PART TWO: A JETSKI IN THE DARK


Somewhere outside of Rosu, Japan, 2004


Jill sipped at her sake, staring at the woman across from her. Noriko was beautiful and very tall for a woman of Japanese descent. She was blue eyed, which spoke of mixed heritage, and cold which explained why she had never raised her daughter.

"So you found me."

"Yep. I was curious about you. Curious about what you were like."

"And?"

"Not what I expected."

"You either. Henri was…a fling. I didn't love him. I simply wanted to see what he was like. And then I went home and married the man my parents chose for me. I am Japanese. It is the way of things."

Noriko offered her a cigarette.

Jill declined.

"You ever think about meeting me?"

"No." Noriko rose from the table, "Jillian…you have become something beautiful. You have your father's looks. You have nothing of me but blue eyes. Girls in Japan do not fair well and fair even worse when they are bastards. Be content with the life you had. It is as it was always meant to be. I agreed to meet you to stop your curiosity. You are beautiful and talented and strong. This heart of yours remains weak. And that you get from Henri. It will lead you to a place where you will rot. Go home, return and marry and birth children. Find your place in the world. And know that I have no place there."

"You're my mother," Jill said it like it would change anything. Like it would matter. Like it would make her love the child she'd left behind.

"No. I am the woman who birthed you. This is not the same thing. Be content with what you have. It is all you will ever have. Chasing love will destroy you. Do your duty. It is all that matters. I have legitimate children. I have a husband. You will not know them. Nor they you. Go back home and live. That is my gift to you."

Jill watched her leave, weaving between the tables and out into the street. The little Japanese village was no more than a wide spot in the road. It showed the influence of Buddhism that had come to find its face on the architecture in the late sixth century. Most of the houses were on stilts to counteract the rash of earthquakes the plagued the nation. The water ways were heavily used and the thatched rooves nearly as prevalent as the invasion of obvious signs of Western influence in the glass and stone work. The shrine at the center of town was well preserved and beautiful, offering ornate glimpses in the predating Shinto ceremonies that had once taken place there.

Jill felt no connection here. She didn't feel a homecoming upon arriving. This wasn't her heritage. It was just the place her mother had lived. Her mother..even that word rang false. She'd never had a mother…and it would seem she wouldn't have one now either.

She dropped some yen onto the table and rose, moving away toward the street. The pain in her chest was nearly devastating. She'd come alone. Chris had wanted to come. She'd put him off about it. She had to face this alone.

He'd taken a mission instead with a different partner. He was in the wilds of somewhere being a bad boy. And Jill had come here to face her past.

She sat down on the pier facing the water. The moonlight reflected on the water, casting shadows and glimmering silver. So that was it. She had no family now. She was alone. She had Chris, yes, of course she did. But he had Claire. And she was still alone.

She watched the Jetski coming in the dark.

Curious, she eyed it closely. The girl and the boy on it leaped off at the dock. There were three men in dark suits waiting for them. They spoke, softly, distinctly. The girl tried to go in for a hug and the boy did so, reluctantly. He…patted her head afterward.

Jill chuckled, amused. Poor girl, she looked devastated.

The three suits escorted her to a dark sedan and it drove quietly into the dark.

The boy on the dock rubbed his face with his hands and turned toward where she sat.

And she saw his face.

Her voice came out, overly loud, and unintended, "Leon Kennedy!"

On the other pier, Leon Scott Kennedy, savior of the President's daughter, currently tired, starving, and desperately needing to pee, froze and blinked. He narrowed his eyes in the dark. Who was that?

She was coming toward him.

She was beautiful. The moonlight made her perfect. She was in a white t-shirt and jeans with little white tennis shoes. She looked clean, fresh, and …sad. Her short dark hair bobbed around her chin and showed that flawless face to advantage. No, make up, not a drop, and she was gorgeous.

He wasn't even aware that he was moving. He was aware that he was exhausted. He was aware that he was a lot of things. Pent up came to mind. He'd spent the last eight hours being groped by Ashley Graham on that damn jet ski. The president's daughter was a horny little minx. And he was feeling like a dirty old man for thinking about her naked.

