SUMMARY: When you know, you know. But there was so much you didn't know. A whirlwind romance and hasty marriage was bound to end in divorce. What you didn't expect was how impossible it was to find "Leon Kent" when you discovered the pregnancy a short time after he left. Still, you managed well enough on your own for almost seven years. Her name is Stella, and she's remarkable and gifted. Lucky you. Perhaps that's why someone's taken her. When all hope feels lost, you receive an unexpected call from a father that didn't even know she existed, promising to help you find her. All you can do is take this one last saving grace and set aside the unresolved feelings and sense of betrayal. Saving Stella depends on it. And who the hell is Leon Kennedy?!
RATING: 18+ for canon-typical violence and eventual smut. ✶ READER: single mom, nurse, no y/n use. ✶ SIDE CHARACTERS: claire redfield, chris redfield, rebecca chambers, minor side original characters.
TIMELINE: fic takes place in 2008, so after re4 and before re5, with obvious canon divergence.
WARNINGS: usual re violence, human & medical experimentation, typical re experimentation on children, cultish themes ✶ IMPLIED/MENTIONED: unplanned pregnancy, traumatic birth, postpartum stuff, religious fanaticism, ableism, suicidal thoughts, depression, alcoholism.
A/N: it's been years since i've written fanfiction, but the re9 announcement rekindled my love for writing. this is a result of me hyperfixating on a plot until i willed my brain to write it down.
FIC TAGS: divorced, exes to lovers, angst, secret child, hurt/comfort, forced proximity, miscommunication.usual re violence, human & medical experimentation, typical re experimentation on children, cultish themes ❗ FULL INFO ON MASTERLIST PAGE ❗
← ✶ CH 2 ✶ MASTERLIST ✶
✶ CH. WORD COUNT: 1,626
𝙻𝙴𝙾𝙽
“I still haven’t let you off the hook for Penamstan, you know.”
“I know.”
Leon had given himself an hour to let the information sink in. The bottle of bourbon has about a quarter of its contents left, but the need to act had taken precedence over the usual temptation of escapism.
For the hour that followed, and with the knowledge that the Redfields were already zeroing in on Mosston, Leon got in contact with them. The usual quips set aside, he briefed them with full transparency and wondered whether the overall understanding had been a result of desperation reflected in his words.
“...but, this is obviously bigger than a grudge right now.” Claire continues, the hint of annoyance in her tone still evident, but tempered.
“Yeah.”
There is a long sigh on the other end of the call. “You could have told us back then too, Leon. We would have tried to help.”
“You know it’s not that simple.”
“I know. Either way, I won’t dwell on what-ifs. We’ll get in contact when we land, and I’ll be expecting her to already have a heads up.”
“Yeah.” Leon’s head bows forward on his desk, supported only by the hand rubbing his left temple while the receiver remains on his right ear.
“We’ll find her.” Claire’s reassurance does little to quell the sickening dread, but it is appreciated. No matter how cross she can be with him, she could read him well enough to know when not to antagonize him. “It’ll work out. It always does.”
But at what cost?
At the very least, he has President Graham on his side. The attempt at a double life for the sake of something good (no matter how brief) may have cost him at the time, but perhaps the established rapport will work to his advantage.
“Thanks. I appreciate it, really. Talk to you soon.”
He hates the silence that follows. It leaves his mind muddled from the mix of alcohol and information overload. Had this matter not been so urgent, Leon might have spent hours looking into every detail of everything he’s missed, but he knows it will do little for the tide of emotions boiling inside him and threatening to dismantle every piece of furniture in his office.
Leon stares at the contact number on his laptop screen. In all these years, it hasn’t changed.
How many times has a fond memory nearly driven him to dial the number from memory and explain everything? If he had called sooner, would it have made a difference?
Could he have prevented this?
It was best not to dwell on it. For now.
He releases a long sigh and takes a long drink from his untouched water bottle before dialing.
Some masochistic part of him hopes you don’t answer, but he can hardly finish the thought when the line picks up after one ring.
“Hello?”
The desperation in your voice; the way it cracks as if your vocals could not handle all the grief spilling from them for two weeks.
Leon’s fist clenches around the receiver as he steadies his breathing, realizing he hadn’t even considered how to start this conversation. He’s silent for another beat – too long; enough for the rising panic to break through your strained voice as you grasp for a sign of life through the silence.
“Please…if you have her, I’ll do anything. I’ll give you anything.”
The exhaustion in your voice rushes through the receiver like a shot to the heart; as if every stage of grief has already ripped through you and all that remains is hollow uncertainty.
The water bottle is empty, but the cotton mouth feeling has returned when he forces, “It’s me. It’s Leon.”
Another beat of silence. Then…
He can hardly hear the dial tone over his own voice.
“Fuck!’
𝚈𝙾𝚄
What little sleep you’ve gotten does more harm than good when every waking moment is a living nightmare.
You lie curled in a fetal position in Stella’s bedroom, arms tightly embracing the pillow that had contained the photo. The landline has been moved to Stella’s bedside table so that you don’t have to leave what you have left of her to speak to Liv or anyone else checking in.
Before giving in to the fatigue, you replayed the last day in your head, searching for something you may have missed along the way, down to what neighbors you’d greeted and whether the bus driver that picked Stella up was the same as always. There had been no room for logic or reason when Stella didn’t walk out of that bus that afternoon.
You’d gone as far as chasing the bus down, only for the driver to confirm that Stella had not fallen asleep in the back. With Liv still on vacation at the time, there was no way anyone else could have signed Stella out of school. The private academy has strict rules regarding pick-up.
The call comes when you’ve managed to close your eyes and shut the world out in Stella’s bedroom. The pause sobered you from your groggy state to wonder whether whoever’s taken her decided it was time for bargaining.
The response, however…your addled state reasons that just maybe, you haven’t woken up yet.
As much as you try to convince yourself, it’s clear that denial and delusion were becoming a fine line.
The phone rings again. You shake your head and bury your face in your hands.
This isn’t happening.
The handful of times where you set aside your pride to find Leon for Stella’s sake had turned up nothing. As if the man never existed. Had it not been for the physical proof of your past that bore his likeness, you may have wondered whether you hallucinated the entire relationship.
Your heart stops when the line goes dead, but nearly beats out of your ribcage when another call follows it immediately.
You pick up this time and sure enough, you hear Leon’s voice again.
“Please –”
“All this time…all these years of looking for a ghost and you choose to call NOW?” You spit the words out with years of hurt breaking through the carefully crafted façade you’ve maintained so diligently. “You have NO fucking right and I don’t have time for this.”
“I-I know. I can explain –”
“Don’t. I don’t care what you have to say,” you spit back. You don’t care that your words are straining through the very obvious sobs wracking your frame. You’re certain you sound far more devastated than angry, but god are you angry. “I only answered to tell you I want nothing that you have to offer –”
“– I can help.”
You swallow the ache trapped at the base of your throat. The interruption is enough to mitigate the list of insults you were ready to impart.
Does he know? How?
Stella’s disappearance has received some coverage, but not at a national level. Still, it isn’t impossible for him to have found out.
You remain silent and wait.
“She’s mine.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Didn’t you hear?” A humorless laugh breaks through the tightness in your throat. “I couldn’t find you, Leon.”
“I mean on the last day. That’s why you…”
He doesn’t finish. You know what he’s implying.
You feel a cold sting spread through every nerve ending, and the tension in every muscle seems to release with no catharsis to accompany it. “I didn’t know. Not until after.”
When Leon doesn’t answer right away, you add: “How on earth can you help? How do I know I can even trust you?”
For all you know, you actually have answered a call from Stella’s kidnapper. The thought alone seeks to break through the last shred of reason keeping you on the line.
“I can’t explain everything now but I have a couple of friends on the way to pick you up and fly you out. Chris and Claire – they’re good people.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“No, I’m not joking. And I need you to avoid telling anyone.” Despite the underlying urgency in his tone, there’s an unmistakable sincerity that helps quell some of the fire attempting to spread. “I can’t stress enough that this needs to be handled with care and we don’t have time to go over all of it over the phone.”
That sobers you completely, if only because you aren’t certain what exactly this might mean for Stella. He clearly knows something – more than any dead end lead – and you want every bit of information you can get now.
You don’t respond because you suddenly feel the need to beg for more information.
It has already been two weeks. From what you can gather, if Leon is promising a different outcome than one might expect, then surely Stella isn’t in any immediate danger.
You feel the weight of the past two weeks on your shoulders. You feel it under your eyes, which have remained swollen from the endless barrage tears. You feel it hurt every beat of blood pumping through your broken heart. Your eyes sting and you wipe the tears away, but you cannot prevent the choked, hoarse sob that follows.
“I know you have no reason to believe me…I don’t blame you.” The urgency in Leon’s voice is gone, now low and calm; tender enough to almost remind you how it feels to rest your head on his chest while he whispers the sweetest assurances. “...but I just need you to believe that I can find her.”
Your breath is shaky as you inhale, and let it out slowly. Then you swallow and respond softly. You don’t even stop to think about the reply before it falls from your lips.
FIC TAGS: divorced, exes to lovers, angst, secret child, hurt/comfort, forced proximity, miscommunication.usual re violence, human & medical experimentation, typical re experimentation on children, cultish themes ❗ FULL INFO ON MASTERLIST PAGE ❗
← ✶ PROLOGUE ✶ MASTERLIST
✶ CH. WORD COUNT: 1,239
𝚈𝙴𝙰𝚁 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟾 ⟶ 𝙰𝚁𝙺𝙻𝙰𝚈 𝙲𝙸𝚃𝚈
Anyone who didn’t know Stella might find it odd that a six-year-old could keep her room so meticulously tidy. The only “chore” you ever really occupied yourself with in the small space was making her bed - something Stella herself actually hated, but she was allowed a pass when in every other respect, she was a bright, even-tempered, and polite child.
The thought makes you smile to yourself as you fold back the princess sheets and glance around. Barbies were neatly lined up on one shelf. A dollhouse sat wide open beneath them, but only to display the beautifully crafted furniture arranged throughout. Stella’s desk was only a mess of construction paper, markers, and color pencils when she was focused on creating her next masterpiece, but now, every notebook, pencil, sheet of paper, and the like were in their designated spots like a craft store display. She had even asked for frames for her drawings. The products of her childish imagination were displayed throughout her room, the living room, and even throughout Liv’s apartment - a testament to the childlike wonder you wish to preserve in tandem with Stella’s above-average intelligence.
Nothing is out of place.
At least, that seems to be the case until you fluff her pillow and see a rectangular outline protruding from the fabric.
“Hmm…”
Stella wasn’t one to just hide things.
Still, you aren’t too worried as you fish through the pink sham’s opening and feel the glossy material of a developed photo. When you pull it out, however, your heart sinks. You feel heavy as you sit on the edge of the bed and examine the photo.
While Stella’s given surname had been a hint that you were open to the possibility that she might want to find her biological father someday, you hardly spoke of Leon if at all, and Stella almost never asked.
