand, semi(?)strangers to lovers, p in v, heavy kissing, hand holding, talk of abuse, implied physical abuse, MDNI
A/N: I listened to FME by Ethel Cain when writing this. For day 18 of @juneofdoom ‘how long have you been like this?’ Comments & likes are always appreciated
His cheek is still tender.
The punch had come out of nowhere, some asshole that had heard about the ‘new special agent’, and wanted to make a statement. Of course. This isn’t the first time, and wouldn’t be the last. Doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
The beer he’s nursing is his third. Normally he doesn’t drink, but it’s the weekend which means he doesn’t have to wake up at four am the next day, that he can indulge in a hangover, so he plans on having probably a dozen and then stumbling back to base. It isn’t the best plan but it also isn’t the worst, and besides, it’s not like he has anything else.
Leon swallows the last of the bottle, placing it on the bar top before raising his hand. You had been expecting it, and walk over quickly, tilting your face. “Another?”
He nods once, sharp and quiet. His eyes are dull, not from alcohol yet, but something deeper. The bar’s dim light catches the faint bruise blooming along his jawline.
He doesn’t smile when you tilt your head. Doesn’t thank you either, just watches as you grab the next beer, twist off the cap with practiced ease, and slide it over. His fingers wrap around it, cold glass against calloused skin, and he brings it to his lips without hesitation this time.
Your cheek is also tender. You didn’t bother to cover it up with makeup, the swelling had already gone down and the bruising was light. The actual pain was more than skin deep, but that didn’t matter. That kind of bruise doesn’t show.
Rag in hand you wipe down the counters, toss away old coasters as Leon sips. You’ve seen him before, but this is the first time you’ve seen him stay, seen him drink. Normally he has a beer or two and leaves, but now his eyes bore into the wood of the counter like it holds the universal answer.
“Stare at it harder,” you jab, if for nothing but boredom. “Maybe it’ll speak to you.”
Leon blinks. His expression is flat, unamused. The kind of look that could freeze a man’s spine. A beat passes before he takes another sip from the beer bottle, longer this time.
He doesn’t respond with words, just sets the bottle down with a soft clink and finally looks at you properly: tired eyes scanning your face like he’s reading between the lines of the bruise on your cheekbone, how quickly you moved to refill his drink, how casually sharp your tone was despite it all being fake lightness.
His mouth opens slightly, then closes again. No comeback. Just silence heavy as lead in an empty bar after midnight.
You aren’t sure where the tension came from but it’s thick. Heavy. Your stomach flutters with that gnawing want to be ravished, to be held and maybe not squeezed so tightly; but your boyfriend, exboyfriend, doesn’t fuck like that and you aren’t sure if you really deserve that anyways. That kindness.
Leon finishes his bottle and asks for another in a quiet voice. You hand it to him, preparing to move on when his eyes move to your face.
“When do you get off?”
You blink at him, curious if he’s feeling the pull too. He looks lonely enough. “‘Bout an hour.”
He nods, the beer already at his mouth. “I can wait.”
“You making assumptions?” You ask, leaning a hand on your hip.
His expression cracks into a small smile, and it looks odd on his face. “Am I wrong?” Heat crawls up your neck and you look away, dropping the rag to the counter. The dirty bar floor suddenly looks very interesting. Leon chuckles and his beer clinks on the table. “Didn’t think so.”
The chuckle still hangs in the air as Leon leans back on the barstool. He’s not handsome in a flashy way; his face is all angles and shadows, with barely there stubble, but tiny smile makes him look younger. Softer.
He watches you avoid eye contact with quiet amusement before taking another sip of beer.
An hour isn’t long, but it feels like one when your pulse is hammering.
You grab a mop from behind the counter, not because you need to clean now, but because standing still feels too hard under his gaze. The clatter of metal against tile fills the silence while he sits there calm as ever: two bottles down, no sign of slurring or clumsiness yet, the man can hold his liquor better than most soldiers.
After a minute or so, he speaks again without looking up: “You got someone waiting for you?”
“Aside from you?” You reply, and shake your head. “No, not anymore.”
He doesn’t reply, and you go back to mopping.
When your shift ends, you empty out the trash and return inside to wash your hands. You can feel his eyes on you as you move, and you try not to look up, try not to imagine what it’ll feel like to have his eyes on your bare skin.
Closing the register, you return the key before spinning to look at him. You inhale, coming around the bar and approaching his right side. “Mine or yours?”
Leon stands like his back aches, which is odd considering he can’t even be in his 30s yet. The barstool scrapes against the floor as he pushes it back. He’s taller than you expected up close, broad-shouldered, solid like a soldier should be, but his movements are quiet.
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a set of keys, military-issue keychain with dog tags clipped to it, and turns them once in his palm before looking at you.
“Yours,” he says simply. “I’m on base.”
His voice is assuring, like that settles everything. Like this is already decided and all that’s left is walking out together under the dim streetlights outside.
He pockets the keys again without another word, then holds out his hand toward you. You blink at it and consider him, consider yourself because what if he’s crazy? What if he’s harder than your ex, harsher? You aren’t sure if you can stomach that right now.
Taking his hand you lead Leon from the bar without protest. He nods to his car, and you get into the passenger seat as he turns it on. You give him directions, and he doesn’t speak as he drives, just obeys in a quiet manner.
When he pulls in front of your trailer, a good 10 miles from the military base, you get out first. Your cowgirl boots kick up dirt as you close the car door and fish your keys from your purse. Leon follows you, quiet as ever when you push open the trailer door.
The trailer is small, tidy in the way your shoes are lined up by the door, a coat hung neatly on a hook. There’s soft lighting from a single lamp, and faint music playing low on an old radio: something slow and nostalgic.
You kick off your boots near the entrance. Leon steps inside behind you after removing his jacket. He doesn’t take off his boots but pauses just inside to scan the space: no photos on walls, no cluttered surfaces. Just order.
He shuts the door gently behind him.
For someone who carries guns every day and has seen war zones firsthand, he moves like this moment matters more than most.
He isn’t rushing. No grabbing at you yet, not even when you turn to face him in that dim light wearing jeans and that thin sweater that hugs your shoulders just right.
“Live alone?” He asks and you nod.
“Yeah,” you reply. “It was my dads ‘til he left.”
“He coming back?”
You shrug. “That was a few years ago, so. Don’t think so.”
Leon nods, his eyes travel over you once, then meet yours again, dark blue meeting hurting loneliness, and finally, he reaches out for you.
His hands are warm.
Large, calloused from years of combat training and gripping rifles in the field, but his touch is careful. One hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone where that faint bruise still lingers. The other settles gently on your waist through the soft fabric of your sweater.
No words.
Just breathes between you growing heavier in the quiet space, then he leans down slowly and kisses you.
It’s not aggressive or hungry like most first kisses after tension like this would be. It’s soft at first, testing lips meeting yours once, twice, a third time with slightly more pressure as his mouth moves against yours with surprising tenderness.
Your hands find his belt and his moves to the hem of your shirt.
He doesn’t move exactly slow but he doesn’t move fast either, your clothing falling to the floor in pieces. Toeing off his shoes, he tugs at his jeans while you find a condom. You sit on the couch, a tattered red one your mother had stitched more times than you can count, and lean back, your head on the arm rest. Leon rips the wrapper with his teeth, sliding the rubber over his length and his hand dips between your legs, pressing over the only fabric left on you. You shiver at the touch, and he tilts his face, watching your reaction.
“The one that gave you that,” he asks, and nods at your face. “He still around?”
You shake your head. “Nope.”
Leon grabs your panties and you lift your hips, helping him pull them down. “Good.”
You spread your legs further, one thigh pressed to the back of the couch and the other tipping over the side of it, foot planted on the ground as Leon leans over you, between your legs. With the condom on and the panties are gone, Leon hovers over you, kneeling between your thighs with that focused intensity he probably uses in his line of work, but now his attention is all on you.
He leans down first to kiss you again, deep this time, and one hand slides up your bare leg from ankle to hip while the other cups the soft skin of your breast.
No roughness, testing how you respond, mapping warmth and shivers like a man relearning tenderness after years of hardship.
His mouth trails lower, over your jaw and throat, to your collarbone, then slower as he kisses down your chest. His breath ghosts over sensitive flesh just before his lips finally brush where you want him, and then he’s kissing there too.
Your lips part as he licks at your nipple, a hand coming up to brush through his hair. His face tilts up to yours and a smile blinks across your mouth.
“The one who gave you that,” you nod at his bruise. “They still around?”
“Unfortunately.”
You make a tsking sound. “You should give em hell.”
Leon exhales through his nose, almost a laugh but not completely. He doesn’t smile at your words like someone would if they were joking.
“Already did,” he mutters before lowering his mouth again, this time catching your nipple between his teeth gently, a small bite that makes you gasp, then soothing it with warm swipes of his tongue. His hands are busy now: one sliding down to grip your hip firmly while the other trails lower over your stomach and belly button.
The way he touches isn't rushed or frantic; every movement is controlled.
Like even in intimacy, Leon S. Kennedy operates with precision, a soldier who knows exactly how to handle something fragile without breaking it, unless ordered otherwise, and he seems very focused on not hurting you.
His head lifts and his mouth finds yours.
You find you like the way he tastes.
His hips are bracketed by your thighs, and your hands run down his chest as he positions himself at your entrance. You try to relax, try to keep still and not make a sound, but then he’s pressing in, filling you, and you can’t help the moan that escapes.
His eyes, half-lidded before, focused on your face, darken instantly. You aren’t sure you like that. He freezes just halfway in, letting you adjust to his size, jaw tight with restraint. You can feel the tension coiled through his shoulders and arms where they brace above you.
For a second he doesn’t move at all, slow inhales through his nose as if counting seconds or praying silently. He kisses you again, tongue swiping at your lip, and slowly pushes the rest of the way in until there’s no space left between you.
A low groan rumbles in his chest, quiet, like he didn’t mean to let it out. His forehead drops to yours as he stays buried inside you, giving your body time. His mouth moves with yours while his hips begin to rock forward in small increments. No urgency yet.
Each shallow thrust is testing friction, heat, and when another soft moan escapes your lips? He feels it against his own mouth and something shifts.
His hands tighten slightly on your hips before one slides up under the curve of your back for leverage, then he starts moving properly, deeper rolls of his pelvis now that match a steady rhythm.
“Shit,” he grunts, his pace picking up, and your nails dig into his upper shoulder. His thrusts are deep, full, and you let your head drop, eyes flutter before his face leans close to yours. “What do you need?”
His question catches you off guard, and you blink at him. “W-what?”
His hand comes up to your jaw, thumb running over your bottom lip. “How do you like it, so I can get you there?”
The question is unexpected, not because Leon isn’t capable of tenderness, but because men like him, tough guys, soldiers who’ve spent years in survival mode, they usually take what they want without asking.
But not him.
His thumb stills on your lip. His breathing is heavy now from the pace but his focus hasn’t wavered. Those blue eyes are sharp even as sweat starts to form at his temples.
He’s waiting for an answer, and you aren’t sure what to say.
“I-” you inhale, then grip his wrist and move his hand to your throat. A muscle in his jaw jumps and his hips slow to a roll, making your lashes flutter.
“That what you like,” he murmurs, and he’s so close his mouth brushes your as he speaks. “Or what he liked?”
The hand on your throat doesn’t squeeze. It just rests, warm palm against your pulse point, thumb pressing lightly into the hollow of it like he’s checking your heart rate.
He studies your face, the way you breathe faster now that his touch is gentle pressure instead of force, and then kisses you again slowly this time, a deep kiss with more feeling than friction.
When he pulls back slightly to watch for any sign, any hesitation or discomfort, he rolls his hips once more deliberately slow and asks again. “You want me to keep going?”
With shaking fingers you grab his wrist and pull his hand from your neck. He lets you instantly, and when you lace your fingers with his, you wonder if he’ll judge you, or ignore the intimacy of it completely.
He does neither.
Instead, with his fingers still intertwined with yours, he drags your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to your knuckles before settling your joined hands back by your head.
Then, he fucks you.
His hips are sharp, quick, and you’re gasping as you clench around him, your fingers squeezing his while moans pour from your lips. He drops his head to the crook of your neck, grunting into your skin as his hips snap against you.
The change is sudden, gentle fingers to hard thrusts, his mouth on your neck now with hot open-mouthed kisses and the scrape of stubble against sensitive skin. His breathing is ragged in your ear as he fucks you with a rhythm that’s relentless but controlled, like every snap of his hips is measured to hit just right.
Your joined hands stay pinned beside your head, not trapped, just held there while he moves over you, all muscle and heat.
He doesn’t kiss you again, not yet. He’s too focused on chasing this feeling, the tightness around him when you clench involuntarily from pleasure, the way your moans vibrate into his shoulder where it rests against yours, how perfectly warm this trailer feels despite its sparse walls.
When you come it’s white hot and fast, your legs locking around his waist and your fingers squeezing his so tightly your nails dig into his skin.
Leon feels it the second you clench around him, the sudden, pulsing tightness that nearly stops his breath.
His hips stutter for half a beat before he groans in his throat, a raw sound muffled against your shoulder as your legs squeeze around him like you’re trying to pull him deeper. The pressure of your nails biting into his hand only fuels it, pain mixed with pleasure sharpening everything.
He doesn’t slow down but chases his release now, fucking through yours with deep thrusts that makes the couch creak beneath you. His jaw is clenched tight again, eyes shut or maybe just squeezed closed from intensity.
And then, he’s there too.
He moans, low and muffled and you can’t help but wrap an arm around his shoulder, holding him to you as his hips jerk, and then still. Both of you are panting hard as you loosen your vice grip on his hand, and gingerly he sits up, blinking down at you before pulling out of you completely.
The separation is quiet, careful.
He sits back on his heels between your legs, still catching his breath. The condom’s full now, and he handles it efficiently: knots the end and drops it onto the coffee table beside them with a soft thud. No shame or awkwardness in how he moves, just routine for a man used to cleaning up after himself.
Leon looks at you again, your flushed face, hair messy from being pressed into cushions, lips swollen from kissing.
Without speaking, he reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear before leaning down to press one slow kiss against your forehead. The movement is so tender, so rare to what you’re used to that you nearly flinch, your breathing shaky.
Leon pulls back a little to watch your expression. “I- sorry. If that was too much.”
You blink up at him, surprised not just by the kiss, but by that. An apology, for a gentle touch
His voice is quiet, almost hesitant, like he genuinely thinks he might’ve overstepped some invisible line. And suddenly you realize this isn’t just about sex for him either. This was connection. The thing you’d been missing since you’d last been hit, something rare for someone like him who keeps people at arm’s length.
“No,” you say softly before reaching up to cup his face with both hands and pulling him down into another kiss, gentle this time, lingering on his lips as if to say it wasn’t too much.
He kisses you back, his hand on the back of your head, running over your hair until you both pull back and blink at eachother.
You thought you’d both been looking for one thing, a one night stand, when it seems you both were craving something else entirely.
He reaches down to hand you your shirt and you take it as he tugs his boxer back on. You excuse yourself, moving to the restroom and take inventory of yourself. Your eyes are rimmed but not so dark, and there’s the smallest hickey just below your collarbone. You touch it with your finger tip, twisting your lips.
When you come back into the living room, Leon’s mostly dressed aside from his shoes, leaning back against the couch cushions that he had just had you spread out on. You walk to your fridge, grabbing two beers and handing one to him wordlessly.
He takes the beer without a word, cracking it open with his teeth like before. He lifts it slightly in your direction, not quite a toast, more of an acknowledgment, then leans back against the cushions again. The trailer is quiet now, only the hum of the fridge and occasional creak from old wood settling.
He doesn’t look at you like he’s waiting to leave. Doesn’t check his watch or shift impatiently toward the door. Just sits there drinking quietly beside you on that red couch where not ten minutes ago everything had changed.
“You know when you took me home,” he says gently. “I didn’t realize how much I’d want to stay.”
You blink, tucking your legs beneath you as you sip your beer. You need a second to process that, to understand its meaning. “I didn’t know you’d want to either.”
He turns his head slightly, watching you over the rim of his beer bottle. The dim light catches the bruise on his jaw again, still there, still tender, but right now it feels less like a wound and more like part of him.
“Didn’t plan to,” he admits quietly. “Usually don’t stick around after. But this is… different.”
It’s not romantic phrasing or poetry from Leon S. Kennedy; no flowery words about your eyes or how soft your lips are, he expresses things in actions more than declarations anyway.
You smile and give a shrug. “Don’t know what you mean.”
You know exactly what he meant, but one of you has to be levelheaded. Neither of you can afford getting carried away.
Reaching for the remote, Leon flicks on the tv as if he’s been here before, like he has a history of touching your things, and sets back. You stretch your legs out, and your ankles rest on his thighs. Eyes on the tv, his unoccupied hand runs over your skin, to your feet, the chipped polish dull in the limited light, and begins to massage.
His fingers press into the arch of your foot with surprising gentleness for hands that snap necks and break ribs in combat. The massage isn’t rushed, a mix of steady circles, working out tension you didn’t even realize was there.
The TV plays some late-night infomercial about kitchen gadgets, neither of you watching it seriously. He takes another sip of beer before setting it down on the coffee table and refocusing on his task, caring for your feet like this is normal couple behavior.
There’s something unbearably intimate about it, the quiet domesticity after sex that could’ve just been a fling but clearly wasn't. His touch lingers over every callus and dry patch without judgment, and while his eyes are on the tv, your eyes are on him.
You wonder if you could really like him, could give this a chance. You wonder if he could really like you.
Settling your head back against the arm rest, you twist your neck so you can watch the flashing screen too.
You aren’t sure how long you both sit there, but eventually Leon pats your thigh, whispering that he has to go. You’re drowsy and content as you nod, sitting up before you stifle a yawn. You watch him tug on his boots, lacing them up and then he stands, eyeing you.
Leon isn’t a man who lingers, but now he’s standing by the door with his jacket on, one hand already on the knob; yet he doesn’t turn it yet. You move beside him, tucking your arms around your middle. “Well I.,.I’ll see you around?”
For a second, something unreadable flickers across his face. Then he’s bending to kiss you again, this time slow and deep like goodbye kisses should be when they might lead somewhere else later. When it ends, he brushes his thumb over your cheekbone once before pulling away completely.
“You will,” he says with a nod. He glances around your apartment and picks up a sharpie on your coffee table. He takes your hand and flips it, tugging the cap off with his teeth before writing down a number on your skin. “I mean that.”
He holds out the pen to you and then holds his hand upright, and you can’t help smiling a little as you write your number into his skin. “Thanks for the ride home. I hate walking.”
His palm is warm when you take it, and the sharpie smells faintly like ink as you write your number in neat digits across his skin. He watches you concentrate, your expression doesn’t go unnoticed, and when you finish, he gives your hand a quick squeeze before pulling his back.
Leon hands you back the pen without a word and finally turns the doorknob. Cold night air slips in for just a second, but instead of stepping out immediately, he pauses on the threshold and looks over his shoulder at you, hair messy from lying down earlier, eyes soft with sleepiness but also something warmer beneath it all.
“Leon?” You aren’t sure what makes you stop him, what makes you call his name but he looks at you, waiting. You shift under his gaze. “How long have you been like this?”
He freezes, and you can see the muscles in his throat work as he swallows. His eyes flicker, that unreadable soldier mask slipping just enough to show the young man underneath.
“Like what?” he asks quietly, not turning fully back around but not walking away either. He’s giving you space to clarify without pressure. The night air hums between you, and you shift again, not knowing if you should ask.
“Alone,” you whisper. “How long have you been alone?”
Leon’s shoulders loosen a fraction, and he rubs at his jaw. When he sighs, it’s a quiet sound of defeat. “Since 1998.”
His face doesn’t change much, still composed and handsome, but something in his eyes dims when he says it out loud for what might be the first time ever to someone who actually listened, not just heard. He didn’t answer since my ex or since I joined the military.
No, he went back further than any of that. To before everything else had even started going wrong yet, when it all began, loneliness carved into him like scars from war zones nobody remembers but him.
You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re grabbing his hand, and squeezing it. Your bare feet are chilled on the steps of your trailer. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
His mouth is set in a line when his eyes meet yours, and they bounce over your face. “Neither do you.”
He squeezes your hand one more time before he lets go, moving down the steps in slow succession and stepping into his truck without another word. You fold your arms around your middle as you watch him reverse.
You aren’t sure how long you stand there, watching the road long after his car disappeared. Dragging your hand eye level you read the numbers written into your skin, before closing your fingers, and pressing your fist over your heart.
summary: Leon had planned to propose properly: flowers, dinner, the perfect speech. But after nearly dying in Spain with only your name in his mind, he realizes the perfect moment doesn’t matter anymore. Only coming home to you does.
warnings: re4!Leon x reader, established relationship, proposal, emotional hurt/comfort, Raccoon City trauma, mentions of injury and blood, Leon’s past trauma, references to parental substance abuse, nightmares, RE4 events, Las Plagas/infection mention, near-death thoughts, angst with a happy ending, soft intimacy mentioned but not explicit, marriage talk, children talk, Leon being deeply in love and emotionally wrecked, english is not my first language.
wc: 3.1k
author’s note: This was requested by @xfadesposts in here and I actually CRIED while writing it because I’m so weak for emotionally destroyed for yearner Leon. I hope I make you guys feel as much as I felt with this work. Thank you so much for reading and for being patient with my requests. I’m slowly working through them, I promise. ♡
I reccomend you to listen to Turning page of Sleeping at last for the part when Leon comes home spotify youtube 🖤.
tags: @defvia @causeofmykoophoria 🪽
Leon remembered Raccoon City for many things.
For the rain falling over a city that was dying in plain sight, while no one could do anything to save it, even though he tried with everything he had to stop a tragedy that had been doomed to spiral out of control from the moment it was planned.
But above all of that, he remembered you.
It didn’t make much sense, maybe. Not when that night had been made of death and monsters that seemed pulled straight out of some sick nightmare, monsters that had once been innocent people, victims of a fatal fate. It didn’t make sense either because he had barely been a rookie cop, full of dreams that were ripped away from him in a single night. Leon S. Kennedy had walked into Raccoon City believing he was about to start a life, and in just a matter of hours, that life had been buried beneath broken glass, dark hallways, and corpses rising from the floor.
And then he found you.
You were hiding in one of the back rooms of the police station, your back pressed against the wall, one hand clutching your side, your eyes wide with pure terror. There was blood on your shirt, on your fingers, along the trembling line of your jaw, but you weren’t infected. Leon knew it before you could say anything. He knew it from the way you were breathing, from the human, clean fear on your face, from the way you tried to move away from him when he came in with his gun raised.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he told you then, slowly lowering his weapon.
You didn’t believe him at first. How could you? That night, everything that moved was a threat.
Leon crouched down in front of you carefully, his face stained, his hair wet from the rain, his blue eyes filled with a sincere kind of concern, though not enough to make you stop shaking.
“Were you bitten?” You shook your head quickly.
“No. Someone pushed me against a window, and I-I cut myself.”
He swallowed, looked at the wound, and then looked back at you, unable to understand how you were still conscious after how deep the cuts were and how much blood you had lost. He bandaged you as best as he could — badly, probably — but even so, he did it with gentleness, murmuring for you to breathe, telling you that you were doing so well, that it was okay, that he was going to get you out of there.
And somehow, he did.
Life after Raccoon wasn’t easy for either of you. You carried your own nightmares: the memory of empty streets, the wound burning at your side, Leon’s hand holding you up when your legs almost gave out. He carried something darker.
Leon didn’t talk much about his childhood.
At first, you didn’t ask either. Over the years, you learned to recognize those wounds in the little things: in the way he tensed whenever someone raised their voice too much, in how uncomfortable he looked around any kind of affection he didn’t know how to return, in the way he punished himself for mistakes that hadn’t even been his. He had a complicated childhood, losing his parents to substance abuse.
And then you came along, stepping into his life like a ray of sunlight through a window that had been closed for years.
Not because you were perfect, but because, even after everything you had been through, there was still something warm inside you. You were beautiful in a way that left Leon breathless, yes; with the kind of beauty that made people look twice, the kind that seemed to light you up even on the days you didn’t realize it yourself.
For years, the two of you kept getting to know each other. At first through slightly awkward phone calls, nervous messages, and meetings that seemed casual even though neither of you truly felt them that way. You would meet for coffee, go on walks, talk about small things. Sometimes you laughed, and one thing led to another.
There wasn’t one exact moment when Leon realized he had fallen in love with you, but one of the biggest signs was when he started noticing that he thought of you when something went right, and also when everything went wrong. Or even the simple fact that he wanted to call you after a mission just to hear your voice.
And one night, after having dinner together, he walked you to your door. It was cold, and you had your hands hidden inside your sleeves, while Leon couldn’t stop looking at you, the nerves written all over his face.
“What?” you asked, with a shy smile.
He shook his head, but he smiled too. That small, embarrassed smile of his.
“Leon…” you said, giving him an even warmer smile.
“It’s just…” He ran a hand through his hair, nervous. Leon Kennedy, who had survived Raccoon City, who had faced things no human being should ever have to see, was standing in front of you like a boy who didn’t know what to do with his hands. “It’s just that I like you.”
You went still.
Leon let out a low, humorless laugh, looking down at the ground for a second before lifting his eyes back to yours.
“A lot. And I know everything is complicated, but I don’t want to keep pretending I only meet up with you because we have something in common, or because of Raccoon…” He stopped, swallowing hard. “I meet up with you because I’m dying to see you.”
You didn’t know who moved first. You only knew that, all of a sudden, you were kissing him.
It was a clumsy kiss at first, soft. Leon touched your face, and you moved closer, and then he let out a breath against your mouth that sounded like years of restraint finally collapsing on top of him.
After that, Leon asked you out in such a Leon way that it still made you smile whenever you remembered how beautiful it had been.
He showed up with a bouquet of peonies, your favorites, because once, months earlier, you had mentioned almost without thinking that you found them beautiful, that there was something delicate and full of life about them. And Leon had remembered.
He also had a simple ring with him, a delicate, pretty piece. He gave it to you with his ears slightly red and the most vulnerable look you had ever seen on him.
“I don’t know how to say this, but…” he told you. “I just… I want to do this right with you. I want you to know I’m serious.”
You looked at the flowers, then at the ring, then at him.
“C-can I be your boyfriend?”
Leon turned even redder. You laughed, and he smiled in that way he only did when you were the one making him feel safe.
“Of course, Leon,” you said, with a smile that showed all your teeth.
From then on, you became his anchor.
You were the person he came back to when everything fell apart, the one who reminded him that he was still human when his job tried to turn him into a killing machine, the one who touched his hand in the middle of the night when nightmares tore him out of sleep.
Your first time together was just as imperfect and beautiful as everything about the two of you.
Neither of you really knew what you were doing, not truly. There were nerves, soft laughter, hands trembling a little, and tenderness in every single gesture. Leon asked you several times if you were okay, if you wanted to stop, if this was alright, looking at you as if you were something sacred, as if he was terrified of hurting you even when you assured him that you trusted him.
Leon held you carefully, kissed you, and made you feel wanted in every possible way. And when it was over, he didn’t pull away from you as if it had only been desire. That night wasn’t perfect because either of you knew exactly what to do. It was perfect because you loved each other with an enormous kind of honesty.
And for a while, Leon allowed that happiness to exist. After so many years, he let someone into his life through things as simple as your clothes in his laundry basket, the scent your shampoo left in his shower, mornings when he woke up before you and stayed there watching you sleep, wondering what kind of twisted miracle had led someone like him to end up with someone like you.