But he was a man. And he'd just survived more shit then he could even begin to go into. He wanted..something. They locked eyes in the moonlight.

Yeah…he wanted Jill Valentine.

What was he doing there!? Who was the girl? She was…happy to see him. It was amazing how much so.

He was filthy and dressed in full combat fatigues. There was dried blood on his face and on his neck. His hair was…still perfect.

She said, "What are you doing here?"

He said, "What are you doing here?"

They paused…and then they laughed.

They met at the end of the pier. He wanted to find out what she tasted like. He wanted to find a dark corner and find out what was under the jeans. He was so ungodly horny it was insane.

She said, "Are you ok?"

He rubbed at his face and laughed a little, roughly, "Long day. Looooong day. And long story. You?"

"Family shit. Sorta. I have…you look…tired. I have a room here. You want a shower or something?"

"Be careful, Jill Valentine. Them's the best words I've heard in days."

She laughed and grabbed his hand. She pulled him into a run beside her. They ran like children up the small dirt road toward her hut. The little wooden stairs creaked as they mounted them, the little hut sitting on stilts over the water that lapped and whispered beneath it.

The inside was softly lit and she flipped on a brighter light. He winced, squinting. She shut it off again with sympathy. "Sorry. Sun blind a little?"

"Staring at the sun on the water all day."

"I understand. The shower is back there. You need something to eat? Something to wear?"

"You are a goddess, you know that."

"It's my curse on the world."

"No curse. Blessing. Yes."

She really looked at him now in the low light. He looked exhausted, yes, but wonderful. He was more muscular than she remembered and the baby cuteness was missing from his face. His had a three day old beard on his perfect face and a really nice black eye starting. He looked like he'd been run through the ringer. Those nicely muscled arms wore elbow pads and tactical gloves. He wore knee pads and had a huge knife strapped to the front of his bullet proof vest. His enormous Magnum was tucked into a thigh holster.

Honestly, he looked like he'd been tossed into hell and survived it. She'd done the math in her head and knew he was younger than her. Not by much but enough that they wouldn't have dated in highschool. It was interesting to be into someone younger. She'd never experienced it before. So the boy on the beach had been a baby in one hand. She'd groped a baby.

She laughed. Baby, her ass. He'd been a baby in Raccoon City. And she'd have probably groped him then too.

"Lucky for you, I have some of Chris' old clothes that got mixed in with my stuff while I was packing."

"You have Chris' clothes lying around mixed with yours?"

"Don't get any ideas, hotshot. I packed at work."

"Mmhmm."

"Kiss ass, Mr. Kennedy."

He chuckled, amused and went to town on his tactical vest. It came loose with a whoosh of metal zipper and clicking straps. He dropped the dirty, grimy, sweaty thing on the floor and felt like he'd lost a hundred pounds. The shirt beneath stuck to him like glue. And there was that body. It was perfectly outlined by the tight black shirt. It was set off by that sexy shoulder holster with his 9mm.

Sweaty or not, he was gorgeous.

"They call you Chrill or something, you know that right?"

"Typical." Jill pulled free a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt for him. "And degrading."

"Nah. It's like…Cleon or whatever they call Claire and I."

"What does Claire get her name first but I'm AFTER Chris? Sexist assholes. You fucking Claire Redfield?"

Amused, he watched her as he pulled off his holster and laid it on the kitchen table. "You jealous?"

Jill chuckled, "That's not an answer."

"What do you think?"

Standing there in that sweaty shirt that was suctioned cupped to his body. She didn't care if he was fucking the pope. Just so long as he started fucking her.

"I think I don't poach other girl's guys. So if you are, you go take that shower and we'll get some dinner. And you go home."

Amused, he eyed her, "And if I'm not?"

"Then you go take your shower and we'll get some dinner and you'll stay here instead."

He grabbed the hem of his shirt and peeled it over his head. She nearly forgot hot to breathe. Dirty or not, it was a show. "I'm not fucking Claire. You fucking Chris?"

