Authors Note: So while I tell a romance in one hand ("I will follow you into the dark"), my need to tell something bleak yanks on my apron strings. Here it is. I'm creating a vision of the future, you may even see the return of the Archangel. We're losing. But all Resident Evil game/movie canon is in tact. Now it's my story. And it's going to be a savage.

I dedicate this to fellow RE writer The Lady Frost and her love of Jill & Leon. Writers supporting writers is what it's all about, ya'll. Onward!

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you 'cause I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it's a very, very
Mad world

PROLOGUE: September 2022

The ground squelched beneath Leon's combat boots as he made his way up the hill, the torrential rain saturating the ground and making it slippery. It was the kind of rain that blinded you and soaked you to the skin the moment you stepped out in it, it poured from the brim of his hood and droplets gathered on his nose. He blew them off and kept on going, it wasn't far.

Headstones rose out of the ground all around him, raindrops clinging to them like tears. Fitting, he supposed. The light was dim, the sun blotted out by heavy clouds plunging everything in to a shadowy grey hue. The worst day to pick for a funeral, but at least the rain had held out until it was over. It came down now like the heavens had decided to mourn, and she was still out there. She hadn't moved. A faithful partner even in death.

Leon reaches the brow of the hill and looks across to where she sat, in the mud next to the freshly filled in grave, knees drawn up and arms held tight around them. Her black pant suit likely ruined, she was completely soaked through to the skin. Not that material things meant a whole lot to anybody these days.

He glances at the sky as a thin streak of blueish light flashes across it, it wasn't lightning. It let them know the defences were holding, for now, at least. With a heavy sigh, he trudges his way through the boggy ground and toward her. She doesn't hear him, doesn't acknowledge him, she's lost in her grief.

"You're going to freeze." He says quietly, just loud enough to rise above the rain.

"What does it matter?" She asks him.

He considers this for a moment. "It matters because we need you."

"What if I'm done fighting?"

"You think that's what he would have wanted?" It's maybe a low blow, but the truth was they couldn't afford to lose her. They were down to their last, and all hope was lost if they didn't keep fighting.

Jill Valentine turns her face to the rain, looking up at him. Her eyes red rimmed though the tears were disguised. Washed away. Leon crouches down at her side, gazing at the disturbed earth of their fallen brother.

"It wasn't your fault, Jill." He says after a while, looking to her and her vacant, hurting expression.

"I couldn't get him out."

"It wasn't your fault." He repeats.

"It should have been me."

He purses his lips, furrowing his brow, shaking his head. "Well that's not the hand you were dealt. And the Jill I know doesn't throw in the towel when she makes a shitty draw."

"Well that Jill's dead."

"I don't believe that." He challenges.

"We're losing this war." She says it with a despondent, discouraged laugh.

"But we haven't lost it."

"Why are we even fighting when we lose everything we love?" She asks him.

He plucks some dirt from the ground, rolling it between his fingers. "Because there's people out there that haven't lost everything. And need us. Because if we don't, who will?"

She bows her head. "I don't even know if I care."

He studies her. "So you're telling me your entire life has been for nothing?"

Jill meets his stormy eyes, studying him.

"It has to have meant something, Jill." He presses. "We haven't been pissing in the wind this whole time."

She sighs heavily and lifts her hand, rubbing her sore eyes. Returning her gaze to his grave. "I don't know if I can do it without him."

"You can." He answers for her. "He would want you to."

Sad thing was, she knew he wasn't lying. Wasn't just trying to coax her back in to this war. He would have wanted her to fight on in his name. To finish what they started, to find a way. There had to be a way.

"Dammit, Leon." She says miserably. Looking at him and his stupid mop of dirty blonde hair clinging to his forehead under his hood.

He offers her a small, comforting smile. "Besides, I hear drowning is a really suckass way to go." He quips a little.

It makes her roll her eyes, studying him for a moment. "How do you keep going?"

"Me?" he asks with a lift of his eyebrow.

"You lost everything."

He grits his teeth together for a moment and looks at his hands. "I guess I just want to take as many of them as I can to the grave with me. And.. Sherry." He hitches a shoulder. The girl was like a daughter to him. "We rebuild what we can. You're not alone, Jill."

"I'm tired of rebuilding." She murmurs.

He reaches a hand out and gently strokes it over her back. They had both lost a lot in this war. Friends, partners.. family.

"You're not done." He tells her.

"You are annoyingly persistent, Leon Kennedy."

"Part of my job description. Right under 'Professional badass' and 'Kind of okay at pancakes'."

Finally, he gets a tiny laugh.

"You want some Pancakes, Agent Valentine?"

She looks at him, drawing in a deep breath as he rises to his feet and holds his hand out to her. She takes it, letting him pull her up. Once she's up, he draws her in to a gentle embrace. The two of them gaze down at the grave of Chris Redfield.

The man died like he lived. A soldier, a hero. A figurehead in this end of days. A leader in their war. If Leon had his way, it would not be for nothing.

Gently he guides Jill away, leading her down through the graveyard and back toward the church. People rarely used churches for prayer these days, there didn't seem a whole lot of sense to it, all things considered. But some old traditions held in place, they clung to the last of what made them human beings he supposed. Tradition was comforting. They still held funerals for their dead – the ones they could, anyway.

They reach his car, parked around to the side of the building, he helps her in and jokes about her getting his seats dirty. He didn't really care, this car had been through more than most human beings. American muscle really held up to all out catastrophe at least. As soon as he starts the engine, the stereo starts blasting AC/DC's "If you want blood, you got it". He grimaces and swiftly turns it down, looking at Jill.

"Sorry."

"No it's okay, Chris loved that track."

"I remember." He smirks, turning it back on, just not as loud. He gets them on the road and drums his fingers against the wheel as he drives the familiar route back to their apartment building. She lived a floor above him – lets just say America had gotten a whole lot smaller. Much of the East coast was lost, especially around the Great Lakes. Washington D.C had been wiped off the map. The smart move had been inland and to the west, now many of them called Salt Lake City, Utah their home. It was protected – the flash of blue you saw in the sky. Amazing how far technology could come and how fast, when the world was desperate.

The defences held. For now. People lived a semi normal life, here and in surrounding settlements. Places in Nevada, Arizona, Montana and Colorado. Even Texas still boasted a military base. It was just getting from place to place that proved.. a challenge.

Life went on. Because it had to.

Leon didn't know if the day would ever come that they would win this war.

But he had hope.