Sometimes, he thought about marrying you.
He thought about a quiet house far away from the horrors that seemed to chase him no matter the country, a dog sleeping at the foot of the bed, finding you in the kitchen, kissing the back of your neck, listening to you complain about some everyday little thing as if life had never been cruel to either of you, he even thought about having children.
Before leaving for Spain, Leon had already bought the ring.
It was beautiful, with a diamond, tucked inside a velvet box inside a drawer that Leon opened and closed like an idiot every time he was alone.
He had planned to ask you when he came back.
Not before, because he didn’t want to leave you with a promise in your hand and the possibility that he might not be able to keep it. Leon knew far too well what it was like to wait for a phone call that could destroy your life, so he left without saying anything. He kissed your forehead, promised you he would come back, and took the ring with him.
But Spain was worse than he had expected.
The mission began with the search for Ashley Graham and ended up becoming a descent into another kind of hell. Leon moved through mud, blood, and screams in a language he only half understood, his gun always ready and his body running on instinct.
But his mind kept coming back to you.
It came back to you when he washed his hands in freezing water and saw that the blood wouldn’t fully come off. It came back to you when Ashley asked him, during a brief pause between horrors, if he had someone waiting for him back home. Leon didn’t answer at first. He only adjusted the magazine in his gun and looked into the darkness.
“Yeah,” he said at last, his voice quieter. “I do.”
Ashley didn’t push, but she smiled a little, as if that answer was enough to understand something important.
Leon thought about how much you loved it when he brought you peonies and you saw them in a vase in the kitchen first thing in the morning. He thought about the night you had fallen asleep on his couch, your cheek resting against his thigh and one of your hands holding his.
He thought of you when he almost died.
When pain tore through his body and the infection tried to turn his thoughts into something foreign, Leon clung to your name like a rope. Sometimes he repeated it inside his head. Your face appeared to him in the most absurd moments: between gunshots, between running, between being slammed against damp stone walls.
When he passed out before knowing he was going to be cured, you were the only thing in his head. He was angry at the thought of leaving you alone, angry that he hadn’t been strong enough to make it back to you. But when the pain grew so intense that he could barely even feel hatred anymore, he found himself satisfied by the fact that, even if his life had been condemned to tragedy, he had had you. He would die knowing what it meant to love and be loved by someone unconditionally.
Finally, when Leon was cured thanks to Luis’ work, he started to believe in fate, or in any kind of religious entity if one truly existed. Luis’ death had been a tragedy, but maybe it was also a sign that Leon had been given a second chance at life, a second chance to come back to you.
When it was all over, when Ashley was safe, Leon didn’t rest. His body was exhausted, covered in wounds, but he could only think about one thing, getting back to you.
He didn’t remember the drive clearly. He only remembered the steering wheel beneath his hands, the road stretching ahead of him at an almost reckless speed. But after spending days believing he might never see you again, every traffic light, every curve, every second away from you felt like an offense.
The ring was in his pocket, he had stared at it for a moment before he started driving, still carrying the marks of the mission on his skin and his heart beating violently against his ribs.
He had planned something better. In his mind, there had been flowers, probably peonies again, dinner, a speech. But Leon no longer believed in waiting for the perfect moment. The perfect moment was a lie life used to steal the things you wanted to say.
When he knocked on the door of your apartment, it was an impossible hour of the night.
You opened it with messy hair, your face still marked by sleep, fear breaking through your eyes the second you saw him. Because Leon was there, yes, alive, but he was also pale, exhausted, wounded, with such a broken expression on his face that your hand flew to your mouth.
“Leon…”
He didn’t say anything at first. He only stared at you, as if he needed to make sure you were real, as if everything he had endured in Spain had been for this exact point: you standing in the doorway, breathing in front of him, looking at him with tears in your eyes.
You took a step toward him, but before you could touch him, before you could hug him, before you could even ask where it hurt, Leon dropped to his knees in front of you.
“Leon!” Panic shot through you.
You crouched down immediately, thinking he was collapsing, that he was worse than he looked, but he lifted one hand, stopping you with trembling gentleness.
“No. No, I’m okay. I’m…” He swallowed, and his eyes filled with tears before he could pretend otherwise. “Fuck…”
Your breath caught when you saw him pull the small box from his pocket.
The world went still again, like the night you met, like the day he showed up with peonies and a simple ring, nervous and beautiful, asking you for a chance. Only now, Leon was looking at you like a man who had almost lost everything and had decided never to keep quiet again.
“I had a speech,” he said, his voice breaking. “I had it planned before I left. I was going to do it right. Take you to dinner, buy flowers…”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
Leon opened the box, and the diamond shone beneath the warm light of the hallway, so beautiful it almost looked unreal between his fingers, which were still covered in tiny cuts.
“But I almost didn’t come back,” he continued. “And all I could think about there, every time I thought I wasn’t going to make it out, was you. I could only think that I couldn’t die without seeing you again.”
You covered your mouth with one hand, trying to hold back a sob.
Leon took a deep breath, but everything about him was shaking: his voice, his hands, his shoulders. That man, the one who had survived Raccoon City, monsters, and wars no one would ever know about, was kneeling in front of you as if you were the only thing capable of destroying him.
“I’ve wanted a life with you for a long time,” he said. “And I’m scared to admit that, because every time I’ve wanted something real, life has found a way to rip it away from me. But you… you’ve been my home since before I even knew I needed one.”
Your face crumpled completely, he swallowed again.
“When I found you in Raccoon, you were hurt and terrified, and I still remember looking at you and thinking I had to get you out of there. I didn’t know why it mattered so much. I didn’t know anything about you. But there was something in you that was still alive in the middle of all of that. Something good. Something warm. And over the years…” He smiled faintly, his eyes bright. “Over the years, you became the best part of my life.”
Leon glanced down at the ring for a second, as if he needed to gather his courage.
“You’ve seen me at my worst. You’ve seen the parts of me I try to hide: the anger, the fear, the nightmares, everything I don’t know how to say without saying it wrong. And yet you love me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to explain what that did to me.”
You were already crying, unable to stop yourself, so was he.
“I want to marry you,” he said, more firmly, even though his voice was still broken. “I want to wake up with you every day life allows me to. I want a dog that will probably hate me and love you more. I want to argue about stupid things. I want to make you coffee. I want to watch you grow old. I want…” His voice cracked. “I want a life. With you.”
Leon lifted the ring toward you.
“And if someday we can, and if we feel ready, I want children with you too. Not because I think that would fix anything. Not because I think love erases what happened to us. But because when I look at you, for the first time in my life, I think maybe something good could come from me. From us.”
You crouched down in front of him, unable to stay standing any longer.
Leon let out a trembling breath when your hands cupped his face.
“You don’t have to say yes right now,” he rushed to say, as if fear had caught up with him all at once. “I know it’s a lot, and I know I just showed up here in the middle of the night, looking like hell, and this isn’t fair to you. I just needed to say it. I needed you to know because I almost—”
You didn’t let him finish.
You kissed him.
It was a kiss salted by tears, clumsy from urgency. Leon made a small sound against your mouth, something relieved, and let you hold him as if he could finally set down the weight he had been carrying. When you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his.
“Yes,” you whispered.
Leon went still.
“Yes?”
You laughed through your tears.
“Yes, baby. I want to marry you.”
For a second, Leon didn’t react. He only looked at you as if he hadn’t understood, as if his exhausted mind couldn’t process that something this good was actually happening.
Leon slipped the ring onto your finger with trembling hands. It took him a moment, because he was crying, his vision blurred with tears, and because you were shaking too. But when the diamond settled on your finger, beautiful and bright, the two of you stared at it as if it were more than a piece of jewelry.
You hugged him then, tightly, careful not to hurt him, and Leon sank into you as if he had been waiting for that embrace since Spain, since Raccoon, maybe even long before that. He buried his face in your neck and breathed in deeply, once, twice, three times, as if he needed to convince himself that he had really made it back.
And for the first time in a long time, Leon believed that life gave second chances because you existed.
hope you enjoyed it! i'm open to any requests! follow me on ao3 too here
summary: requested by this anon ♡ Leon comes home from a mission quieter than usual, and you try to give him the kind of peace he never knows how to ask for. But when a nightmare pulls him somewhere far away from you, he wakes up to something he can barely forgive himself for: hurting you.
warnings: re4!leon x reader, heavy angst with fluff, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, PTSD/nightmares, trauma response, accidental violence during sleep, choking/strangulation, panic, guilt, crying, emotional breakdown, mentions/allusions to Leon’s childhood trauma, mentions of past abuse/neglect, Raccoon City trauma, self-hatred, fear of hurting a loved one, intense emotional distress, comfort after a traumatic incident, english is not the authors first language.
wc : 6k.
author's note: sorry this took me so long to post. This one needed more time than I expected, mostly because I really wanted to handle Leon’s trauma and vulnerability with the weight they deserved instead of rushing it. Thank you for being patient with me and for sending requests in general — I promise I’m still working through them. Some take me longer than others, especially when they get this emotionally heavy, but I haven’t forgotten about them. This fic deals with PTSD, nightmares and accidental harm during sleep, so please read with care — nothing here is meant to romanticize trauma or violence♡.
Leon and you had been together for a few years.
You knew he was a special agent and, unfortunately, one of the very few survivors of Raccoon City, something that had left a deep scar on his mental health and marked the rest of his life. It was part of the reason he did what he did now.
You met one night at a bar because you had a few mutual friends. When Leon saw you for the first time, he was stunned by your beauty. No exaggeration, it was like everything around you disappeared. He only had eyes for you and that warm, loving light you seemed to carry with you.
Leon hadn’t had an easy childhood. His parents had struggled with substance abuse, so he had been raised by his grandparents, and when they passed away, the emotional emptiness he already carried only grew heavier. When he first started talking to you, everything was a little awkward and cliché: the cold, guarded boy and the sunshine girl.
The first day he saw you, he was far too embarrassed to approach you. Even though Leon was objectively handsome, he was deeply insecure about himself. It was at another gathering with your mutual friends that he finally worked up the courage to come closer. He started with dumb jokes, the kind that didn’t usually make many people laugh, but they always managed to pull a smile from you, and every time that happened, Leon melted a little more inside.
You began texting, then started meeting up more often, and he always offered to drive you home. Until one of those nights, outside the entrance of your building, you shared your first kiss: innocent, genuine, nervous. Not long after, you officially started dating, and since then, your relationship had been good. Really good.
Of course, it was hard not being able to see Leon much whenever he was away on missions, but you knew he was out there protecting thousands of people.
For Leon, however, the beginning of your relationship was a little harder. Not because of you. Never because of you. He considered you, even if he rarely said it out loud, the best thing that had ever happened to him. His life had always felt like a stormy sea, dark and violent, full of whirlpools of pain since he was old enough to remember, and then you had arrived like a warm breeze, pulling him out of his own mind. That was exactly why he felt so terribly guilty sometimes. He thought he wasn’t good enough for you, that you deserved something better than him, even if there were moments when you managed to make him believe, just a little, that he was worthy of being loved.
It was supposed to be a quiet night in the apartment you had shared for years.
Outside, it was cold. The city was wet from the thin rain that had been falling since late afternoon, and the headlights of passing cars reflected against the asphalt like blurry stains of color. Inside, though, everything was warm. The heating was on, a blanket lay abandoned on the couch, two mugs had been left on the coffee table, and a movie was playing softly in the background.
Leon had come home only a few hours earlier.
He hadn’t told you much about the mission, like he usually did whenever something had gone worse than expected. Over time, you had learned to read him without needing to ask. You knew the difference between when he was truly tired and when he was simply pretending to be tired so he wouldn’t worry you.
That night, it was the second one.
He had showered as soon as he got home, changed into clean clothes, and left his jacket hanging over the back of a chair. He was wearing a dark shirt and comfortable pants, his hair still slightly damp, his jaw tight with that tension that always settled there when his mind was still somewhere else, even if his body had already made it back home.
Still, he was trying to be there with you.
That was what hurt the most about Leon sometimes. Even when he was destroyed, he still found a way to sit beside you, ask about your day, listen to you talk about any domestic nonsense as if that alone was enough to convince him the world could still be a livable place. He had asked if you had eaten, if you had gotten home from work safely, if the bathroom light had started flickering again — the one he had been promising to fix for weeks, though there was always another mission before he could.
“You’re very quiet,” you said from the kitchen as you put away the glass you had just washed.
Leon was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching you in a way that wasn’t exactly sad, but not peaceful either. He looked like he was trying to memorize you. The shape of your face under the yellow kitchen light, your comfortable clothes, the way you moved around your home like everything there was safe.
Like he was safe too.
“I’m fine,” he answered.
He was terrible at lying when it came to you.
You turned around slowly, drying your hands with a towel, and looked at him with that expression of yours that always managed to make him lower his guard, even when he didn’t want to. Leon held your gaze for a few seconds, then looked away with a small exhale through his nose, almost a laugh, but without any humor in it.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Leon said, something close to pleading hidden in his voice.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re reading my mind.”
You approached him calmly, without crowding him too much at first, because you had also learned there were nights when Leon needed to be held tightly, and others when he first needed to remember he was allowed to be touched. You placed a hand against his chest and felt the uneven rhythm of his breathing beneath your palm.
“I don’t need to know everything,” you murmured. “I just want you to rest.”
The way his eyes softened was almost unbearable.
Leon lowered his gaze to your hand on his chest and, for a moment, he looked much younger. Like a boy. Not the trained agent, not the survivor, not the man the government called whenever the world started falling apart. Just Leon. The same Leon who had approached you years ago with a terrible joke, pretending to have a confidence he didn’t really possess, and who had stared at you as if he couldn’t understand what you could possibly see in someone like him. The same boy who had only ever wanted love from his family.
“Sometimes it’s hard to come back,” he confessed suddenly.
He didn’t say it dramatically. He didn’t even look at you when he said it. He said it quietly, like he was ashamed of admitting it. Like speaking about it in the middle of such a normal life would somehow stain it.
You didn’t answer right away. You only lifted your hand to his neck, gently stroking his skin with your thumb. Leon closed his eyes for a second.
“But you do come back, Leon,” you told him, caressing his cheek. “That’s so much more incredible than you think.”
You led him to the couch, and Leon let you.
He let you sit him down, let you cover him with the blanket, let his head fall back as you settled beside him. The movie kept playing on the screen, but neither of you paid attention to it. You talked for a while, more to fill the silence than because you had anything important to say. You told him about a woman who had cut in line at the supermarket, about a package that had been delayed, about something silly on your phone that had made you laugh, and Leon listened carefully.
Every now and then, his fingers found yours beneath the blanket. He didn’t say anything, but he squeezed your hand a little tighter whenever you laughed.
Later, when the weight of the night started settling over the apartment, you noticed his eyes were far too tired.
He almost never slept well after coming home from a mission. Some nights, he stayed awake until dawn, sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, trying not to make a sound. Other nights, he fell asleep from pure exhaustion and woke up startled an hour later, chest rising and falling too fast, his hand instinctively searching for something that wasn’t there anymore.
You knew about his nightmares. You knew the names he sometimes muttered without meaning to, the places he returned to whenever he closed his eyes.
But that night, he seemed too exhausted even to fight sleep.
“Let’s go to bed, baby,” you whispered sweetly, running your fingers through his hair.
Leon opened his eyes slowly, like he had been seconds away from falling asleep sitting up.
The bedroom was dim when you got into bed. From there, the rain sounded softer, barely a murmur against the window, and the streetlight slipped through the curtains, drawing pale lines over the sheets. Leon lay on his back at first, stiff, one arm resting over his stomach, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. You turned toward him without saying anything. A few seconds passed before he lifted his arm.
You moved closer slowly, resting your head on his chest, and he wrapped his arm around you carefully. Your hand stayed against his side, feeling his breathing slowly begin to match yours.
You fell asleep before he did.
The last thing you remembered was his hand stroking your back in slow, repetitive movements, almost unconscious.
For a while, everything was quiet.
Then something changed.
It wasn’t a loud noise or a sudden movement at first. It was a small tension in Leon’s body. A nearly imperceptible hardening beneath your cheek. His breathing, which had been heavy and deep until then, began to break into strange intervals, as if something inside him was dragging his sleep toward a darker place. You didn’t fully wake up. You only frowned, still trapped in that confused space between sleep and consciousness.
Leon moved, barely at first, then with more force.
His arm, which had been resting over your waist, tightened around you. His fingers closed around the fabric of your shirt, and his breathing grew faster, more agitated. He muttered something you couldn’t understand.
“Leon…” you whispered, your voice thick with sleep.
You lifted your head, propping yourself up on one elbow, trying to see his face through the shadows. His brows were furrowed, his eyes squeezed shut too tightly, his jaw clenched. He didn’t look like he was simply asleep.
He looked trapped.
Like something invisible was pressing down on him from the inside, forcing him to relive a scene you couldn’t see.
“Baby,” you murmured, touching his shoulder gently. “Leon, wake up.”
One second, you were sitting up on the mattress.
The next, he had moved with a violence that knocked the air out of you from sheer shock. You didn’t understand what was happening at first. You only felt the weight of his body turning toward you, one hand pushing you down against the bed and the other closing around your throat.
For the first few seconds, your mind refused to accept what was happening.
It was Leon. Your Leon. The same man who brushed your hair away from your face when you fell asleep on the couch, the same one who held your hand in the street without realizing it, the same one who apologized if he brushed against you too roughly while passing through a narrow doorway.
That was why it took you a moment to feel fear.
Because before fear, there was confusion.
“Leon…” you tried to say.
Your voice barely came out.
He was still asleep. Or somewhere worse than sleep. His face was distorted, washed in the weak light from the window, but there was nothing conscious in his expression. He wasn’t looking at you. He wasn’t seeing you. His breathing came out harsh, furious, desperate, like he was fighting someone who wasn’t you.
You tried to pull his hand away gently at first. Still with that absurd part of your mind trying not to scare him, trying to wake him without hurting him.
“Leon… it’s me…”
But the pressure increased.
Your fingers closed around his wrist with more force. You tried to move your head, to pull away, but you were trapped against the mattress and he was too heavy. Your legs shifted under the sheets, kicking clumsily against the bed. The sound of your breathing turned horrible, weak and broken, trying to find oxygen where there wasn’t any.
Your nails dug into his skin. You pulled at his hands, tried to say his name again, but only a strangled sound came out, almost unrecognizable. Tears filled your eyes before you could stop them.
And the worst part was that it was still Leon.
His hair fell over his forehead the way it always did. His shirt smelled like detergent and him. The hand stealing the air from your lungs was the same hand that had been stroking your back to help you fall asleep less than an hour earlier.
The contradiction was so cruel that a part of you couldn’t process it.
Then, somehow, you managed to touch his face.
It wasn’t a strong hit. Barely a clumsy, desperate tap against his cheek. But it was enough for Leon to suck in a sharp breath, as if something had violently dragged him up from underwater.
Then he looked at you.
And that second was almost worse than everything before it, because you saw consciousness return to him little by little. His eyes dropped to his own hand, still closed around your throat.
Leon let go of you as if you had burned him.
He backed away so quickly he almost fell off the bed, hitting the nightstand without even noticing. You half sat up, bringing both hands to your throat as you coughed violently, trying to drag air back into your lungs. Every breath scraped. Your throat burned. The sound that came out of you didn’t seem like your own.
Leon was standing on the other side of the bed.
The pale light from the window carved across his face, and you had never seen him like that. Not even after a mission. Not even when he had come home covered in wounds, his gaze lost.
This was different.
This was naked, absolute horror.
“No…” he murmured.
It was barely air.
You were still coughing. You tried to look at him, tried to say something, but you couldn’t. Your throat wouldn’t obey.
Leon took a step toward you by instinct, then stopped.
His eyes fell back to your neck, to the marks already beginning to turn red against your skin. The color drained from his face.
“No, no, no…” he repeated, this time with his voice breaking as he brought both hands to his head. “Oh my God. Oh my God, what did I do?”
The room filled with an unbearable silence.
Leon looked like he didn’t even dare to blink. His eyes were fixed on you, but not like before. Not with the quiet tenderness he had when he watched you in the kitchen or on the couch. He looked at you like you were living proof of everything he feared most about himself.
“Leon…” you finally managed to say.
Your voice came out hoarse, damaged, almost unrecognizable.
He brought a hand to his mouth, like he was going to be sick. His shoulders collapsed forward and he shook his head over and over again, unable to accept your broken voice, your marked throat, your wet eyes still trying to understand him even then.
You tried to move toward the edge of the bed. You didn’t know if you wanted to hug him, calm him down, or simply make sure he was there too, that both of you had made it back from that nightmare.
But the second he saw you trying to get closer, Leon stepped back.
“No,” he said, with a desperate urgency. “Don’t come near me.”
“Leon, you were asleep…” you said, your voice slowly clearing.
You stayed seated on the bed, struggling to breathe, while he began to fall apart in front of you in a silent, horrible way. Leon didn’t cry like other people. He didn’t allow himself to collapse completely. He only went very still. Too still. His jaw barely trembling, his eyes shining with a guilt that looked like it was eating him alive from the inside.
“Look at me,” you whispered.
He couldn’t.
“Leon.”
It took him several seconds to obey. When he finally lifted his gaze, there was so much fear in his eyes that for a moment, you forgot the pain in your throat. Leon Kennedy, the man who had survived monsters, dying cities, missions that would have destroyed anyone else, was looking at you like a terrified child who had just discovered his nightmares could crawl out of his head and touch the only good thing he had.
“I thought…” he started, but the sentence broke before it could go anywhere. “I was there again. I couldn’t… I couldn’t tell the difference. Someone was on top of me, or I was… I don’t know. I don’t know what I saw. I just know that when I opened my eyes, it was you and I…”
Leon tore his eyes away from your neck and pushed both hands into his hair, tugging at it with such raw desperation that it hurt to watch. His breathing began to break, first in short, dry bursts, then into a sob he tried to swallow but that came out anyway, ugly and devastating.
He bent forward, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and head lowered, as if the weight of everything he had spent years burying had fallen on him all at once.
“No,” he repeated, but it no longer sounded like an order meant for you. It sounded like a plea against himself. “No, no, no… God, no.”
Leon broke with a choked, almost childlike sound, bringing one hand to his mouth as if he was ashamed you could hear him. His chest tightened, his shoulders began to shake, and suddenly there was no agent, no survivor, no man capable of walking into hell and coming out alive even if it tore him apart.
There was only Leon, barefoot in the dark bedroom, crying like he had become the boy who learned too early that no one was coming to save him.
“I can’t do this to you,” he said between sobs, almost breathless. “Not to you. Not you.”
You moved slowly, with all the care in the world, as if any sudden gesture could make him believe he was still inside the nightmare. You got out of bed without coming too close, keeping your hands visible, your voice low and soft, even though you were trembling inside too.
“Leon, look at me for a second.”
He shook his head, pressing his fingers to his eyes.
“No. I can’t look at you after…” The sentence died in his mouth. He sobbed again, harder this time, with a broken anger that seemed to come from somewhere very old. “I saw your face. I saw your face and I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know if it was you, I didn’t know if I was there, I didn’t know if it was…” He ran out of voice, breathing too fast. “And my hands were on your throat.”
“You were asleep.”
Leon’s head snapped up.
His eyes were red, bright, full of a guilt so wild it looked like he was hating himself with everything he had.
“What if I hadn’t woken up?” he asked, his voice destroyed. “What if next time I don’t wake up? What if you can’t…” He choked on the sentence, pressed a hand to his chest, and shut his eyes like he was going to be sick. “I can’t. I can’t touch you. I can’t be near you.”
That hurt more than the mark on your throat.
Because you knew him. Leon was scared, trying to tear himself out of your life before, in his mind, he could destroy it. He was the same man who blamed himself for cities he couldn’t save, for partners he couldn’t bring back, for decisions made when he was barely more than a boy in a uniform too big for him, a gun in his hand. He was Leon locking himself back inside that dark room from his childhood, where no one had ever taught him that love could stay even when he was a mess.
“I’m not going to leave you just because you’re scared,” you murmured.
“Please,” he said then, and that word completely disarmed you. “Please don’t make this harder.”
You stayed still. Not because you wanted to obey him, but because you understood that coming closer without permission, right then, could sink him even further. Leon was trembling all over. His breathing was out of control, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white, and still, he couldn’t stop staring at your neck.
“Okay,” you whispered. “I’m not going to touch you if you don’t want me to. But stay here with me. Breathe with me.”
He didn’t answer.
“Look at my hand,” you said, lifting it slowly between the two of you. “Just that. Don’t look at my neck. Don’t look at anything else. Look at my hand.”
Leon swallowed. It took him an awful effort, but eventually he obeyed. His eyes dropped to your fingers as you opened and closed them slowly, giving him a simple, almost silly rhythm, as if you were calling back a part of him that had been trapped somewhere else.
“Breathe in with me,” you asked. “One… two… three…”
His chest rose shakily.
“That’s it. Now let it out.”
The air left him broken.
The second breath was worse than the first. The third too. But by the fourth, his shoulders lowered just a little, enough for you to see he was trying to come back.
“You’re not there,” you told him softly. “You’re home, with me. Your boots are by the door because you never put them away properly, even though you swear you do.”
Leon made a sound that almost became a laugh, but turned into another sob instead.
“And I’m here,” you continued. “I’m alive.”
He covered his face with both hands.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and then again, lower, more broken. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t know what it’s like to open your eyes and see that the only person who…” His mouth trembled, unable to say it without falling apart. “The only person who has ever made me feel safe was scared of me.”
That was when you couldn’t stop your own eyes from filling with tears.
Because Leon never said things like that. Never so clearly. He loved you in small, quiet, almost clumsy acts sometimes. Checking your car before a trip. Leaving you the warm side of the bed when he got up earlier. Making coffee even when his hands were shaking after a bad night. Staying awake watching the door while you slept.
Hearing him admit you were his safe place while he hated himself for making you afraid was too much.
“Leon,” you said, taking one tiny step closer. “I was scared of what was happening. Not of you.”
The sentence came out so small that for a moment, you stopped seeing the grown man in front of you. You saw the boy who had probably learned to hide in silence, not to ask for help, not to cry too loudly because no one would comfort him, or because crying only made things worse. You saw the teenager who probably grew up believing affection always came with conditions, that tenderness could disappear at any second, that if someone touched him, it was safer to prepare for the blow. You saw that twenty-one-year-old boy who arrived in Raccoon City with his whole life ahead of him and left with eyes that looked older forever.
And you understood Leon wasn’t only crying because of that night.
He was crying for all the nights of his life.
“Come to the bathroom with me,” you whispered.
He looked up, confused, still soaked in tears.
“What?”
“Not for anything weird. Just… come. Let’s wash our faces. Both of us.”
You walked toward the door slowly, without touching him. At first, you thought he wouldn’t follow. You heard him breathing behind you, too still, too lost. But a few seconds later, the mattress creaked, and his footsteps appeared behind you, uncertain.
In the bathroom, the light was too white.
You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror: messy hair, wet eyes, your throat marked. Leon saw it too. He froze in the doorway, jaw clenched, and for a second you thought he was going to leave.
“Don’t look at that right now,” you asked him.
“How can I not look at it?”
“Because right now I need you to look at me.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but couldn’t. He just stood there, broken and obedient, his eyes lowering to your face as if he expected to find hatred there.
He didn’t.