She was staring at his chest. A bead of sweat had slid down to settle in the soft spill of baby fine hair across his pecs. It was trying to get to his tummy, she just knew it. Who could blame it? The damn thing was a washboard.

She said, "Not today, Mr. Kennedy."

He lifted his brows at her though, "I sensed that hesitance there."

Jill shrugged, smiling a little. "We're red blooded humans, Chris and I. We went there once or twice in the years we've known each other."

"Oh yeah?" Amused, he watched her, "How was it?"

"I don't kiss and tell."

"Pfft. You don't kiss at all."

He unhooked his belt and the ammunition pack he wore strapped to it. He set both on the table. Each move bunched those arms. He peeled off the elbow pads and set them in a chair. The body was rockin. No doubt. It was like watching someone slowly unveiling themselves. He was giving her horny body a strip show without even trying.

He scratched his stomach and moved toward the bathroom. "Give me like…an hour in there."

She laughed, watching him. "Doesn't take an hour to shower."

"No. But I'm gonna rub one out while I'm in there."

Jill choked on the water she'd been drinking and guffawed out a laugh. "Want some help?"

His musical laughter made her night. The pain from her mother drifted away on the simple flirtation. From the bathroom, he called, "I wouldn't say no. You gonna let me kiss you?"

"Not today, Mr. Kennedy. Aren't you still on duty?"

"Story of my life."

She waited until the water was running and the steam was billowing out of the bathroom. She picked up his dirty clothes and put them in the wash room for later. He was singing in the shower. Singing. It was something wonderful and haunting.

He sang like he looked: incredible.

And then she went into the bathroom.

There were usually two things that kept Jill Valentine moving when the pain of her life was bad. One was good music. She had that playing now in the living room. Evanescence was singing about bringing to life with a vengeance. The second was emotion. She embraced it. It was raw and real and painful and pure. She didn't, ever, run from it. She embraced it. When things broke her, she felt them and let them in and grew from them.

Whatever else was true, she had feeling for Leon Kennedy. She didn't know what they were. They were complicated and simple and real. And she wanted to feel them. Because they made her happy.

What would happen if she put her hands all over him? The dominantly male side of her brain said: Find out. She could see him moving behind the curtain. She wanted to see him naked. And put her mouth on him.

Life was short and filled with death. She wanted to see him naked before she died. Today was as good a day as any. She stripped off all of her clothes and got in the shower.

He was soaping his face and his hair. The water in the shower at the bottom was pink and black with old dirt and blood. He had a series of welts down the side of his neck and over his collarbone. Someone had hit him with a shock rod. He had what looked to be a burn on his left forearm. His cheek had an inch long bleeding cut on it that looked red and painful. The soap trailed over his stomach and lower and made her feel like she wanted to either die, fuck, or die fucking.

And yeah, of course, he had a beautiful dick.

He rinsed his face and his stomach muscles bunched with it. She put her hand out to touch that ridiculous tummy.

She'd expected a lot of things…but not that he'd shove her hard and fast against the wall. He cross armed her at the throat and pinned her there. And she felt it, the soft boil of sympathy, because it was how a warrior reacted to an attack. There was something haunting in that gaze that held hers. What had happened to him? She made no move to stop him or block him.

He was breathing fast and hard…and he had a knife pressed to her belly. The sympathy bubbled again and hurt her. He had taken the knife into the shower with him. Where had it been while he soaped up? Probably tucked on the shelf with the shampoo. What had they done to him?

The killer in his eyes retreated and left him startled. He immediately released her. "Jesus Christ, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No. I'm sorry I startled you."

He shook his head and flipped the knife in his hand tossing it away. It clattered onto the floor outside of the curtain. "Sorry. Habit."

"It's ok. Helluva habit. What the fuck did they do to you?"

He shook his head again and all that hair was in his eyes. The eyes were haunted and they haunted her. All those dark lashes and those eyes the color of winter sky. Jesus.

