Damnation:
Ashes Remain
"And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him." -Revelations 6:2-8
"Only a fool would underestimate a man with nothing to lose."― Lance Conrad, The Price of Nobility
Chapter 1: Daddy's Little Girl
Three Weeks Prior
The dreary light from the rainy day filtered against the pristine glass to make shadows on the bed with the puffy white comforter. The heavy blanket shifted, rolling in a motion that told the tale of bodies beneath it in movement. The house was mostly glass and good wood carved by hand and taken from the forests of Northern California to make a sanctuary for a soldier who'd long ago learned the lesson of leaving everything you loved behind.
But here...here...was the one place that he kept coming back to. It was his...and it was home.
The comforter rolled, shifted, and was finally thrown back like one might divest themselves of a cumbersome coat to free their body. Her blonde hair cocooned around them, obscuring the smoky sunlight from finding his face beneath her. Curled around him, she straddled his body and was half curled over his torso with their hands interwoven above his head. Her hips rolled and lifted, her mouth dived to slide wetly against his as she groaned, "...oh, god..."
He wasn't that, but he was half convinced the experience was holy.
When their hands released, she lifted her torso up and slid her hands down his thighs to brace herself. It arched her back, it made her sleek and incredible above him - her jutting breasts, her rolling hips, the muscled curve of her belly. His hand traced up the sweaty line of her torso and gripped the base of her throat.
She rode so hard down on him it echoed in the quiet house. When he felt her tighten, heard her keen and gasp, he rolled her while she came. Fast, she thought desperately, he was always so incredibly fast - in battle, in life, in bed. You could never find your purchase around him. He kept you shaken, searching, and desperate. The blankets spilled back beneath their surging bodies.
His hands twisted in her hair to turn her mouth up. Her hips thrust up to take him as his lunged down to destroy her. Fast. Faster. Harder. Her nails drove into his back and he was done.
He grunted and came in her while she whined a little and kissed him, pistoning his hips through his release like a madman. Her hands curved over his ass to hold him inside of her while they both trembled with it. The slick sweaty slide of their flesh stuck them together a little while they both came down.
His hands tilted her face back again so they could kiss slow and deep. When their mouths separated, she hooked her feet around his ankles to hold on as she gasped, "...fuuuuck..."
Softly he laughed hoarsely as he spoke muffled against her neck, "...I think we just did that."
Her laughter tinkled in the gray dawn.
On his back, naked and incredible, he watched her dress after she'd showered. In a tiny white thong, she moved around his bedroom to assemble her clothes. The sheer thigh highs were dark and made her legs look ten miles long as she rolled one up her left leg. Feeling his eyes on her, she lifted her head to smile at him. The yards and yards of her long blonde hair made the perfect frame to the perfect picture.
Her breasts were full of tempting over her honed belly as she switched to her right leg. "Something on your mind, Mr. Kennedy?"
He grinned, rolling to his side to watch her. His fingers curled into his hair as he braced himself on one elbow. "Wondering when you're gonna move in."
Rolling her eyes, Jill Valentine shifted to pick up her bra where he'd thrown it over the desk near the far wall. "When you retire."
They both knew that was unlikely to happen, ever. So it was a running joke. Amused, he watched with some level of sadness as she slipped on the pretty lace bra and covered her wonderful tits. She clipped her stockings to the garter belt she wore and moved toward his closet to get one of her suits.
She had most of her clothes at his place, he was relatively sure of that, but she was still reluctant to live with him. He doubted she ever would. Their arrangement now suited them both to the ground. They came and went as they pleased and never expected anything from the other.
They both knew the other was faithful...although no one ever asked for that either.
Jill started buttoning herself into a crisp white collared shirt. "Don't you have somewhere to be today?"
Her question made him laugh again. "Why? You want me to go away?"
Jill winked at him in the long mirror. The backdrop of a rainy Seattle day made her pale skin glow. "Never, but I'm pretty sure today is important."
He furrowed his brow. She held his gaze in the mirror with her brows raised until he rolled onto his back with a curse, "...shiiiit. I forgot. I don't have to go right? It's not even her birthday really. It's just her party. Thrown by...him."