The photograph had been a remnant of a disposable camera left undeveloped until months after the divorce. The images had been forgotten, until curiosity nearly ended in a spiral mid-pregnancy. The marriage had been a split-second decision after two weeks of dating. All it had taken was a few drinks and naive optimism on both ends, ending in a passionate evening and lingering in sober discussion the following morning.
Why not? He’d said. When you know, you know.
After shaking away the worst of the hangover, you both picked out your best outfits and a hastily-acquired bouquet before making your way to the courthouse with Liv as witness. As you left the building as Mrs. Kent, Liv snapped a photo that captured the pure joy on both your faces, with the bouquet raised in victory and Leon planting a kiss so hard on your cheek, you appear to be winking in the photo. Leon had always been kind and sweet, but you couldn’t help but notice that genuine joy in his expression, despite the sorrow that seemed to always follow him around like a second shadow.
He would tell you about his escape from Raccoon City eventually. You were sure of it. You’d heard of few survivors on the opposite side of the Arklay Mountains, and Leon had been honest with that much…but that was all you really knew.
Then came the divorce.
And then came Stella.
“Love you too, Auntie Liv! See you soon!”
Stella’s voice pulls you out of your head, and you quickly shove the photo in your back pocket and finish making her bed.
When you head into the dining area of your two-bedroom apartment, Stella is finishing her bowl of cereal, the landline’s cord stretched taut from its usual spot on the counter to where it rested beside her on the table.
“I’ll put it back, I promise!”
“You’re not in trouble, Stell.” You smile despite yourself and sit at the head of the small table, right beside her. “How’s Liv?”
“She says her cruise is 'super cool' and she misses you lots and see you next week.”
Stella’s small fingers come up one by one as if she’s recalling a grocery list and her braided, blonde pigtails snag on her uniform’s collar as she tilts her head side to side. You nod and she looks at you and examines your expression with large blue eyes.
“Are you sure I’m not in trouble?” She asks softly. “I can see when you’re sad.”
Of course she can. This kid can read her own mother (and anyone else for that matter) like an open book and has already started the third grade at age six. She may as well be lead interrogator at the local PD.
“Your blue got darker,” she adds, her lips turning on a pout before she hops out of her chair and reaches for the landline. You gently place a hand on hers and shake your head.
“You aren’t in trouble, sweetie. I just…want to know where you got this.” With trembling fingers, you reach for the photograph in your pocket and lay it on the table. Stella’s eyes widen and her lips tremble before she lets in a deep breath and exhales slowly.
Seems like Liv’s really got her attention with that yoga and emotional wellness stuff.
“I was playing hide-and-seek with Angel…”
Angel. Right. Her imaginary friend.
“...and I bumped something in your closet. Some stuff fell and I tried to put it back the way it was - I promise! Then I saw…”
Stella trails off and looks at you expectantly. “I’m sorry, mama.”
You let out a small laugh and shake your head, opening your arms as Stella runs into them. “You don’t have to be sorry. You did nothing wrong.”
Her voice is small and muffled. “He’s my dad.”
It wasn’t a question. “Yes.”
“He’s very handsome.”
You let out an airy laugh and tilt your head to the side, nodding. “That’s true.”
Stella pulls back and grabs her empty bowl before you’re able despite the fact that she can’t do much in her small stature aside from set it atop the counter. As you grab her backpack from behind her chair and move to help her slip her arms through, you add softly, “You know you can ask about him, Stell.”
“I know.” Stella pulls the straps over her shoulders and turns to look up at you. “It’s just, your blue comes out more, and I don’t want it to.”
As you kneel to get at eye-level with her, your smile feels exponentially heavy, like the corners are aching to pull down in spite of the façade. Your lips begin to tremble, and attempting to control them for her sake seems to just prove Stella’s claim further.
“It’s okay to be blue every once in a while. Just because happy memories make you sad, doesn’t mean they aren’t still happy.”
You stand, holding a hand out as Stella reaches for it, where she’d cling until the bus came for her. As you lead her out the hallway and toward the building’s elevator, Stella begins to swing your linked arms back and forth. It brings a laugh out of you, and Stella offers a satisfied grin in response.
“I’ll tell you what. When you get home from school and finish your homework, I’ll tell you anything you wanna know about your dad.”
Your hand slips into your pocket, pulling the photo out and handing it to her as she beams.
FIC TAGS: divorced, exes to lovers, angst, secret child, hurt/comfort, forced proximity, miscommunication.usual re violence, human & medical experimentation, typical re experimentation on children, cultish themes ❗ FULL INFO ON MASTERLIST PAGE ❗
inspo for this chapter taken from midnight mass and far cry 5!
← ✶ CH 1 ✶ MASTERLIST
✶ CH. WORD COUNT: 1,315
𝚃𝚆𝙾 𝚆𝙴𝙴𝙺𝚂 𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚁 ⟶ 𝙻𝙴𝙾𝙽
“What’s new?”
Another unidentified mad scientist. Another strain in the wrong hands. Ingrid Hunnigan has already briefed Leon on the progress of another agent who’d been undercover, following a lead to a small community in the southeastern United States hidden in plain sight.
“We’ve lost contact with Agent Grier -”
“Let me guess. You want me to run the recovery operation.”
“Leon, please don’t interrupt.”
His jaw sets, but he leans back in his seat. That seems to satisfy her enough to continue.
“We need you for recovery -”
“Seriously?”
“Leon!”
“Sorry.” Leon’s palms shoot up in defense while Hunnigan leers through the small screen beside his laptop. The inbox notification flashes as she begrudgingly continues.
“I’m sending you Grier’s reports thus far. He was able to zero in on Mosston, Georgia - an unincorporated town about an hour north of Savannah. The available footage doesn’t show much beyond your average southern religious community. At first, at least.”
A handful of attached video files couldn’t have exceeded more than a minute each, showing said community via hidden camera as Grier walked the small town streets posing as a solo traveler. He’d set up in a derelict, albeit charming motel, where he did capture some dialogue that didn’t raise any immediate alarm bells: polite exchanges and invites to the local church among the usual small talk.
Transcript (Unidentified Male): “Who knows? You might witness a miracle.”
The final video is a couple of minutes longer, showing a small congregation singing hymns with their hands raised.
“Who’s to say Grier didn’t just drink the Koolaid?” He mutters.
“Keep watching.”
He does. Leon would be lying if he said he wasn’t half-listening to the sermon, until the pastor beckons a member of the congregation forward - a young woman in a wheelchair. After a few words on testimony and the power of prayer, the churchgoers fall silent, save for the increased rate at which Grier was breathing behind the hidden camera.
Transcript (Grier): “Flor?”
Leon gives a start at the whispered name. Judging by Grier’s position relative to the rest of the parishioners, he was likely in one of the back aisles at the very end. A family stands in front of him with a preteen girl, who pivots at the name with a panicked look in her eyes just as everyone else gasps and praises God when the woman at the front slowly stands on shaky legs from the wheelchair.
The girl swiftly turns around to applaud with the rest of the congregation, but as the applause dies down, one hand quickly slips behind her. Her palm faces Grier.
Open at first. Then she tucks her thumb in and follows with the rest of her fingers, repeating the catching motion twice before she resumes clapping.
Then the camera shows a blur of movement and the feed cuts off.
“I take it this was last contact?”
“That’s right. As soon as the feed was cut off, the video was uploaded to the cloud. Whatever happened…if they’ve obtained the camera, they’ll likely assume they’ve rid themselves of the evidence.”
“And he knew the girl?”
Another inbox notification comes up. Leon scoffs. “You know, you can send these to me all at once?”
“I can, but you’d just read ahead and I need you focused.”
Leon mutters something unintelligible under his breath, which Hunnigan either doesn’t notice or care to point out for her own peace of mind.
“There have been a few very specific missing persons cases throughout the country. Most of them have been scattered throughout Arklay County and neighboring counties. From what Grier’s findings have gathered, the majority of these missing persons are connected to survivors of the Raccoon City incident. Some have been connected to other contained outbreaks. CCTV footage captured the likeness of at least three missing persons in East Georgia. Grier narrowed it down to Mosston, it seems.”
The email contains files with a list of names relevant to the case, organized by likelihood of being connected. A few are accompanied by footage obtained through CCTV.
Flor Medina. Age thirteen. She was the only one in her immediate family to survive the outbreak, along with an aunt who’d been acting as her guardian since. Which brings him to…
Angela Medina. Forty-three. Also missing.
A capture from footage at a gas station is zoomed in on a young girl; beside it is a clipped image from the church footage. When compared with a known photo of Flor, she is practically a dead ringer. Still, no sign of the aunt.
The second was a middle-aged man with an accompanying capture from the local airport. He had also escaped Raccoon City before the worst of the outbreak; however, it doesn’t appear that Grier had found evidence of the man in Mosston.
The third is a recent missing child’s case. Leon starts to scan the file for the sake of committing the information to memory, but he stops at the name.
Stella Kent. Born in late 2001 in Arklay City. The report does not list a connection to Raccoon City, and includes a school photo of a child with sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, grinning wide despite a missing front tooth.
A coincidence, surely.
But then he catches the mother’s name and feels the air completely deplete from his lungs.
Hunnigan is still talking, but the words hardly register.
“ – BSAA and TerraSave have caught wind, and as you can imagine – ”
The second photo is a capture from one of the clips. There is no mistaking the resemblance when Grier had been so close. Leon leans forward, clicking on the first email and locating the video; no more than thirty seconds.
Grier enters a convenience store and the video focuses on idle conversation with the store owner. In the background, a child walks hand-in-hand with an unidentified adult. The accompanying adult in question is not in frame, and both their backs are initially turned, but at one point, the girl abruptly turns around to grab an item from a shelf and hold it up to show them.
The still had come from the moment she turned around.
“Leon, are you listening to me?”
“No.” He answers gruffly. Before Hunnigan could have a conniption, he adds: “Give me a second. Just looking at something.”
Part of him doesn’t want to continue, but the writing on the wall is difficult to ignore. If his math is correct, then Leon knows exactly where the child’s connection comes from.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
His elbows plant firmly on his desk as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Even in the silence as Hunnigan waits, Leon’s ears ring alongside the erratic beat of his heart; soon enough, a headache would follow.
“Leon?”
“Get a base stationed in Savannah and get some backup out there.” His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth as he speaks. Despite the water bottle sitting to his left, he chooses to open his drawer and pull out a half-finished bottle of bourbon that he usually saves for the occasional lonesome spiral. “I’ll fly out in two days. No sudden moves. Just have them get close enough to survey the area and report back until I get there.”
“All right…I can do that.” She scoffs when Leon procures a glass from the same drawer and pours the drink without hesitation. “Am I missing something here?”
“Yeah. But I don’t have time for you to get really cool about a bunch of stuff in the next minute.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means…” Leon trails off, downing the contents of the glass in one go and squeezing his eyes shut for a beat before letting out a cough. “It means I need to make a call.”
Before Hunnigan can add to his growing headache, he ends the call.