In the steamy shower, the haunted look remained and then was over run, fast and immediate by the want. She made some sound and he moved again. He pressed her back against the wall and she wrapped her arms around him. They both made sounds of need when their naked bodies pressed together.

She held him and his face pressed against her neck, breathing.

It should have turned into something fast and desperate but it was almost..more than that. What had happened to him? Something bad enough that he needed held. It was ok…she needed held too.

Jill pulled him tight to her, crushing her breasts against his chest. He kept his hands on the wall bracketing her head. He didn't touch her…but for his face against her neck. Leon rubbed and ground his forehead there against her. Was he trying to wipe away what was behind his eyes?

She put her mouth against one closed eye and then the other. She kissed his forehead, the line of his nose, his chin. She kissed the curve of his jaw and drew one of his ear lobes between her teeth. He made some kind of a noise of hunger and licked a wet line over her shoulder. And still he didn't touch her.

She kissed over his throat and the top of one shoulder. She scooped his hair back out of his face and licked his mouth. He opened his eyes, a drowning thing, blue like the sky over the snow in Russia in winter. Kiss me, she thought, now is when you kiss me.

He dipped his head and touched their foreheads together.

She froze, undone. She knew only that now she wanted to wipe that look from his eyes. She'd give him something else to flush away the fear.

The fear would kill you if you let it. It had almost gotten her after Raccoon City. If it hadn't been for the man who'd come and flushed the fear away.


Heart Song, Ohio 1998


The shower beat at her face, blending with the tears that streamed hard and fast down her cheeks. She curled against the wall, sobbing. The Nemesis was gone. It was gone. It was gone but still here. It wouldn't let her go.

The faces, the dead, the dying. The city filled with infected and screaming. The fire, the blood, the pile of dead babies she'd stumbled across in the incinerator. Who could burn their own babies?

Two days in a coma while the infection raped her raw. She'd dreamed, lost, and screaming inside as the fire had claimed her blood. She'd awakened to the vaccine in her arm. She'd survived.

But what was the price? Would she never escape it?

The bathroom door opened and she heard that voice. He'd left her to chase down Umbrella. He'd left her and she'd gone back. She'd gone back to help. She'd gone back to nearly die. She'd wanted to go with him…but she'd gone back.

"Jill?"

She wanted to answer him. But she couldn't move. She huddled in the hot water, weeping.

He opened the shower door and found her there, collapsed in a heap on the floor.

"Jill!" He climbed into the shower with her. Chris Redfield, her pal. The first boy to make her laugh when she arrived in Raccoon City. So adorably ridiculous. He did magic tricks with a cup and a rubber chicken. He'd punched her boyfriend in the face the night they'd found him in J's Bar with another woman. He loved his sister and spoke of her with pride.

He was hell on wheels with those fists.

He was in a white t-shirt and jeans. He was getting soaked. He didn't give a fuck, clearly. He settled down on the floor and pulled her into him. She wrapped her arms around him and moved between his legs to get closer.

They'd told him she was dead.

He'd been in Europe locating Umbrella's underground facility there. They'd said she was dead. The girl with the penchant for dirty jokes and beating the shit out of anyone in poker. She possibly cheated, he didn't care. She smoked cigars and drank him under the table. She liked hot dogs and baseball and cursed like a sailor at a bad ref call.

He'd been stateside before Barry had gotten in touch to say she was alive. Safe. But she'd been infected. The idiot Carlos had saved her. That idiot. Who faked a stupid accent to get girls?

Jill hiccupped in his arms now and drew his attention back to her face. She was puffy from crying so much. She opened her eyes to look at him. He looked like a drowned rat. He had cut his hair…thank god. He'd had that awful thing happened that reminded her of Vanilla Ice. It was the mid-twenty something style of the moment. He'd cut it off when they'd fled Raccoon.

He had a beard too. Sorta full and hiding his baby face boy next door good looks. He felt a little bigger under her hands as she held him. He'd been given to big shoulders a few months before but he was apparently bulking up while he looked for Umbrella.

He said, "Whose ass am I kicking?"