Jill laughed softly and shifted over to perch beside him on the bed in that tempting shirt she wore. "Hey...up here, hot stuff."
He opened his eyes to look at her. Breathtaking, she thought with a rush of it in her chest, those seafoam eyes of his. She scooped the shaggy dirty dishwater hair off his brow and grinned, "You can hate her stepdad all you want, that's your right. But it's not about you. She wants you there. Don't disappoint her."
With a sigh, he turned his face to kiss her wrist. "...shit...sixteen. Sixteen. I can't fucking believe it. I'm old right? Old."
Jill laughed and tucked her shirt into the pencil skirt she was putting on. "If you are, I am. So I vote no."
With a hefty sigh, he rolled out of the bed. She watched his ass as he moved toward the bathroom to shave. "...you could come with me, ya know."
Jill declined that, "No way. Ingrid and I don't get along on a good day. And I have three different meetings before lunch this morning, a flight to Singapore this evening, and two more meetings before I get to go to bed."
Blowing his lips in a raspberry of regret, Leon headed toward the shower. "Maybe I should go over there smelling like you just to get her goat."
Jill rolled her eyes but kinda liked the dirtiness of it as she told him, "Don't be petty...although that makes me kinda hot that you like the way I smell."
He poked his head out the door and told her, "I love the way you smell, kid. Come in here and I'll show you."
Tempted, she laughed as she picked up her suit jacket, "You devil, you're done making me late for things."
He pouted and told her, "...party pooper."
She heard him climb in the water. She finally poked her head into the huge bathroom and reminded him, "Don't forget about her gift, Leon."
Right. The gift. The most important part. He couldn't show up at a girl's sweet sixteen without a gift. He'd be ejected out of the huge mansion on his ass.
He heard her rustling around in his bedroom and called, "What would I do without you?"
She laughed and returned, "Find someone else to fuck on the rare occasions you're home."
Adoring her, he teased, "Maybe, but she wouldn't have your ass!"
The shower door made a whoosh as she opened it a little. Her blonde hair was bound up and professional now. She told him, "You're goddamn right about that. Now tell me goodbye, be good at the party, and don't pick a fight with her stepdad."
He gave her an eyes twinkling narrow look as he leaned over to kiss her. As he leaned back, he told her, "I won't if he doesn't."
Laughing, she slid the door closed and warned him, "It won't go well for you! Be a good boy."
He was still smiling as he heard her leave his bedroom.
She was one of the only two anchors in his universe that kept him from floating away. His daughter was the other. He'd struggled at first with striking a balance between bad ass agent and bad ass dad. The cost of being the best in the business had been his marriage.
But it had never been his kid.
Fresh faced and eager, he'd met Ingrid Hunnigan just before his first real mission to South America. She'd been beautiful, driven, and professional. He'd been arrogant, driven, and determined. He'd won her over after three dates.
He'd married her after five.
Their first year together had been nothing but whirlwind romance and fucking in quiet corners while they straddled life and living under the eye of the government. She'd been his best friend, his confidant, and the only person who understood him. When Moira had come along, she'd been unexpected.
Young, scared, they'd decided it was still the best thing that had ever happened to them.
By the time she was three, their marriage had dwindled to frequent arguments and angry fucking in quiet corners under the constantly intrusive eye of the government. He was never home for more than a handful of weeks before he was sent off again. He spent most of his time with Moira when he was home.
Ingrid, unfairly, fell to the wayside as the last of his priorities.
He'd never been a good husband to her.
He could admit that, now, all these years later. She'd deserved better. She'd loved him so hard, so completely - and he'd been so enamored of her. Then as fast as they'd fallen, they'd burnt each other up trying to keep it alive.
When Moira was five, they'd sent him to Spain to find Ashley Graham.
By then, Ingrid was reduced to being called Hunnigan. They were on a last name basis. She'd never taken his anyway when they'd married. They'd worked together stiffly, but well. He'd tried to tease her and restore some of the fun they'd once shared so completely together...but he'd started to suspect she was done with him. Tired of worrying and waiting and wanting - and having him fail her at every turn.