He only found exhaustion, fear still, yes, but also love.
So much love.
You turned on the faucet and waited until the water ran warm. You soaked a small towel, wrung it out, and moved closer to him, stopping before touching his face.
“Can I?”
Leon swallowed. His eyes filled again. He nodded once, barely, and you lifted the towel to his cheek.
You cleaned him with a tenderness that almost hurt. You passed the damp fabric beneath his eyes, along his jaw, over his trembling mouth as he tried to hold back more sobs. Leon closed his eyes when you touched his forehead, and suddenly he looked exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.
He was exhausted from waking up every night ready to fight ghosts no one else could see.
“You were little,” you murmured, not really knowing whether you meant the nightmare, Raccoon, his childhood, or all of it at once. “Too little for everything that happened to you. And then the world just kept asking for more.” You wiped away another tear before it could fall. “More strength, more cold blood, more missions…”
Leon lowered his head.
This time, when he cried, he didn’t try to hide it as quickly. The sound came from deep in his chest, raw and aching, and you set the towel down on the sink so you could hold his face between your hands. He tensed at first, but he didn’t pull away.
“I don’t know how to be anything else,” he confessed, his voice barely there. “I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to… stop. When I was a kid, I learned not to make noise, not to bother anyone, to hold on until it passed. After Raccoon…” He shut his eyes tightly. “Just more orders, more dead people. And then you came along, and for the first time I thought maybe I could have something clean. Something that wasn’t rotten because of everything I’ve touched.”
It hurt to hear him talk about himself like that.
“You’re not rotten, Leon,” you told him, frowning at his words.
“You don’t know how many things I’ve done.”
“I know how you love me.”
He opened his eyes, ruined.
You stroked his cheekbones with your thumbs. Leon closed his eyes again and rested his forehead against yours with a trembling slowness, like such a simple gesture scared him and soothed him at the same time.
“I want to shower,” he murmured suddenly. “I need to… get this off me.”
You prepared the shower while he sat on the closed toilet lid, staring at a fixed point on the floor, fingers intertwined, shoulders collapsed. You left a clean towel nearby and adjusted the water until it was warm. You didn’t try to make it romantic. There was nothing like that in that moment. Only care. Only real intimacy, the kind that asks for nothing but to hold the other person when they can’t hold themselves.
When he stepped under the water, he left the shower door partly open, maybe because the idea of being completely alone with his head scared him. You sat on the bathroom floor, leaning your back against the sink cabinet, so he could see you if he opened his eyes.
At first, he said nothing.
The water fell over his hair, down his neck and back, and Leon pressed one hand against the wall, lowering his head. His shoulders started shaking again. This time, he didn’t do it silently. He cried with the water falling over him, his breathing broken, one hand covering his mouth and the other gripping the tile, as if that shower were the only place where he could let himself fall apart.
“I’m here,” you reminded him very softly.
Leon nodded without looking at you, but his fingers loosened slightly against the wall.
When he stepped out, wrapped in a towel, wet hair sticking to his forehead, he looked younger. Not calmer yet, but less far away. His eyes were swollen, his face clean, his skin flushed from the hot water, and there was such obvious fragility to him that you wanted to hug him until the whole world went quiet.
You handed him a clean shirt. He took it with clumsy fingers.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Come here.”
This time, he didn’t step back.
You moved closer slowly and dried his hair with another towel, rubbing gently, careful not to make any sudden movements. Leon let you, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, his gaze lowered and his hands resting on his knees. Every now and then, a late sob escaped him, one of those that linger after the worst of the crying has passed.
Leon had never received this as a child.
You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, barely brushing him.
Then, with a slowness that almost undid you, he rested his forehead against your stomach and closed his eyes.
He didn’t hug you at first. He only stayed there. Then you lowered one hand to his damp hair and the other to the back of his neck, holding him carefully.
It was enough.
Leon let out a trembling breath and wrapped his arms around your waist. Not tightly, not like before, but with fear, with reverence, as if he were holding something sacred he never wanted to break again.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your shirt.
You returned to the bedroom without rushing.
You changed the sheets because Leon couldn’t look at the bed without tensing, and you didn’t argue. You let him do something useful: gather the old sheets, open the window for a few seconds, adjust the pillows. You knew he needed to feel like his hands could be used to care, not only destroy.
After everything was clean and the room smelled faintly of cold air and soap, you turned off the main light and left only the bedside lamp on.
Leon stood beside the bed.
“I can sleep on the couch.”
“I don’t want you to sleep on the couch,” you answered quickly. “You can stay on the other side of the bed. We can leave space between us. We can keep the light on. We can do whatever you need, but I don’t want you punishing yourself.”
His eyes filled with tears again, though this time they didn’t fall with the same violence. He looked too exhausted even to hate himself.
“What do you need?” he asked.
The question touched something deep inside you.
“I need you to listen when I tell you I’m still here. And I need you not to push me away.”
Leon nodded.
You got into bed carefully. He lay on his back, rigid, hands on his chest, staring at the ceiling. You turned toward him. For a while, you didn’t touch him. You only watched him breathe, noticing how every muscle in his body still seemed ready to run.
“Leon.”
He barely turned his head.
“Can I kiss you?”
The question seemed to hurt him and comfort him at the same time.
“Yes,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.
You moved just close enough to kiss his cheek.
Once.
Then again, a little higher.
Then his temple, where his hair was still damp. His forehead, over a crease of tension that refused to disappear. The bridge of his nose. His cheekbone, just beneath his eye, where the salty trace of tears still lingered.
Leon closed his eyes.
“You don’t have to do this,” he murmured.
You gave him another kiss on the cheek.
“You’re good, Leon.”
His breath caught.
Tears slipped out again, silent this time, sliding toward his temples. You kissed the corner of his mouth with such tenderness it was barely a touch. You only wanted him to know your love hadn’t been extinguished by fear.
“You are not your nightmares,” you whispered. “You are not what they did to you, or Raccoon, or the hands of whoever hurt you when you were little. You’re Leon. My Leon. And you’re here with me.”
He turned his face toward you, completely disarmed.
“I’m scared to sleep.”
“Then don’t sleep yet. Stay with me.”
Leon swallowed and nodded, though every part of him still looked like it wanted to keep apologizing until his voice gave out.
He watched you for a few seconds, as if he were still asking for permission in silence, and then he moved toward you with a broken, almost ashamed slowness. He didn’t hug you all at once. First, he rested his forehead against your chest, right above your heartbeat, and when he heard it still there, alive and steady beneath his ear, something in him finally surrendered.
His arms wrapped carefully around your waist, still trembling, and he clung to you as if you were the only thing capable of keeping him in the present. You ran a hand through his hair slowly, feeling his breathing fall apart against your shirt in small, exhausted sobs, and Leon squeezed his eyes shut, hiding his face in you like a child who had finally found a safe place to break without being left alone.
“When I was little,” he whispered against your chest, “sometimes I imagined someone coming into my room and telling me I could sleep. That I didn’t have to watch the door. That I didn’t have to listen for footsteps.”
You moved a little closer and covered his face in small, slow kisses, placing them wherever the pain seemed to have settled. His forehead. His temple. His cheek. His closed eyelid. The tip of his nose. His tense jaw.
Leon slowly stopped crying.
“You can sleep,” you told him softly. “I’m here. The door is closed. No one is going to hurt you. I’m with you.”
His mouth trembled one last time.
Leon closed his eyes.
For a moment, you thought he was going to cry again, but he only let out a long, tired, almost defeated sigh. The tension in his shoulders began to loosen very slowly, like a rope that had finally stopped being pulled to the point of snapping.
“I love you,” he murmured, his voice so small it seemed to come from some hidden place inside him.
“I love you too.”
Leon kept looking at your face through half-lidded eyes, as if he needed to check one more time that you were still there, that you hadn’t become another loss, that the night hadn’t taken away the only good thing he allowed himself to want.
You stroked his knuckles with your thumb, slowly, over and over again, until his breathing began to match yours.
In the end, Leon fell asleep without letting go of you.
It wasn’t a deep sleep at first. His brow furrowed every now and then, his hand tightened over yours, and every small sound in the apartment seemed to brush against his skin even while he slept. But he wasn’t alone inside his head anymore. Every time his breathing changed, you whispered his name gently, and he came back.
And when his body finally surrendered completely, Leon searched for your warmth, his face calmer than you had seen it all night.
You pressed one last kiss to his forehead.
“That’s it, love,” you whispered, even though he could barely hear you anymore. “Rest. You don’t have to survive tonight anymore.”
hope you enjoyed it! i'm open to any requests! follow me on ao3 too here
Notes: reader is washing her and her clothes! Just a little blurb or whateva of reader cleaning Leon :P No specific timeline tbh, but obvi would be after they get out of everything but not necessarily in order for anything:) I’m working on the next part, so I’m so sorry it’s taken so long, but here’s this in the meantime (as if it hasn’t been 10930292 days) also I have f!reader but no pronouns mentioned I don’t think!!
Warnings: not really anything I can think of, just fluff ( ◠‿◠ )
You couldn't help the string of giggles that left your lips as Leon huffed and puffed, clearly frustrated with the shirt that was now stuck over his head with his arms awkwardly caught in the holes. You doubled over laughing loudly now, Leon annoyingly grumbling but clearly needing the help.
"Im- Im sorry, Leon, j-just, you're so funny," you managed between broken laughs, slowly exhaling to gather yourself and resume removing his shirt. You righted your position, hands finding the hem of the tee to properly work it over his head and limbs, grinning ear to ear.
Once removed and thrown somewhere across your floor, now shirtless before you, Leon groaned, eyes narrowing the slightest bit at you not only finding amusement in his struggles, but at leaving the shirt on him like that to take a laughing break. You bit your lip, hand rising to cup his cheek, thumb automatically brushing back and forth over his soft skin, gleaming at him like he was the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. He was.
"You know I'm teasing, baby," you snickered tilting your head with faux innocence. "Im done now, okay? Had my laugh, now lets get you cleaned up!"
You were eager and determined, clapping your hands together like you had a large and important mission at hand. Well, he was a rather large built man, and he was most definitely more than important, so you weren't quite far off.
Hand grabbing onto his, you led him to your bathroom, flicking on the light to reveal the shower and your tub, eyes narrowing in concentration.
"Alright, Leon, it's clean up time. Come 'ere," and you yanked him closer, muttering a small apology when he stumbled and groaned, head lolling to the side.
"Sorrysorrysorrysorry, okay, im gonna, uh, pull your pants down now alright baby- no wait, actually-" and for a moment you really thought about it. Did Leon remember what a shower was? He hadn't seemed to mind the water in the sewer, but would he freak when it sprayed down at him? You guessed there was only one way to find out, praying that it didn't scare him.
Gently pulling him closer towards the tub, you bent down to turn on the faucet, running a free hand under the flowing stream to test the temperature ensuring it was okay. Or well, was it okay? Leon always ran cold, so did that mean he'd want it colder? Warmer? You mentally cursed to yourself, completely unsure of what you were doing when you only wanted to make him feel comfortable.
Turning your head to stare back up at Leon, you became almost overwhelmed with adoration and tenderness, a soft smile growing on your face as you observed the way his head tilted as he suspiciously eyed the heavy and loud flow of the water. He squinted his eyes, his free hand twitching for just a moment before hesitantly moving towards the water. He paused, then slowly with apprehension and features frozen, ran a finger under the stream, immediately flinching and yanking it back.
You bit back a wider smile, finding his curiosity cute. "it's water, honey, see," and you lightly touched his hand, guiding it back towards the stream. When your attention returned to Leons face, his eyes were already on you. Heat rushed to your face, quickly tugging the tub diverter to redirect the flow of water to the shower head before standing straight and clearing your throat, mentally preparing yourself to undress the rest of his toned body.
His gaze didn't leave you.
"Shower time, Leon."
The words came out as a whisper, scolding yourself for feeling so flustered when the situation should've been purely operational, step by step. But you couldn't help feeling shy and intimidated when you had to undress a very fit and good looking guy who you had undoubtedly wanted to date and kiss at a certain point. This was still the guy you had gone out with, still the zombie who had saved your life so many times in the sewers and lab, still your Leon. Right? The thought made you frown, but you shook it off, attention returning to the quest at hand.
"Okay, now, Im uh, just tell me to stop if you're uncomfy okay? Or well, just hit me, I guess- Um Okay, Im gonna undress you, Okay?" you rambled to yourself more than anything, Leon a solid piece of art who somehow while being a zombie still stood there cooly, nonchalantly and unbashful. Of course he did.
Directing your gaze anywhere but down- and sure as hell not making eye contact either- you undid his trousers, squatting to work them down his legs, hand going to his to steady him when you motioned him to shift his weight to worm it off his feet.
Gnawing on your lip, cheeks burning, and eyes wide, you returned to full height, closed lip smile to try and fake the calm and ease you were certainly not feeling. This is cool, you're cool, it's just a guy, but your internal thoughts did nothing to ease the hammering of your heart or the warmth in your face. Especially when he stared at you so intensely.
You cleared your throat again, suddenly finding interest in the shower tiles as you guided him right towards the tub, silently prompting him to step over and in. He didn't move.
"Okay, Leon, you can step in now," you urged, voice light as you refocused on the mission, dismissing your girlish immature thoughts. He just stared. Furrowing your eyebrows, you put a hand under the flowing water, waving it gently as if he’d know that the gesture meant it was fine for him to go in. “Come on, baby, just step in,” and you nodded your head to the shower, confused at why he wasn’t following.
“Leon, what’s-” but the words immediately died on your tongue, narrowing your eyes at him as he continued to just stare at you with his foggy white eyes. “You think you’re so clever, hm?” You teased, figuring out his little scheme, but the cheeky grin that grew on your face sold you away. “Zombie or not, still a guy huh?”
You sighed looking down at your clothes. A t-shirt and shorts would have to suffice. Playfully rolling your eyes at Leon, you reluctantly stepped over the edge of the tub, clothes sticking tightly to your now wet skin, hair plastering against your neck and back.
You stared at him, trying to play the part of an unamused and unwilling victim. “Now will you come in?” Without a word, hand in yours for balance, he stepped in the shower, water hot and steam already filling the space.
Like second nature to him, which you supposed it was, Leon automatically leaned his weight on your frame. You grunted, hands coming up to grip his small hard waist. God he was lazy and clingy and god did you love it.
His forehead dropped to your shoulder, grumbling into your neck as his muscular arms wrapped around your clothed middle, fingers starting to crawl under the damp material of your shirt. He groaned again, hot water pelting his back.
“Leon- oomph, heavy, baby- you’re-“ you grunted feeling him rest even more of his body weight on yours. There was no room to be embarrassed when you were a split second away from the both of you tumbling over and out of the tub. With a huff, he reluctantly supported himself, still keeping his head neatly tucked into its rightful place, his favorite spot.
The two of you stood there for several minutes. Steam filling the bathroom, water running over the both of you, his fingers dancing lightly over your back while your hands rubbed up and down his sides. You smiled. “Such a big baby,” and a small laugh echoed in the small space when he grumbled in response. Possibly in agreement.
You could feel his body melt into yours, tense shoulders finally relaxing, abs slightly jumping from the lightest brushes of your fingers against his obliques and despite it being so hot, you could feel goosebumps form under your touch. You didn’t tease him, warmth blooming in your heart at finally being able to see him so relaxed and at peace, so safe in your arms. Nothing could hurt you two here. Reluctantly, you broke the silence.
“Gonna wash your hair, okay buddy?” You gently tapped his side, signaling for him to stand to full height, to which he protested but slowly obliged. His hands moved from your back to now clutching the sopping wet fabric at the front, and whether it was for balance or just to keep close, you didn’t mind. His eyes followed your movements, tracking you as you squeezed a dollop of shampoo in your hands, watching you contemplate before you added more for yourself.
“Might as well…” you murmured under your breath, quickly working some into your hair before moving towards Leon’s. “Shampoo, Leon, it goes in your hair,” you explained having no clue of what he did and didn’t remember. Reaching your hands up towards his now dark brown hair that stuck all over his forehead, you choked down your giggle, massaging your fingers immediately into his skull, gently kneading.
Your eyes widened just a fraction when his eyes rolled back, eyelids falling and head drooping forward, small rumbling falling from his chest. He leaned into your touch, and it looked like he couldn’t get enough, switching from leaning into your left hand then your right, then your left again and all over again. With a small giggle, you removed a hand to half ass massage the shampoo in your own hair, not missing the small whine that left him at the loss of contact. “I know, I know, just a second.”
When your hand returned, you could’ve sworn he started purring. Eyes zoning out as you softly tugged and worked his hair, you couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had ever done this before for him. A past girlfriend maybe? Parents when he was a baby? Did he have parents? Did they know their son was a zombie? Before you could spiral more, Leon’s hands moved from their grip on your shirt to your bare waist, snapping you out of it. You didn’t want to ruin this tender moment with your sad theories, forcing yourself to remain present.
“Now we use conditioner,” and once again, he lowly muttered when you pulled your hands away.
The same ritual continued moving far slower than anticipated with Leon’s grunts and complaints anytime you moved your hands away from his head. You didn’t mind, still playfully rolling your eyes and calling him a diva whenever he whined. He couldn’t have you wrapped around his thumb too much (he did). Turning your head to face the items on your shelf, you eyed the face wash. Did zombies need face wash? Fuck it.
Another grin formed on your face, the two of you now facing each other with white foamy suds bubbling on your faces as you rubbed small circles on his cheek. You tried to ignore how he looked at you, the weight of his gaze carrying so much more than just a surface level look. If there was something you had truly known about Leon, it was that everything he did, was intentional. Quickly looking away to avoid the squeal you wanted to let out, you washed the suds off with one hand, the other grabbing a wash cloth.
“Body wash,” you noted to him, skin prickling with a heat that was not caused by the shower. Swallowing nervously, you began scrubbing his torso, muttering a small “oops, sorry sorry,” when he stumbled back a few steps. Looking at his face, you found his eyes still piercing yours, white irises rimmed with a slight red from the water. You looked away, chewing on your lip while you resumed cleaning him.
His head was tilted down at yours, following your motions and hands as they scrubbed over his abs, up his arms and biceps, around his neck and bite mark. He still stared at you when you shut your eyes and looked at the wall, washing him everywhere. You wanted to scream. He was still a guy after all and when was the last time you saw a hot guy naked in your shower, if ever??
Unintentionally, you loudly exhaled when finished, regaining your composure and finally feeling like you could meet his eyes, which of course, had not left yours. You huffed in amusement, reaching behind him to shut the water off. “Okay, Leon stay here, let me grab a towel.”
Yanking open the shower curtain and carefully stepping out of the tub, you grabbed two towels from the cabinets under your sink, taking note of how fogged over the mirror was. You had no idea how long the two of you were in there for, what was supposed to be a quick objective turning into Leon’s massage time, not that you were complaining, more than happy to rub his head and touch his abs.
Turning back to face Leon, you quickly wrapped a towel around your drenched clothes, lightly scoffing to yourself at how easily persuaded you were to get in the shower. Like a puppy who just had his first bath, you threw the fluffy towel over Leon, slightly pouting and muffling an ‘aww’ as you rubbed it back and forth over his hair, strands poking out every which way. You dried his arms, torso, legs, before wrapping the towel around his waist, tucking in the side to ensure it would hold. “Okay, now step over baby,” and his hands reached for your forearms for support, stumbling over and naturally, right into your arms.
“Very smooth, Leon, veryyy smooth,” you mused, hand coming up to stroke the back of his head as he tucked it into your neck. He sighed, once again wrapping his arms around your waist over the towel, huffing in annoyance when he couldn’t worm them underneath. Chucking, you pecked the side of his head. “Someone’s sleepy,” and his grip tightened, tucking you into him further. You hummed, thinking for just a moment, “I guess I could go for a nap, too.”
Wordlessly, Leon straightened, hand clasping yours to lead you back towards your bedroom.
Author's Note: thanks for all the love on the first two installments of this series guys! i hope you're ready for some re4 shenanigans :)) buckle in this is a long one (so much so i had to split it into two parts, whoops)
Summary: A lot can change in six years. Sometimes, things don't get better, just different.
Word Count: 15.1k (31.4k Total)
Content: 18+, smut, re4!leon, doctor!reader, angst, gore, mentions of past child abuse, medical inaccuracies, parasites, mind control, death & grief, everyone flirts with reader, jealous!leon, yearning yearning and more yearning but they're also deeply traumatized individuals, undefined situationship hell, oral (f!receiving), p in v sex (unprotected), little bit of butt stuff as a treat
To Read on AO3
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The trek across the battlements is a nightmare, to put it mildly, especially with another one of those gigantic, mutated creatures hurling boulders at you and Leon. When you encounter one of these 'plaga' for the first time outside of a host, it skitters around and attaches itself to a monk to puppet around.
"Hey, remember that movie you rea—"
"Yup," you answer as you back up, shooting at the advancing creature.
"Isn't it just like—"
"Yup!"
By some miracle (read as: a cannon), you make it back to the courtyard, ending up in a sitting room overlooking it, where you find a familiar blonde. You realize with a frown that she's crying as she sits on a couch facing away from you and Leon.
Slowly, the two of you make your way over, trying not to startle her. When she sees you, she shuffles to the further side of the couch. "Stay back," she cries. "I might hurt you again." She glances down at her hands, clutched into fists, before looking up between you two. "I'm so scared. When that happened… I wasn't myself anymore. I was something else."
"That must have been terrifying, I know—" Leon inches forward, and she flinches back, before staring down at his arms, where the blackened veins are more pronounced as the infection progresses.
"You too?" she asks, voice small. He purses his lips and nods, and she stares over at you with wide eyes, as if questioning whether you're infected as well, but you only shake your head.
"It's okay to be afraid, y'know," Leon says as he carefully sits down next to her. "But you can't run. You gotta keep moving forward."
You're quiet. At what point does moving forward become running, you ask yourself. It's a line that's been so blurred for you the past six years, you're not even sure of the answer.
"We will beat this," he assures her. "Together."
She frowns. "I don't know if I can."
"You can," he says. "Just give me a heads-up before you stab me next time, okay?"
She laughs weakly, and when you outstretch the knife toward her, she seems startled, glancing between you and Leon. "I—"
"You heard him," you say. "Just give him a heads-up."
Tentatively, she takes the knife, regarding it with care. "How do you do it?" she asks, focused on you this time. "How are you so brave?"
The question claws at something deep inside you, trying to rip it from your chest. You're hesitant to let it, but looking into her eyes, so full of fear, you allow it to latch on. "Can I tell you a secret?" you ask as you squat down in front of her.
She nods quickly and leans forward. "Of course."
"Six years ago, I was in Raccoon City during the outbreak."
She gasps.
"I thought I was going to die. I was alone and so scared—" You pause, remembering the hospital—how hopeless you felt. "—and I was so angry. Angry that I was going to die alone and scared. Angry that my own good intentions landed me in that mess."
Leon watches you carefully—listening to what you're saying so closely. You've never really talked about it—the things you endured before you found each other at the R.P.D. He's never asked because he always thought those memories were ones you'd want to keep buried.
"I was so angry that I decided I wasn't going to let that happen. I wasn't just going to sit there and let myself succumb to whatever horrible fate I deserved. Then I met someone—" A small smile tugs at your face as you remember rookie cop Leon Kennedy—hands held high in the air as you held him at gun point, squinting as you shone your flashlight in his face. "—and suddenly it was a bit easier, knowing that we were surviving together. Having someone to lean on, someone to fight for."
There's a wistful expression on your face that makes Ashley smile, too.
"Even still, I was so scared—I am so scared—but being brave means doing the hard thing even when you're afraid, especially when you're afraid." You grasp her hand, firm and present. "And you don't have to do it alone."
Tears gather in her eyes. "Yeah," she says softly. "Okay."
"Ready to get a move on?" Leon asks.
You pull her up with you, squeezing her hand tightly, a reminder to let her know that you're here with her.
As you're making your way to the door, Leon stops, pressing a hand to his ear. "Luis, where are you?" He stops, annoyance twisting his face. "I'll show you charming, pal!" After another pause, he sighs, his hand dropping to his side. "I can't believe that guy."
"What happened?" Ashley asks.
"He got caught up in some trouble," Leon answers.
"Of course he did," you mutter.
"Well, we can't just leave him, right?" she says.
You and Leon exchange a look—unfortunately, no, you can't; you wouldn't.
The maze is annoying but manageable; the puzzle, once you get into the Grand Hall, however, makes you question whether you're doomed to a life of solving these inane challenges to do something as simple as… open a door.
As your luck would have it, as soon as you complete it, you and Leon are trapped in a cage by the zealots, leaving Ashley on her own as she runs through the door you've unlocked. You watch Leon pace back and forth like a confined tiger.
After several minutes of this, you comment, "If your plan is to wear a hole in the floor, it just might work."
"We can't just stand here and do nothing," he says.
You're not sure what else you can do short of prying the bars apart, but given how thick they are, that seems unlikely. "She's going to be fine—"
"You don't know that," he cuts you off. "This entire mission has just been one thing after another. With this freaky cult and their freaky priest who infected me, I almost got swallowed whole by an overgrown fish—" "—Wait, what?—" "—and when I finally find Ashley, you show up—"
You recoil as if he's slapped you. "What's that supposed to mean?" you ask.
"You're a distraction," he replies, as if it's as simple as that. He's talking to you like you're an inconvenience—more dead weight he's got to juggle on top of everything else. It's not a tone you've ever heard him use with you before. Your mouth goes dry, and suddenly your ears are filled with the sound of your rapid heartbeat. "You shouldn't even be here—they should have let you complete your own mission and not interfered with mine."
It's automatic—the way your mind starts cataloging everything you've tucked away in your pouches, a mental inventory you've unknowingly kept with meticulous precision. Your brain's defense mechanism, a barrier slamming down between you and the ache building in your chest. "I'll make sure to note that request in my report," you say, your tone even, detached.
You're not going to cry, you tell yourself. You're made of tougher stuff—God knows you've been beaten and berated enough to prove it—and you're not going to cry because a man is mean to you, even if that man is Leon.
"Never worked on me, did it?" the voice whispers in your ear—it's deceptively soft, yet cruel—mocking. "Just a load of crocodile tears."
Leon rolls his eyes at your words, turning away from you and muttering, "Yeah, you do that."
Crinkling your nose, you force back the sting in your sinuses. Lockpick, you have a lockpick, your mind reminds you. You reach into the pocket you know it's in, kneeling in front of the door. You've never been any good at it, and when the pin slips for the first time, you let out a sharp breath through your nose.
The sixth time occurs when Leon breaks the tense silence between you by asking, "What are you doing?" His tone is sharp yet curious.
"What does it look like?"
"Where did you learn to lockpick?" he asks.
"Jill," you tersely respond.
Albeit it was seven years ago, you were both incredibly drunk, having locked yourselves in a supply closet at some dive bar you'd never been to before, mistaking it for the bathroom. She thought it was the perfect teaching moment. It wasn't, and you two were fumbling around in the dark for far too long before the bartender found you. Jill swears you were close to getting the door open.
The sound of your and Leon's names being called makes your grip falter, and the lockpick falls to the floor. "Ashley!" he yells. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, give me a sec, I'll get you guys out," she says from the balcony above, and you watch as she takes the key from the dead zealot slumped over the lever that trapped you both in here. "Try this!"
Leon snatches it from the air as she throws it down. "Can you make it down? I'll catch you," he says.
"Yeah, I think so."