FIC TAGS: divorced, exes to lovers, angst, secret child, hurt/comfort, forced proximity, miscommunication.usual re violence, human & medical experimentation, typical re experimentation on children, cultish themes ❗ FULL INFO ON MASTERLIST PAGE ❗
← ✶ CH 6 ✶ MASTERLIST
✶ CH. WORD COUNT: 3,419
You follow Claire out of the firing range with at least a mild sense of catharsis. Stepping out into the hallway, you find that Chris’s methods of avoiding a charge have some merit now that your shoulders feel more relaxed, despite the slight ache in your shoulderblades and wrists from the rapid recoil.
His parting words linger as you try to mentally pinpoint the subtle shift in his stony expression, as if he were speaking from experience.
Whether or not it’s the case, you don’t think it would be productive or appropriate to pry when you’ve known each other for less than a day. Even as you grow more comfortable in Claire’s presence, you doubt she’d want to speak on her brother’s behalf.
Instead of heading back to the conference room, Claire leads you through a set of automatic double doors. You’re in a concrete courtyard surrounded by four walls making up four separate wings to the building. There’s some greenery in the form of strategically planted trees and bushes separating benches and picnic tables – likely a popular break spot.
“Thought you might want some fresh air after and before being cooped up,” she says as you find a picnic table that is properly shielded behind some of the shrubbery.
“What if Rebecca can’t guilt trip him into bringing me along?” You ask quietly.
“I thought about that too, but it doesn’t really matter.”
“Doesn’t it?” You ask, looking at her with a raised brow.
“Nah.” Claire grins. “At the end of the day, Chris, Rebecca, and I aren’t tied down to Leon’s agenda or rules. We’re friends, sure, but team-ups like this are voluntary. Usually, we just happen to find him out in the field because it all comes down to us working for the same cause.”
Your lips part slightly to ask what she means, but you quickly realize what she’s implying and you can’t help but smile.
“So you mean…”
“...if it’s what you want, we’re dragging you along whether he likes it or not. I already told Chris as much and he’s always down to bust Leon’s balls – all in good fun, of course.”
You cover your mouth to hide the grin, still feeling a pang of guilt for showing any emotion beyond some appropriate form of grief.
When you lower your hand, that guilt shifts its focus. “To be honest, I do feel a little bad for causing some kind of rift. You’ve been friends since…before I even met him.”
Calculating the time between the initial outbreak and meeting Leon, you find some of that guilt already waning. They’d all just been another hidden chapter of his life. You’re certain if you’d met Claire back then, you might have clicked under different circumstances.
“Yeah, but there’s always something.” Her mouth twists and she rolls her eyes. “We weren’t exactly on speaking terms before he called us.”
“Why’s that?”
Claire sighs and props her elbows on the table. “As you know, Leon kinda has an…obligation to follow different rules. I do a lot of humanitarian work and Chris started the BSAA. Fundamentally, we all want the same thing, but once Leon’s involved, we know we’ll have a hard time exposing some of the shit we’ve seen. It isn’t his fault and we get it, but it can get annoying.”
She cracks her knuckles and then adds, “Something like that came up a couple of years ago, and we lost touch until…yesterday, pretty much. Of course we already had some intel on Georgia, so we were bound to cross paths. We decided to merge ‘em when he told us about you and Stella – I gathered it was because he broke one of those rules when you two got together.”
Your steady breathing stalls on a small, involuntary gasp.
“It doesn’t excuse the lies, but he is a good guy.” Her voice softens. “Chris went missing in ‘98 and I went looking for him; I ran into Leon in the middle of the outbreak by chance. Raccoon City was already too far gone but Leon didn’t hesitate to help me and Sherry and do what he could for a doomed city in spite of it all. When I ended up in a situation in Europe while still looking for Chris, Leon was the first person I contacted. I finally found my brother, in no small part, thanks to his help; so no matter how fucking stubborn and infuriating he can be, I'm glad he at least knew we wouldn’t leave him hanging over something like this.”
You swallow, feeling your shoulders fall and relieve some of the tension still lingering, and reach over to place a hand on Claire’s.
“I didn’t get to properly thank you. Hell, you didn’t even know me and you were willing to help. I hope I can repay that someday.”
She shakes her head and places her free hand over yours, patting it reassuringly. “There’s nothing to repay. A lot of the time, there’s more risk than reward with these cases – we were all there where it all started. We’ve seen what happens and we’ve lost a lot of people along the way, but we keep pushing because we care.”
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“I won’t beat around the bush here, though.” Claire lowers her voice. “The public knows what they’re allowed to know, but the details are hazy. It will be dangerous and there’s a chance you’re going to see some nightmarish shit. I’m talking literal monsters o-or…people in advanced stages of decay who wanna…take a bite out of you.”
An involuntary laugh falls from your lips, but you’re sure Claire can read the newfound concern on your face. “What, like zombies?”
She doesn’t answer. Part of you is glad for it, but a simple no would be so welcome right now. You stutter for a second and close your eyes as your brain attempts to accept this information and you almost feel stupid for saying, “I-I’ve seen a lot of horrible stuff in the ER, so I’m not exactly squeamish.”
“That’s…a start.” Claire nods, reverting back to a more soothing tone, but you feel her grip on your hand tighten as if she’s expecting you to bolt out of the courtyard any second now. “For now, there hasn’t really been evidence of any of that. The goal is and will be to find Stella and any other missing people. Rebecca used to be a medic and I’m sure she could use the help if it comes down to that, but if Leon – or anyone – tells you to run or shoot, please…”
She trails off, almost breathless and all you can do is nod once. Claire seems satisfied and gives your hand another squeeze before letting go just as the hiss of an automatic door announces Rebecca’s arrival.
You’ve noticed that no matter the circumstance, Rebecca’s default state doesn’t stray from ‘cheerful.’ Given what you just learned, you wonder how someone can go on in such a state after bearing witness to actual nightmares.
She approaches when she spots you, planting her hands atop the end of the table as she glances from you to Claire with a look of smug satisfaction.
“Good news! We won’t have to smuggle you outta here.”
Claire huffs in amazement. “That was quick.”
“Well, I had to ease in – make him feel bad for the money I spent on coffee he didn’t drink and then casually sprinkle in how sad I am for you and Stella, and how I couldn’t imagine having to wait two whole weeks just to stand by a little longer, blah blah.” Rebecca gestures a talking motion with her hand and giggles. “He’s waiting for his base crew to confirm, and then we should be good to go.”
“I-Impressive,” you stutter, blinking.
“I’m gonna have to wait a bit to get some blood samples since Leon also admitted to giving you a drink – not that I blame you! But I gave him grief for that, too.”
Your lips press together, suppressing a huff of amusement as you look from Claire to Rebecca. “I’m starting to feel like I was too hard on him.”
You can’t help the laughter that follows when both girls yell “Fuck no!” and “Absolutely not!” respectively.
𝙻𝙴𝙾𝙽
It’s late afternoon by the time comms confirms they are clear, having set up at a midway point off the main road connecting Savannah to Mosston’s perimeter.
Leon has avoided the rest of the group in the hour given to prepare any last minute necessities, only sparing a glance at Chris to narrow his eyes in silent accusation.
Thanks for nothing, man.
He locks himself up in one of the empty rooms, hoping the silence will quell the headache that hasn’t gone away since the discovery, but forces his strained vision to pour over some of Stella’s records in silence.
It doesn’t help. There had already been a sense of guilt and shame gnawing at the pit of his stomach upon realizing he was a father, amplified further when you’d abruptly appeared after six years of separation.
Leon hoped more insight might help him connect with a missing piece of himself, but it only helps to exacerbate his growing frustration.
Stella’s report cards were impressive, and the awards equally so. At surface level, the medical labs had shown that she was healthy – that, at least, brought him a sense of comfort in knowing that he hadn’t somehow damaged her with his exposure to the T-virus.
It was all very official, very clinical, and frustratingly impersonal; useful for Leon the agent or Rebecca the doctor, but useless if he was looking to connect with Stella without being met with a fortress of resistance – justifiably so.
Leon had spent the last day in his own mental prison, doing what he could in preparation for the case while grappling with everything he’d missed and pushing away the fear of never getting to make up for lost time.
As much as he was praised for his merits, most have been pyrrhic victories, benefiting the greater good while adding another name to the list of people he couldn’t save along the way. Leon sees them every night still, and part of him fears having to drown it all out with alcohol-induced sleep to avoid having to see the daughter who he might fail like all the others.
Leon allows himself an hour to think of all their faces. It was some kind of self-induced torture; a way to hold himself accountable and naively promise himself that he would not add another face to the roster, even if another face would inevitably etch itself into his memories and nightmares.
By the time he and the rest of the group are in the jet for a torturous four hour flight, Leon has reverted to his default state.
It isn’t until he braves a glance in your direction and sees that you’ve finally allowed sleep to overtake you that he feels comfortable closing his eyes.
𝚈𝙾𝚄
You wake up feeling the pressure in your ears pop as you yawn deeply. You’re groggy enough to want to stretch the nap a little longer and your entire body feels like it’s made of lead, which must mean you’ve actually fallen into your first deep sleep in God knows how long.
The jet is still in the air with no notice of an upcoming descent, so you consider falling back asleep, crossing your arms and sinking into the plush cushion of your seat; you’re thankful that you at least didn’t have to bear the flight in day-old clothes after Claire and Rebecca pointed you to the locker rooms for a well-deserved hot shower.
You straighten, however, when you see Leon exit the cockpit and make his way down the spacious cabin. He seems to notice you’re awake as well and pauses for a second before continuing. You believe he might just walk past you, but blink in surprise when he pauses again and turns toward you, one hand resting on the overhead storage bin above you.
“Hey, you’re awake. Need some water? A snack?”
“Uh, yeah. Water would be fine,” you answer quietly. “Thanks.”
Leon disappears briefly and returns with both. You take the water and set the bag of chips aside to screw the cap off.
“Mind if I sit here?” He motions toward the seat across from yours.
Yes.
“No.” You shake your head before taking a drink and nearly sighing with relief when it clears the cotton mouth.
You look out the window as he sits down, grasping for a casual topic of conversation now that there was definitely no way you were going back to sleep.
“Do we still have long?”
“‘Bout half an hour before we have to prepare for landing.”
“Cool.” You take several long sips from the water bottle.
“I read through some of Stella’s records.”
Thank God you’ve already set the water down or else you might have choked; not because he mentioned it, but because you feared the topic of conversation might veer toward a sore memory while the rest of the group slept in their respective spots.
All you can say is, “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Your eyes dart in his direction for just a second when you see him turn to look out his own window from your peripheral.
Is he smiling?
“Six years old and in third grade? That makes her what – three years ahead?”
“Well, she’d argue that she’s six and a half.” Your eyes still feel heavy from exhaustion, but for once, it doesn’t hurt to smile. “She missed the birth year cut-off for her age group, so she’s technically two years ahead…but she completely skipped the first grade, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”
Your smile falters and you speak softly as you add, “Stell’s a special kid. Being a genius just happens to be on the list, too.”