She laughed and hiccupped again. "Mine. You caught me with my pants down here."

"I don't see any pants…which is good for me. Maybe not so good for you. Don't shift any closer or you'll see how good it is for me, by the way."

Jill laughed again and cuddled closer to him. And yep, he was happy to see her. She lifted a brow, studying him. He stared back, no blinking.

"So there's that happening," He remarked, "I have inappropriate reactions to girls crying. I am a rather stupid man."

"No. Not stupid." Perfect. He was perfect. Right then, he was perfect. And just what she needed. "I think I need you now."

No games here. He wasn't built for it. He studied her, "What do you need?"

She said, "Make me forget."

"Done."

And he had. Just like that. He'd pushed her to her back on that shower floor and made her forget. He'd flushed out the fear and left her throbbing. Emotion was her thing. And he brought it. He'd put her on the floor of the shower and stripped away anything but emotion. He kissed like he fought, all strength and passion.

Sometimes you needed to strip away everything to find the thing that hurt and destroy it.

It was the first time she realized she was going to love him for it.

After that, any time they fought, survived and bled, they'd turned to each other and taken away the pain. No strings. No drama. No mess. Just skin and forgetting.

Sometimes a little sex helped erase the darkness.


Japan, 2004


She couldn't open him up and cut out the darkness. She wasn't that kind of surgeon. But she could pull a Chris Redfield on him. She could help him forget.

Her hands curled up his back and pulled him tighter to her. She could feel his heart beating hard against her breasts. She could feel the pulse of his need pressed against her belly. She skimmed her hands down his back and pulled his hips forward to brush against her body.

They both made little gasps.

Christ, she thought, how was this hotter than anything she'd ever done before? This…wanting. This not doing a damn thing but touching. How was it the hottest thing she'd ever done?

He collapsed his lower body against her and gave her the full feel of him. He pinned her against the wall with it. And still he didn't touch her.

Leon put his teeth against the side of her throat and nipped at her. She skimmed her hands over his ass and pressed him against her again. He groaned and his hands came down finally and settled on her hips. He pulled her into him and pushed against her. He slid over her belly, hard but soft, needy. The contradiction of his body was echoed in him. He was a complicated creature, Jill mused, and she had a yen for him that was something fierce.

She drove her nails into his ass and killed them both with the greed of it.

He finally spoke, hoarse and deep, "Just…let me…" His hands lifted her, shifted her, and she opened her legs enough for him to nestle there against the damp heat of her. They both panted, panted like they'd run a marathon. What was this? She thought, this intense attraction that made them both brainless with it, was this what people called longing?

One of his hands skimmed over the back of her thigh and lifted her leg enough that he could thrust his body over her and try to murder them both with the promise of it. Jill grabbed at his hips to hold him there and rubbed herself on him. He muttered an absolutely filthy string of words that sounded so unlike him.

She was so turned on it was killing her to stay silent. She understood the frustration. Jill kissed over his eyes again and he opened them. There was something in them that hurt her and healed her and made her feel a little less alone in the world. What did he need, right then, in that moment?

She said, "I'm here. I'm right here."

He made sound desperate sound and rubbed against her again. She shivered and held his face. He kept his eyes on her and rubbed again, a little faster. She made some sound of ascent and he caught the backs of both her thighs and lifted her, smashing her back against the wall. He was stronger than his lithe build implied. He didn't even seem to strain under the weight of her. She gasped in surprise and wrapped both of her legs around him, securing them by putting the soles of her feet against his calves. He braced one hand on the wall beside her and put the other between their bodies. He stroked her and she made a desperate little keen in her throat.

Like a man who was drowning, he groaned and ground himself against her. She grabbed at his shoulders and held on. He stroked her and it was a little unsure and yet a little desperate. She found it touching that he was nervous. She couldn't possibly know that he wasn't nervous at all, he had no idea what he was doing. He was going on pure instinct.