You've barely turned your back for a second when Ashley's screams echo through the air. As you whirl around, you see an enormous figure in a red cloak has grabbed her. "Ashley!" You draw your gun and fire two shots into the creature's back. It doesn't even flinch, only glancing down at you and Leon before turning and disappearing into the darkened archway with her. "Fuck."
As Leon gets the door open, he pauses, holding a hand to his ear. "Ada?" You perk up, brows furrowing in confusion as to why she would be contacting him. "Hey! Ada? Ada!" He sighs. "…Perfect."
"What did she want?" you quietly ask.
"She said something big is about to go down in the throne room," he answers. "C'mon."
The ballroom, where you were supposed to find Luis, is empty except for the terrifying, overgrown bugs that buzz about. The entire area seems to be in disrepair, with large sections of the floor dug out and nothing but darkness below. Ramón, meanwhile, taunts Leon over the speakers throughout the castle, sneering "Mr. Kennedy" like it's an insult. He manages to find a few ways to slight you as well, though you're far less affected than Leon, who grows increasingly annoyed by the prodding.
As you run through the doors to the throne room, you stop short at the scene before you. "Stop! No! Don't come any closer!" Ashley yells as she's forced to her knees in front of a giant hole in the ground by two of the cultists, blood smeared across her face in some sort of symbol.
"Are you hurt?" Leon asks.
"Watch out!"
You're hit by something from above, your body being forced to the ground by a tremendous weight, and you can feel the rough stone of the floor scrape against your cheek as you're held down by the back of your neck. There's a ringing in your ears from the blow, and your vision crosses. "Fuck," you grunt.
When Ramón says your name, you squint over at him, eyes having trouble focusing. "I don't know how you've managed to make it so far without bearing the gift of my master—"
"Guess I'm just lucky," you wheeze. You hope you're imagining the crack you hear as the creature on top of you bears down with its full weight.
"—Nevertheless, it matters not. Please. Do continue," Ramón orders, perched on the throne at the far side of the room, giving his minions a flourish of his hand.
"No! No! Please! Let me go!" Ashley yells as one of the zealots approaches with a chalice full of God knows what, carrying it as if it's the blood of Christ himself.
"Do not resist, my dear," Ramón coos sardonically. "It serves only to make your suffering all the worse."
You struggle against the creature's grip despite the pain shooting up your ribs. Leon is next to you, trying with all of his might to break free, but it's too strong. You're only able to watch as the cultists hold Ashley's mouth open and begin to chant. She's screaming, trying to thrash to no avail, tears streaming down her face.
"Don't drink it!" you yell before your face is ground into the stone once more, hearing her choke as they pour it down her throat.
"You sick—" Just as Leon finds some purchase, he's thrust back down as Ashley cries, and you watch deep red marks spread across her body. You gasp as you're suddenly hauled off the floor, you and Leon dangling uselessly in the creature's impossibly strong grip.
You faintly hear Ramón bid you and Leon goodbye, and then you're tossed into the hole in front of you, Ashley's scream reverberating overhead. You reach out blindly, latching onto something—a chain. You're sure your palms would be torn to shreds without your leather gloves as you slide nearly the entire way down before coming to a slow, grinding halt. You're in a cave, you realize, before peering down to see a head of sandy blonde hair clinging to the chain a few feet beneath you in the darkness.
Your heart is still in your throat. "Leon?" you croak out.
When he glances up and sees you, he says your name like it's a relief. "Are you okay?" he asks.
You're not. "Yeah," you lie.
Below, sharp stalagmites jut up from the cave floor. He looks around, spotting a clearing to one side. "If we can swing over there, we can jump down."
It's a coordinated effort on both your parts to time the swing over, and once Leon jumps off, you slide further down and hop off as well. You land firmly on your feet, though the impact sends a sharp zap of pain up your side. You let out a gasp, clutching your ribs.
Leon's crowding you in the next moment, taking you by the shoulders to inspect you. "What is it?" he asks.
"It's nothing—" You grit your teeth. "—Just aggravated my ribs a bit, I'm fine."
His brows crinkle together, concern pooling in his eyes. "You're not fine—"
"I am," you insist, shrugging off his hands.
"Listen, I didn't—"
You wave your hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Don't worry about it," you say dismissively, then add pettily, "Wouldn't want you to have any distractions." You don't give him time to respond, taking the lead as you move through the cave, intent on finding a way out and back to Ashley.
Leon stares at your retreating form, regret bubbling up in his throat.
Movie nights are a tradition between you and Leon, one you unknowingly started six years ago. Weekly lamentations over drinks turned into weekly lamentations over drinks while watching whatever shitty made-for-TV movie happened to be on Lifetime. One week, he showed up with a few movies from the rental place down the street from his apartment, grumbling that he was sick of watching the same awful rom-coms week after week. The owner of the Dollar Video gave him some recommendations—Leon kept how the older woman suggested a horror movie with a waggle of her brows at him when he mentioned you to himself.
Sometimes, if you liked a movie enough, Leon would rent it multiple times before finally biting the bullet and buying it for you. Needless to say, you've grown quite a collection over the years despite your insistence that he didn't need to buy you anything.
"Shut up," he said to you, cheeks reddened like he was trying not to make a big deal of it.
The first one he ended up getting for you was Alien after you requested that he rent it for the seventh time. You called it a "comfort movie"—Leon couldn't understand how a film in which nearly everyone dies violently could be considered comforting, but he usually had a hard time denying you, so he endured rewatching it as many times as you asked.
So maybe he finds it a little ironic that you two are running for your lives from a creature far too similar to the titular monster in one of your favorite movies.
As a spiny tail juts up from the grated floor, slashing around, he says, "You know this is kind of like—"
"I know!" you shout as you dive to the floor, narrowly avoiding being swiped at. You're seeing stars as the pain in your ribs intensifies, but you grit your teeth through it.
And when you lure the creature into the nitrogen shower, with equal parts fear and determination in your eyes, Leon thinks maybe you find comfort in that movie because it's a reminder to keep going—to survive—not because you have to, but because you can, because you're capable.
By the time it falls, half-frozen and riddled with bullet holes, blood drips from a wound above your brow, and you're holding your injured side protectively after the monster landed a hit that sent you sprawling to the ground.
He's reaching out to you before he can stop himself, stuck in your gravity well, and even though he knows he deserves it, he can't help but feel spurned when you wave him off. "Let's get to the elevator," you say coldly.
The facade of indifference you've erected doesn't last long when he collapses to his knees in the lift. Confusing visions fill his mind, and he comes to with his face being cradled by your steady hands. "Leon." There's worry in your tone, a tremor of desperation he hates to hear in your voice, especially for him.
He takes a deep, shaky breath; his hands resting on top of yours. "I'm okay," he assures as he stands, accepting your help.
"It's getting worse," you say, staring at the darkened veins on his arm. They've spread.
He says nothing, lips sealed, but his eyes stray from you as the elevator reaches the top and creaks open. When you see the vein at his temple throb, you follow his gaze, peering over your shoulder to see Luis leaning against the steel beam.
There's a smirk on his face as he shakes the container in his hand. "I'll make it cheap for you." Your shoulders drop, and you move first, stalking up to the man and reaching for it, only for him to hold it just out of your grasp at the last second. His brows lift, and he lowers his head to meet your stare. "For the low, low price of a single kiss."
An arm darts out from over your shoulder, yanking the container from Luis's hand. "You're lucky I don't kiss your face with my fist, pal," Leon sneers, and you can feel the rumble in his chest that's pressed up against your back.
Luis gives a shrug of his shoulders, holding his hands up innocently. "You cannot blame a man for trying," he says.
You roll your eyes, clearly not taking the man's flirtations seriously, as Leon hands you the container. "Sit down," you instruct with a nod of your head as you open it up, plucking one of the two syringes from inside, and holding it to your eye as you inspect the purple liquid within. "This is the suppressant?"
"It is, indeed," Luis confirms.
"What's it made out of?" you ask, curious and maybe a bit skeptical.
He doesn't seem the least bit offended by your hesitance. "Some hard-to-find ingredients," he answers. "Only enough for three doses."
"And where's the third?"
He gives you a knowing smile and taps the side of his nose. Pursing your lips, you turn away from him and kneel down in front of Leon, pulling out an alcohol swab from one of your pockets. "Anything you don't got in there?" Leon asks.
You snort as you clean a small patch of skin on the inside of his elbow. "A million dollars," you mutter. "Just a pinch here." It's a habit from a life no longer yours as you push the tip of the needle into his skin. He doesn't even flinch, his attention remaining on you, tracing down the slope of your nose and concentrated line of your lips. "And done." You move away, wiping the droplet of blood that pools at the injection site, before standing up.
It's strange to see the suppressant work in real-time—the branching blackened veins retreating like a receding tide—and you and Leon watch with fascination.
"Feeling better?" Luis asks as he flips his lighter between his fingers.
"Yeah," Leon confirms as he flexes his fist a few times. "Seems like it worked."
"Bad news?" Luis says. "All we've done is buy you some time." Leon takes the other dose, inspects it, then hands it over to you. "The suppressant's effects will wear off all too soon."
"We should hurry, then," you say as you tuck it into a reinforced pocket—the last thing you need is for it to break before you're able to reach Ashley.
With a click, Luis flicks his lighter closed and pockets it. "In that case, we know what we have to do," he says before grabbing a broken pipe, brandishing it like a spear. "Then come, Sancho Panza! Let us rescue the Princess Dulcinea!"
"You're gonna hurt yourself," Leon mutters as he snatches the pipe from his hands and tosses it aside, where it clanks against the floor.
"Hey, that was my lance!" Luis complains. He shoots you a look as if you could help, and when you only smirk at him, he clutches his chest with one hand over the other. "I thought our bond ran deeper than that, corazón. For you not to come to my aid… I am heartbroken."
Falling in step with him, you give him an unsympathetic pat on the back. "I'm sorry to have led you on in such a way."
He lets out a bark of laughter, and ahead of you, Leon rolls his eyes with a frown.
Making your way through the mines, you're sure that Leon will pick up at some point that Luis is only flirting with you to get under his skin. However—
"You handle yourself pretty well…" Leon says after you all clear an area full of villagers in the mine. "You sure you're just a researcher?"
"I'm just an average guy who happens to be quite the ladies' man," Luis answers. "Isn't that right, corazón?" He tosses you a non-subtle wink.
Leon's jaw clenches together, and his nostrils flare as he lets out a slow exhale, like he's mentally counting to ten in his head.
After you fight two more of the gigantic creatures, Luis offers to lift you through the opening to unlock the door from the other side with a sly smirk, and right as he's about to squat down to let you climb onto his shoulders, Leon pushes him to the side, lifting you himself.
"Hands to yourself, buddy," Leon mutters to him as you disappear to the other side, landing with a soft thud.
"Touchy," Luis groans as he rubs at his sore backside.
When you take point during your minecart ride, with Luis and Leon focused on keeping the minecart from flipping, the first shot you take, which sails straight through the forehead of one of the villagers wielding a flaming crossbow, draws a low whistle from Luis. "A sharpshooter, eh?" he comments. "Can't say I'm surprised, given the way you've struck me straight through the heart."
Leon debates whether to throw him from the minecart, and it is only through great restraint that he does not.
After nearly falling to your deaths and navigating a section of the mine infested with more of those bugs, you finally reach another lift that will hopefully bring you closer to the surface. The ride up offers a brief reprieve, and you rest against the elevator wall, catching your breath.
"I don't get you," Leon says to Luis. "Why risk your life like this? You don't know us."
"I told you," he answers. "It makes me feel better."
Leon narrows his eyes, no longer buying the concerned-citizen bit. "Be straight with me for once."
"Los Iluminados… I was working for them," Luis admits.
"See? There you go," Leon says.
Luis flicks his lighter on, staring down at the flame with a frown. "Helping you doesn't make up for it, I know that. But still, I don't want anyone else to get hurt."
"In that case, you'd better get serious," he says firmly.
Luis chuckles. "Harsh words for a squire." He looks over at you. "What do you think, Teresa Panza?"
As the lift comes to a stop, you push off from the wall. "I think you'd better not get complacent, we're not out of the woods yet."
"Ah, wise words from a wise woman," he replies, sending a devious grin to Leon. "Sancho is quite the lucky man."
Leon glances between the two of you, and your eyes catch his the moment realization dawns on him. Quickly, he averts his gaze, red darkening his cheeks as the elevator doors open.
Luis marches out first. "We're out of that hellhole," he announces with a bit more jaunt to his gait. "The fresh air is calling our names!" He turns, arms splayed as he talks to the two of you. "Because if we made it all this way, you know that means we're almost—"
His words get caught in his throat as he gasps.
"Almost what?" Leon asks.
"Luis?" You take a hesitant step forward.
His body jerks as he chokes out a wet, rattling cough. Blood spews from his mouth, staining his lips red. The moment before he collapses, he appears confused. Your feet move instinctively, and you don't get more than a few strides when someone jumps down just behind Luis. Leon's arms wrap around your waist, hauling you back and keeping you from going any further.
It's a man—blonde, dressed in military fatigues and a red beret, with a large scar running down the left side of his face. You think you recognize him, and when he addresses Leon, you know you do.
"Long time no see, rookie," he chuckles.
Leon steps in front of you, shielding your body with his. "Major Krauser? What the hell? Why?"
Krauser squats and takes something from Luis—it's a cylindrical tube with a yellow crystal inside. "Recovering stolen goods—" He taps it, tucks it away, then grasps the knife embedded in Luis's back and wrenches it free, making you wince at the sound. "—And killing a few rats along the way." As he stands, he moves with quick, precise steps, circling like a predator stalking its prey. "Easy work."
Leon keeps you behind him the entire time, realization dawning on him. "Ashley… It was you." He reaches for his gun, but Krauser is incredibly fast. His knife is at Leon's throat before you can even blink, and you feel Leon nudge you away. "You catch on quick—" The edge barely grazes Leon's neck. "Didn't I teach you? Knives are faster."
Your eyes flick to Luis, and you edge back, keeping a wide berth between yourself and them as Leon draws his knife and the two start to go at it. It's a flurry of limbs that would be impressive if it didn't feel so life-and-death, and then Krauser kicks Leon down to the lower level, jumping down to join him.
As you make it to Luis, you bring out your own knife. "I hope you're not fond of this jacket, Luis," you mutter as you slice through it and his shirt to expose the wound on his back.
"I am fond of living more," he wheezes out—still alive, you realize with a sigh of relief. "My chest hurts."
You lean your head down, pressing your ear to his back to listen in lieu of a stethoscope—all the shit you have on you, and you don't have a stethoscope. "Fuck," you mutter as you sit back.
"That—" He coughs. "—is not what I want to hear my doctor say."
"I think your lung is collapsed," you tell him as you clasp his wrist to check his pulse. Strong, you determine.
"Can you make it uncollapse?" he asks. Humor still intact, at least.
"Sure can," you say as you sort through your medical kit. You've dealt with plenty of collapsed lungs—granted, it was in an Emergency Room with state-of-the-art technology at your disposal, but you're, for all intents and purposes, a genius; you can figure it out. "I have to do an occlusive dressing," you explain as you take out some antiseptic. "But first we need to clean the wound—" You pause. "—This is gonna hurt."
There's no countdown, only him hissing in pain as you flush out the wound. It's a good sign when only a bit of blood floods the wound—Krauser didn't hit a major artery or organ. A rookie mistake from someone who seemed all too smug to be "killing rats".
"Good news—" you start.
"Oh, yay," he groans.
"—I think he missed your vital organs."
"Oh, that is good news," he gasps with a small smile, blood coating his teeth as he gives a weak thumbs-up.
You grab what you need to do the bandage—just a piece of plastic and tape; rudimentary, but it'll do. "Okay, so all I need to do is seal down three sides of this, and it'll create a flutter valve that lets air out when you exhale, but seals when you inhale." You double up on tape to be sure the seal will hold, and when you see it working as intended, the worry that was coiling in your stomach unravels only a bit. "How do you feel?"
"A little better, I think," he answers.
"It's going to take a while for your lung to re-expand," you explain. "We need to get you to an actual hospital."
"You need to save Ashley first," he says—his talking is less strained, and you help him slowly sit up.
You take out your penlight, shining it into his eyes, then feel his pulse once more. "Do you feel like you can stand?" you ask, then add, "Be honest."
He takes a moment, drawing another deep breath, before nodding. As you haul him to his feet, mindful of the wound on his back, you guide him down the stairs to the lower level, where Leon and Krauser are still fighting, the sound of metal clashing against metal.
As you reach the bottom of the stairs, Krauser kicks Leon directly in the chest, sending him sailing back and landing with a hard thud on the ground. He flips his knife in a flourish as he approaches Leon. "I got it," Luis confirms as he feebly unholsters his gun, taking aim and pulling the trigger as Krauser raises his blade high, about to strike Leon.
He turns his gaze to you two as the bullet ricochets off his knife. When Luis fires again, he retreats to a higher ledge with inhuman agility. "Enough play, rookie," he says from where he's perched. "You haven't changed a damn bit. What a disappointment."
Then he's gone.
As Luis grunts in pain, Leon whirls around as he staggers to his feet. "Luis, are you okay?" he asks.
"Oh, I'll live," he wheezes. "—Probably."
As he holsters his gun, he digs into his pocket, coming out with a key and shoving it into Leon's hand. "Take this—" He takes a deep breath, wincing slightly. "It's the key to my laboratory. Go there and remove those damn parasites."
"You're coming with us," Leon insists.
Luis shakes his head. "I'll only slow you down," he says. "You two go on without me—"
You're ready to argue—you want to, but your directive hasn't changed. "C'mon, let's at least get you some fresh air, huh?" you offer.
"How about a smoke?" he asks with a cheeky grin.
"If I catch you with a cigarette, I'm putting it out in your eye," you grumble as Leon comes to his other side, alleviating a bit of his weight from you as you haul him toward the elevator.
"Such a cruel woman," he bemoans.
"I could have just as easily let you suffocate to death," you say.
"Ah, no, you couldn't have—" He winks. "—You're too nice, corazón."
As you step into the elevator and Leon pushes the button, he frowns, holding a hand to his ear as a message comes through his radio. "Ah, so you aren't heartless after all. I guess I should be… thankful?"
"Ada?" you ask.
He nods. "She said Ashley is being taken to the clocktower," he answers.
"Better get a move on," Luis says as the elevator reaches the top, the doors sliding open.
The subtle glow of purple flame catches your attention. "Perfect," you mutter. "C'mon."
"Welcome, strangers!" the merchant greets as you walk through the threshold. "Seems you're in a bit of a pickle, hm?" His unnerving stare strays to Luis, who gives the man a little two-finger salute.
Carefully, you and Leon lower Luis down into one of the chairs in the room. "We are," you confirm, turning to him—you can see his eyes looking at you with curiosity. "Was wondering if you could help?"
"I could," he says.
You pause, lips drawing into a line. "Will you?" you ask.
He lets out a chuckle. "Now there's the question," he muses.
"What do you want?" you ask, already digging in your pockets—you've collected quite a few treasures. The merchant holds out a hand, stopping you from spilling jewels across his table. You stare up at him, confused—you were sure you had more than enough to cover whatever price he was going to ask.
"That shadow on your shoulder—"
Your breath catches in your throat.
"—What are you going to do about it?" he asks.
You're acutely aware of eyes on your back—no doubt wondering what the man is talking about. Then you feel a prickle up your neck, an itch that settles at the base of your skull.
"Yeah, girl, what are you going to do about it?" your father hisses in your ear.
"What do you want me to say?" you question—voice soft, but apathetic. "That I'll face my demons or some bullshit?"
His eyes crease like he's grinning behind the bandana covering his face. He's not mocking you—you may have preferred it—instead, he's looking at you with understanding.
"It's not about what I want you to say," he answers, tilting his head as he considers you. "I only want something honest—that's my price."
Your jaw sets as you swallow thickly.
"Tick tock," the voice laughs.
"I'll live with it until I can't," you say. Until it kills me, you think.
"You have yourself a deal," the merchant grins.
"You sure he's going to be okay?" Leon asks as you ride the cable car across to the clock tower. It's almost endearing how worried the man is for Luis, given how standoffish he's been toward him thus far, but it is incredibly like Leon Kennedy.
"He will," you say assuredly. "When I spoke to Hunnigan, she said they'll be able to extract him so long as they don't encounter any resistance."
"Don't worry, love," the merchant said to you. "Any trouble comes our way, nothing a bit of heavy-duty firepower can't take care of." You eyed the rocket launcher he patted with far too much affection and completely believed him.
"He would have died if you weren't here," Leon says.
You blink, gaze meeting his. "He would have," you confirm.
He reaches out, hand clasping around yours. "I'm sorry about what I said before," he murmurs. "I'm glad you're here."
You try to smile, though you're sure it doesn't reach your eyes. "Don't worry about that right now."
"Ain't always forgive and forget, is it?" your father taunts.
When you get to the clock tower, you're forced to fight your way up it. Becoming infinitely more annoyed with the pompous idiot Ramón and the seemingly never-ending supply of cultists at his disposal.
You arrive just in time to see Ashley being carried away by Krauser. You can only go after her once you and Leon have taken care of the mutated Ramón. By the end of the battle, your side aches from being slammed into a stone column, and you're hoping for this day to come to an end soon. As you ride the lift down, you see a boat pulling away. "Where the hell are they going?" you ask.
"No idea," Leon answers. "But we're going to find out."
There's a boathouse at the bottom, and you hop into the backseat of the boat moored inside as Leon searches for the key. Slowly, you ease yourself down into a lying position, ignoring the worried glances Leon keeps shooting you.
The sound of heels clicking against the uneven stone floor reaches your ear. "Looking for something?" Ada asks, holding up a keyring with a smirk.
Leon glances to you like he's begging you to take over this interaction, and when you gesture for Ada to take the driver's seat, he sighs. As she steps in, you can see the moment where he debates being petty and sitting in the back with you, but with how you're stretched out across the seats, it doesn't leave him with much room to sit, so begrudgingly, he takes the passenger's seat.
A tense quiet falls over the three of you as you drive toward an island—or at least, that's where Ada told you they were taking Ashley. You're gazing up at the clouds, enjoying the brief reprieve, when Ada starts, "You look like you've got something to say."
"Doesn't matter," Leon replies. "I won't get a straight answer, anyway."
A pause, a beat where she's cast out the line—the silence goading him to continue. You wish he wouldn't take the bait, but you know he will.
"After Raccoon City," he begins. "The world changed—you try to save one person; a hundred others die…" He frowns. "I guess I changed, too."
She chuckles. "You? Leon S. Kennedy?" she asks. "You haven't changed, you just think you have."
During this exchange, you've sat back up, and he catches your eye. "So here's my question—" He peers over at her. "—Have you changed, Ada? Or are you just trying to use us again?"
She stares at him—if you didn't know any better, you'd think her tone has a bit more bite. "What do you think?" She guides the boat to the island's cliffside. "We're here." As she gets up, pointing her grappling device upward, she looks down at him, then at you, a faux air of indifference around you. "What about you?" she asks. "Do you think you've changed?"
The question catches you off guard, and by the way she smirks, she knows it, too. Then she's gone, whisking away, causing the boat to jostle, and Leon jumps into the driver's seat to snatch the wheel to ensure you don't drive straight into the rocky cliffs. He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he heads toward an area to anchor the boat.
"Have I?" you ask after a moment—your voice smaller than you intended it to be.
Leon peers back at you, seeing the pensive expression on your face, and his own softens. "No, you haven't changed," he says so assuredly.
Your gaze dips low—so why don't you feel that way?
Infiltrating the island proved even more annoying, and you're not exactly sure how Saddler has managed to hide this entire operation, which apparently houses a militia as well as research facilities. When you finally make it inside, looking down through bars onto a lower level, you see Ashley lying unconscious on a bed. Predictably, the door is locked, forcing you and Leon to delve deeper into the facility.
"Why is this never straightforward?" Leon mutters as he reads the instructions for upgrading a keycard, which would give you access to the room she's in—the only problems being finding a keycard and then actually upgrading it.
"If the goal is to do things as inefficiently as possible, they're doing a great job," you reply.
It's a horrific sight when you get to the Dissection Room and see the body on the table—it's human with a plaga on its back, tendrils attaching through its orifices, and stuck in an unnatural pose. You glance over at the X-rays still displayed, the skull barely even recognizable as human anymore. You're not sure how anyone could possibly stomach the types of experiments these people were doing. Regardless, you take pictures, documenting the atrocities for your own reports.
"Look at this," Leon says as he holds up a journal from one of the Los Iluminados scientists.
You frown as you read about this new life form the scientist seems to have created—Regenerador, he calls them. "Let's hope we don't run into one of these," you mumble as you see the section about its regenerative abilities.
Approximately two minutes later, Leon groans as said creature stumbles down the corridor, "Why did you have to jinx it?"
"Sorry, didn't think we had enough to worry about," you mutter as you blast its knees with your shotgun—more concerned with slowing it down than putting it down after what you'd read. "Run."
After playing ring-around-the-bodybag with another one of them, you manage to upgrade the keycard you snagged from the Dissection Room to a Level 2, and you're only feeling a little bit better about the whole situation when you find a Biosensor Scope.
Leon plays bait as you kill the parasites that serve as vital organs, now visible through the scope in the Regenerador, with the wrench you need to access the next terminal inside. Once you've upgraded the keycard to Level 3, you're eager to get out of this place. "They're worse than those fucking plants," you mutter, glaring down at the body, your finger still hovering over the trigger as if you don't believe it's truly dead.
"Yeah, if I never see one of those things again, it'll be too soon," Leon grumbles. "Let's go."
As you and Leon finally unlock the room where Ashley is, you're already preparing to administer the suppressant to her as he cuts the zip tie binding her hands. She's unconscious, and you hope it hasn't progressed too far yet, given how far the blackened veins have spread under her skin.
As you inject it directly into her neck, you and Leon wait with bated breath. You practically fall to your knees with relief as you watch the signs of infection begin to recede, her skin returning to a normal hue.
"You're gonna be okay," Leon says as he brushes hair out of her face.
"Leon—" Your stare drops to his own arm, and he follows your eyes to see that his own symptoms have begun to return.
He winces, blinking as if his vision has gone spotty. You hold out a hand to steady him, and he slowly sits on the ground, leaning against the bed. "How long until she wakes up?" he asks.
"Shouldn't be too long," you answer, then say, "Hard to tell." He nods as he does a press-check of his gun and focuses on the doorway.
It would be smarter to move now—you're not sure how much longer Leon has, and Ashley is still a ticking time bomb, though you might have bought an hour or two. But with her unconscious, Leon would have to carry her, and given how his brows keep crinkling in pain, you're not sure he'd be able to right now. Plus, you're not exactly in tiptop shape. You take a seat next to him, readying your own gun.
After a few minutes of silence, he starts, "Listen, if—"
"Shut up," you say quickly.
You don't look at him—you can't because there are tears in your eyes merely at the thought of what he was about to say. He whispers your name softly—tender even though it feels like goodbye. Mercy in the form of a boot.
It makes you angry. The thought of a world without him—how devastating that loss would be. Maybe it's foolish to think you have any say in how your fates were spun. Sometimes it feels like you're tangled in the threads of what-ifs and what-could-bes, tugging at strands to see where they might lead. Despite everything you've endured—every hard day, every heartbreak, every moment when you thought you couldn't go on—you would do it all a hundred times over to ensure he was waiting for you at the end, even if you had to start from dust.