“Well, I know she didn’t get that from me,” Leon mutters with a roll of his eyes. That takes you by surprise, and you both laugh quietly.
“Yeah, probably not,” you say lightly.
“If that’s the case, I think she’s gonna love Rebecca.” He still keeps his gaze fixated outside the window and you’re somewhat thankful for it. It makes conversation easier. “I heard she got her degree at eighteen.”
“Really?” That takes you by surprise, but you suppose Rebecca did seem youthful compared to the rest of the group – at least younger than the average doctoral candidate. “You know, now that I think about it, Stella would definitely feel at ease with Rebecca.”
Leon finally looks at you, his brows furrowed slightly. “Does she usually not feel at ease with people?”
“Oh – no, she’s actually a social butterfly.” You wave your hand dismissively and shrug. “Stell’s just…I don’t know. Special. She can read anyone like an open book – it’s been that way since she could talk, really, maybe even before. Imagine having to explain to your four-year-old why you – the adult – lied about being sad when you’re obviously sad…and then getting an earful because you’ve always taught her the importance of honesty…”
You grow quieter as you speak and clear your throat. Yes, your four-year-old. Your six-year-old – but also his.
“Seems like you did a great job with her. I’m really glad she has you.” Leon smiles, but you can’t read his expression in the darkness of the cabin. Something in his voice sounds strained, though.
“I tried my best. I don’t think I could have done it without Liv and my friends at work, though.”
It isn’t meant as a jab – you hope he doesn’t take it as one. Leon speaks before you can say as much, seemingly unaffected.
“Liv’s still around then?”
“Yeah, of course.”
He nods once. “I’m glad, then. Guess I’ll have to thank her when I see her.”
Thankfully, he can’t see you in the dark either as your eyes narrow. “When you see her?”
“Well, yeah. You said you wanted to give Stella an open in case she wanted me in her life. If that’s something she does want –”
“ –oh!” You straighten. “I-I’d be fine with that. I think she’d like that, too.”
“Really?” He asks softly.
“Really.”
“I won’t fight for joint custody or anything if that’s something you’re worried about…but I would like to visit and get to know her.” Leon leans back and crosses his arms. “We can do things at your comfort level – supervision or not. I’ll just follow your lead.”
The cotton mouth has returned, but the corners of your lips are still tugged in a small smile as you nod. Your voice is barely audible over the jet’s engine. “Of course. We can talk about that after…all of this.”
You sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes when suddenly you straighten and pull your bag out from under your seat to grab the folder you’d hidden from Leon. He looks confused when you hold it toward him.
“If you wanna get to know Stella, I think these are a pretty good starting point until you meet her.”
Carefully, he takes it and your eyes meet in the exchange. The smile that mirrors yours feels genuine and offers the first bit of hope that all will be well in the end. You want to imagine that after the awkward hurdle of unresolved tension, you might actually see yourself co-parenting with Leon. Maybe one day, you’ll even be willing to call him a friend.
“Thank you…” Leon’s voice is quiet as he holds the folder and sets it on his lap. He then picks it up again as if debating whether he should look through its contents in front of you.
“There’s something else…” The thought hadn’t even occurred to you amid all the chaos and truth bombs. When Claire had mentioned it, it went completely over your head at first, given how you’d grown accustomed to it since Stella was still in diapers.
Leon waits for you to continue and you take a deep breath.
“Stella’s special in a lot of ways. I didn’t even consider it until Claire mentioned Sherry…” It almost feels crazy to say, but after talking about monsters and zombies, well…all those years of keeping this quiet feel silly by comparison. “When she started to learn how to walk, I’d take her to the park. I looked away for a second one day – just a second – to grab her diaper bag. She was unbuckled and managed to crawl out of her stroller. Luckily, I guess, she landed on the bench and not the ground, but she cut her forehead on the way down.”
That memory alone makes you want to crawl out of your skin, and you irrationally hope the brief misstep didn’t suddenly change Leon’s decision to not fight for custody.
“She was fine, thankfully…but a day later, when I went to check, the cut looked like a fresh scar. Another day and it was just gone.”
“Oh?” Leon asks quietly.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Obviously, it’s something I’ve kept an eye on. Stella’s careful, but she’s still a kid. Any scrape or cut doesn’t really last more than a day – even less at times.”
“That’s…different.” Leon grips his chin as if deep in thought. “We can let the others know when we’re on the ground.”
You’re not sure what to make of his reaction, or lack thereof, but something in his ear seems to be the answer as Leon lifts two fingers against a hidden earpiece.
“Yeah Hunnigan, what’s up?”
You buckle your seatbelt, buzzing with newfound adrenaline as the inevitable descent approaches, but it quickly reverts to uncertainty when you see Leon’s facial expression fall before he stands abruptly, Stella’s folder still clutched tightly in his hand.
“Have ‘em on alert. Get forensics out there and find us a new safe site fast. We’ll be on the ground soon.”
“Leon?” You ask, your voice shaking as you take in his state. He’d begun to pace the small area and appeared unsettled.
Forensics?
“What’s going on?” You hear Claire’s groggy voice behind you, along with additional movement that hinted that Rebecca and Chris were probably up as well.
Leon spares an apologetic glance in your direction and then looks at the others, his voice thick and strained.
“One of our men found Agent Grier at base…h-he’s dead.”
FIC TAGS: divorced, exes to lovers, angst, secret child, hurt/comfort, forced proximity, miscommunication.usual re violence, human & medical experimentation, typical re experimentation on children, cultish themes ❗ FULL INFO ON MASTERLIST PAGE ❗
← ✶ CH 3 ✶ MASTERLIST
✶ CH. WORD COUNT: 3,360
You’ve lost track of time between sitting idly and packing a bag with necessities. It isn’t until at least a couple of hours in that you realize you aren’t even sure where you’re going or for how long. The realization brings forth a new frustration over not having asked at least a handful more questions.
There are breaks in packing wherein you sit paralyzed on the couch or Stella’s bed again, your mind occupied with the usual retracing of steps and how things could have been different.
This time around, however, the outcome in these reveries isn’t as tragic or morbid. Until the call, you had undoubtedly begun the process of anticipatory grief. The tight hold it has on your chest is still ever present, but has calmed, and you feel that it doesn’t hurt as much to breathe.
You do believe him – that is what it all comes down to, and each time, the thought is enough to free you from resuming a catatonic state.
You grab any relevant traveling documents needed for yourself and Stella’s behalf. Many include pediatric and academic assessment records, but you stop to wonder whether there are a few of Stella’s things that Leon might want to see; memories and evidence that she was – no, is – a remarkable human being beyond a statistic in a cruel world.
A few of Stella’s drawings come to mind, still displayed like art pieces in their frames. As you grab a select few throughout her room, you can’t help but smile. The feeling tugs at the corners of your mouth painfully as you realize you can’t even pinpoint the last time you smiled.
Beyond excelling academically from a young age, Stella’s creativity blossomed as well. With her ability to see the world around her uniquely, Liv had been the one to suggest letting Stella express herself through the medium, since she couldn’t yet fully verbalize what she saw in others, or “around” them.
Her drawings were always childish in nature, but the colors had always been intentional. At age four, she would dream up basic, made-up fantasy towns, or her own vision of Imaginary Friend “Angel,” usually depicted in muted yellow or soft pink, but ultimately faceless.
When she drew stick figures representing the two of you, you were often surrounded in sky blue or mint green. You would eventually come to realize that the darker shades of blue meant she caught you in a depressive state, and she seemed to model her interactions based on how she perceived your mood that day. Coincidentally around that time was when you finally agreed to accompany Liv to her guided meditation sessions.
Stella being so observant at such a young age, no matter how impressive, scared you at first; and her ability to excel academically made you fear for how others might treat her or use her empathy to their advantage. However, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Stella didn’t mold herself to manipulate, lie, or gain an advantage; she observed and approached an interaction accordingly. Those around her the most – whether it be your co-workers, her classmates, or school faculty – saw her as approachable and trustworthy; a teacher had even called her diplomatic.
At some point in the past two weeks, you have considered whether Stella’s greatest gift might have been the reason for her disappearance. You begin to linger on it now, but then busy yourself with stacking the drawings you’d collected and adding them to the folder with her records.
A photo album holding some of her milestones – developed over the years from several disposable cameras – are added to the stack of memories. You encourage glancing at them for no more than a second before tucking them away and out of view for now.
Once the memories are gathered alongside several changes of clothes and necessary toiletries, you realize you want to add a piece of Stella for yourself to hold as a reminder that you’ll return it to her once you are reunited.
A favorite stuffed rabbit rests atop Stella’s usual spot on the bed. You’ve spent most of the last two weeks holding it, as it was the only thing that helped you sleep more than a couple of hours.
Your fingers brush over the stuffed animal’s head. The plush fur has retained most of its texture over the years. One of its floppy ears had been patched with a piece of pink fabric since Stella loved gnawing on it as a baby and attempted to use it as a way to soothe her teething stage, loosening its stitches here and there in the process. The memory alone makes you lower to the edge of the mattress and hold it tight against your chest.
Just hold out hope a little longer.
You begin that usual descent when thankfully, the phone ringing on the bedside table pulls you out before you can sink too deep.
“Hello?”
“Hey, hun. Just checking in.” Liv. Of course. She’s been working overtime at the ER, ensuring you don’t have the added stress of work on your shoulders. Some of the other nurses have done the same, following Liv’s lead in providing a village since a time where you needed it the most.
You’d owe it to her to be honest, but Leon’s warning makes you reconsider.
“The usual,” you finally answer quietly. The bunny is still cradled in one arm. “Trying to sleep for more than an hour. It isn’t really working.”
“Well, have you eaten today? I can come by and cook –”
“No! No, Liv, it’s fine. Thank you.” Lying and rejecting her help borderline feel like a betrayal when she’d been so selfless. To soften the blow, you add, “I want you to be able to rest, too.”
“I know, I know,” she relents. “I just hate thinking about you sitting at home and I thought about maybe helping you look into a P.I. They might help us…find her faster, you know?”
Your lips part, but you aren’t even sure how to respond. Your stomach is in knots and all you can manage is a choked sound. Liv begins to apologize, but you swallow and interrupt.
“No, I-I’m so grateful, Liv, really. I think I just need to get some sleep right now and we can talk about it when my brain isn’t so fried, yeah?” A stray tear falls and you use the stuffed bunny’s ear to wipe it away. “Thanks for checking in. It means a lot. Really.”
The confession about the call earlier sits at the tip of your tongue, but you press your lips together and manage a quick, mutual “goodbye” before hanging up.
You breathe in and mutter “Sorry, Liv” before moving off the bed to finish packing what you need.
You’ve been lying on the couch long enough to doze off when you’re snapped awake by a knock on the door. You rub your eyes and focus on the digital clock on the console to see it’s three in the morning and the only source of illumination is currently coming from a single lamp.