His fingers brushed the right spot and she let out a cry of surprised delight. Ok, he thought a little desperately, so that was the money shot right there. He stroked her again and she bowed toward him. Yep. That was it. He stroked her in time with the slide of his body over her, over her. She was making some sound of yearning and he knew he was doing something right.

He wanted to plunge into her and rip her open and find the blood inside of her that beat for him. He wanted to find out what she tasted like inside, outside, and her mouth. He rubbed their mouths together. But he didn't kiss her. She deserved a better kiss then one wrapped up in the bonds of first time jitters and confusion and whatever mess was looping through his guts right now.

He should just fuck her. He should. They both wanted it. It was just sex. Just sex and skin and this bone shaking, blood boiling, ungodly attraction that made him feel like he was sixteen and trying to touch his first boob. A six second bang against the shower wall would make them both feel better.

Well...maybe him anyway.

But she deserved better than that. Right?

She made a mewling cry in her throat and went board stiff against him. He slid his fingers inside her to feel it. She was damp, slick, and tight and damning. Good god. She clenched around his hand and came, bucking a little. He stroked that sweet spot with his thumb and felt her body vibrate with desperate need.

He watched her flushed face and closed eyes with a sense of wonder…and a little sense of accomplishment. Turned out he was ok at this after all. So maybe he'd fuck her. Maybe it was now or never. He'd never wanted anything more.

He shifted her to impale her on himself and she bucked against him again. He slid his hand out of the way and she ran herself slick moistness over his body. She was making some sound, she was grabbing his ass and rubbing their bodies together. He wasn't going to make it to the impaling part. Nope.

Leon dropped his head and ran his tongue over one of those perfect nipples. She cried out and he sucked it into his mouth. Nope. Not gonna make it, his body told him. So he jerked her against him and ground his body against the moistness of her cleft. He ran himself against her, once, twice, three times and buried his face between her breasts. She clutched at him, moaning.

That was it. He was done. He jerked, gasped, and spilled himself against her nearly falling to the floor with the skin raping, soul stealing rush of it. She made a hungry little moan again and the sticky spill of it settled into the springy hair of her mound and her belly.

Leon shuddered, lost, and rubbed himself against her once more. She could not even begin to understand what had just happened here. He hadn't blown his load on a girl…ever. And he hadn't even blown his load alone in…he couldn't even remember.

He prepared himself for the walk of shame when this was done. Girls like Jill Valentine probably didn't have horny virgins rubbing themselves all over them without a good fucking afterward. Nope. He'd have to tell her the dirty truth now.

He leaned back to look down at her. She didn't look angry. She looked…soft. And beautiful. And she was smiling at him.

Girls were odd creatures.

He said, softly, "Women."

Jill cupped his face as he let her legs slide down to the floor. There was less haunting in those eyes. And she'd…she'd never had a man get so excited by her to go like that. It was…probably the sexiest thing that had ever happened to her.

She brushed a thumb over his cheek. "You're bleeding a little."

He bit that thumb, gently and tortured them both. "I'll live. You got in the shower."

"I did."

"I'm glad you did."

He pressed her back against the wall and filled his hands with her breasts. She gasped, skin prickling. He had to know if they felt as perfect as they tasted. Nope…better. They barely fit in his hands. She shivered, grabbing at his arms.

"God damn, you're perfect."

Aroused, amused, she smiled at him. "Look who's talking."

He said, "I want to kiss you."

And she laughed and then moaned as he tugged at her breasts, almost playfully, "Not today, Mr. Kennedy. You know when."

"Yeah, I know when." He ran his hands over her stomach and the tops of her thighs. He brushed at the stickiness he'd left on her belly and rinsed it away. "I needed that."

"Me too," She turned him now and washed his back for him, it was oddly domestic, "You have no idea how much I needed that."

"Want to tell me about it?"

She turned and he washed her back as well. His hands skimmed over her ass and passed along the inside of her thighs, torturing them both. She shivered, delighted in the torture of it. He knelt in the water and washed her legs. She leaned on the shower wall and let him wash over her hips and belly. He spent a great deal of time on washing her breasts.

She was torn between unbelievable arousal and amusement. Boys would be boys with the tits. Always.