"There's no reality where you die today, Leon Kennedy," you say as evenly as possible as you tilt your head to look at him. "I would never allow it."
His gaze is gentle as he considers you—you can see how tired he is, the bags that weigh heavily under his eyes. Carefully, he reaches over, lacing your fingers together as he stoops down, pressing his lips to yours. You sink into him readily, and it's over all too soon as he draws back enough to lean his forehead against yours.
"You know we never went on that date," he murmurs.
Your mind stalls.
"So, got any plans Friday?" he questioned, thumb tracing your jawline.
Then slowly, a smile spreads across your lips. "No, we didn't," you confirm with a chuckle.
"Six years isn't too late, is it?" he asks.
"For you?" you murmur. "I'd wait six more."
He squeezes your hand, nudging his forehead against yours once more, and Ashley stirring behind you causes you both to draw away from each other.
"You're here," she whispers.
"Sorry, we're late," Leon says as he hauls himself up onto the foot of the bed while she sits up, rubbing at her wrist.
"No, thank you," she says. "You brought the medicine just in time."
As you get up, you hold a hand out to her. "Can you stand?"
She readily accepts your help as you pull her to her feet. "Where's Luis?" she asks.
Leon frowns, and Ashley catches it, eyes widening as she looks to you. "We ran into some trouble, and he was hurt—"
"But, he's alive, right?" she questions.
"He's fine," you assure her. "I called in an extraction for him, and if all went well, he's on his way to a hospital right now."
She gives a small sigh of relief. "That's good."
"C'mon, let's go get rid of these parasites," Leon says.
"Do you know where Luis's lab is?" you ask.
He frowns. "No, but we know someone who does."
As he radios Ada, you check in with Ashley again. "You sure you're feeling okay?" you ask.
She nods before frowning suddenly. "I lost your knife. I—When that big thing took me, I tried to get away, but…"
As she trails off, you cup her cheek. "Hey—" You catch her attention. "I'm not worried about the knife." When her brows furrow, you add, "I'm proud of you… for fighting."
She sniffles, eyes glistening with tears and gratitude. "Me too."
When Leon finishes his conversation with Ada, he looks back at you both. "Top of the mountain," he says.
After making your way through the Cargo Depot and the Waste Disposal—reminding you far too much of the sewers in Raccoon City—you're incredibly surprised when Ashley hops into the driver's seat of the crawler to break down the wall blocking your way.
"This what they're teaching kids in school these days?" Leon asks as you ride on the outside.
She laughs. "Ever heard of driver's ed?"
You snort. "Yeah, grandpa."
He gives you an incredulous look. "You're older than me."
"Young where it counts, though," you wink, hopping down as the sirens begin to go off and the militia starts crawling out of the woodwork. By the time the wall finally falls, you're standing amongst corpses. Ashley jumps out with a gleeful look on her face.
"Did you see that?" she asks excitedly. "That was awesome."
"I think you found your calling," Leon says with amusement.
You snort. "Yeah, forget about college."
As you stride onto the lift, she leans against the railing. "I think we work pretty well together. Maybe someday I'll become an agent like you guys?" Her attention flicks between you and Leon. "What do you think? We could protect the U.S. from any and all threats!"
"Is that right?" Leon says, sticking to something noncommittal. "Either way, first we have to make it out of here."
She huffs. "You're no fun." She turns to you, eyes wide like she knows the puppy dog expression will work on you. "We'll be partners then, right?"
You wink. "As long as you know someone who can pull some strings."
She grins, hands folded behind her back, as she follows you when you file off the elevator once it comes to a stop. "I think I know a guy." Leon only smirks and shakes his head at that. If he thinks you shouldn't be playing along, he doesn't say anything.
Further inside, you find an enormous chunk of the amber Luis mentioned earlier, complete with tiny parasites frozen within. The sight of them sends a shiver up your spine, and you unconsciously step back.
"Prostrate yourselves," you hear from behind you, and you all whirl around to see a cloaked man descending the stairs. "This is our Holy Body."
The cloaked women who accompany him begin to spread out, circling behind you. Ashley scurries between you and Leon as you draw your weapons.
"Our divine providence! And soon… such a profound blessing for all… las plagas!" One of the women tugs down the hood of his cloak, revealing a grotesque growth protruding from the back of his head. "Welcome, my children. I am Osmund Saddler, the speaker of our Lord." Tendrils writhe on top of the staff he's holding, making your stomach turn.
"Tell someone who gives a shit," Leon says as he takes a shot, hitting Saddler right in the eye.
His head whips to the side, but he doesn't stumble. "Foolish lambs," Saddler says, turning back to you all. "Why do you deny grace?"
With a groan, Leon falls to his knees, gun clattering to the floor. He looks like he's trying to fight it, whatever is controlling him. Your eyes widen, fear licking up your spine, realizing this is exactly what happened with Ashley earlier when she stabbed him.
"Now—" Saddler holds a hand out, and Ashley staggers forward, a puppet on strings—her back straightening with a snap as her veins blacken once more. "Abandon your body!"
"Ashley!" you call out, taking one, two, three steps forward, almost about to wrap your hand around her wrist, when you're snatched from behind. You gasp and struggle against the hold, then realize it's Leon who's restraining you. "Let go!"
You try to wriggle free from his grasp, but it's ironclad. "I'm sorry," he groans, teeth clenched. "I can't control it."
"Obey," Saddler urges. "Obey the voice of our Lord."
Slowly, Ashley reaches down, grabbing Leon's gun from the floor. "No… No!" she gasps. "Stop! No!"
Panic surges in you as you stare down the barrel of the weapon. "Fight me," Leon pleads.
You are, you want to shout as you thrash in his hold. You're trying everything, but he won't budge, and you're only tiring yourself out.
"Oh, now ain't this fitting," the voice croons. "How romantic… dying in each other's arms."
You flinch as the gun fires, and you whip your head around, seeing one of the women behind you fall. You hear Leon's breath stutter in your ear.
"Sweet child, do not resist!" Saddler says.
Bang.
The other one falls.
Slowly, the gun returns to you. Tears pool in your eyes as you look at her. "It's okay, alright?" you manage to whimper out, voice breaking. "It's not your fault."
"No, no, no!" she cries as her finger twitches against the trigger.
"It's not your fau—"
Click.
As she pulls the trigger, the gun clicks again. Empty, you realize with minimal solace, watching as it falls uselessly from her grasp.
"Pray, forgive these wicked sinners," Saddler preaches. "My faithful disciple shall deliver to you your… penance." Ashley turns, but her eyes remain on you and Leon until the last second, when she's forced to walk up the stairs behind them. "Now, child, you need not be afraid," he says to her. "Submit your body and release yourself from fear!"
His retinue begins to leave, following after Ashley and Saddler, and only once the doors have closed behind them do you feel Leon's hold on you release. He spins you around, grasping your face in his hands that are trembling. "Are you okay?" he asks. His eyes are wide and frantic, tears gathering at his waterline.
Your lower lip wobbles, and you don't trust your voice not to shake, so all you do is nod before calmly extracting yourself from his grip. You will your hands to be steady as you pick up the gun that not even a minute ago was pointed directly at your head, and hand it back to him, watching as he quietly reloads it.
"Let's go," you say softly, clearing your throat when your voice breaks.
"You should leave," he whispers. "Before I get you killed."
You peer up at him as if he just spat in your face. "No," you say. "I told you six years ago, we either both get out, or we don't."
His face crumples, your name on his lips like you're something precious he doesn't want to lose, but he knows you even better now than he did back then—you're stubborn, almost to a fault. So he accepts your answer in resolute silence, knowing you won't change your mind.
Tension fills the air as you and Leon move. No idle conversation, only a continuous progression forward until you make it to a tent that seems to be part of some sort of military operation separate from the rest of the militia. Something on a table catches your attention, and it causes you to freeze in your tracks.
"Leon," you murmur, drawing his attention as you pick up the photo, staring at it with a frown before holding it out to him.
He appears confused as he takes it until he sees what it's a photo of. His own face stares back at him. This is from right after you all got picked up outside of Raccoon City. The words 'I'm Waiting' are written on it in threatening red ink. Further in the tent, you find a tape with a message from Krauser to Leon, challenging him.
You can see the gears turning in his head as the audio ends. "Leon—"
"I don't want you involved," he says, turning to look at you. "Try to find another way around. I'll distract him while you find Ashley."
You want to argue—of course you do—but there's a fury in his gaze that makes you hesitate. You wonder if Krauser is Leon's shadow. "Fine, but no hero shit."
He scoffs with a playful roll of his eyes. "You know that's not my style."
You squint at him. "That's exactly your style." You pause just as you're about to turn to leave. "Leon—" The words die on your tongue, reforming into something else—something safer. "—Be careful."
His stare stays intently on yours as he nods, "Yeah."
Admittedly, it's far easier to slip through the hordes of infected on your own than with Leon, who's usually more inclined to open fire than to use stealth. As you scale the cliffs, you're faintly aware of the gunfire from Leon's fight with Krauser. The militia, with their turret guns and spotlights, certainly pose a problem, but you move slowly and steadily—making quick work of those you can with your knife—until you've almost reached the Sanctuary and hear the roar of a helicopter overhead.
It comes in guns blazing, and when you hear a Southern accent being broadcast over its speaker, you're sure it's long-awaited backup. "About time," you mutter. Luckily for you, the commotion they're causing provides you with ample enough cover to sneak through the rest of the ranks. You're further ahead when you see the helicopter start to go haywire, and as you peer through your binoculars, you see it's being attacked by those oversized bugs. "Fuck." You grimace as it goes down in a fiery blaze.
By the time you make it to the Sanctuary, you realize you're following a trail of bodies. Whoever made quick work of them, and when you finally catch up and hear the sound of heels clicking on the cobbled floor, you're quick to narrow down who you're unintentionally trailing.
"Ada."
She turns, not even brandishing her gun at you. "Where's your shadow?" she asks flatly.
You freeze, blinking rapidly. "What?"
"Leon," she clarifies, and your shoulders relax. "He's usually not far from you."
"He should be nearby," you say. "Get what you came for, yet?"
She laughs dryly. "Well, I'm still here, aren't I?"
"Thought you might be hanging around to keep tabs on us," you say. "You know, out of the goodness of your heart."
She smirks and angles her head, gesturing for you to follow her. The two of you walk in silence for a minute or so before she asks, "So, what do you think?" When you frown, she adds, "Do you think I've changed?"
You stop mid-stride as you're walking toward the door ahead. You bite the inside of your cheek, looking down. "I think Raccoon City changed you just as much as it changed us—" You hesitate, sighing. "—and I hope it was for the better."
She chuckles as she falls into step with you, but says nothing in response until you reach the door, and as she's about to push it open, she says, "You and Leon talk about changing, but from where I'm standing, you're exactly the same as you were six years ago—idealistic to a fault."
Your mouth falls open.
Once inside, Saddler's voice booms from the room below, and then pained screams reverberate through the chamber, guttural and raw. You're drawing your gun before you even know what you're doing, shooting down at Saddler, disrupting whatever hold he has on Leon, who collapses against the dais at the center of the room.
More gunfire joins yours as you feel Ada move beside you. "Go," she orders. "I'll cover you."
There's no hesitation as you jump over the railing. You haul Leon to his feet. "Cover your eyes," you say, then toss a flash grenade back toward Saddler, blinding him and giving Leon enough time to pick up Ashley. You're ushering him along, backing up as you step through the passageway. Your briefly meet Ada's gaze before a large statue comes tumbling down, blocking the entrance and keeping Saddler from chasing you.
"Ashley… Ashley?" Leon mutters, jostling her, but she doesn't respond. "Damnit."
"Do you need me to take her?" you ask, not knowing how much better you would fare, but willing to try.
He shakes his head, gritting his teeth. "No, I've got it."
You catch sight of a floor plan hanging on the wall ahead. "It's not much further," you say as you spot where Luis's lab is, tracing the path along the map with your finger. "We're close."
It's a slow crawl as Leon trudges forward, with you watching intently, hovering behind in case he stumbles. "Shut up!" he yells, not at you, but you flinch at the suddenness of it all the same.
"Looks like you ain't the only one hearing voices, girl," laughs your father in your ear.
He keeps walking, mumbling under his breath, and when he staggers, you catch him. Keeping him upright until you get to the door, taking the key from him to open it. "This time, it has to be different," he says under his breath.
"It will be," you murmur.
As he places Ashley in the chair, you're at the terminal, clicking through. "You go first," she weakly pipes up.
"No way," he denies. "Like I told you, I'm gonna get you home safe."
You don't waste any time, hitting 'Diagnose'. The chair begins to move, spinning into place as the devices overhead spin around. On the monitor, you can see the parasite, and when the 'Purge' prompt appears, you click 'Yes'. As the process begins, she lets out a gut-wrenching scream, and Leon holds onto her hand while you keep watch, seeing the parasite disintegrate under the laser.
'Success'
You give a thumbs-up to Leon, and a slow smile forms on his face, before he promptly hits the floor with a definitive thud.
"Fuck." You scramble up, knocking the stool over in your haste. "C'mon, Ashley, up, up." You don't mean to rush her, but the clock is ticking. To her credit, even barely conscious and still reeling from the excruciating pain she just went through, she listens.
"Do you nee—"
"No, I got it," you insist, as you grab onto Leon's arm, hauling him up from the ground with a grunt, your ribs screaming at you. "Told you never to ask me to perform this feat of strength again," you mutter to his unconscious body in between wheezes.
Ashley, now more awake, paces the lab, a bundle of nervous energy she redirects toward investigating what else Luis might have left. As you get him into the chair, you dart back to the console to repeat the process. You're fidgeting, biting your lip until you taste blood. Your attention doesn't stray from the screen, which blurs as tears cloud your vision. You hit the prompts as soon as they pop up, and only when the word 'Success' appears do you finally turn around.
You're on your feet, you and Ashley hovering anxiously next to him, waiting for him to wake up. He comes to as the lasers retract, eyes squinting open as if he's not sure whether he's alive. He calls out your name, then Ashley's.
Her face tightens as she leans down to hug him. "I thought you were gonna die," she murmurs.
He gives her an awkward pat on the shoulder. "Okay," he mutters, as if he doesn't know how to respond to the display of affection.
"Can you stand?" she asks as he slowly sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the chair.
You linger just out of arm's reach of him, wringing your hands together. When your eyes meet, he can see the tears glistening in them. With a slight flick of his fingers, he motions you toward him. You step into him, wrapping your arms around his waist as gingerly as possible, as you bury your nose in the crook of his neck.
"Don't worry," he whispers. "I'm built to last."
Begrudgingly, you pull away, lip quivering as you weakly swat at him. "Not funny," you rasp.
A smirk twitches at the corners of his lips, the hard edges of his face settling into something softer for you. "It's a little funny." Glancing around, he spots a piece of paper in Ashley's hand. "What's that?"
"It's a map," she answers as she holds it out to him. "I found it." She points down to where, presumably, Luis scribbled on it. "I think it says we can get out if we go… this way." Starting to walk, she leads the way before glancing over her shoulder, "We're a team, right?"
Leon stands, tucking the map into his pocket. "Keep this up, and I'll be out of a job."
A grin spreads across her face before she continues on.
"Softie," you murmur as you bump your hip against his.
He rolls his eyes, wraps an arm around your shoulder, and draws you closer, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. You let the warmth spread through your body, fueling a flutter in your stomach.
The way out leads to the loading docks, and Ada dangles from a chain attached to a steel beam below. "Is she supposed to be bait?" you ask as you peer around, expecting an ambush, but find nothing. No doubt Saddler has something up his sleeve, though.
"He thinks he's going to lure us out." Leon walks over to the lift, making sure his guns are reloaded. "You two stay up here. I won't be long."
Maybe he expects you to argue, but you don't. Instead, you settle into a vantage point as you ready your rifle. "Go ahead, I'll take overwatch." Squinting, you take aim at Ada. A loud bang echoes as you fire, and Ada falls to the floor beneath her in a heap. You glance over your shoulder. "Don't wanna keep him waiting."
He rolls his eyes when you wink at him and hits the button on the elevator. "Don't do anything stupid," he says.
"That's my line," you reply.
Predictably, as soon as he exits the elevator, bugs begin to converge. From above, you're able to pick off a few, and Ashley squats next to you, exclaiming, "Nice shot!"
Like some sort of fucked up magic trick, Saddler appears in the middle of the swarm, tendrils oustretching from his hand, wrapping around Leon at the most inopportune moment when you realize your magazine is empty. Ashley frantically taps your shoulder as you reload, willing you to go faster. "I know, I know," you murmur.
She gasps, and you look up as you slide the magazine in. Ada's timing is impeccable as she swings down, kicking Saddler in the back and freeing Leon from his grasp. She lands next to Leon, and the two open fire on the maniac. That only angers him, and as he yells, you watch wide-eyed as appendages burst from his back, his body twisting and convulsing as he transforms into a huge, monstrous creature.
"Oh god," Ashley breathes as if realizing how close she came to becoming that.
"Bigger they are and all that," you mutter as you peek through your scope, taking shots at the fleshy amalgamations. You're not sure where Ada went, but Saddler focuses on Leon, chasing him across the loading docks. Leon does his best to whittle him down, and you're doing what you can from above. When Saddler finally falls, it isn't for good. He bursts through the floors, his disgusting tendrils spiraling around the entire structure as he grows impossibly larger.
You're running dangerously low on ammo as Leon fires bullet after bullet into the huge eye at the center, though it feels like it has no effect. Footsteps behind you catch your attention, and you whip around, handgun drawn and pointed at the intruder, faltering when you see Ada standing there, a rocket launcher strapped to her back.
"Leon needs help," Ashley urges.
Ada's eyes briefly flicker to yours. "I'm on it," she says.
Your gaze drifts between Ada and Leon, watching as she makes her way down to him while he holds Saddler off. He takes the rocket launcher when she tosses it to him, and as he takes aim, you hold your breath. The impact exposes Saddler at the center of the eye, and Leon hurries to end it, snatching the man's own staff and impaling him. You lose sight of Leon for a moment before the enormous corpse begins to shrivel away, like charcoal in the wind.
Settling back onto your knees, you let out a sigh, though you don't take your eyes off Leon as Ada walks over and nabs something off the floor. You can't make out what they're saying, but you can see the furrow in Leon's brow as he watches Ada walk away toward the helicopter that flies up toward the ledge.
As she boards, she tosses something to Leon that he catches, and you're left watching as the helicopter flies away. "You and Leon seem to know her pretty well," Ashley comments as she stands next to you, observing the exchange.
"I don't know that I'd say that," you mutter. "Maybe it's for the best, though." An explosion off to the other side catches your attention. "Alright, time to move."
Ashley's following behind as you make it to the lower level. She calls out to Leon as you round the corner, and he glances back as another explosion shakes the floor. "Better move. Island's gonna blow," he says.
"Island's gonna what?" Ashley gasps out as he leads you to the lift.
You keep her ahead of you as you move through the underground passage. As you get further in, there are people all writhing on the floor—the infected militia. "They're not attacking," Ashley notes.
"Daddy parasite is dead," you explain as you come upon a jet ski.
Leon holds up the key, attached to a small bear keychain. "Cute," you comment.
As he hops on, you sandwich Ashley between you. "You like thrill rides?" Leon asks her.
She grins. "I love them!"
"You're gonna love this!"
"Let's not love it too much," you gasp out as you hold onto the sides when Leon takes off. The first jump he hits has you burying your face into Ashley's back. "I'm just gonna keep my eyes closed, let me know when we're done!"
"Aw, c'mon!" Ashley shouts back to you. "This is kind of fun!"
Hesitantly, you peek an eye open only to see an enormous chunk of the cave collapse in front of you, Leon swerving right in time to avoid it. "Nope! Not fun!" you determine and squeeze your eyes shut.
"There's the exit!" he yells.
Your stomach flies into your throat as the jet ski hits a jump, lifting you into the air. A scream rips from you as you swear at Leon. Only when the jet ski slows to an idle do you finally open your eyes. "You guys okay?" he asks.
"I'm not sure!" Ashley laughs. "That was insane."
"I think I'm going to be sick," you grumble, leaning just over the side in case you really do have to puke.
Explosions reverberate through the air, and you watch as the facility explodes, water spraying down on you. There's a finality in the scene, watching everything come tumbling down. Ashley looks from the chaos behind to the rising sun ahead, its swirl of pinks and yellows tinting the sky something hopeful. "Mission accomplished, right?"
"Mission accomplished… when you're home safe," Leon says.
"Thank you for saving me," Ashley says, nudging you gently with her elbow. "Both of you."
"Don't mention it," Leon says.
"S'why we get hazard pay," you mutter as the nausea finally subsides.
"You know, I could put in a word to my dad," she says, eyebrows tilted up like she wants you to say yes. "Have you guys assigned to my detail, if you're interested?"
Leon glances over her shoulder at you, and you smirk. "You don't need us," he says. "You proved you could handle yourself… even if you could use a better instructor in knife safety."
The smile drops off your face. "Hey!"
Ashley laughs.
Leon looks ahead. "C'mon, let's go home."
Once you're safely back on U.S. soil and have been formally debriefed, you're standing idly outside the National Center for Medical Intelligence—one of the other STRATCOM locations. It's an hour's drive back, and you left your car at the airstrip in D.C. since you were sent off in a hurry.
Scrubbing a hand up and down your face, you don't even notice the person come up to stand beside you. "You waiting to teleport home or—?"
You glare over at Leon, who appears equally as exhausted as you know you do, but not tired enough to give the bad jokes a rest. "Don't have my car," you mutter. "Weighing the pros and cons of paying for an hour taxi ride."
He holds up his own car keys. "Today's your lucky day," he says. "I'll make it cheap for you."
You raise your brows. "Oh, will you really?"
"Yeah, just a single kiss," he grins. "Surely you have some to spare."
You roll your eyes, seizing him by the collar of his shirt and dragging him toward the parking lot. "I'm going to tell Luis you tried his pick-up line on me."
"You gonna go see him?" Leon asks as he readily follows after you.
You give a hum and nod. "Yeah, probably in a day or two," you say.
During your debriefing, you learned that Luis had indeed been successfully extracted from Valdelobos and taken to a hospital in Bilbao, where his collapsed lung was treated with a little more than a piece of plastic and some tape. You were assured that your treatment of him saved his life, though you already knew that. After a bit of prodding from both you and Leon, you learned that he would be given a plea deal, largely because of the testimony of Ashley, who credited her survival to the combined efforts of you, Leon, and Luis.
You aren't privy to the exact terms of this deal—no doubt they were largely similar to yours and Leon's, especially given how much information Luis knew and how much was lost when the island exploded. But with him now stable—according to Hunnigan—Spain would release him into the custody of the United States, and he would recover here while answering for his involvement with Umbrella and Los Iluminados.
"You wanna come?" you offer.
Leon rolls his eyes. "Yeah, no thanks," he says as he opens the passenger door for you.
You get in with laughter bubbling out of you as he slams the door shut and circles around to the driver's side, sliding in. "Oh come on," you say. "Don't act like you weren't concerned about him."
"I wasn't," he retorts as he starts the car.
"You were," you maintain.
He knows you won't change your mind, so he turns on the radio, a horrible rock band blasting through the speakers. As you wince at the sudden noise, you catch Leon smirking out of the corner of your eye, and you resist the urge to swat him as he backs out of the spot.
The drive is quick when you fall asleep fifteen minutes in, only waking as he gently shakes you. "C'mon, we're home," he whispers.
Your eyes flutter open as he cuts the engine, and only when you're already stepping out of the car do you realize you're in the parking lot of his apartment complex. As he walks around, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and guides you toward the entrance.
"We both need to shower," he says as you enter the elevator.
You have just enough energy to pretend to be offended. "I smell like roses, what do you mean?"
He snorts. "Yeah, if the roses were grown in manure."
You gasp, actually offended this time, as you pinch his side, making him laugh and swat your hand away. When you don't relent, he wraps you in his arms, gently bear-hugging you as he presses his lips to the top of your hair. Your laughter trails off as you sense the shift in mood.
"I'm sorry again," he mutters into your hairline. "For what I said."
You're quiet, ear squished to his chest as you listen to his heart beating frantically against his ribcage. "We can talk about it later," you say as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. "Right now, someone stinks and needs a shower."
You don't know how both of you ended up in Leon's tiny ass shower stall at the same time—maybe it had to do with the way his hands wandered up your sides the moment you crossed the threshold into his apartment, or the way you leaned back into him as his lips found your neck.
Either way, your clothes end up on the floor, and you two are certainly not prioritizing cleanliness with the way you have your tongues shoved into each other's mouths. You're crowded against the cold tile, and you gasp into his mouth. "Leon."
He swallows it down readily before running his tongue over your bottom lip. His hand snakes between your legs, fingers gliding through and finding your clit right away, circling around it in quick, precise motions. "This okay?" he asks, tipping back enough to look at you, taking in your half-lidded gaze and the way your mouth falls open as a tiny whine escapes you.
You nod quickly, hips thrusting against his hand, fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck as you drag him back into a voracious kiss—the kind where you don't know whether you want to devour or be devoured.
When he slides a single finger into your pussy you moan at the pressure, your skin heating up like your veins are on fire. "Can't wait to bury my cock in you," he murmurs. As he feels you tighten around his finger at his words, he grins against your lips. "Like the thought of that, huh?"
"Shut up," you whine, embarrassed by your body's reaction.
As he adds a second finger, you find purchase on his shoulders, nails biting into the skin already reddened from the hot water beating against his back. He starts slow—an in-and-out that leaves you aching for more. Impatiently, you jut your hips forward, a high-pitched keening at the back of your throat. He doesn't give in; if anything, he only goes slower.
"Needy today, huh?" he murmurs, arrogance in his voice as if you can't feel the hardened line of his cock against your thigh.
"Leon, please," you whisper.
He peppers kisses down your cheek to your jawline, stopping at your ear. "Yeah, sweetheart?" he breathes. "Tell me what you want."
"Want to cum," you practically beg, and it sends Leon to his knees instantly. You swear you can hear a crack as they hit the tiled floor, but he doesn't even wince as he dives in. "Shit," you gasp as he licks at your clit, fingers pumping with much more vigor, and you nearly struggle to stay standing, one hand blindly reaching out to grab hold of anything.
You find the shower niche and knock over his half-empty bottle of 2-in-1, but he pays it no mind as it clatters to the floor. If anything, he doubles his efforts, his other hand settling on your hip as if that's enough to keep you upright. You're not even sure how he's breathing with his nose pressed into your cunt and the way the water rains down on his head, but he's enthusiastic as the noises become incredibly obscene, your moans that begin to pitch up, bouncing off the tiled walls in the small bathroom.
When he adds a third finger and crooks them just right, you think your legs are about to give out. He brings you to the precipice quickly—he knows exactly how you like it, and even if he teases you with dirty talk, you know he won't leave you hanging.
"Leon," you moan. "Close."
Your entire body tenses as he sucks at your clit in time with a thrust of his fingers, sending you spiraling over the edge. It's a feeling that starts in your face—a red-hot flush that cascades down your body all the way to your toes and leaves you writhing against him.
"Oh shit," you gasp. He keeps going, not stopping until he's sure you're completely worked through, and only then, after you've tapped out—literally—by patting his shoulder to let him know you've had enough. As he stands, he slicks his soaked hair back before turning the shower off and wrenching the curtain open.