Another knock pulls you from your groggy state completely. Realization gives you a surge of adrenaline that pulls you to your feet, your mind racing with the thought that you are one step closer to finding Stella than you have been in the past two weeks. You don’t even think to look through and peek at your visitor as you practically yank the door open the moment it’s unlocked.
Standing on the other side of the threshold is a pretty brunette woman in a ponytail, dressed casually in jeans and a red jacket. She smiles warmly.
“I’m so sorry for the time. We tried to get here as quickly as possible. I’m Claire Redfield.” She holds a hand out, but you glance down the hall to her left and right. “Oh gosh. If Leon didn’t call you, I’m going to –”
“– No – I mean, yeah! Sorry. It’s just you said we…” You close your eyes momentarily and shake her hand, introducing yourself. “He did call. I am expecting a Claire…and I appreciate you so much.”
You sound like you’re overcompensating, and she seems to notice enough to lay a comforting hand on your shoulder before looking past you and into the apartment.
“Hey, it’s what we’re here for. And by we, yeah – my brother Chris is waiting in the rental. Can I help you grab anything?”
You nod, recognizing the name as well, and your shoulders drop from their tense state as you motion toward the luggage you’d packed. Atop it were your personal bag and a backpack. “I don’t have much, really. I don’t even know whether I underpacked or overpacked.”
“To be honest, you never really know, but this looks like a good starting point. I’m sure you won’t need a whole lot, anyway.” Claire sounds optimistic as she shoos you away from grabbing anything but your bag and leads the way.
You hesitate, wanting to ask more or get clarification on anything, but the urgency of the matter is enough to get you to spare no more than a glance into your apartment before locking it behind you and following Claire toward the elevator.
A couple of hours later, aside from being filled in on the basics, you remain mostly silent in the back of a black sedan with tinted windows.
The secretive nature of everything feels disturbing to say the least. Claire insisted that Leon would cover all necessary inconsistencies on his end, and the reminder of an eventual reunion is almost enough to ask Chris to turn back so you can find a P.I. instead as Liv suggested.
You’ve heard of the BSAA and TerraSave in passing, the latter of which had dealt with the corrupt practices of WilPharma, whose presence had initially been prominent in Arklay City given its proximity to Raccoon City.
You take comfort in knowing that both Chris and Claire work for noble causes who have, on record, helped those in danger of crimes that are never fully detailed in the media. The comfort is short-lived when you realize how they correlate and what that could mean.
Bioterrorism is still a fairly recent stain in history and medical books. Your own education had shifted drastically at the eventual uncovering of some events, but only after they had been dealt with. The false sense of security these accounts provided meant that they were never at the forefront of anyone’s mind despite the fact that there was a very real possibility of an event occurring at present.
The Redfields’ involvement in certain events makes it easy for you to connect the dots. Claire gave a vague account of how she met Leon to fill the silence at one point, which now made all three involved with Raccoon City in one way or another.
The revelation has you asking Chris to pull over at one point. He hasn’t spoken beyond the initial introduction, but silently complies long enough to allow you to pace a few feet away and then back toward the car, breathing in the dawn air for the sake of steadying the growing panic. Claire gives you space, but stands outside the passenger seat – probably to ensure you aren’t prone to hysterics enough to be considered a flight risk.
“So, you all work for the government,” you blurt at some point as the sunrise brightens your surroundings. You spot your bloodshot eyes in the rearview and shift to sit behind Claire to avoid having to see yourself in such a state.
“No…” Claire trails off, then tilts her head. “Chris and I don’t work for the government.”
You don’t need her to spell it out for you.
The next hour or so of the ride, you manage to get some sleep while clutching Stella’s bunny in your arms before Claire gently wakes you up. As you blink through the exhaustion and notice the private jet waiting on a tarmac, you don’t even question it. If you did now, there wouldn’t be a way for you to step outside for fresh air unless they’re planning ahead for the possibility with a parachute.
Claire is vigilant, prepared for any questions, but you spend the flight curled in your seat with the window’s screen down. The couple of times you’ve glanced over at Chris have you wondering whether the man ever shows any emotion at all. He’s as much the same as he was in the car - sat upright, stone-faced, and avoiding eye contact.
What is this guy’s deal?
You shrug it off and close your eyes, trying to force sleep that does not come.
You have no sense of where you are by the time you reach a lone concrete building with rows of reflective windows. The security getting through is insane, but thankfully handled without you having to give much more than your name. The amount of time spent traveling has been a blur, your legs numb from spending most of the journey sitting still, and you can’t will them to move by the time the Redfields have exited and collected your belongings from the trunk.
Alone in the car and sitting in complete silence, your stomach begins to tighten and your ability to breathe feels inhibited by the seatbelt, which you quickly unclip and shove off hard enough for it to clink against the tinted window. You try to control your breathing as it borders on hyperventilation and prop your elbows on your knees as you bury your face in your hands. After a few seconds in this state, a soft knock on the glass makes you inhale sharply as the door opens just a crack and Claire peeks inside.
“Just wanted to say take all the time you need. I know it’s…”
“ – a lot,” you choke out, your palms still facing upward in case you need to catch yourself again. “It’s a lot, Claire!”
You can’t stay inside this car. Claire seems to sense it and stands back as you grab what you need from the backseat and step outside. You can only hope no one is watching you from the windows as you cover your mouth and attempt to steady your breathing. Your legs feel like lead as you pace. Chris and Claire stand sentinel in front of you.
“My daughter’s missing, and after years of searching for ‘Leon Kent’ and turning up nothing, I just happen to get a call. And somehow the government and bioterrorism play into this? I feel like I have all these pieces that add up, but I can’t make any sense of them because this doesn’t. Make. Sense. And I feel like I’m losing my mind and all sense of reason. I mean, who the hell just gets on a plane with strangers? Am I serious??”
You trail off before you can devolve into a one-sided conversation and stop pacing to look up at the siblings, exasperated. Claire’s lips are parted, but she’s glancing at Chris as if debating whether she should speak.
Then she sighs and squints when she looks at you. “K-Kent?”
You have the bunny in one hand and your bag in the other, and clench both tighter as your arms fall limp at your sides. Your scoff borders on a stunned laugh when you respond flatly. “His name isn’t even Leon.”
“W-well–” Claire inches back and Chris lets out an exasperated sigh.
“Leon Kennedy. May as well just get that out of the way.”
Claire moves to grab you as you push past Chris, but he holds her back, allowing your feet to force you forward as they opt instead to follow close behind to ensure that the boiling pit of rage building up reaches its target.
𝙻𝙴𝙾𝙽
“I thought you said you were getting coffee,” Leon mutters gruffly, leaning against the long table in one of the conference rooms vacated for their debriefing.
Several documents and reports – a mix of Grier’s findings thus far and connected cases – lay scattered despite Rebecca’s attempts to keep things as organized as possible.
Leon has barely gotten any sleep, evident in today’s dependency on energy drinks and burnt office coffee. Rebecca had gone out to fetch something palatable, resulting in Leon’s current attempts to sip a frozen, sugary drink out of a straw.
“It has coffee in it. Maybe a little sugar will do you some good since you’ve been bitter since I got here.”
His head snaps back toward Chris’s advisor and former S.T.A.R.S. team member, nose wrinkled in annoyance as she types away at her laptop, maintaining her giddy demeanor despite the jab.
“I’m not bitter.”
“Sure.” Then her hands pause over the keyboard. “Though, I guess I should have stopped to ask if you know how your friend takes her coffee. From what Chris has told me, she’s going to need something stronger.”
“And I don’t?”
“Well, I know you’ve been processing a lot of this with spirits, so I’m not going to push our luck here.”
“I’ve been good today.”
“And thank goodness for that!”
Leon turns his back on her and bites down on the straw to temper his annoyance. He’s grateful, of course, and it’s moments like these where he has to remind himself of that fact. Rebecca and the Redfields already have a vested interest in the investigation, yet they had in no way been obligated to assist Leon in his personal matters despite the connection to a bigger picture.
“For what?”
Confused, Leon turns to look at Rebecca again, but sees that she has a hand over her earpiece. Her brows knit together before she turns an amused look toward Leon. “Chris says brace for impact.”
“Huh?”
Rebecca props her head in her hand and she doesn’t respond, instead looking past him toward the conference room door.
Leon has enough sense to set the drink down and straighten, reflexively reaching for his holster as the door slides open and three figures walk in.
Frozen with one hand hovering across his chest, the Redfields’ presence only registers for a moment before his gaze fixes on the third figure bolting right toward him. His stomach feels like lead when he notes the ire in your gaze directed at him like a sniper’s beacon, weighing him down as he sinks into the nearest chair with both his palms now raised in defense.
Maybe now is not the best time to take in your disheveled state and linger on pleasant nostalgia, but he manages just a glimpse of happier moments before you’re standing before him, fuming.
“Kennedy?! Who the hell is Leon Kennedy??”
Leon sobers enough to look at the others with wide eyes. Claire’s arms are crossed, and it seems she’s directing a glare directly at him alongside you. Rebecca gathers a few documents and stands, moving past him as if his life weren’t on the line.
Rebecca ducks slightly as she passes the two of you and says, “Hiiii, I’m Dr. Rebecca Chambers, but you can call me Rebecca – but we’ll catch up soon! So nice to meet you!”
“No! No, no –” The other three freeze on their way out as you point a finger in their direction, though Leon is still frozen in place…bracing for impact. “– I have been so patient withholding a million questions that clearly the four of you will be able to answer, and I am done waiting!”
“We’ll answer all the questions you want, but I’m not going to sit in a room with the two of you until you’ve settled…” Chris doesn’t finish, but motions vaguely at the dramatics on display. “We’ll be next door until then.”
Chris motions toward the door behind him and the women take that as their cue to leave, though Leon hears Rebecca mutter something like “Are you sure?”
Leon thinks about ordering all the sugary caffeinated bullshit drinks Rebecca wants for throwing him a line, but it snaps the moment Chris leads her out and says casually, “He’s diffused a bomb before.”
FIC TAGS: divorced, exes to lovers, angst, secret child, hurt/comfort, forced proximity, miscommunication.usual re violence, human & medical experimentation, typical re experimentation on children, cultish themes ❗ FULL INFO ON MASTERLIST PAGE ❗
← ✶ CH 7 ✶ MASTERLIST
✶ CH. WORD COUNT: 4,129
A/N: So sorry for the delay. I was out of town but literally wrote this chapter and half of the next on my Notes app between three delayed flights and one canceled flight. (': I'M SORRY, THIS ONE GETS A LITTLE SILLY AND TROPEY, but I needed something lighter before the residents start getting evil, and I'm a pantser, so yes, the addition of these minor side characters came to me at the airport because I get a little silly like that sometimes. I should have the next within the next few days once I finish and look over it as well. THANK YOU GUYS!
❗ LIGHT TRIGGER WARNING for blood test/needle mention because reader gets her blood drawn at the beginning. It isn't detailed, but just in case.