He'd nearly died in Spain and she'd cried at his bedside in a way that made him afraid, really afraid, for the first time since they'd met. She didn't look at him again the same after that. It was one of those times you know your marriage is on life support.
Moira was his best friend, his baby, his pal. She learned how to sneak and play cards and ride horses. He taught her to do backflips on a trampoline and powerslide under the kitchen table. She could handle a knife by her sixth birthday and he made sure she knew how to protect herself with it.
A baby or not, she was still his world. He'd be damned if he'd let her be at risk. Hunnigan resented him for teaching her things like that, but he'd rather have her ire than risk Moira's life. It was that simple.
After Harvardville, he'd come limping from what was left of the lab to find Ingrid waiting for him. Without much of a word, she'd given him back his ring. Angry, he'd demanded to know why she was betraying him, why she was giving up on him. And she'd told him, "It's not giving up, Leon. It's just walking away. I can't bury you. I can't. Not as your wife. Not anymore. You need someone who won't mourn you when you die. Because you will. You'll die. The hero always dies."
She'd tried. She'd given it one more shot when he'd begged her to. They'd done counseling for a few months and she'd finally laid down the law: Downgrade his job to a desk. Enter FOS and become a handler. Give up being an agent, and she'd stay.
He was never made for a desk. He'd told her that almost coldly. She'd put his shit on the curb the same night.
His job had cost him his marriage.
After the divorce, he'd spent any time he had with Moira. He took smaller missions, shorter ones, simpler ones. He never went too far or risked too much. They never told her what he did. She knew only that he worked for the government. It was never told to her that he was eyeball deep in bioterror and blood.
It was harder than it should have been to teach Moira to shoot. She was reluctant around guns, talking about the statistics of handgun deaths and accidents. He made sure she understood the statistics were about people who didn't know how to handle one.
She didn't like it, but she learned.
When she was twelve, he'd taken her to a Department of Security Operations family fun day. Swimming and hotdogs and barbecues fired up on flaming meat. The American summer past time.
Two things had happened that day to rock his world-
He'd gotten his first glimpse of Hunnigan with her new lover - Derek Simmons, the National Security Advisor.
And he'd come across the very blonde Jill Valentine for the first time since her release from rehabilitation. Somehow the blonde suited her. Her face was still flawlessly beautiful. They'd struck up a conversation like they were old friends, which they were...in a way.
Moira had found him to tell him she had something horrible happen. She'd leaned close and whispered, desperately, "I'm bleeding!"
Concerned, he'd held her arms to flick his eyes all over her looking for wounds. "...where?"
She'd flushed pink and covered her face. Jill had saved his life, stepping in to say, "I got her. Come with me, sweetheart, we'll take care of it."
And he'd known. His baby girl was no longer a baby. After that, he'd had to purchase tampons along with his bottle of Jack Daniels. Being a dad meant not being embarassed to buy stuff for your daughter when she was on her period.
Three months later, he'd run security at his ex-wife's wedding. That's right, he'd been tasked by Simmons to handle security while the weasley little shit married Leon's former spouse. It was so passive aggressively pathetic that it wasn't even worth getting upset over.
Although he had.
He'd done his damn job, but he'd been a little drunk the whole time. He'd toasted Ingrid's happiness with a bitterness that was nearly choking. He'd kept a happy face for his daughter, but he'd gone home feeling like a broken mess.
The loneliness had been palpable. People laughing and dancing and so happy. And him...alone. The victim of his own choices. A guy who'd picked the fight over his life. He'd lost everything but Moira to it at that point.
Would he lose her next to Derek Simmons?
He'd stood in the shadows and watched that squirrely bastard dance with his daughter and his wife and felt...numb.
As he'd found his way in a cab, he'd emerged from it to find Jill Valentine leaning against the column of his front porch to avoid the rain. She'd been wearing a woman's suit with ear piece dangling in on her neck. It was the moment he'd realized she'd been there on the security team the whole day.
He'd shrugged, laughing darkly, "My wife got married to a sniveling turd today."
And she'd returned, "I heard. You wanna go upstairs and fuck me until you forget her?"
He'd never wanted anything more.