"What are you—oh!" You wrap your arms around his neck as he heaves you up in his arms by the back of your thighs, and you can feel his hard cock wedged between you.
"Bedroom," he answers as he steps out of the shower.
"If you slip and we die like this, I'm going to kill you."
He presses a kiss into your shoulder to hide his smirk. It's a short walk to his bedroom, and he places you carefully onto his bed—mindful of your injuries—crawling between your parted thighs, swallowing down your protests that you're going to get the sheets wet. "Don't care," he says as he molds your mouths together—you can taste yourself on his tongue. As he leans away, palming your breasts and running a thumb over your hardened nipples, you can see how blown out his pupils are. "Turn over."
You comply as soon as your brain catches up, rolling onto your stomach, and he grasps you by your hips, lifting your ass in the air, hands grabbing at it appreciatively, a soft groan emitting from the back of his throat at the sight. He teases the tip of his cock at your entrance, smearing it with his pre-cum, but not pushing in yet. You glance over your shoulder, face flushed. "Leon—"
He thrusts in before you can even finish—bottoming out so quickly that your knuckles turn white from how hard you're gripping the sheets beneath you. Your words get caught in your throat, your mouth gaping as no sound comes out. "That's what you wanted, right?" he mutters as he slowly pulls out, only to bully his way back in once more.
The drag of his cock inside of you has you seeing stars whenever your eyelids flutter closed. He doesn't need an answer; the way your pussy clenches around him is enough, as he begins a steady rhythm. Once you've gotten used to the stretch, you start to rock your hips back and forth in time with his, and you can hear the way his breath stutters.
"Shit," he murmurs, enraptured by the sway of your ass each time he buries his cock in you. "Jesus, you look so good like this—"
Your brain is hardly working, far too focused on how full you feel to worry about anything else, so you only manage a soft, "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he groans. "Isn't a better sight than you stuffed full of my cock."
You whimper in reply, burying your face into the pillow, still sensitive from your previous orgasm and feeling another already start to coil at your core. When your movement starts to falter, Leon can tell you're getting close, but so is he. The sounds of your soft moans mixed with the slap of his balls as he fucks you sends a tingle up his spine. As he glances down and catches sight of the way his cock glistens with your slick every time he thrusts in and out of you, he nearly cums, abruptly slowing his pace. With one hand, he reaches around to slowly circle two fingers on your clit, though with the other, he presses a thumb experimentally against your other hole.
"Leon—"
"If you don't want me to, just say stop," he murmurs. He waits a second for you to protest, and when you don't, he continues, pressing only the tip of his thumb into your asshole. The whine you let out is well worth it as you arch your back even more despite the way your ribs ache. It doesn't matter, though; you're so overwhelmed from the way his cock pounds into you, to the fingers swirling around your clit, and now this new teasing that leaves your stomach—and pussy—fluttering. "You like that?"
You nod against his pillow, eyes scrunched closed as the sensations wash over you. The coil in your abdomen is nearly ready to explode open.
"Gonna cum like this?" he questions breathlessly, barely managing to contain his own orgasm.
"Yes," you gasp, and then your vision turns white as you moan his name, every muscle in your body tightening. This one isn't a harsh fall over a cliff; it's a gentle tide that slowly washes over you. Leon fucks you through it until you're boneless beneath him, and only then does he pull out, pumping his cock as he cums across your ass cheeks and lower back, whimpering your name over and over.
He's breathing heavily as he collapses onto the bed next to you, kissing your cheek. "Was that okay?" he asks.
"Mhm," you nod tiredly before adding, "We're gonna have to take another shower." You can already feel the way his cum is cooling on your skin, mixed with the stickiness of sweat.
During the second shower, you're strict about Leon keeping his hands to himself, and he does, albeit begrudgingly. You manage to make it out of there cleaner than you entered. After dressing in a pair of Leon's sweatpants and a t-shirt, you strip the bed and start putting on new sheets since you'd gotten the other ones wet.
He's quiet, and as you're in the middle of putting on the fitted sheet, he finally speaks up, "Do you want to talk about it now?"
To be honest, you're surprised by his insistence. You think it might be because you haven't said you forgive him yet. Each time he's apologized, you've brushed it off, something you've never done before. Whenever you two have had disagreements in the past, you've been quick to accept his apology and move on.
This time is different. "You hurt my feelings," you admit.
He frowns. "I'm sorry. So much was going on and everything kept going wrong—" He pauses and shakes his head as if he realizes he's making excuses. "—Just know I didn't mean it the way it sounded."
"It sounded like you think I'm a burden," you say as you tuck the sheet in.
"I don't—" He sighs and pinches his nose between his fingers. "I'm doing an awful job of explaining this."
You're inclined to agree, but you don't—not aloud, at least.
"You're so important to me, and being on a mission with you when you weren't the priority was incredibly difficult because you're a priority to me." He doesn't look at you as he folds down the sheet. "…That's why I requested that we never be sent on missions together."
You freeze—your brain hitting a hard reset as it fills with static. "I'm—I'm sorry, you requested that?" you ask. Suddenly, everything makes sense—his nonchalance the first and only time you asked him about it, Hunnigan's insistence that you not make contact with him when you first arrived, how upset he seemed when he saw you.
He blinks as if realizing his mistake, already opening his mouth with another excuse at the tip of his tongue. "I thought it would just be better for us if we weren't sent on assignments together."
"Because, what? You think I can't take care of myself?" you retort. Anger builds inside of you, and maybe you stuff the pillow into the pillowcase a little harder than you mean to.
"There it is," the voice leers. "Even a worm will turn."
"No, I—"
You don't let him speak. You're all bared teeth and narrowed eyes. "Because I survived six fucking days in that hellhole before I even met you—I would say I'm pretty fucking capable!" You toss the pillow onto the bed between you with a soft thud.
He seems taken aback by your reaction, but it doesn't leave him stunned for long. A storm cloud settles over his face. "Jesus, that's not what I meant!" he raises his voice.
"Then what did you mean?" you question. "You clearly think I'm some sort of liability. I mean, God, do you even know how that makes me look to everyone else? That even you don't want to go on an assignment with me?"
"I—"
"It makes me look inept!"
"You're not inept!" he argues.
Leaning back onto your heels, you nod as if you remembered something. "Oh, right, I'm a distraction." You tap your head thoughtlessly. "Silly me."
He lets out an exasperated sigh as he rounds the bed, standing in front of you, hesitating to reach out. "You're not listening to me."
"I am, I'm listening to exactly what you're telling me with your words and with what's written on your face. It's loud and clear," you argue.
His brows draw together. "What?"
Your shoulders drop as you humorlessly laugh. "You don't even know, do you?" You wave a hand in front of his face. "When you look at me, you get this… this sad look on your face. It's like you think I'm just going to disappear."
"I don't—"
"You do," you insist with a nod. "Every time I leave for a mission, or hell, even just sitting across from each other on the couch. You look at me like I'm going to walk out that door and never come back."
His face twists up. "Because you might not!"
You draw back, peering up at him and finding he can't meet your eye. "Is that why you've been so withdrawn?" you ask. He opens his mouth and then closes it, like he wants to retort, but he can't, because he knows you're right.
"I just don't want to lose you," he says softly.
"You haven't!" you argue. "Stop looking at me like I'm already gone! I'm not, I'm right here!"
His eyes are downcast, staring at the space between you. "I don't… I don't think I know how to."
You sigh—it's a defeated, tired sound. "Leon, do you even know what it's like to have someone look at you like you're already a ghost?" He doesn't say anything, even when you give him time. So you nod. "Right," you mutter. "I'm just gonna go—"
His brows furrow. "No, please—" He goes to reach for you, but you brush his hands away, and the pain on your face doesn't make him try again.
"—I'm gonna call a taxi and wait in the lobby—" You stop, your voice breaking as you add, "I'll… I'll talk to you later, okay?"
He doesn't leave his room as you head out into the kitchen and use his phone to call a taxi, nor when he hears you gathering your things and your soft sniffling, not even when he hears the front door open and the long pause before it closes.
Leon sits there and stares at the spot you were standing, wondering what the fuck is wrong with him.
Author's Note: thanks for all the love on the first two installments of this series guys! i hope you're ready for some re4 shenanigans :)) buckle in this is a long one (so much so i had to split it into two parts, whoops)
Summary: A lot can change in six years. Sometimes, things don't get better, just different.
Word Count: 16.2k (31.4k Total)
Content: 18+, smut, re4!leon, doctor!reader, angst, gore, mentions of past child abuse, medical inaccuracies, parasites, mind control, death & grief, everyone flirts with reader, jealous!leon, yearning yearning and more yearning but they're also deeply traumatized individuals, undefined situationship hell, oral (f!receiving), p in v sex (unprotected), little bit of butt stuff as a treat
To Read on AO3
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Tag List: @aspinny @rjreins @kaitieskidmore97 @animegamerfox @rubixgsworld @celesteelysia @sharkalina666 @tilliebilly @kikistarz17 @0kauy @liveresident @lunitas09 @meowieees (let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this series!)
Trauma is a reaction—not a memory.
It is the dread in the pit of your stomach when the acrid smoke of a Marlboro Red hits your nose. It is the clench of your jaw when you pass a girl on the street who shares the same gleeful cackle as a friend whose face you can no longer remember. It is the cold sweat that gathers on your brow when a shadow in the night looms too large in the corner of your eye.
It is helplessness, and sorrow, and anger wrapped in an incomprehensible package; a myriad of what-ifs you could drown in, and some days you want to give in to the feeling, to sink into its maw and let it devour you until it's left gnawing on your bones.
Most days, though, you're desperately trying to keep yourself afloat. You pretend you're fine—you plaster on a smile and engage in pleasant small talk that makes you want to crawl out of your skin. You go grocery shopping and stop at the dry cleaners and all the other mind-numbingly ordinary errands every other nearly thirty-year-old woman does.
And you've been pretending for so long, sometimes you can even fool yourself.
It's only in moments like this, as you're about to be dropped into the remote mountains of northern Spain, that you're forced to reconcile with the fact that something's fucked up with your wiring. If you were a normal person, you wouldn't feel the lick of exhilaration shooting up your spine as you test the weight of cold gunmetal in your hand; your body wouldn't be buzzing in anticipation of what's to come.
Despite the thrumming just under your skin, your mind is eerily calm. Usually, it's so loud you can't hear yourself over your own thoughts, as if you're trapped in a vacuum of your own brain, screaming at you. Now there is only quiet—it's a deathly still focus that reminds you of what it felt like to work in the E.R., to be surrounded by havoc and remain a steady beacon of repose against it all.
Looking back, maybe it was odd how invigorating it felt to be elbow-deep in someone's chest cavity, manually pumping blood back into their heart, or the sickly-sweet pressure of intubating a patient, knowing a single slip of the hand could cause them to aspirate or rupture their vocal cords. The fast-paced environment of the Emergency Department never left you time to ruminate on much beyond what the next incoming trauma might bring.
Perhaps that's why you preferred the mayhem; it never gave you time to sit alone with your thoughts, drowning them out for the sake of survival.
But was it nature or nurture that made you this? A person who seeks out the familiar teeth of chaos to chew them up instead of the maw dripping with despair that nips at their heels. Is peace merely a notion that will always remain beyond reach for you?
As the spinning blades of the helicopter drone a thwop-thwop-thwop that vibrates straight into your molars, you wonder whether your father scrambled your brains; if he knocked some things loose with each beating that left his knuckles bruised and bloodied.
The smooth voice of Ingrid Hunnigan crackles in your earpiece. "Roost to Vulture Actual, come in."
You reach up, pressing the push-to-talk button on the radio clipped to your shoulder strap. "I read you, Roost," you respond.
"The situation has changed from your previous briefing," she says, and you only roll your eyes to yourself because, of course, it has. "Condor One received confirmation that Baby Eagle is in the village and is currently in the process of locating her. Your goal remains unchanged: investigate and contain; however, the retrieval of Baby Eagle still remains top priority—all other directives are conditional."
"Understood, Roost."
"Given the delicate nature of the mission, you will be dropped off three miles south of the village. Hope you're up for a little hike through the woods, Vulture," she quips, and you can hear the smile in her voice. It isn't often that Hunnigan serves as your support operative, but with the crossover between your and Leon's current mission, your superiors deemed it pertinent to assign her to both of you.
You snort at the joke, fiddling with a loose thread on your pants. "Glad I wore my comfy shoes," you reply. "Anything else?"
There's a pause—a hesitation that immediately causes your jaw to set in place. "Condor One is unaware of your assignment."
You blink. In other words, you are not to make contact with him and to remain under the radar. You're not sure why she's tiptoeing around it when it's blatantly written on the wall, as if your feelings would be hurt if she spoke plainly to you.
You pluck the thread, roll it into a ball, and flick it away as you purse your lips and lean back in your seat. "I'll let you know once I reach the village, Vulture out." You disconnect, not giving her a chance to reply. There's a bad taste on the back of your tongue now. Caustic tar clings to the roof of your mouth, heavy and bitter.
Still, somehow, you're not surprised that Leon doesn't know you're here.
It's been two years since you started going on field missions—the two years before that, you endured what was possibly the most stressful and chaotic period of your life, and you lived through both medical school and a six-day zombie outbreak. The higher-ups at STRATCOM thought it would be a wonderful idea to start your training at the same time as your fellowship, claiming they'd been more than generous to let you finish your residency, but they were owed their due.
Typical government powerplay bullshit.
So you struggled through almost two years of eighteen-hour days, at times barely able to stay on your feet as exhaustion burrowed so deeply into your bones. The threats they'd made against anyone who mattered to you were the only thing that kept you moving forward, knowing that if you stumbled, they would pay the price.
Your days were spent in clinicals and poring over mind-numbing research, while your nights were a relentless onslaught of training that left you feeling as if you went through a meat grinder—you were instructed in combat, weapons, infiltration, and whatever else they saw fit to mold you into the person they needed you to be.
Containment—that had been your mission priority for the last two years. You've been sent on numerous assignments with the sole goal of investigating and controlling potential outbreaks. It's a task you've accomplished time and again—textbook, your superiors called your missions. Objectives were completed in a timely manner, complications were handled quickly and efficiently, disasters were avoided, and, to your chagrin, covered up.
Yet, since you started field missions, they've been adamant in keeping you and Leon separated, as if assigning you to the same job would be a liability, like you hadn't survived Raccoon City together.
You talked to him about it once, or at least tried to—asked him why you two were never sent out on assignment together, and he only shrugged in response. "Never thought to ask," he answered.
Something about the nonchalance in his answer left you with a heavy feeling in your chest.
You didn't bring it up again.
In truth, you're not even supposed to be here right now. The last mission you were on left you with two broken ribs that still twinge when you breathe too deeply—you should be on desk duty for another two weeks—but your medical clearance was pushed through due to intel that came in less than eight hours ago from your good friends at the newly formed Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance about a situation devolving in Spain. Specifically, a location linked to where STRATCOM received intel about the president's missing daughter.
Her kidnapping has largely been kept quiet, even internally, because an ongoing investigation is underway, with fear that her disappearance is the result of an inside job. You hadn't even known about it until you were pulled for this mission. According to the briefing you received before leaving, only a few select agents were sent out to locate her—one of them, you learned, was Leon. The others were sent to remaining points of interest, but fortune—or maybe misfortune—would have it that Leon was sent to Spain.
Not that you were complaining, you'd rather get sent into an unknown B.O.W. situation than write reports all day.
But with the fledgling B.S.A.A. tied up in other endeavors, Jill passed the information they'd gathered to you. They didn't have much—a general location and the name of a former Umbrella researcher. You cross-referenced that name against Umbrella files provided to the U.S. government last year—files that led to the corporation's downfall.
This intel, combined with the growing number of missing persons reports in the area and now the disappearance of the president's daughter, made STRATCOM unwilling to risk coincidence. So here you are, in a helicopter, about to be deposited in a remote region of Spain with instructions to gather information on possible B.O.W.s in the area, neutralize any threats, and locate Luis Serra, the former Umbrella researcher—and do all of this without compromising the rescue of the president's daughter.
"Three minutes until we reach the drop location," one of the pilots, Adam, says over comms, glancing back at you.
With a sigh, you give a thumbs-up before standing. You flick through the many pockets on your vest, taking inventory of what you have on you—a habit you can't shake. Once you've done that twice, you tug on the straps of your vest, ensuring it's snug against you.
"You expecting a lot of resistance?" the other pilot, Connor, asks, curiously eyeing your arsenal—a Blacktail handgun, a Riot Gun, and a Stingray sniper rifle. Several grenades dangle from your belt, and even more knives are hidden on your person, some of which he can't even see.
"Better to be prepared than caught with your ass out," you say, earning a laugh from both of the men—they think you're joking.
"We're descending now," Adam announces. "One minute until drop."
You grab your mask from your belt—it's a simple, sleek black design that covers only the lower half of your face, but the built-in rebreather ensures you won't be exposed to airborne variants—an incident in South America a year ago made you realize its necessity. It's a design of your own making, one that STRATCOM was so gracious as to have made for you.
"It looks like a muzzle," your usual F.O.S. agent, Cassie, said to you when you first got it.
"Woof," you replied.
You slide the helicopter's door open as it descends just above the tree canopy beneath, and you spot a clearing you can jump into to avoid hitting every branch on the way down—a mistake you've made before. The last thing you put on before attaching yourself to the rope to rappel down are your gloves, made of a thick, protective leather.
"You're okay to go," Connor informs. "Good luck, Vulture."
A little salute is your reply as you jump from the helicopter, carefully dropping down into the forest below. Once your boots hit the damp soil, you uncouple yourself from the rope. "Clear," you say into the radio, and you squint, peering up as the rope reels in, and the helicopter gains elevation before flying off.
Around you, the woods are silent—likely the wildlife was scared away by the helicopter's loud thrum. It's still early in the morning; the sun barely peeks over the horizon, and light dapples through the leaves, mimicking the gentle surface of water across the forest floor. Slowly, as you trek further, birdsong starts to ring out above you, and the chittering of other creatures joins in.
Only when you reach the precipice of civilization—if you could even call it that—do you notice a hush has once again fallen over the area. As if you walked through a barrier that other animals were unwilling to cross. It's an eerie quiet, the kind your instincts might urge you to flee from; a primal fear of something unnatural that lingers just at the edge of your vision.
You set aside any inclination to run; instead, you keep moving forward until you're standing on a cliff's edge overlooking the remnants of an old factory. Junk and trash litter the yard around it. It appears abandoned, or at the very least, not properly maintained. "What a shithole," you mutter before clicking on your radio. "Roost, this is Vulture, come in."
"I copy Vulture, what's your status?" you hear Hunnigan through your earpiece.
You snatch the binoculars from your belt and look through them at the area below. There are people milling about, you realize. "I've reached the outskirts of the village. I'm near a factory," you inform. The people are moving oddly—jerky movements that aren't quite right —and some have weapons in their hands—axes and pitchforks. "I see some people—not friendly, I'm assuming."
"You would be correct. I've received confirmation from Condor One regarding strange activity in the village," she says. "Stay alert and stay hidden."
"Got it—" Gunshots from down below draw your attention. "I'll let you know if I find anything." The villagers begin to descend upon the factory, disappearing into it, but you can still hear gunfire from within. You grab your rifle from your back, dropping to your belly as you prop your gun up, peering through the scope right as the doors burst open.
It's strange to see a ghost in the flesh.
Your pulse picks up as your breath hitches at the back of your throat. Beneath the leather of your gloves, your palms are sweating, and your finger hovers over the trigger.
"Gone," is what Leon told you.
Staring at her with disbelief, Ada Wong is decidedly not gone. You would say she seems alive and well, except she certainly does not. Her footsteps are shaky as she staggers out of the factory, a hand on her head as if she's in pain, though you don't see any physical signs of injury. The gates leading into the factory yard slam open just as she collapses, and more villagers amble through.
Your aim is steady as you watch them close in on her—their intent is clear. There is something off about their movement—it's almost reminiscent of how those infected with the t-Virus in Raccoon City moved; human-like, but not quite. These people are puppets on strings.
Bang.
You exhale slowly as one of the villagers drops; the pitchfork they were about to stab Ada with falls to the ground as the empty bullet casing rattles to the rockface you're perched on.
Bang.
Bang.
The other two crumple before they can even figure out where the shots are coming from. They at least have some semblance of awareness, you note. The thought makes your face tighten—a virus that turns people into mindless beings driven only by ravenous hunger is horrible, but one that preserves the function of the frontal lobe could be devastating.
You pause for a beat, holding your fire to see if anyone else will emerge. When no one does, you stand and reload your rifle, focused on Ada, as if waiting to see whether she'll stir on her own. Then you spot something—someone—out of the corner of your eye on the factory roof. It's a man, you realize—dressed as if he's going to a business meeting, not standing in ground zero of another potential B.O.W. outbreak.
You take in his features—tall, blonde, and wearing sunglasses.
You know him.
You've seen the files and listened to Jill recount what she endured at the Spencer Mansion. Albert Wesker stands there, chin tilted up as if looking at you, his expression unreadable. Your mouth goes dry. This is the man who played no small part in the devastation of Raccoon City. How many people died because of him? How many lives were destroyed?
You raise your rifle once more, taking aim as your nostrils flare. He's dead center in your reticle, unmoving as if he's testing you—seeing if you have the gall to take the shot. A storm of righteous indignation swirls inside you, destructive and unrelenting.
You start to squeeze the trigger.
"What good is a dead man?" a voice whispers in your ear, and you freeze. "Don't be stupid now, girl."
Bang.
Wesker doesn't even flinch as the bullet pings off the metal floor beside him, but a slow smirk tugs at his lips as he stares up at you. You're glad he can't see your face—the way it's twisted with anger and the realization that you failed his test. You pry your eyes away from his and give Ada another cursory glance before stalking off, determined not to get mixed up in her games again, least of all if they involve him.
You take the long way around the factory, sticking to the treelines as you make your way to the village along the route Hunnigan provided. The trail of bodies you seem to be following makes you think you're incredibly lucky with your timing and that you can't be too far behind someone else—Leon, if you had to guess.
You adopt a leisurely pace despite the circumstances, but you're here to investigate, and you can't do that if you're in a hurry. The number of bodies strewn about gives you plenty to document. It's clear they're exhibiting symptoms of some kind of infection—bloodshot eyes, blackened veins—similar to the t-Virus. But besides being riddled with bullet holes, there's no clear indicator of an infection site; no bite or scratch or other grievous wound.
Still, you take pictures of the bodies and log your findings in a voice recording. "Clear signs of infection," you note as you walk, mentally keeping a tally of every corpse you pass by. "At this time, I'm unsure whether it's bacterial, viral, fungal, or—" You stop in your tracks as you come across another body further down the path. Human, clearly, but where its head should be is spindles of flesh, almost similar to a tapeworm. "—parasitic."
With a click, you take a picture of it.
You're hesitant to approach—too many instances of being grabbed by bodies you thought dead lingering in the back of your mind, but you have your pistol in one hand and your voice recorder in the other. "Method of transmission is currently unknown, but the entire village seems to be affected—water supply or maybe something more direct."
You squat down, using the muzzle of your gun to prod the tentacle-like protrusion on the corpse, tense as if waiting for it to come to life, and there's only a minor bit of relief when it doesn't. "Infected also seem to retain at least minimal awareness," you note. "Brain damage typical in other B.O.W.s, such as the t-Virus, seems not to be present."
You tuck your recorder away and bring out a knife, grimacing as you carefully cut away a piece of the appendage and insert it into a tiny tube for further analysis once you get the hell out of here.
"Gross," you mutter as you stare at it through the glass before slipping it away into a pocket.
A ghost town greets you as you arrive at the village square. There are even more bodies around the square, a pyre in the middle with a charred corpse strung up—maybe one of the people who's gone missing, you suspect. Slowly, you creep through the houses—a lot are threadbare, a testament to people who did not live far above their means. There's still laundry left to dry, and meals that appear as though they were left mid-preparation—a peek into a pot makes you recoil at the rotted food within.
A picture catches your eye—it's a family portrait, at least a decade or more older now, but the people seem happy as they smile at the camera. You wonder if any of them were among the bodies you've come across.
Once you've gone through the houses, you make your way toward the larger building at the center of the square; however, the sight of what appears to be a dead dog catches your attention. Your mind flashes back to the mutated dobermans in the parking garage of the police station, and your skin pricks with something white hot—fear, you realize.
Not a dog, you surmise as you step closer. A wolf. You grab your recorder, flicking it on as you kneel down. "Virus may be capable of infecting other mammals," you note. "—Or other animals in general. A wolf specimen, native to the area, retains much of its typical physiology except for notable distending of the jaw."
You're not sure how many teeth wolves are supposed to have, but you're certain it's not as many as you're seeing in this creature's mouth.
As you stand, you rub the back of your neck, a frown on your face behind the mask. A virus capable of cross-species transmission is always a concern—containing it is nearly impossible, especially if it reaches the avian population. Surveying the area, you see a few crows hopping around. They don't seem hostile, but that only leaves you with more questions than answers.
When you reach the building, you stare at the symbol hanging on the door—it's a cross between a religious icon and some sort of arthropod. Your thoughts drift to the movie Alien—a favorite of yours. "If these are facehuggers, I'm out," you murmur as you push the door ajar.
It's dimly lit, and on the far wall from the entrance, you see an altar of some kind—candles light the portrait of a hooded man, and on either side of the altar are mounds of skulls. "What the fuck is going on here?" Further in, more murals depict people holding heads, like sacrificial offerings—the missing people. An even larger skull sits on a table, surrounded by others wrapped in gauze and bearing the same symbol as the one on the door, drawn in what looks like blood.
You take pictures—documenting what you find as you come across a book, an illuminated manuscript reminiscent of an old Bible. It's open to a verse. "'Iluminados 4:9.'" Not a Bible verse that you know, and it's in Spanish. "'Sleep and… flourish'?" you whisper, wishing you had more time to brush up on the language before coming here. "Something 'body grows'… 'your mother' something something… Is this a cult?" Glancing around, you frown. "Yeah, this is a fucking cult."
There's another door in the next room that you carefully slip through, and you find yourself in the building's side yard. You jolt when you see a cloaked man standing behind a table—he cuts an intimidating figure, tall and imposing, with nearly his entire face covered by a dark purple bandana bearing some sort of symbol—not the one you'd seen on the door, though. Instinctively, your hand flies to the gun holstered to your thigh, but you falter as he greets you jovially. "Welcome, stranger!" His voice is deep—vaguely Australian, certainly not an accent you expected to hear in these parts. "No need for that—" From beneath his hood, his eyes dips to where your hand hovers. They cast an odd glow, refracting with a predatory luminosity like a cat in the dead of night. "—I've only wares to sell, not looking to tear you to pieces."
You don't move for a second, hesitant to step closer. You're curious, though, so you do, angling your body slightly so you can move away quickly if you need to. When you get only a few paces from him with only a table between you, you tip your head to the side to get a better look at him. The veins around his eyes, which have remained keenly focused on you, are blackened—he's infected like the rest of the village, but—
"You're not like the others," you say. It's phrased as a statement, but your tone suggests a question. You inch forward.
"You're not like the others I've seen, either, stranger," he replies.
You quirk an eyebrow. "In what way?" you ask.
His gaze flicks just past you to the spot right behind your head, like he could see something standing there. It makes you freeze, a coldness washing over you. "You've got a shadow looming over your shoulder," he answers. It takes everything in you not to turn your head to follow his stare—you swallow the urge down, fists clenching at your sides so hard the leather of your gloves squeaks together. He meets your eyes once more. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"
"Can you tell me anything about what's going on here?" you ask, eager to change the subject as an itch begins at the base of your skull.