You’ve lost track of the amount of time spent on the now-parked jet, but the additional delay has begun to take its toll. The aircraft’s confined area feels suffocating despite the air conditioning, not helped by the humid southern air that not even shut blinds can fully prevent.
If it hadn’t been for the sudden change of plans, you may have just deplaned on your own. Stella was so damn close, but if the possibility of danger had been uncertain at best, the death of Agent Grier has only confirmed it.
As much as you begged Leon to keep you in the loop moving forward, you’d come to regret it the moment he shared this particular development. The details had been murky at best because according to him, there had been no indication that anyone would know where to find the base.
Agent Grier was left at the doorstep with a fatal wound between the eyes, discovered by another agent during a midday swap. The lack of any evidence so far has been the reason for the delay as the others scramble to find evidence and an alternative safe spot.
The time on Rebecca’s watch reads just after seven. No wonder you’re going stir-crazy – as if you weren’t already.
Leon and the Redfields have been discussing the next course of action closer to the cockpit while you sit in your seat across from Rebecca, a fold-up table separating you as she preps a tray with vacutainers, syringes, and needles. When you offer to help, she all but shoos your hand out of the way.
“You’re off the clock. I’m not gonna make you work,” she mutters lightly, then adds with a flat smile: “I’m also going to need the leg-shaking to stop.”
“Sorry…” You haven’t even realized it until the sudden stillness makes your jaw clench.
“It’s okay.” Rebecca fastens a tourniquet around your upper arm. “I’m sure we’ll be free soon – may as well make the wait count, right?”
“Yeah.” Your voice quivers and you wince at the sting, but you keep looking straight ahead. Leon and Chris are speaking in hushed tones that don’t carry across the space while Claire seems to offer occasional input, apparently mediating as she holds a hand up between them to interrupt them.
“I looked over Stella’s labs again.”
Rebecca’s conversational tone shifts your gaze to hers, but she’s focused on switching tubes out.
“She’s healthy, of course, but I didn’t spot anything that would explain the healing.” Her eyes shift upward for a second, then back down. “Although, I didn’t see a serology panel and I’m sure she may have inherited antibodies from Leon at the very least.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think…” You tense up, a few nonsensical stutters making you pause with a sharp sigh until you get a grip. “...I mean, she mostly just went in for check-ups. Besides that, I didn’t worry about…maybe I should have –”
“You wanted to protect her. There’s no shame in that.” She responds softly and smiles. Your shoulders relax. “She’s lucky to have you.”
Your eyes burn and when you swallow, it feels like acid coating your throat. “After what happened, I was surprised when the labs came back looking normal – but it was a relief, I guess. You never know what people are capable of.”
Clearing your throat and tilting your head, you add dryly: “Well, I guess I do.”
“You can do everything right, but it won’t change all the wrong in the world.” Rebecca’s voice is almost a whisper and you can see her shake her head out of the corner of your eye. “Doesn’t stop us from trying to stop it, though; it’s a blessing and a curse.”
“And that agent?” Your voice finally breaks, but it seems you’ve grown so used to crying, you can control the need to fully give in with just a couple of deep breaths.
Rebecca has already finished and has moved on to halting the blood flow but she pauses while winding gauze around your arm to look up at you, her eyebrows drawn together as you continue.
“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. Leon wouldn’t have known to call me. I’d be home right now thinking I would never see Stella again because realistically…” The trembling of your lips makes you pause. When you try to take another deep breath, it feels like your lungs are filling with water. “...I know now that I can get her back…and all h-he got in return w-was a bullet to the h-head…”
You trail off as you punctuate the last few words with a couple of involuntary sobs as you notice the corners of Rebecca’s lips trembling.
“It’s…a thankless job,” Rebecca whispers.
“More risk than reward?” You ask dryly.
“Sadly, yes.” She carefully packs the samples and removes her gloves. “We all know the risk – as did the agent. It still doesn’t make it right or fair and it certainly doesn’t make it any easier, but it gives us a motive to continue for the sake of those lost along the way. We’ve been able to de-escalate a few catastrophes along the way because of people like Agent Grier.”
You shift in your seat and shake your head, but the others approach before you can respond. Ducking your head, you quickly brush away the mist clouding your vision.
“You all right?” Leon asks when your head lifts again.
“Define all right...” The words come out before you can think, and you draw in a breath. “I’d be happy to get off this plane finally.”
“That’s why we’re here!” Claire chimes in, a bit strained.
“Well, I’m just about done here. I’m gonna go pack up and get these to the lab.” Rebecca grabs her materials and thanks you before carefully weaving past the others.
“So we have a new base?”
“Well, sort of…” Claire glances at the other two. “We’ll have to take some precautions. Some of Leon’s guys are gonna move in and keep an eye on things covertly now that Grier’s –”
She makes a face, but doesn’t need to finish for you to understand.
“It’ll be best if we all spread out.” Chris adds. “We have the benefit of avoiding eyes on us since we just got here but there’s too much hanging in the air for us to risk grouping up.
Your fingertips flex atop the table and you break out in a sweat that has nothing to do with the local climate.
“I’m not going back.”
“Obviously.”
“Chris.” Leon speaks through gritted teeth and crosses his arms. The lines that appear as he grimaces soften when he looks at you. “You’re staying with me.”
Your lips part and close. The blood loss has clearly made you a bit woozy and it takes a second for you to search for a way to say no. Finally, you scoff. “What about Claire?”
“She’s coming with me,” Chris mumbles. “‘less you wanna pair up with her as a meat shield when things go to shit.”
A choked sound escapes your throat but Claire shoves her brother into an aisle seat and all you can stupidly follow up with is, “Rebecca?”
“She’ll be close, but behind the scenes,” Claire says softly, but she’s side-eyeing Leon.
“I brought you here. I said I’d keep you safe. You’re not leaving my sight,” Leon declares, and you huff in response.
“If it was up to you, I wouldn’t even be here!”
“And that’s still an option, but I have a feeling you’ll say no.”
You throw your hands up. “Okay, whatever. Where the hell are we going? If I don’t get off this thing in the next minute, I’m gonna do something drastic.”
“There’s a B&B run by a couple of locals just east of town.”
“And you’re okay with that?!” You recall something about base being at least half an hour away.
Chris releases a long sigh as he straightens. “Woulda gone with the motel, but comms informed us it’s closed for remodeling. Convenient.”
“I don’t understand. Someone staying at that motel died!” You look from one to the other, exasperated.
“Like Claire said, we’re moving in now that things have escalated and hiding in plain sight might be our best shot for now. It’s also another reason why we can’t just waltz into town grouped up – might as well beg them to off us –”
“Your bedside manner is horrible,” you blurt out, and for once the perpetual wrinkle between Chris’s brows disappears for a beat.
Claire’s lips press together as she crosses her arms and looks down while the other two remain silent.
“Whatever, just get me out of here.”
You don’t wait for confirmation, moving past them and unintentionally bumping Chris’s larger form back toward the aisle seat.
You’re sick of traveling. It makes you feel like you’re rubber banding from one end of the country to the other with no end in sight. The unassuming rental car – a damned pickup truck – made you feel more tightly packed than the airplane.
With only a center console separating you from Leon, all you can do is fold into yourself, your knees pulled up and angled toward the right, and your arms crossed as you rest your head on the side and watch the blur of trees pass you by.
Suddenly you regret tossing both your personal bag and luggage onto the covered bed of the truck without thinking twice about it; holding Stella’s bunny right now would alleviate the tight pull of your shoulders and the bag could provide a decent enough barrier on the console.
“I’m sorry.” Leon breaks the silence, his fingertips drumming on the steering wheel. “We had a plan – didn’t expect whoever was ten steps ahead.”
You don’t doubt that Leon’s men were competent, but something about the discovery makes you feel exposed. Talking about it further when you’re so wound up doesn’t help.
“So, what – is this where we come up with code names?” You ask quietly.
The few seconds of silence makes you squirm in your seat.
“Maybe – if you want. These missions are time sensitive as soon as we have the sign to move in; an alias for a few hours to a day or two isn’t usually the norm.”
Leon pauses. The gravelly switch in his voice prevents you from asking about what exactly would warrant an alias as it gnaws at you. “Grier’s the sign. Just need a ‘who’ and ‘where’ before the clock starts ticking.”
“Hm.”
How quick are these missions really when you’ve been in limbo for more than two weeks? You hold your tongue only because you can’t stomach another back-and-forth. Your eyes actually feel heavy without having to force them shut.
What you need now is to just shut everything out.
“Wake me up when we get there,” you mutter and close your eyes.
There’s no immediate answer. You can’t help partially opening your eyes and turning your head just enough to look at him; Leon grips the steering wheel hard enough for you to see the superficial veins running the length of his forearm, but it’s only a split second before he relaxes his grip. You quickly shut your eyes again.
“You got it.”
All you hear after his response is the motor running, then a long sigh and some shuffling. Your curiosity finally gets the better of you and you turn your head and open your eyes fully to find a navy blue jacket that Leon had tossed in the cramped back seat now blocking your view of him.
You blink and think twice before slowly reaching for it, watching Leon as he keeps his eyes on the road.
“In case you need something to rest your head on,” he murmurs.
“Thanks,” you breathe and fold one sleeve of the jacket beneath your cheek, letting the rest of it drape over your front.
It’s a much better alternative to having your head roll this way and that on the side panel and you feel your body relax fully as you close your eyes.
There’s a familiarity in the woody, citrusy scent clinging to the jacket that you’re certain might make you sick if you weren’t so damn exhausted.
You barely have time to process it before nodding off with no effort.
“Hey – we’re here.”
Five more minutes, you think with a soft groan, turning your head toward the jacket’s fabric, drawing in a long breath.
God, that smells so –
You catch yourself mid-smile before your body tenses and straightens just as the driver’s side door shuts behind Leon, giving you a second to ground yourself and push the jacket off your lap.
The spike of energy that follows might be from your sudden erratic heartbeat or a result of the first successful nap you’ve had in far too long. Part of you wants to keep it going the moment you actually have a real bed to lie on – you’ll likely be playing the waiting game some more until another significant development pops up anyway, right?
As soon as you complete the thought, however, you feel your heart ache with the reminder of why you’re here in the first place.
A knock on the passenger’s side makes you jump and you look out the window to see Leon checking on you.
“You sleep okay?” He asks as you open the door and you nod, standing on wobbly legs and taking a moment to breathe in the fresh breeze after feeling trapped for so long.
“I’ll grab my stuff as soon as we check in,” you say hoarsely.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll get our stuff.”
“You really don’t have to –”
“You gave blood earlier and just woke up after an hour-long ride. I’d rather not risk injury.”
“I’m fine!”
Leon doesn’t entertain the argument further, tilting his head toward the house in front of you. “After you.”
You roll your eyes, looking forward instead about how you’re that much closer to a bed. Then you turn toward the cream colored Queen Anne-style home and gasp.
Suddenly, you’re almost grateful that you’re able to see the property just before the sun sets. You weren’t sure what to expect from a rural town you’d never heard of, but this home alone surpasses any expectations.