She told him about her mother. He told her about the President's daughter. They laid naked together on the little cot in the hut and talked until the sun started to rise. He told her about the Ganado, about Wesker's involvement. He mentioned Ada Wong and had her antenna sensing who the other woman was inside his brain.

Jill waited for him to make his move. She waited for him to roll on top of her and take her. She waited and he didn't. He was either the world's most respectful gentleman, or there was more to this story than she knew. So, she enjoyed him.

Jill told him about the police academy. She told him about Delta. She told him about the Spencer Estate. She told him about Chris and the first time he'd kissed her.

Interested, Leon trailed his fingers over her belly as she talked. It was gentle, almost non-sexual. It was like petting. Or hugging. She liked it.

"So, there WAS something there."

"There was. Is. Always has been. He's mine and I'll kill anyone who hurts him. But I don't think he's the one for me. Not like that."

Genuinely curious, he asked, "Why not?"

Jill stared at the ceiling, considering, "Sometimes you just know something. I knew and he knew, I think, that we were there to comfort each other, to love each other, but not be in love with each other. Does that make sense?"

"…actually yeah."

She rolled to lay her head on his stomach and he played with her hair. "And how about other men? Nobody won you after all this time?"

"Won me?" She laughed at the idea. "No. But interested me? Sure. I had a thing with Carlos in the beginning. He was handsome if a little bumbling. We tried a kiss or two. It didn't work. I had a boyfriend who was kinda serious. He cheated. Chris kicked his ass. I dated Kevin Ryman in Raccoon City a million years ago. I've had a few lovers when the mood struck. But Chris and I keep finding our way back to each other when the mood suits. What about you?"

So, the Chris situation was complicated it seemed. He understood messy.

Ah. The inevitable question. How to avoid it? "There was a girlfriend in highschool. We broke up right before Raccoon City. We met, you know, in Raccoon City?"

She blinked, stared. Her brain was blank. "When? During the outbreak?"

"Nope. Just before. I was there for an interview to join the RPD. Fresh out of the academy. Skinny, scared, and -"

"Oh my GOD!" She rolled to look at him. She stacked her hands on his chest. "You had long hair!"

She laughed with delight and wonder. "You were such a cutie!"

"Good lord," He winced and chuckled, "That's just what a guy wants to hear."

He was. He had been. He still was. It was hard to remember the skinny little boy when faced with the man before her. He was still young. Very young. His bio said he was younger than her by a few years. But he didn't look young lying there. He looked…tired….and haunted.

"What did you see there? What did this?" She brushed a thumb over the black eye gently, "What put that fear in your eyes?"

He tried to glance away and she held his face a little, "Don't run. I don't judge. Damnit, Leon. I've seen my share of things that would scare the shit out anyone with eyes. Who the hell else understands it?"

So, he told her about Saddler. He told her about enormous things that tried to crush him. He told her about the endless running, the endless fighting. He told her…about Ada Wong. It wasn't the whole story. But it was the beginning.

He told her about Luis Sera…and the dying. He'd died, he said, died trying to make it right.

She listened and stroked him.

They played chess and he'd kicked her ass without even breaking a sweat. She'd read somewhere that he was a genius. He had aptitude scores that were not only admirable but impressively off the charts. Girls might have stumped him but logic didn't. He was driven and dedicated, smart and loyal, he clearly was good on his feet and….in the shower.

Clearly the shower is where Raccoon City survivors went to work on their demons with sex. She laughed, amused by it. She'd shared the shower with two completely different survivors from that time. Each had their own story and their own reasons for being in it with her. Once she'd been comforted and loved, this time she'd been the one offering it. How things changed.

As the dawn edged over the horizon, she curled up beside him. They drifted into sleep wrapped around each other like two puzzle pieces that finally fit together. When she woke up, snuggling a pillow, she discovered he'd left.

He'd snuck away like he'd arrived - on a jetski in the dark. He'd stolen some part of her and he'd never even fucked her.

A curious thing...when she was the one they called the thief.