"Haven't figured it out by now?" he shoots back.
You shift your weight from one leg to another. "Only part of it," you confess. "But I am interested to know what's keeping you from—" You can't find the words, so instead you hold your hand behind your head and wriggle your fingers around, signifying the tendrils you saw earlier.
"Well, a man's got to have his secrets," he answers.
You purse your lips before leaning forward, palms on the top of the wooden table separating you two. "Don't suppose I can have a sample of your blood, then?" you ask with as much charm as you can manage.
When he mirrors you, bending at the waist to catch you at eye level, you think he might acquiesce to your request. "You'll have to buy me dinner first, love," he replies, and you can tell he's smiling behind the mask.
You scoff as you straighten out, arms crossing. "Easier said than done around here," you say before looking around, noting the crates he's got around him and the large pack he's hauling on his back. "You a businessman, then, that it?"
"I am, indeed," he confirms.
"Get a lot of customers this far out?" you ask.
"Been a bit livelier around here the last day or so," he says with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "Not bad for business."
You sigh softly. Might as well shop if you're not going to be getting any information—or blood—out of him. "Alright, what do you have, then?"
A deep chuckle leaves him as he holds open his jacket, displaying a wide array of goods, and you balk at the arsenal he's got hidden in his coat. You eye the GM 79 grenade launcher hanging there with a bit more greed than you're willing to admit you have.
"You take credit?" you ask cheekily.
He snorts at the question. "Pesetas only," he replies.
A heavier sigh leaves you as you take a step back. "Afraid I'm a little strapped for cash, then," you say. "Maybe next time?"
His demeanor turns pensive as he stares at you before it falls to your Blacktail. "Your gun," he indicates, holding his hand out to you.
There should be more reluctance coursing through you as you unholster your weapon and offer it to him, but you can't deny your interest. Before you let go, you say, "Promise not to shoot me with my own gun."
His eyes crinkle with a smile. "So long as you don't give me a reason."
You let out a huff of laughter before relinquishing your grip, and he turns to the side, where you notice a small workbench set up next to him. You can't quite see around the goods he has strapped to his back to get a look at what he's doing, but he's pivoting back to you before long, handing your gun back to you by the muzzle.
"That should do it," he says. "A bit more firepower now."
When your fingers wrap around the grip, his other hand comes up to envelop yours, and he leans in—pupils reflecting that dangerous yellow glow in the lowlight that should send a primal fear up your spine, but you only find yourself slanting closer.
"First one's free, love," he informs, voice low like he's telling you a secret. "Stay safe out there."
As you holster your gun, you move away. "Thank you," you say, and before you go to leave, you ask, "The others you've seen—one wasn't a man named Luis by any chance?"
"Already off looking for another man, gonna make me jealous," he jokes, and you can't help but roll your eyes at the brazenness. "Gone north, I think."
You nod in thanks, then depart the way you came, imagining it won't be the last time you see the mysterious merchant, though your mind lingers on what he said about the shadow looming behind you. The itch at the base of your skull returns, and you shake your head as if trying to rid yourself of the sensation.
"I've been here the whole time, girl," you hear the rough voice in your ear, and it causes you to halt.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, one that makes your healing ribs ache, but you hope the pain will center you. With a slow exhale, you open your eyes again and take a step forward, the gravel crunching beneath your boot.
"Ignore me all you want," he says, further away now. "I ain't going nowhere."
Following the path north, you reach a farm—cows, pigs, and chickens all wander around, acting perfectly normal despite the corpses lying about. "Livestock in the area does not exhibit any symptoms of the virus," you note into your recorder as you near one of the cows. She sniffs your outstretched hand before pressing her nose into it. You take the opportunity to examine her more closely—her eyes are clear, staring at you with a delightfully blank look as she chews hay. You gently pet her head. "What do you think, girl? Got any ideas?"
She only gives a long, drawn-out moo in response.
The radio crackles to life in your earpiece. "Roost to Vulture." Hunnigan's voice has an edge—a tightness you recognize as thinly veiled panic.
"What's wrong?" you ask automatically, cutting to the chase. There's a break. "Roost, what is it?"
"Condor One has been radio silent for over an hour," she says. Your mouth goes dry as you take a shaky breath. "I need you to get eyes on him—he was heading to the lake at our last check-in, and the G.P.S. is spotty now, so I can't get a read on his location."
Images flash in your mind—Leon torn to shreds by the dreadful maw of those mutated wolves, Leon bloated and blue, dead at the bottom of the lake, Leon, his head separated from his body, just another sacrifice for this fucked up cult.
"Get me a path to the lake," you say quickly after clearing your throat, pinching the bridge of your nose, as if it'll stop the visions from circulating through your head.
"Done."
You snatch the radio off your shoulder and note the route she sent you. "I'll let you know when I find him."
Your feet move without you telling them—the thought of Leon lying dead somewhere, clinging to you like a dreadful nightmare you can't wake up from. Over the last six years, you've tried not to think of it—a world without him, but the fear digs deep into you when you sleep. How many times have you dreamed of him dying? How many nights have you woken up sobbing and crying out for him?
Running—you're running now, heartbeat pounding in your ears as you come to the lakeside settlement Hunnigan directed you to. You rip through the buildings, searching for any sign of him. "Where are you?" you call out, apprehension bubbling in your throat. "Leon, answer me!"
Your skin feels hot and cold all at once—your clothes too tight against your body.
As you step out toward the dock, you pause, seeing a boat floating in the middle of the lake. From here, you can't see anyone in it. But it's an odd sight, and then you're scaling the cliffside to get a higher vantage point. You're breathing heavily as you get to the top, grabbing your binoculars when you see something lying on the floor of the boat. As you peer through them, the figure of Leon Kennedy becomes clear—faintly, you can see the rise and fall of his back.
He's alive.
With a heavy sigh of relief, you plop down onto the ground, clicking on your radio. "Roost, this is Vulture," you say. "I've got my sights on Condor One; he's unconscious in a boat in the middle of the lake."
"What?" You hear the confusion in her voice.
"He's alive, but he's in the middle of the lake in a boat," you confirm. "Do you want me to try to reach him?"
"No," Hunnigan says after a long, stretching silence. "Your mission remains the same—Condor One can take care of himself."
"Copy that," you murmur as you disconnect, but you don't move.
You sit there for another two hours, peering through your binoculars at Leon, keeping careful watch as the sun begins to dip, casting shadows across the landscape.
Things have changed between the two of you.
You used to have such an easy time reading him—sometimes you thought you knew him better than you knew yourself, but now you're not so sure.
Now, you're two ships adrift from one another, and it's been happening for a while now. You don't know how to fix it—if there is anything to fix. You and Leon weren't ever… anything—not something you could name, at least.
It never felt fair to either of you. These past six years, you've both just been trying to keep yourselves afloat, with no time to process what happened to you. For a while, you thought that was for the best—keep moving forward, so you didn't have time to linger on what was behind.
Now you're not so sure.
The last time you saw him was over two months ago—back-to-back assignments for both of you sometimes kept you from seeing each other for weeks at a time. It was a new normal you were still getting used to, even after two years.
You were over at his apartment. It was finally starting to take shape into something livable after all this time. He even had some photos of you two on the walls—ones you took and bought frames for, but he actually hung them. You remember the swell in your chest when you saw them there.
It was a nice night—or at least it started that way. You ordered takeout and were sprawled on his couch, watching some shitty comedy you were both making fun of between bites of lo mein. When he offered you a beer, you declined, saying you had to be up early for a mission.
He got quiet after that.
When the movie ended, and you got ready to leave, he looked at you as if the moment you walked out the door, he would never see you again—like he was already mourning you. He always looked at you like that before you left for a mission.
You wonder whether you looked at him that way, too—if that's why you feel this chasm forming between the two of you, as if you're both holding your breath, waiting for the day when the other walks out the door and never comes back.
Your back straightens when you see Leon sit up abruptly in the boat, like he woke from a bad dream. As you watch him start the boat and head toward the boathouse on the other side of the lake, you linger only for a few minutes longer, waiting until he's out of view before finally moving.
By the time you retrace your steps back to the farm, activity is picking up among the villagers—you're surprised there's still any left, given how many bodies you've stumbled across so far. You're keeping to the cliffs, preferring the literal high ground, when you spot a familiar figure moving through the farm, trying to keep clear of the people moving about. "Glad to see you're still alive," you mutter to yourself as you hunker down at your position and peer through your rifle's scope. She's searching for something, you realize. "What are you looking for, Ada?"
Her sneaking doesn't last for long, and once one villager becomes aware of her presence so do the others. You watch her fight her way through them, and the sound of gunfire and shouting echoes in the air, creating pandemonium. Your finger twitches against the trigger.
You're so focused on what's going on down below that you almost don't hear what's coming. Your ears perk up as loud footsteps reach you, and you turn to see an enormous creature lumbering into the farmland. Your eyes widen at its appearance—human once, perhaps. It's nearly as tall as the buildings in the area, even hunched over, and its face is deformed. You think of the giant skull you found. A rope hangs from its neck like a leash it broke free from, or maybe, more likely, was set loose.
Thankfully, it hasn't noticed you. Its attention is solely on Ada, who takes to the rooftops, zipping back and forth with her grappling device as the creature tries to pummel her—and other infected, it doesn't seem to separate friend from foe. She's quick, though, managing to land a few clips on the creature between all the flying around. When fleshy tendrils emerge from its back, not so dissimilar from whatever sprouted from the heads of the villagers you found earlier, you frown.
Is it some sort of defense mechanism, you wonder.
You're content to be a silent observer of this fight until you see it nearly knock her off a roof. For a moment, you muse whether this is how she felt back in Raccoon City, watching you and Leon struggle your way through, weighing the pros and cons of intervening. She should count herself lucky that you're far kinder than she is.
Bang.
Bang.
You take shots at the wriggling mound of flesh on the creature's back.
Her head snaps up toward you, but only for a split second before she's moving again, using your gunfire as cover to get herself upright and away. It doesn't take much more to bring it to the ground; perhaps it would've been quicker if you'd intervened earlier.
Carefully, you traverse down from your spot to the farm below, walking into the open area just as she's crushing the wormlike appendage under her heeled boot.
It's got teeth, you note with a grimace.
"Well," she starts, out of breath from the fight. "If it isn't the good doctor."
"That's two," you say as you loop the strap of your sniper over your shoulder. "Looks like you owe me."
Her gaze narrows—the look of a woman who doesn't appreciate being in someone's debt. "Two?"
Behind the mask, you grin. "Outside the factory," you start. "Who did you think saved you?" There's a pregnant pause, a moment where your eyes meet hers, the humor leaving them. "Wesker?" His name is poison in your mouth.
She's quiet, sizing you up. "You're a lot meaner than I remember you being," she says with an amused huff.
"You're a lot more alive than I remember you being," you retort. "What are you doing here, Ada?" You don't give her a chance to answer. "Wait, let me guess—" You tilt your head to the sky, tapping your chin like you're deep in thought. "It's confidential?"
"Oh, you are vindictive, aren't you?" she chuckles.
"She's got you pegged," a voice laughs right behind you. "Vindictive just like your daddy."
"I'm being careful," you correct—quieter now, the bite leaving your tone. "You don't exactly have a track record for being forthcoming and trustworthy."
Maybe it's misplaced hope, but you think her expression shifts at your words. It's silly and stupid, but a small part of you wants to believe that this person who survived the same horrible, wretched thing you did—that you still have nightmares about—is, at her core, a good person. She helped you and Leon—she didn't have to, and maybe it was for her own gain in the end, but she still helped.
And maybe that's the only reason you haven't put a bullet in her yet.
"I'm looking for someone," she finally says.
Part of you is shocked by the straightforward answer, brows raising on your forehead. "And who would that be?" you ask, already anticipating the answer but wanting the confirmation.
"A man named Luis," she replies.
You're glad the mask covers half your face, and you hope she can't glean anything from your eyes in this moment as you nod in response to the information. "A man, hm?" you ask. "And what's so special about this Luis?"
When she smirks, you realize you've played right into her trap. "That's two," she says slyly. "Consider us even."
You let out a bark of laughter as you roll your eyes, hands coming to settle on your hips. "Should've expected that."
Sidestepping around you, she glances back over her shoulder nonchalantly, but you have a feeling she's eager to get back to her search after being delayed. "If that's all… I'll see you around."
You snort. "I'm sure you will." You watch her start to walk away, and the words are coming out before you can even stop them. "For what it's worth, Ada," you begin, and you watch her halt mid-step. "I wanted to be wrong about you."
She doesn't turn to look at you, but you see the tightness in her shoulders, the way your words have landed, and then after a second, she's moving again.
You stare at her until she disappears from view before you turn your attention to the creature lying on the ground and the appendage coming from its back—it's connected at the spine. Grabbing your recorder, you begin, circling around, "I suspect the virus is parasitic in nature. It appears to attach to the cervical vertebrae—method of transmission is still unknown at this time." You snap a few pictures. "This particular specimen seems to exhibit extreme growth due to infection, and displayed highly aggressive behavior, including attacking other infected. Increased size and strength are likely to have impacted cognitive abilities such as awareness and judgment."
With a sigh, you switch off the recording, standing there with your arms crossed as you observe your surroundings. A thought crosses your mind as you look at the bodies around, with a frown, you sift through the photos you've taken so far.
There are no children.
That should be some sort of solace, but it isn't.
"Daddy…" The memory taps against your skull, a demand to bring back the dead. It's a slap in the face, a muffled gunshot behind a closed door that still rings out in your head like the tolling of funeral bells.
You flick your recorder back on to say, "No observation of juvenile hosts in the area; given the extreme mutations seen in some of the infected, it is likely their bodies may be too weak to withstand the virus."
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you glance up; there's a storm rolling in—you can smell the scent of rain in the air. Dark storm clouds churn with the hues of the setting sun, painting the sky the color of a fresh bruise.
A single droplet hitting your forehead makes you flinch, and then when another lands, your eye twitches. "Great," you mumble as it begins to trickle down, then becomes a steady onslaught of rain, soaking through your clothes and causing the loose strands of hair to stick to your face. "Goddamnit."
You only make it to the edge of the farmlands before you see torchlights in the distance. You squint, seeing at least a dozen villagers marching south, wielding weapons and moving with a terrifying determination. Ducking off the path, you crouch behind a tree, watching as they pass by, muttering in Spanish.
"What's got them so riled up?" you murmur to yourself as they leave your view.
When you're sure you're in the clear, you continue on into the growing darkness. As you come to a bridge, you think you see a figure moving around the building ahead. Your brows furrow, pausing to grab your binoculars.
It's a man, you realize from the silhouette, not able to discern anything else between the rain and the shadows of night that begin to stretch across the village. "And who are you?" you question, watching as he disappears into the villa.
If you're lucky, that's Luis Serra, and you'll be on a helicopter out of this godforsaken place in the next hour.
"Roost to Vulture," you hear Hunnigan's voice crackle to life in your earpiece.
"I'm here," you respond.
"Condor One has located Baby Eagle," she informs you. "They are moving to the extraction point."
"And?" you say, sensing more.
"Your directive has changed," she says, and you scowl, resisting the urge to huff—guess it'll be a little longer before you're on your way out of here. "Baby Eagle's extraction has been prioritized, and you are to assist Condor One."
"I take it I'm allowed to make contact, then?" you ask.
"Affirmative."
You sigh. "Understood."
"They should be moving through the village toward your location now," she says.
You're crossing the bridge, keen on getting a better vantage point to see them coming in all this rain. "Got it, Vulture out." You disconnect and haul yourself up onto the roof of the building as quietly as possible so as not to alert the person who went inside. Despite the rain, you're steady as you grab your rifle from your back, peering through the scope and switching on the night vision.
You scan around, and luckily, it's not difficult to find Leon and the president's daughter, given the large mob of villagers trailing behind them. The flicker of torches to your left catches your attention, and you see another group of villagers trying to converge on the two.
They're going to be swarmed, you realize as they run over the bridge.
Bang.
The man who was about to nab the girl gets sent sprawling, blood spewing from the bullet hole in his forehead. Leon sharply peers over his shoulder, and there's confusion on his face as his gaze returns forward, peering up, but ultimately unable to locate where the shot came from in the darkness. Below you, the door flies open, and the voice of a man calls out to them.
"This way!" he yells.
Bang.
Just as the pair moves through the gate, another body hits the ground behind them. As the girl hurries into the house, Leon hangs behind to close the gate, though he's met with resistance as one of the villagers shoves their arm through.
"Son of a bitch," Leon grunts as he pushes the gate, sliding in the mud as the horde of villagers tries to force the gate open. He groans as they manage to gain footing despite his putting the entire weight of his body against it.
"Close your eyes," a voice behind him orders, the tone familiar. He instinctively scrunches them shut as a flash grenade goes off—he can still see the bright streak of light even through his eyelids and winces. The infected let out a screech as they're blinded, and several gunshots echo with the rain.
As he opens his eyes, another figure shoulders into the gate, and it closes enough for him to secure the lock on it, though he knows it won't hold them off for long.
"C'mon!" the man from earlier, Luis, yells, gesturing to the two of them from the doorway of the villa.
As they cross the threshold, the man slams the door shut and bars it. Ashley is doubled over, breathing heavily from all the running they just did, and Leon feels a burn in his lungs, though he keeps his face passive as he lays what he hopes is a comforting hand on her shoulder. The knocking of boots against the wooden floor turns his attention away.
He recognizes you the instant you angle your head toward him—your hair is pulled back, though wet with the rain, some strands clinging to your forehead, and your clothes are soaked through—a tactical vest over a three-quarter sleeve burgundy shirt that clings to your form and tight cargo pants that he knows are probably filled with various bits and bobs.
This is the first time he's ever seen you dressed for a mission, and the mask that covers half your face makes you appear menacing. Your eyes meet his briefly as you kick the mud off your boots, and he mutters your name with confusion on his tongue. "What are you doing here?" he asks.
When you take the mask off, he sees the frown on your face as you hook it on your belt, but you ignore his question, walking over to Ashley and gently placing a hand on her shoulder, urging her to stand up. "Don't bend over," you tell her, voice kind and warm, despite the intimidating presence you cut with the numerous weapons on your person. "It'll be harder to breathe like that."
To her credit, Ashley straightens out, taking in a deep breath as she nods at your words, face scrunched with strain. "Who are you?" she asks.
When you tell her your name, she looks at Leon, as if questioning whether you're someone she can trust. Only after he nods do her shoulders relax, though it doesn't last long, as the angry shouts of the villagers outside remind you all that time is of the essence.
"I see you've found your missing señorita," the man says to Leon with a grin, looking to Ashley before falling on you, a curious quirk of his brow. "And another beautiful creature has followed us here."
Leon scowls at this, nostrils flaring as he watches the man rake his eyes up and down your figure. You, however, are a wolf rounding on her prey. "Dr. Luis Serra?" you ask, any warmth in your voice chilling to a cold professionalism.
"Oh," he hums, eyes crinkling at the edges. "And she knows my name, I am honored. We've never met before, have we? I would remember such a lovely face."
"No, we haven't met, but I have been looking for you," you confirm, and when you give him your name, you include the title of doctor. Leon recognizes the bite in your tone; it's the same indignation you speak to the higher-ups at STRATCOM with when they talk down to you, when they think you're merely another run-of-the-mill agent.
"Ah, beauty and brains—"
Leon cuts him off, fist to his chest as he backs the man into the wall, and Luis puts his hands up as if in surrender. "Yeah, yeah, we all have names—"
"Touchy," Luis comments with a quirked brow,
A crash outside catches your attention. "Leon," you call out as you peek through the window; the villagers have managed to wedge the gate open—it wouldn't be long before they break it down.
His gaze turns to Ashley, eyes wide with fear and lip trembling. "Hide," he instructs.
She looks around, gesturing. "Where?" she asks.
Luis goes to an overturned wardrobe. "Here," he indicates, and with Leon's help, they lift it, revealing a crawlspace behind it.
"Seriously?" Ashley murmurs.
"In," Leon orders.
"Here," you say to Ashley, holding out one of your knives, still in its sheath. "Just in case."
She seems hesitant. "I—"
You force it into her hands. "Pointy end out, it's not hard," you reassure her, and she nods with a furrow in her brow as she ducks down, crawling into the dark of the hiding spot before Leon and Luis lower the wardrobe back down to cover it.
Outside, the gate creaks under the force of bodies slamming into it. "We gotta block the windows," Leon says, taking some boards from the table to start covering them.
As you move a shelf in front of another one, you look over at Luis, who's standing uselessly there. "You gonna help or you gonna stand there with your thumb up your ass?" you ask exasperatedly.
Your words make a grin spread across his face as he comes up behind you, caging you between his own body and the shelf. "You're feisty," he says into your ear, his chest pressing against your back.
Leon's jaw clenches so hard he thinks his teeth are going to break as he grips the shelf from the other side, yanking it the rest of the way. "Yeah, and she bites."
Luis leans back, but stays hovering close. "Oh, I don't mind a little biting." He winks at Leon. "You done warming up?"
"Yeah," he grinds out. "Now, if you'd shut up, we'd be good to go."
"Touchy," Luis repeats in a singsong tone, wagging his finger. "Lighten up, cowboy."
With a roll of your eyes, you press-check your Blacktail and grab extra shells for your already-loaded shotgun, making sure they're easily accessible on your belt with your other ammo. "Take the right, I'll take the left," you say to Leon.
"Got it," he says as he draws his own handgun, making sure it's reloaded.
"And what about me?" Luis asks as they finally manage to break down the gate and begin filtering into the yard outside.
"Don't get in the way," you reply pointedly as you prop yourself in front of the window at the stairs, blasting a villager right in the head as they break it open, glass shattering everywhere. You take a brief second to admire your gun, and faintly, you say to yourself, "Does have a bit more kick to it." As more gather outside, you toss a grenade right over their heads, and an explosion sends most of them flying.
That doesn't seem to deter the ones still alive, who start to clamber through the opening while others break through the windows on Leon's side. As he and Luis pick off those steadily filing in, a cacophony of gunfire reverberates through the house, and just barely, Leon can hear noise coming from upstairs.
"They're upstairs," he calls out, unable to pull himself away as two fall through the window and he's forced to reload.
"I got it," you announce. "Cover me." Luis takes over as you move up the stairs, keeping them at bay for you. From downstairs, the two men can hear the sound of a shotgun firing before a body sails over the edge of the balcony, crashing onto the table in the middle of the room.
As he and Leon share an impressed look, Luis smirks and says, "Quite the woman."
"You have no idea," Leon answers before firing at another of the villagers, groaning as the writhing, fleshy appendage juts out from its head, lashing toward him. "God, there's no end to them." Clearly, you're offered no reprieve either, given the seemingly unending stream of gunfire above him.
"Leon!" Ashley yells as she bursts through the door, having found a way out of the house through the crawl space. "This way, hurry!"
Luis is already making a run for it, and Leon shouts for you, unwilling to leave until he knows you're following. "I'm right behind you!" he hears you say, and there's the thud of your boots hitting the ground floor as you jump from the loft.
Ahead of you, Luis, Leon, and Ashley dash across the wooden walkways and pass through the arch of the gate, while behind you, the villagers are hot on your heels. Leon whirls around and catches sight of the winch controlling the heavy wooden gate. "C'mon!" he yells.
Your feet pound against the ground as you speed up, and as he aims his gun, you slide through the threshold as he fires. The gate comes flying down, impaling the villager that was a hair's breadth from catching you. Your chest heaves as you stare at the mutilated corpse only inches from you. "Fuck," you breathe out, startling a bit as Leon snatches you up off the ground. You brush away his worried hands. "I'm fine."
A strangled cough behind you makes you both whip your heads around. "Ashley?!" Leon stalks over as blood splatters into the palm of her hand.
She gasps, mouth gaping and staring down at her shaking hand with widened eyes. "What's happening to me?" she asks fearfully, glancing between you and Leon.
Grasping the sides of her face, you press the tips of your fingers just under her jaw to feel for her lymph nodes, then grab a penlight from one of the many pockets of your vest. She flinches back as you shine it into her eyes. Your face remains painstakingly neutral, and Leon can feel his heart speed up at the memory of watching you examine Marvin—unable to read anything from your expression. Panic bubbles up in him, and he inches forward, hovering right behind you.
With a click, you turn the penlight off and shove it back into your pocket before glancing over your shoulder past Leon to look at Luis, something like condemnation in your stare. Leon watches intently as the man hesitantly approaches. "Is this the first time you've coughed up blood like this?" he asks Ashley.
She nods, using the wet wipe you give her to clean the blood from her hand.
There's a frown on his face. "The cough, the blood—it's caused by something called a 'plaga'," he explains. Your jaw sets as Ashley and Leon exchange a look of confusion. "Okay, you saw those 'people', right? Well, you have the same thing inside you. The same thing that made them like that. This—what you're experiencing, the symptoms. They're only the beginning."
"It's a parasite, correct?" you ask, crossing your arms with an intense look on your face, finally putting together all of the puzzle pieces you've been collecting since you got here.
"Yes," he confirms. Somehow, the revelation doesn't make you feel any better, but you fight the scowl that tugs at your lips.
"I don't want to turn into one of those things," Ashley stammers, tears blurring her vision, as she wrings her hands together.
Laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder, you say, "You're not going to." Before turning to Luis with a sharp look in your eye. "Tell us what you know."
"Well," he starts—quickly, as if sensing your thinning patience. "At this early stage, the parasite—the plaga—it is possible to remove it with a surgical procedure. All you need is the know-how—" Grasping the collar of his shirt, he holds it to the side, showing the scar trailing down his chest. "—and the right equipment."
"Wait, you too?" Leon asks with a furrowed brow.
"No worries," Luis says with a wave of his hand. "See, I have a plan." He treads backward, edging away from you all. "But you're going to have to trust me." You surge forward, seizing him by the lapels of his jacket and halting him in his tracks. He glances down his nose at you, seeing how unwilling you are to let him go. "I'm afraid this is a solo mission, corazón."
You scoff, voice low so Ashley and Leon can't hear. "You're aware I'm not the only one who was looking for you, right?"
His brows raise in a way that tells you he knows exactly who you're talking about. "I am."
You purse your lips, leveling him with your gaze. "Be careful who you trust, Luis."
He reaches up, tapping you on the nose once with a wink. "Your concern is very sweet," he teases. With a roll of your eyes and a scoff, you gently smack his hand away, no real bite to your actions as you step back. His stare finds Leon behind you, and when the blonde man gives him a nod, he claps his hands. "Great! We're partners then!"
He spins, starting to walk away, but Leon calls out after him. "Hey, why are you—"
"No time for questions," Luis says, cutting him off. "The clock is ticking."
"Why are you helping us?" Leon asks anyway.
Luis pauses as he leaves the protection of the gatehouse, rain pelting down on him. "Because it makes me feel better," he replies. "Let's leave it at that. I will contact you later."
As you watch him disappear down the path, you feel the warmth of a body at your back. "What are you doing here?" Leon asks, whispering into your ear.
You peer over at him, not expecting to see his face so close to yours, and as you meet his eyes, you see the way they drop down to your lips before flicking back up. Still, his face tightens, brows pinched together as his jaw clenches, like he's upset about you being here.