It’s no mansion, but the “Peachtree Inn, est. 1979” sign takes you by surprise given that the paint job seems brand new and the white accents adorning the circular tower, wraparound porch, and windows are a work of art in their own right.
It’s a lone building with acres of land spanning behind it that includes a pristinely curated orchard of peach trees and additional farmland with harvestables that you can’t make out from where you stand. A quick survey of the land shows just how isolated the area is, but when you turn, you see that the road Leon had driven descends reasonably – enough to offer a glimpse of a few buildings about a mile away and a few other residential homes scattered in the distant hills.
As you get closer, you see another sign hanging beneath the bed and breakfast’s name that says, “Home of Jessop Jams!”
“I don’t know what I expected,” you whisper.
“Not bad?” Leon’s lips lift in a half-smile as he ushers you to move ahead of him.
You choose to walk beside him instead. “It’s really nice, actually.”
“RENEE, WE GOT GUESTS.”
You jump and press your hand against your chest as a gruff male voice cuts through the serenity of your surroundings.
You don’t spot its source right away, but hear a series of beeps and a motor as a golf cart of all things appears from behind the home. A portly man in denim overalls with short, salt and pepper hair beneath a wide-brimmed hat is behind the wheel. His pristinely groomed handlebar mustache, however, must be one hell of an icebreaker.
There’s no time to react or even greet him as you hear the screen door open and a shrill voice answering: “Well, not if you scare them off, honey!”
A middle-aged woman with kind features and freckled, sun-kissed skin stands on the porch, looking over the railing at the man with hands planted firmly on her hips. She wears a pink tank top and ankle-length jeans beneath a floral apron, her dark hair pulled up in a high ponytail and hidden beneath a pink bandana.
“Not scared at all,” you laugh nervously.
“I might be a little scared.” Leon mutters under his breath before either can get close enough to hear, but you nudge his arm with your elbow as subtly as you can manage.
The woman then turns to you and offers a bright smile. “Hey there! I’m Renee. That kooky ol’ curmudgeon over there is my husband, Beau. Welcome to Peachtree Inn!”
“What’d you call me??”
You and Leon speak over each other, offering a long-winded “Hiii!” and “Thaaanks!” respectively.
The golf cart halts between Renee and the two of you, making you stop abruptly as Leon’s arm extends to block your way and keep you from moving further.
Beau looks Leon up and down and then huffs, turns off the ignition, and mumbles something under his breath as he rounds the cart.
“Got any bags you need help with?”
“We’ll be fine. Appreciate it.”
“F’you insist.” Beau doesn’t make much of an effort beyond that as he lifts his hands and shrugs, looking back at Renee. “I’m done here, then.”
Before Beau walks back to his cart, he tips his hat politely at you, then side-eyes Leon. You aren’t sure what to make of it, but it’s probably the closest thing to entertainment you’ve had in a while.
“But I’m jus’ warnin’ you now, son: mind yours and tone down whatever the hell’s got Nen all starry-eyed.”
“Sir, I just got here.” Leon answers flatly, but your ear perks at the amusement in his tone.
“And I been with my wife longer than you been alive. All’s I’m saying is you can afford to get a little ugly. Builds character.”
“You offering?”
Beau loops his thumbs through his overall straps and huffs in amusement, then turns to make his way up the porch steps. You exchange a look with Leon that has you both pursing your lips to keep from laughing as you follow.
The foyer and entrance to the home is tastefully decorated with not much more than a compact front desk by the stairs, a loveseat, and an area rug; the upkeep displayed on the outside of the home is just as noticeable indoors, with time-appropriate accents bringing the room together.
“Are y’all comin’ up from Savannah?” Renee asks.
“Heading down, actually,” Leon responds and you force a smile.
“Oh, you’re gonna love it – most people do, at least. If you’re stickin’ around, we also have a few brochures lined up. Mosston’s small, but we’ve got a cute historic town square with plenty to see. And y’all get to take a jar of our peach jam home with you. It’s complimentary when they’re in season –”
You’re half-listening as you read some of the brochure titles lining the front desk. There’s a few on the history of Mosston, others on seasonal water activities by the river, and some others advertising the shops at “Old Mosston’s” town square.
“– and if you love nature but hate hiking like Beau, the Spanish moss in town and on the road leading in is a hit with visitors. Might sound a bit weird, but I promise it’s a sight.”
“Guess we can branch out for a day.”
Your immediate reaction is to scoff and look at Leon, who seems satisfied with himself as Renee laughs.
“Well, thank goodness you got yourself a funny one. My Beau had me in stitches when we were goin’ steady.”
Realization dawns on you over what Beau said about Leon ‘minding’ his and you immediately stutter to deny it, but Leon interrupts.
“My ego definitely needed that, ma’am.”
She waves her hand as she takes Leon’s information, her tone relaxed but conversational. As she adds his name to the guest log, you don’t see very many names above it aside from ‘Alyssa A.’ dated about two months prior.
“So, are y’all on a couple’s trip? Just usin’ good ol’ PTO? Mayyyybe a honeymoon –”
“No!” You respond without thinking.
Renee’s still smiling, but her eyes widen as she looks at you. When you open your mouth to try for damage control, a strained noise comes out.
“I’m so sorry.” Renee groans and pinches her nose. “I get in the habit of askin’ too much but I know city folk like to keep to themselves sometimes. We don’t get a whole lotta guests at the tail end of summer usually and my customer service gets a bit rusty.”
Leon is handing her a card and your eyes dart from it to Leon and back again.
“And because I’m bein’ so damn nosy, I don’t mind offerin’ up our best for the same rate as our regular rooms.”
“That…won’t be necessary.” You laugh nervously. You feel Leon nudge your right side and you take a step to the left. “And we aren’t married.”
“Oh…?” Renee’s face grows red by the second and she covers her mouth. It’s clear she thinks she’s only digging herself deeper and it’s as endearing as it is mortifying for you. “I’m so sorry, I –”
“W-we aren’t married…” You feel your heart in your throat as you scramble for anything to say that might lessen the blow of this failed conversation. While Leon seems capable of lying without batting an eyelash, you’re slowly coming to the realization that might just back yourself into a corner for no reason and possibly fuck up the only temporary ‘base’ available. Not to mention, Renee’s obvious guilt alone makes you want to rethink your impulsiveness.
“...and because we aren’t married, I would prefer not sharing a room.”
You manage one self-congratulatory nod and a strained smile, nearly sighing with relief as you see realization dawn on Renee’s face.
“Well, that’s fine.” She laughs softly, her tone easing into something that you often used when Stella needed reassurance. “I know the south’s got a bit of a reputation, but we ain’t gonna judge if that’s the case, darlin’.”
“Aaaand…that’s so sweet.” Your hands flex at your sides and you hesitate before moving closer to Leon once again to wrap an arm around his lower back. “But it’s all right. He’s used to it.”
While your stance might give the illusion of closeness, you’re careful not to press into his side and Leon remains still despite the obvious muscle spasm beneath his ribs where you’d initially touched.
“Sorry, I should have led with that.” Leon makes a show of tapping his temple. “Been a long twenty-four…you can hold both rooms on the card, no problem.”
“Well, rest up. Usually we shoot for breakfast at nine, but I don’t mind going by what works for y’all.”
After the check-in process is completed, you’re practically rushing to grab your things. Renee leads you upstairs to your rooms, emphasizing – to your horror – that they’re adjacent and share a balcony that overlooks the orchard.
“Great. Thanks so much.” You say. After Renee gives a spiel about needing anything and dialing her extension if you need anything, you quickly thank her and wave a hand at Leon when she heads back downstairs.
“I need to sleep some more. See you tomorrow.”
You don’t wait for a response as you enter the room. You wait until you hear his own door shut before your shoulders drop and you set your things aside to survey the cozy area.
While you hadn’t seen any of the other rooms, it was clear that the theme of this one was some kind of deep, plum rococo style and a breathtaking view of the orchard from the home’s rounded tower windows. They fashioned a sitting area with upholstered chairs, a coffee table, and a loveseat while the bed sat dead center with a soft, plum-colored duvet and a matching bench at the end.
A second door with small windows leads out to the balcony, while a third on the opposite end of the room likely leads to the restroom. The decor is a little less extravagant, but you immediately make a mental note to get in the clawfoot bathtub as soon as you’re sure you won’t nod off inside it.
You didn’t expect such a gem in the middle of nowhere and the thought that Stella might love it is enough to carry your feet toward the bed where you lay face-down and close your eyes to avoid lingering on the reminder any longer.
→ ✶ CH 9
A/N: THANKS, GUYS. I HOPE YOU LIKED THIS ONE. I hope this story doesn't feel like it's dragging too much, but I promise the residents will certainly get evil in the near future. Also, stupid pointless side tangent, but I just really thought the golf cart would be a funny little thing and then realized that this is an RE fic, not freakin' Shaun of the Dead, and there is no way I'm going to have zombies swarming a golf cart because that visual is not on par with what I want out of this fic LMFAO okay I'm so sorry for the rambling today. <3
taglist: (comment this fic or like this post if you wanna be tagged for future chapters!)
FIC TAGS: divorced, exes to lovers, angst, secret child, hurt/comfort, forced proximity, miscommunication.usual re violence, human & medical experimentation, typical re experimentation on children, cultish themes ❗ FULL INFO ON MASTERLIST PAGE ❗
← ✶ CH 5 ✶ MASTERLIST
✶ CH. WORD COUNT: 2,638
After the revelation, you and Leon sit in uncomfortable silence before he finally takes the reprieve as a sign to usher the others back into the room.
You sit alone for a few minutes drying the remainder of your tears, still holding Stella’s toy close to your chest and avoiding the temptation of the untouched brandy beside you. The palpitations that accompanied your arrival have subsided and all that’s left is a lingering headache and tension in your eyes that is exacerbated by the confined space’s lighting.
When the others return, you’re grateful that they don’t pry and instead shift the focus to what matters most.
Claire has taken the seat beside you whereas Leon returned to the one he occupied originally, and you’re relieved by it, finding that her presence in all this unknown has been a comforting constant; she doesn’t push for a reaction or response. While Liv was something of a helicopter friend – which you are grateful for – there had been plenty of times where you needed to isolate away from the check-ins and the reminders that she’s here for you to breathe.
You know people care. You’ve been fortunate enough to have friends willing to uplift you when you need it the most, but distancing yourself from having to reassure others is a welcome respite.
Disappearing without notice, however … you’d get an earful if and when you returned with Stella.
Even so, Claire does not refrain from smiling reassuringly before turning her attention back to the discussion.
Rebecca Chambers introduces herself officially and explains her relation to the others in all this. The growing number of Raccoon City survivors only serves to spike your anxiety, but like Claire, Rebecca is able to lessen the heavy mood in an otherwise anxiety-inducing situation.
You try to remain focused, but zone out on occasion as they review the intelligence gathered by the missing agent thus far – at least all the stuff that prefaces where your own interests lie.