He'd fucked her standing barely inside the door against the glass wall. They'd drank and fucked and forgot. She was good for him, because of all the women in the world - she was just as scary and damaged as he was.
She didn't want a damn thing from him but his dick. It made life easy.
He'd watched his daughter flourish in the light of Hunnigan's happy marriage. She'd gone from a skinny little pre-teen to a beautiful girl on the verge of womanhood. The idiot Simmons had somehow been good for her. He'd given her the happy home life she'd always sort of craved.
Each time he came back from a mission, he'd spend a week or two on a vacation with his daughter. After about of year of that, she'd finally asked him, "Daddy...don't you have anybody in your life? I don't want you to be alone."
She was so concerned he was lonely. He was never lonely when she was with him. He might have been when she left, but for Jill. So he'd told her. He'd told her about Jill. Not the fuck buddies, no, he'd never corrupt his baby that way. But the friendship.
She'd asked if Jill could come with them sometime. He'd asked. Jill had accepted without any real ripple in the placid sea of their relationship. Moira had remembered her happily from that momentous day of her first period. They'd clicked.
And so it began that Jill joined them when she could on their trips. It was never any pressure. It was never any demands. It was just comfort.
The night before Moira's party, Jill had come over with a bag full of fixings to make him spaghetti - and a fluffy white puppy.
He'd stared at her and finally asked, "...you get a dog?"
Amused, Jill had handed him the puppy and passed by him into the house, "Nope. You did, for your daughter."
Admittedly, the ugly little fluff ball was a good way to beat Simmons at his own game. Moira was an animal lover in her bones. She'd used her spare time to join the coalition for animal rights. She'd joined her friends on a march in the parade for cruelty to animal awareness. She was a good girl.
She'd love the damn dog.
However, he'd been forced to keep the thing all night. It had big dopey ears and blinking blue eyes. Jill told him it was a malamute, whatever the hell that was. He figured it did kinda look like the wolf he'd saved in Spain.
Now he was carrying the fluffball under his arm as he approached the stupid McMansion that Simmons lived in. It looked like something out of Kardashian episode. It was ridiculously over the top.
A pinched faced butler let him into the backyard via a snooty little gate.
Ingrid glanced over to find him standing there among all her rich snobby friends and she smiled woodenly. In fairness, he did stand out. He was wearing a simple blue fleece deconstructed Diesel jeans in a vintage wash. The boots on his feet were scuffed and well worn.
He was a sore thumb among diamond studded fingers.
Hunnigan moved toward him and shook her head, muttering, "You did this to spite me."
He rolled his eyes, "Nice to see you too, Ing. You look lovely."
She did. A red dress with a gauzy sheer jacket. Her long hair was in curls around her flawless copper face.
Hunnigan gave him a droll stare, "You have more designer shit in that closet of yours than most other man at this party. And this is what you show up in? Why? To needle Derek?"
Ugh. Derek. Leon snorted, "He's already using that needle on you plenty, darlin. How's he like nailing my sloppy seconds anyway? I should find him and ask."
Hunnigan poked a finger into his chest and hissed, "Don't. You hear me? This is Moira's day. Don't you spoil it for her."
He gave her a bland return look, "I won't. You know me better than that."
She shook her head, "I don't know you at all." She turned with a grin as Derek Simmons came over to join them, "Look what Leon brought!"
Simmons gave him a narrow look, "...you bring a mutt to my house, Kennedy?"
Without missing a beat, Leon returned, "Dogs like packs I heard, Simmons. I was just bringing you a companion."
Quietly, Hunnigan warned, "Put your dicks back in your pants, please. I will murder you both if you ruin this for her."
They both had smiles on their faces that were more wolfish than friendly. Finally, Leon remarked, "Thanks for inviting."
Begrudgingly, Simmons replied, "Thanks for coming."
With relief, Hunnigan muttered, "There. That wasn't so hard, was it?"
They both kept smiling woodenly at each other. Finally, breaking the tension, Moira's voice sounded above the crowd, "Oh my gawd! What did you do!?"
She came racing at him. Leon caught her against him with his free hand and she grabbed for the fluffy puppy with a high pitched laugh of delight. It licked and laved her with affection as tears popped in her eyes and she cried, "Oh my god, he's perfect!"