Blinking, you inch away, though you can still smell traces of the cheap 2-in-1 he uses. It's usually so strong it makes your nose burn, but now, with the combined scent of rain and gunpowder, it's settled into something milder that only makes you long for home. You're overcome with the urge to wrap your arms around him, but instead you busy your hands with reloading your guns.
"Well, I was here for him," you answer, tilting your head in the direction Luis went, the chick-chick-chick of you sliding another magazine into your Blacktail filling the silence. "My directive was changed."
"Changed to what?"
Your gaze slides to Ashley. "Me?" she asks.
"You're priority one," you say. "Once I get you guys to the extraction point, then I'll be back to it."
Leon squints. "Alone?" he questions.
You give him a confused look. "Yes, alone." You gesture to the empty space around you. "Do you see anyone else here?"
"That's not a good idea," he says, voice low like he's trying not to cause a scene in front of Ashley. "There's some weird shit going on here."
"Yeah, that's kind of why I'm here," you say incredulously. "If something weird is going on, it has to be contained." When he sighs exasperatedly, you frown. "Listen, I'm not here to argue with you—" As you turn away, he grasps your arm as if he's not done with the conversation. When you go wrench yourself free from his grip, your ribs twinge—no doubt aggravated by all the running around—and you wince, sucking in a sharp breath.
It doesn't go unnoticed by Leon. "Are you okay?" he asks, removing his hand immediately, but stepping closer, concern clear on his face.
"It's nothing," you tell him, though he doesn't seem to believe you. "I got pulled early after my last mission—just a strained muscle."
He scowls. "Why would they clear you if you were still injured?" he questions.
You purse your lips. "Because there was no one else to send," you answer. "Only a few agents have been sanctioned for duty with the ongoing investigation. We got a tip from the B.S.A.A. about a former Umbrella researcher active in the area, and with all of the disa—"
"Wait, Umbrella?" he interrupts.
You settle back on your heels and cross your arms, mouth forming into a thin line.
He's quick to put the pieces together—you were here searching for someone. "You mean Luis?"
You don't give any verbal confirmation, only a small raise of your brows, letting an uncomfortable silence fall over you.
"You two know each other, I take it?" Ashley pipes up when the tension gets to be too much, and when you both look at her, you can see her focused on the space in between the two of you—or rather, lack thereof.
"Yup," you and Leon say at the same time, each taking a precise step away from the other.
"Are you two…"
"No!" you deny quickly, and when you don't hear an answer from Leon, you glance over at him, brows furrowing at the hesitation on his face.
"It's—I mean, no—" he corrects. "No, we're not…" The words die on his tongue, and his cheeks darken as he scratches the back of his neck.
"…Okay," she says, suspiciously eyeing you both.
"We should move," you suggest, swiftly changing the subject and hopefully sparing both you and Leon the embarrassment of having to explain the ambiguous will-they-won't-they relationship you've found yourselves in.
Leon's eager to take the out, making his way down the path with you and Ashley trailing behind. When he holds a hand to his ear and says, "I'm here," you figure Hunnigan is doing a check-in. "Yeah, she found us—" There's a drawn-out pause, as if he's holding back something scathing. "—Would have been nice to know."
You exhale slowly through your nose, but ultimately keep your mouth shut.
"Negative, it's too dangerous," he replies to her. There's a slight stutter to your gait as you have the sinking feeling that something has gone wrong. "We're gonna get out of here and find someplace safe."
Another pause.
"Don't worry about it. We'll swim home if we have to. Condor One out." As he disconnects, he looks back at you and Ashley.
"I take it the extraction is delayed?" you ask.
"The helicopter can't make the approach with the weather," he answers.
You sigh. "Great," you mumble, trying not to think about how this means your own mission will be postponed. You should have known the minute you saw Ada that your simple task of containment was going to take a turn. Gnawing on your lip, you debate whether or not you should tell Leon about your run-in with her.
"What's… what's gonna happen to me?" Ashley questions.
"We're gonna figure it out, okay?" you assure.
"First, let's focus on getting out of here," Leon adds. "Stay close."
A fraught quiet blankets you—it feels suffocating and heavy. You can practically hear the gears in Ashley's head whirring. Part of you wants to make conversation to fill the silence, if only to stop whatever mental spiral from taking hold, but you're not sure what to say to make this situation better.
She's so young, younger than you were during Raccoon City—younger than Leon was—and she will be changed by this, already has been. She'll wake from horrific nightmares of fleshy tendrils and gunfire, sweating and crying. There won't be a single moment when she feels safe again, and she'll jump at every sudden noise or shadow in the corner of her eye.
It's Pandora's box—seeing the terrors this world holds, the atrocities people are capable of. No matter how much you wish you could unsee it, it'll always be there, lurking in the back of your mind.
"What's that up ahead?" Leon murmurs, breaking you from your thoughts, and you can see the glow of a purple light coming from the inside of a shack further up the path.
A familiar figure greets you as you cautiously step over the threshold. "Welcome, welcome," the mysterious merchant beckons you in. "Hello again, stranger," he says to Leon, then turns his attention to you. "I hope that upgrade proved useful, love."
"You sure are making friends here, aren't you?" Leon grumbles, and you ignore the remark, instead walking over to the merchant as Ashley cautiously hovers behind you.
"Had quite a bit of kick to it," you say as you take your gun out and slide it on the table over to him. "Got any more tricks up your sleeve?"
You see his eyes crinkle like he's grinning behind the mask. "If you've got the money for it," he replies. "Can't be doing everything out of the kindness of my heart, a man's got to eat."
"Here," Leon says, cutting in front of you and tossing a golden bangle onto the table. "Will that cover it?"
The merchant picks up the bracelet, inspecting the gleaming gems inlayed with a keen eye before nodding his head. "This'll do nicely," he says, before grabbing your gun. "Just a moment, love."
You turn, looking Leon up and down with a scrutinizing eye. "You hiding any more treasure on you?" you ask.
He slaps your hand away as you're about to check his hip pouch—he definitely has more, you think. "A 'thank you' would be nice," he chides.
Scoffing, you say, "Thank you, Leon," with only a bit of sarcasm, though there's a smirk on your face that he mirrors. You glance at Ashley. "Hey, you still have the knife I gave you?" you ask.
She nods quickly, pulling it from the pocket of her jacket.
"C'mon, while we're waiting, I'll show you how to use it," you say, gesturing for her to follow you to an empty open spot in the room.
"I thought I just had to stick the pointy end out," she quips, and the joke makes you bark with laughter.
Still, you have her stand as she thinks she should while holding the knife, before moving around her, and correcting her form with gentle nudges. You show her where to hold it and how to shift her body weight forward when she stabs, so she doesn't lose her balance or leave herself open to a counterattack.
"You're stabbing to kill, okay?" you say when you point out where on the body she should be aiming for. "Torso, neck, head—hard and deep."
There's apprehension on her face, the grip she has on the knife faltering. "But I—"
Leon watches you attentively, aware of the way your brows tip into something sympathetic, how you lower your voice to something kinder. "Hey, listen—Leon and I are going to do everything we can to get you out of here, but if something happens, it's important that you know how to protect yourself. These people want to hurt you, and—" You swallow hard, as if the words are turning to molasses in your mouth. "—you have to fight like hell. You don't go down quietly, okay?"
Tears mist in her eyes, but still, she nods at your words. "Okay," she confirms softly, but there's determination in her voice as her hand tightens around the knife until her knuckles turn white.
"Here you are," the merchant says as he sets your gun on the table. "Should handle a bit better—to account for that 'kick'," he explains with a wink.
You give it a quick check before holstering it. "Much appreciated." When you give a cheeky grin to the merchant, Leon ushers you along with a scowl.
Your movement settles into a routine cadence—scout, clear, move. Despite it being six years since you and Leon have been in dire straits together, you're surprisingly in sync with one another. You pick off the infected from a distance with your rifle while Leon sneaks around taking them out as stealthily as he can—a far cry from the rookie cop who alerted nearly the entire R.P.D. to his location with reckless gunfire.
He moves with much more confidence and surety.
Though—
"I'm flattered, but I'm a one-lady type of guy," he says as the two chainsaw-wielding villagers burst through the wall of the building you're searching through, looking for a crank to open the gate.
You're not sure he'll ever grow out of the stupid one-liners.
"You're so corny," you say as you bring one of them to their knees with a well-aimed shot of your Blacktail—a pleased tilt to your head at the lack of recoil from the merchant's tinkering. With Ashley safely tucked away in a hiding spot, you're a little more fast and loose with your own gunfire, like the ammo is burning a hole in your pocket.
"Straight from the cob," he retorts, and even though you can't see his face, you know he's grinning.
You let out a disgusted noise, furious with yourself for how endearing you still find him and his dumb jokes.
It's only just as you're able to catch your breath that you're forced to run again when a man—a priest, massive and unsettling—appears behind you and tries to snatch Ashley. Leon's quick, whirling around without hesitation and stabbing the man in the shoulder, and giving you the chance to haul her away out of arm's reach. You draw your own gun, firing a shot into his other shoulder right as he swats Leon away like he's nothing more than a pesky fly.
The priest fixes his eerie gaze on you, and you take a cautious step back, nudging Ashley behind you. There's a morbid fascination as you watch him lock the gate, then bend the metal bar back for good measure. You have to resist the urge to pull out your voice recorder and log the impressive feat of strength he displayed, no doubt a result of a plaga infection. As you take aim again, you wonder whether there are different variants or whether a host's physiology determines which biological effects occur during an infection.
"Your soul requires cleansing, come child," he says ominously as he turns back to you all.
"Run!" Leon yells as he scrambles up to his feet, and you shoot again, a bullet straight between the priest's eyes that knocks his hat off.
Your fingers dig into the velvety fabric of Ashley's coat as you spin around and drag her along, not waiting to see if you put him down because you know you didn't. On the path ahead, villagers begin to emerge, torches and pitchforks ready, like it's an old-fashioned witch hunt. You're weaving through them, too many for you to take on, but you and Leon do your best to clear the way. Ahead, the bridge forward blows up, an attempt to cut you off. "The bridge!" Ashley cries out.
"This way," you say as you move toward the rickety scaffolding to the left.
As you cross, Ashley gasps, causing you to freeze. "I'm stuck!" she yells, trying to yank her foot from the hole in the rotting boards.
You squat down and try to pry her foot free as Leon lays down cover fire against the advancing villagers. The sound of wood snapping echoes as one of the men falls through the planks, and the rest of the structure starts to give way. "Fuck," you mutter as you give one more hard pull, finally freeing her. You nudge her to run, shouting to Leon, who rounds quickly, trailing behind you as the scaffolding starts to give way.
Relief floods through you as you stumble onto solid ground once more, and Leon—several paces behind you—jumps just as it all comes tumbling down, crashing into the ground. There's a crunch as his face bashes against the floor. He lets out a grunt as he flops onto his back, clutching his nose, which took the brunt of the fall.
Across the chasm, the priest looms, blood dripping from the bullet hole in the center of his forehead as he stares at you all, then turns and walks away, though you doubt he's given up the chase. Ashley hovers beside Leon as he hauls himself to his feet. "Are you okay?" she asks.
"'m fine," he mumbles, shrugging off her worried hands, but he can't do the same with you. You move in front of him before he can make for the path and clasp the sides of his face, angling his head every which way as you examine his nose. He mutters your name with a mix of reluctance and affection, but he doesn't try to stop you, only wincing when you press your thumbs into the sides of his nose.
As you tip his chin up in the moonlight, you catch it—the darkened veins at the edges of the whites of his eyes. Your breath hitches, and he glances down at you as he feels your grip tighten. "What?" he asks softly.
Blinking, you bite the inside of your lip as you step back sharply. "Nothing," you say quickly, grabbing gauze from your vest and holding it out to him as a droplet of blood pools from his nostril. "It's not broken. There's just going to be some bruising." As you avert your vision, you add, "C'mon, let's go while we can."
If he wants to question your sudden, odd behavior, you don't know because he stays silent until he instructs Ashley to run if the priest shows up again. It's clear he's after her in particular, and with no ransom being demanded, you can only hazard a guess as to why.
It's sooner rather than later that you see the priest again.
"Leon!" Ashley screams as he's tackled off the elevated walkway you're on and down to the floor below, landing with a pained groan as he rolls across the ground. Instinctively, you back up, shielding her with your own body as the priest stares up at her.
It's only when a bullet hits him in the back that his attention returns to Leon, who's half-kneeling on the ground, pointing a gun at him. "Cease your pointless struggling. Abandon your body to the will of our God," he says as he slowly walks toward his hat lying in front of him.
Leon struggles to his feet with a grunt. "You're a shitty missionary, you know that?"
The priest stoops down to pick up his hat. "Oh, Almighty! Grant me the strength to crush your enemies." As he places it back on his head, he begins to stalk toward Leon, who looks up at the two of you.
"Run!" he shouts.
Dread settles at the base of your spine, but even still, you clutch Ashley's hand and drag her along with you despite her protests. "What about Leon?!"
It's not a high drop to the ground outside, and you're ushering her to jump through the wall the priest broke through. Her face twists up with objection. "Go," you order, tone stern, leaving no room for argument. "I'm right behind you."
Right as she hops down, an explosion rings out from behind you, and you can feel the heat of flames at your back. You chance a glance over your shoulder, wincing back as smoldering embers swirl about, and from the flames you see a monstrous form rising.
"What the fuck," you gasp. When Ashley calls your name, you pry your eyes from the scene, jumping down to join her outside, though you can still feel the heat of the fire within. "C'mon." You can hear gunfire begin inside, and it won't be long before flames engulf the entire building.
You need to find Leon an exit.
"Wait, where are you going?" Ashley asks as you stalk forward, searching the building's perimeter for another way out. "We can't just leave him!"
You barely even hear her, your mind going a mile a minute as another blast rocks the building. When she snatches your wrist and yells at you to wait, you whirl around. "I would never leave Leon!" you shout, and she instantly retracts her hand like you've burned her, staring at you wide-eyed, though it softens into something empathetic when she sees the fear on your own face. You give a shaky sigh, remembering yourself, lowering your voice. "I wouldn't leave him—we need to find him another way out."
Giving a firm nod, she says, "Okay." She runs ahead, turning the corner of the building, and shouts to you. "There's a window here!"
You round the corner of the building just in time to see her grab a wooden stool nearby, smashing the window with zero hesitation. You both flinch back as the backdraft erupts from the opening.
The smoke drifting out burns your eyes and stings your lungs, making you cough. "Leon!" you yell, seeing his figure moving through the flames that have started to consume the rest of the warehouse.
"Hurry!" Ashley shouts.
The fire roars as the timber groans, beams cracking and creaking, and he bounds through the window as the supports give way. The building collapses with a dying wail, embers popping and clinging to Leon, who is breathing heavily on the ground as Ashley kneels to put out the smoldering embers.
Once they've been extinguished, she holds a hand out. "You're welcome?" she offers.
He chuckles, accepting her outstretched hand to help him up. "Thanks," he says, then turns back to watch the orange flames still burning bright and the pillars of smoke now billowing skyward. "This fire's bound to catch their attention. Let's keep moving."
As you walk, he falls into stride with you. He's quiet, but you can sense he wants to say something—it's clear in how stiffly he's walking. "What?" you ask.
"I told you to run," he says, quiet enough that Ashley won't hear. Gone is the genial tone he used when speaking to her; instead, it's stern and disapproving. It feels like a reprimand.
Ice water pours over you in a torrent and your veins fill with a creeping frost. You nearly falter in your step.
"Well, would ya look at that," the voice rasps, chuckling. "Even your boy toy is finally realizing you're nothing but a disappointment."
Your gaze stays forward, fists clenched at your sides, while your heart tightens in your chest—caught somewhere between anger and sadness, with no way to know which way the scale will tip until you open your mouth. "Forgive me for not letting you be a martyr."
Anger, it is. Your lips part, vitriol coiling around the tip of your tongue, waiting to be spewed like venom dripping from a snake's fangs.
"C'mon, girl," the voice jeers gleefully. "Show him them teeth."
Your mouth snaps shut as you muzzle yourself instead, swallowing it down. "Never mind, forget it."
He breathes your name in a sigh, eyes on your back as you walk several paces ahead. When he glances over at Ashley, she's looking at him like she's disappointed.
When you make it to the castle—because of course there's a castle—you receive word from Luis to meet him in the courtyard so he can give you a suppressant to slow the parasite's advance. As you cross the outer battlements, you're bombarded with flaming projectiles from catapults—because of course there are catapults.
"I didn't know people still employed siege warfare," you grumble as you reload your rifle while taking cover.
"I guess this is their idea of a warm welcome," Leon replies as he tosses a grenade blindly around the corner, where several figures in long cloaks reminiscent of monks are ambling down the stairs.
You hear the pained gurgles as the grenade goes off, sending them reeling and giving you an opening. "I'm going to stab you," you tell him evenly as you peek, take aim, and fire. The catapult up top, along with the people standing near it, goes up in flames as you strike the explosive container beside them. "Who just stands next to a flammable barrel like that?"
The door into the castle won't budge, leaving you all to work your way around to find another way in. After finding a canon—because of course there's a canon—you manage to take out the remaining catapults and blast through the door. Once inside, you meet the supposed owner of the castle—a person named Ramón—who demands that you hand over Ashley and reveals he's working for someone called Saddler, the apparent leader of this cult, Los Iluminados.
After fighting the minions he sends to kill you, you end up in a dungeon of some kind, complete with medieval torture devices. Below, you hear animalistic noises that set you on edge—God knows what other kind of monsters are lurking about.
When Leon drops through the floor after grabbing the key to get you out of the dungeon, you cringe, softly muttering, "Not again."
"Does this happen often?" Ashley asks worriedly.
"More than I care for," you reply as you try to peer down into the dark to see if he's okay, while memories of Leon falling victim to unstable floors and faulty ladders flood your mind.
"Should we jump down?" The expression on her face tells you that she very much would not like to jump down, and when you hear the sound of metal grinding against stone, followed by gunfire, you lean away.
"I think he's got it," you answer resolutely.
Thankfully, Leon did indeed have it, and a few minutes later, you turn at the sound of a door opening, relieved to see him walking through. "Don't worry, didn't need any help down there," he says, rubbing his shoulder.
He doesn't have so much as a scratch on him from whatever he encountered, so you roll your eyes at how dramatic he's being. "Thought it would be better to keep Ashley safe up here. Right, Ashley?" you ask, glancing over at her with a conspiratorial smirk.
"Right," she nods, the beginnings of a smile starting to tug at her lips.
He squints. "Are you two ganging up on me?"
"No, that would be incredibly childish," you answer.
"Incredibly," Ashley echoes, cheeks straining from how she grins.
He looks between you both and maybe decides that seeing her giddy with camaraderie is better than a constant state of fear, even if it is at his expense, and he lets out a huff of laughter, shaking his head.
The puzzle you come across in the next area has you staring at it, contemplative, with your hands on your hips, while Ashley takes to figuring it out, determined to "be useful".
"What?" Leon asks after noticing the pensive demeanor.
"Reminds me of those stupid puzzles in the police station," you recall almost nostalgically. "They drove me crazy."
"Yeah, because you wanted to brute force your way through them," he snorts.
You scoff and go to swat his shoulder, but he grabs you by the wrist, drawing you closer, his head stooped low as he tries to catch your gaze. "You're not mad, right?" he asks.
As you peer up at him, you see the way his brows pinch together, the tension he's holding in his jaw as he looks down at you. Your earlier exchange has clearly been weighing on him. It isn't like you two haven't had disagreements before, but this feels different. Then again, maybe you're being sensitive.
Regardless, you just want things to be… normal again. "Can't be mad at you, rookie," you murmur, and you feel his grip on you tighten at the familiar words, as if he's being drawn into the memory, too. You tilt your chin up and stare at him, definitely not as coy as you think you are. "You're too cute."
A slow smirk spreads across his lips as he takes the bait. "You think I'm cute?"
"I got it!" Ashley announces as the caged door begins to rise, clapping her hands together.
You slip from his grasp with a sly look, give her a high five, and sing her praises. As you stride through the doorway, Leon hovers behind you, leaning in to whisper, "I think you're cute, too."
Glancing back at him, you feel a lump form in your throat as you realize you're twenty-three again and Leon Kennedy has burrowed deep in your ribcage.
You're near the courtyard when you see Ashley wince, clutching her head. You stop and hover beside her. "Are you all right?" you ask, reaching out to steady her as she sways on her feet. Your question catches Leon's attention, and he halts, watching her carefully.
She nods, eyes scrunching shut. "Yeah, I think so, I—"
As she stumbles, he catches her, keeping her upright. "You okay?" he murmurs.
The air shifts in an instant as something sinister takes hold. "Instead of worrying about her—" She stiffens, an uncharacteristic edge in her voice as she draws away, knife gripped in her hand, the one you'd given her. "—Worry about your own skin!" Flipping it around, she stabs at him, and blood splatters across the floor as he stops it with his hand. "Foolish little lamb."
"Leon," you gasp.
As she pries it away, you go to lunge at her, but she whirls around, the knife pointed at her own throat, which stops you in your tracks. You can now see the darkened veins spreading across her skin. "Temperance, child," she coos.
When Leon takes a step forward, she digs the sharp point into the delicate skin of her neck, her gaze narrowing into a threat. Carefully, she treads backward, one precise footstep at a time, until a gate slams down in the middle of you. You can see the moment she comes back into herself, her eyes widening in fear as a grimace pulls at her lips.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
The knife clatters to the floor as she stares down at her trembling hands, her breath coming in unsteady, panicked heaves. Slowly, she looks back up, glancing between you and Leon before scurrying back.
She's going to run, you realize. "Ashley," you call to her gently, hand outstretched toward her, like you're talking to a scared animal. Her eyes dart to the side, searching for an escape. "Ashley, no."
And then she's off. "Wait!" Leon yells, clutching at the bars that separate you from her. "Shit."
Squatting, you reach through the gates and grab the knife. "I'm sorry," you murmur, staring down at Leon's blood staining the metal, meeting the reflection of your own gaze in the red-tinted surface. You sigh dejectedly. "I wouldn't have given it to her if—"
"You couldn't have known," he cuts you off. "It's not your fault."
You peer up at him, tears flooding your waterline, telling him you don't believe him. Blinking, you stand, tucking the knife away as you gesture for him to come closer. "Let me see your hand," you say.
"It's fine, we shou—"
"Leon, please," you urge insistently. He opens his mouth as if to refuse, but he must think better of it and complies. You're tender as you peel off his glove, apologizing as he hisses in pain. There's comfort in the familiarity of dressing a wound. Assess, clean, suture, wrap.
He watches quietly as you patch him up, the task giving you a reprieve from the vicious thoughts he knows are circling in your head now. As you secure the bandage, he hears your breath stutter in your chest.
"We're going to save her," he assures.
You shake your head, nose scrunching as fresh tears blur your vision. "I know we will," you mutter. "I just—" You glance up toward the sky, trying to will the tears away and your thoughts to settle. "That was us, you know? We were just kids, and then something awful happened to us, and now we're—"
"Hey, hey," he whispers, cupping your cheek with his injured hand, forcing you to look at him. His gaze softens as he regards you. "Don't think about that, okay? We're gonna save Ashley, and we're gonna get out of here—" He pauses, eyes searching yours. "And we're gonna be fine."
You feel your lip wobble, and his thumb brushes against it, like he's trying to rub away the dimple that forms there. When you don't answer, he dips his head closer to you.
"Okay?"
You clench your teeth and nod against his grip. "Okay," you murmur.
Your eyes close as he presses his lips to your forehead—the warmth spreading in a way that should be comforting, but it does nothing to settle your roiling stomach. You allow yourself to stand there for ten seconds, breathing in the scent of gunpowder and leather, before you draw away.
"He's wrong, y'know," the voice whispers in your ear. It is vitriolic—dripping with venom meant to poison, to hurt. Showing you how it's done. "You can't save anyone."
The terrible feeling in your stomach doesn't ease as you and Leon venture deeper into the castle. If anything, it intensifies when you encounter more of the cult, their chanting causing Leon to stagger in pain, as if the noise is deafening to him. Another symptom of the infection.
"Were you going to tell me?" you ask as you stand amongst the corpses.
"I didn't want you to worry," he answers briskly.
You frown when you look at him. "I always worry about you," you admit softly.
He doesn't answer—doesn't know how to—instead, he keeps moving forward because it's all he can do. It makes you feel like you said the exact wrong thing. You're lagging behind him, pretending to fiddle with your rifle, if only so you don't have to linger in his orbit right now.
As he walks alone into the room ahead, you hear a familiar voice ring out seconds later. "You can stop right there, Leon," she orders. You slow to a creep as you hover in the doorway, watching Ada hold a gun to Leon's back. "Wouldn't make me use this, would you?"
When he lets his own gun fall to the ground, hands up, you silently scurry behind her, jamming the muzzle of your gun to the base of her skull. "I think I'm having deja vu," you muse.
Her shoulders shake as if she's laughing. "If I remember correctly, our roles were reversed," she replies over her shoulder, seemingly unaffected by the gun to her head, like she knows you wouldn't shoot. "Hello again, doctor."
"Put it away," you say. "We both know you're just peacocking."
Ada chuckles, slowly holstering her gun, and only then do you step away as Leon turns around. "Hell of a greeting after six years," he mutters. "Who are you working for this time?"
"You know I don't work and tell," she slyly answers.
His brows lift in a 'go figure' expression as he stoops to pluck his gun from the floor, catching your eye as he does, but you look away, focusing your attention on her.
"Did you find your missing man?" you question. "What was his name—Luis?" The mention of Luis makes Leon pause, and he glances between you and Ada as she cuts you a sharp look. "Given you're alone, I'm assuming not—" You tilt your head. "—Or, you're searching for something else—" She smirks. "—Which would mean you lied to me." Again.
"'Lied' is such an ugly word," she muses. "I only omitted part of the truth. Gotta keep up my track record of being… what was it? Not 'forthcoming' or 'trustworthy'?"
You give a huff as you holster your weapon and cross your arms. "Yeah, that sounds about right."
As Leon checks his gun, Ada looks between the two of you—it's measured. She's gauging something. "Leave the girl," she finally says. "She's lost no matter what."
"And is that your professional opinion?" you question, watching her like a hawk as she saunters over to the open window.
"It is if you want to make it out of here alive," she answers.
"You think we're just gonna give up that easy?" Leon asks as he comes to stand beside you.
She peers over her shoulder, taking in both of you standing there, and for a moment, it's like you never left Raccoon City. "Right," she says with a knowing smirk. "Well, as much as I'd love to stay and chat, how about we continue this discussion later?"
A sound deeper into the castle causes both you and Leon to turn your heads away, and when you glance back, Ada is gone. "Last person I thought I'd see here," Leon mutters with a frown.
"I was just as surprised," you reply.
"You knew she was here?" he asks. When you look at him, you see the unspoken question of, 'And why didn't you tell me?' in his eyes.
"I saw her earlier," you answer carefully. "Based on what she told me, I assumed she wouldn't interfere with your mission."
"You still should have told me," he maintains.
"I should have," you agree with a nod. "So, I'll tell you who else I saw—" He slants his head, signaling for you to continue. "—Albert Wesker."
"What?" he hisses.
"That's who she's working for," you say. "I thought they were after Luis, but I think there's more to it."
He grits his teeth. "Of course she's working for him."
You sigh. "I don't know, maybe I'm wrong." You settle back on your heels. "Maybe it's just all a… coincidence."
"You and I both know you don't believe in coincidences," he says.
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