The details regarding the 1998 incident are vague at best, and at this point, you’re grateful, if only because it doesn’t plant an additional seed of distress in the back of your mind.
You are aware that the outbreak was viral in nature. Additional education had been provided by the hospital, given their proximity to the quarantined site; sensitive specifics were provided to doctors via conferences. Aside from the underlying threat of bioterrorism, just about everyone wrote the events off as something to be aware of but not entirely fear.
Even now, whether it had to do with not wanting to amplify your already fragile state or because you aren’t privy to the finer details concealed by the government, the four refrain from providing too much by way of information regarding the virus itself.
You don’t mind – at least not right now. Especially after you ask to excuse yourself briefly when (after asking you first), Leon lets you view the still of Stella for confirmation.
There is no doubt in your mind that the child is Stella, and it only plagues your thoughts with more questions that nobody can answer at this point in time. While she had never been an antisocial child, she was fully aware of the concept of ‘stranger danger.’ The thought that she was walking about freely in some town you’ve never heard of is disturbing to say the least.
“What could they possibly want with all these missing people?” The question comes mid-discussion as it occurs to you.
“We’re not entirely sure yet,” Rebecca answers, her lips slanting as she props her chin on her fist. The documents she’s scrolling on her laptop are reflected in her glasses but you aren’t able to make out any specifics. “As far as we’re aware, there are no reported cases of an outbreak in the area. There’s a main road not far off from Mosston, so the motel has seen its fair share of travelers passing through, especially with its proximity to Savannah. There are no red flags where recent visitors are concerned, but then again, we haven’t been able to tap into any digital records, so we’re assuming they’re using more … traditional check-in means. There is, however, the wheelchair incident…or miracle, perhaps.”
“Wheelchair incident?” You can’t help but pry.
Leon nods once, but he’s scrolling through his own docs, having avoided your gaze since everyone reconvened. “The last bit of footage Grier captured.”
A screen is set up across the table from you, behind Leon where he sits at the head. Until now, it hadn’t been utilized, but you wait patiently as he shares his screen and shows a clip taking place mid church service. Your brows raise when the aforementioned miracle is taking place while the agent behind the hidden camera captures an additional bit of concerning footage before it suddenly cuts out.
“I mean…” You’re aware that you’ve needed to suspend your disbelief when it comes to certain recent revelations, but you’ve seen plenty of similar cases throughout your career. “...regaining mobility isn’t exactly uncommon.”
“That’s true,” Rebecca nods. “And given the religious demographic of the area, attributing something like this to a miracle wouldn’t exactly be odd, either.”
“Doesn’t explain Flor Medina or even Stella being there,” Chris mumbles. He’s hardly moved beyond crossing and uncrossing his arms here and there to tap the arm of his chair. “If it’s all connected somehow, it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve seen some kind of mass psychosis or hive mind.”
“Las Plagas?” Claire asks, and they all turn their attention to Leon, who still hasn’t looked up from his screen.
It’s the first time you’ve ever heard of it.
Leon shakes his head. “Sure, but Las Plagas isn’t connected to any Progenitor strains as far as we’re aware.”
Rebecca nods, but the shared understanding strikes a chord as the additional information only confuses you further.
“So, what does that mean?” You ask impatiently.
Thankfully, the silence only lasts seconds as Claire scoffs and turns her attention to you. Her expression softens and you assume she’s just as frustrated by the vague, open-ended responses.
“A few years ago, Ashley Graham went missing in Spain. Leon was tasked with the rescue mission.”
Claire briefly explains the nature of Las Plagas and the effect it had on a small village, but you’re a little too focused on the name to fully absorb the information.
“Ashley Graham…like President Graham.” You direct your dumbfounded realization at Leon, who doesn’t react. “As in the president…of the United States.”
“Yeah,” is all he says and you straighten. You’d be impressed if you weren’t so damned annoyed at his unwillingness to elaborate.
“I never heard anything about the president’s daughter going missing…”
“You wouldn’t have,” Claire says. “Bioterrorism is mostly kept under wraps even now, but publicizing a political hostage situation would open a bigger can of worms than the government is willing to let happen. Isn’t that right, Leon?”
“Back to the issue at hand…” Leon rubs his temples. “Different bio threat. Different effects. Different people involved. Besides, it doesn’t exactly explain the apparent ‘miracle.’”
“Rapid healing isn’t exactly unheard of either,” Claire counters. Thankfully, she doesn’t make you wait to elaborate further. She even turns to you and says. “We helped a little girl named Sherry – well, she isn’t so little anymore, actually – Leon and I got her out of Raccoon City. She was infected by a different strain and vaccinated. Thankfully, Sher’s doing just fine now, but a side-effect of the vaccine has been her ability to heal at a faster rate than … any human, really.”
Jesus, how many strains are there?
“So do you think it’s possible that someone’s trying to benefit others somehow?” Rebecca asks slowly, though she doesn’t look convinced.
“Can’t rule it out,” Leon mutters. “Can’t rule out that there’s some agenda in targeting a small, impressionable religious population, either. Still, there’s no greater good that would justify kidnapping.”
You nod once at that. Surely, if there was some ‘greater good,’ you aren’t willing to let them use Stella as a guinea pig – especially not now.
“I still don’t understand how they could have known about Stella when…” You tilt your head to the side, weighing your words carefully. “...when no one would know that she’s connected to a survivor – ”
As much as you try to bite back what comes next, you can’t help it as you add, “ – especially one that lied about their identity.”
Leon’s lips press tightly. Before he can speak, Rebecca cuts in, her tone a little too cheerful.
“Blood tests! If the virus is suppressed or she’s inherited antibodies, I’m sure they would have shown up in her bloodwork. We can’t rule out the wrong people getting their hands on the information via medical records, either.”
You slouch in your chair and avoid looking at Leon when you reach into your bag to pull out the folder with Stella’s documents. After rifling through the relevant papers and keeping the ‘nostalgic’ stuff inside, you hand them to Claire, who passes them down to Rebecca.
“This is a great start!” She sets them to her left. “I’ll look through these. I’ll also need to get a few blood samples from you, if you don’t mind.”
Your brows raise. “But I’ve never been to Raccoon City…I’m not even from Arklay County; I just moved there when I got a job at the hospital.”
“Of course,” Rebecca nods, her tone switching from anxious to something a bit more comforting. “But I wanna just make sure we’ve looked at every possible angle.”
“Right. That’s no problem then.”
“Did you miss something there?” Leon asks gruffly. You follow his gaze to the folder still clutched in your hand, a few stragglers having poked out, and shove it back in your bag.
“It’s not important.” It’s a reflex response, but you feel a sharp sting in your gut and your shoulders slump. Of course they’re important. You clear your throat and straighten in your seat again, muttering. “At least not right now.”
Rebecca had already been typing on her laptop, but you hear the already rapid clacking of the keyboard increase in speed.
Chris was right to have stepped out initially, you think. It was awkward having to navigate all of this with unresolved baby daddy issues complicating things further and making things uncomfortable for everyone involved. You want to apologize, but figure you’d just save that for later, when Leon wasn’t directly across from you.
After a moment of silence, filled only by the sounds of typing or paper shuffling, you finally ask, “So, when do we head out?”
“We?” Leon hadn’t even let a beat pass before aggressively blurting the word out. Until now, his tone had been mostly leveled – even gentle in spite of the tension. This seems to surprise the others, but the biting tone remains. “You’re staying here where I know you’ll have protection. We get Stella.”
He sweeps a finger across the table to motion toward the others when he says “we.”
The last vestiges of patience whittle away. You stand abruptly, eyes narrowed at Leon as he stands as well. Your fists clench at your sides before you point an accusatory finger at him.
“Are you joking?! You did not bring me all the way here just to tell me I have to sit and wait for you to bring my daughter back.”
Leon’s fists plant on the table in front of him. “I brought you all the way here to keep you safe. I’d be doing a shit job of it if I put you in danger by bringing you along.”
“No. You don’t get to keep me in the dark about this. You have no right.”
“You’re a nurse.” Claire cuts in, looking back and forth – addressing you, but directing the point at Leon. “It never hurts to have an extra medic on hand. Rebecca’s got her hands full right now, so it might take a load off her as well?”
Thank you, Claire.
“That’s true!” Rebecca laughs nervously. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and tilts her head in Leon’s direction. “She’s right though, Leon. After everything we’ve just discussed, you can’t really ask a mother to just stand by.”
“And I won’t listen!”
“This is non-negotiable.” Leon is looking at Chris for help, but the man is as still as he was when he sat down initially. He’s staring straight ahead as if waiting for the argument to explode and clear before he’s willing to entertain a response.
“Well, I know about Mosston now.” You continue. “I’ll book a flight and go by myself and I’ll tear through this building if anyone tries to stop me.”
Leon pushes away from the table and turns, running a hand over his face and through his hair.
“Can you shoot?”
You’re leering at the back of Leon’s head when Chris turns to you to ask the question and Leon spins to glare at him. You and the girls all give Chris the same perplexed look.
“I’m pretty much on the verge!” You spit out.
“That’s not what I’m asking.” Finally, Chris stands and turns toward you. He isn’t rough by any means, but the hand he places on your shoulder and the light shove is enough to redirect you away from the table.
You hesitate, but he insists. “Think it’ll do you some good before you kill the president’s golden boy.”
You hear a scoff behind you, but decide to let him lead you away.
You don’t count the time spent in the building’s firing range. The smell of gunpowder lingers in the air and your hands are sore from the constant recoil that came from emptying several clips across the lane.
Claire had come in at some point and joined, both she and Chris displaying their impressive aim while your lack of experience with a weapon sat on full display between their targets; yours is riddled with bullets, with only a couple having hit center targets by pure chance while the rest are spread out haphazardly.
You’re grateful – not just because Chris used his limited vocabulary to get you the hell out of that room, but because both he and Claire let you purge that last bit of unbridled anger in peace.
If you can even call it peaceful.
You’re removing your earmuffs when Claire moves beside you to put away her own gear.
“A bit rusty, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed that you know how to handle a gun.”
“Yeah…” You mutter, unwilling to admit who was responsible for that ability.
Back then, it was just a silly date idea – a way to open your mind to Leon’s interests and hobbies even if he didn’t exactly elaborate on what he did with them.
You hadn’t touched a gun since, but it was more or less like riding a bike with deflated tires and a missing handlebar.
“Hey, listen. Rebecca’s sweet, but I left her there with Leon because I know she’ll be able to guilt him just enough to budge.”
The corner of your mouth twitches.
“I didn’t mean to completely lose my mind.” You shrug helplessly. “This is…a lot. It’s been a lot. I feel like I get a grip on my emotions one second and then…”
You motion vaguely around the shooting range.
Chris, in all his talkative glory, has been putting his own gear away but he looks over his shoulder then, walking past you and toward the exit. Despite the dry, hardass mask, you swear you hear a painful lilt in his tone when he speaks.
“It’ll come in waves. Just gotta keep your head above water.”