Moira dropped to the grass to play with him. The puppy circled and barked and fake growled at her as she laughed with pure joy. Her short cap of dark hair reflected the muted sunlight. It was a soggy day for a party, but she wasn't worried about the mud as she played in it with that little puffball.
Her eyes turned up with delight as she told him, "Thank you, Daddy." She smiled at him with those whiskey and water eyes of her above his nose and he just...couldn't stay irritated at anything anymore. He crouched in the grass to let the puppy lick him and pressed a kiss to her temple."
"Happy birthday, baby."
Curious, she wondered, "Where's Jill?"
Hunnigan rolled her eyes as he answered, "She had work, but you can thank her for this mutt. She appears to know exactly what you want."
Sighing with happiness, Moira told him, "Don't sell yourself short, Dad. You do alright."
Leon winked at her. The party was suddenly aflutter with excitement. He turned his attention to find a sleek red Maserati Spyder convertible rolling down the long cobblestone drive toward them. Simmons was behind the wheel.
He honked twice and rose upward to explain, "Now how's this for a birthday, sweet pea?"
With a shout of joy, Moira rose and ran toward the car exclaiming, "Oh, Derek! I love you, I love you, I love you!" She squealed like the teenage girl she was and jumped into the driver's seat as he exited.
Light applause accompanied her joy.
The fluffy puppy plopped down beside his boot and Leon remarked, "We got beat out by douche in a thoroughbred."
Above him, Hunnigan mused, "Hmm...or maybe he remembered she's not eight years old anymore."
Rolling his eyes, Leon whispered to the puppy, "Somebody's bitter, huh buddy?"
He was implying it was Hunnigan, but he was pretty sure it was him.
He had dinner alone standing in his kitchen. The puppy had been unceremoniously told to live with him instead of in Hunnigan's pristine palace. So it was chewing on a rope on its bed by the back door.
Moira was still mulling over a name for her new friend.
Probably while out driving her sweet sixteen accident on three thousand dollar tires.
Sighing, Leon polished off his pad thai and rinsed the plate in the sink. He was just considering sneaking out to smoke a cigarette, even though somehow, somewhere Moira would smell it on him, when his phone rang.
Curious, he put the phone to his ear to be greeted by the very person in question, "Hey, Dad."
Perching on the stool at his counter, he returned, "Hey, darlin. What's up?"
She sounded pensive as she told him, "I was thinking we should talk about the trip to Europe with Mika again."
Blowing out a heavy sigh, he told her, "You're too young."
"Her parents are going, Dad. And Mom. Mom said she'd go if you'd just stop being a fucking stick in the mud."
Leon's brows arched as he rolled his eyes. "You kiss your mother with that mouth, kiddo?"
"Yup. I talk like my Dad, didn't anyone tell you?"
He laughed, sighing with his fingers drumming on the counter. "Fine. But you call me every night."
"...really? Realy!?" She sounded so excited. He heard her scurrying on the other end of the phone. A door opened and she called, "Mom! Mooooom!? He said YES!"
Wondering what kind of stick in the mud he really was for stopping her before and knowing it was entirely in an attempt to compete with Derek Simmons for her affection that he was even saying yes to begin with, he turn the phone on speaker and moved to the sink to rinse his dishes. He heard Moira laughing and running.
"Mika! He said yes!"
Right. Mika - the BFF. She was always with Moira. Mika's laughter came back to him, "Mr. Kennedy...I love you! I'm going to bring you back a case of wine from Napoli."
He chuckled and shook his head, "You're too young to buy wine in Italy, Mika. Don't make me rethink my decision."
"No, sir! Never, sir! Moira! Where's your Mom?!"
"I don't know! Moooom!"
Glad to have made her happy, he was lifting the highball of whiskey to his lips when there was a clunk and a rustle of sound. The laughter died a quick death. He heard them scrambling.
Had they walked in on Simmons and Hunnigan mid-coitus?
But there was a panicked breath as Moira whispered, voice breaking, "...Daddy? Dad."
Glass paused at his mouth, he arched a brow, "...what is it?"
There was no more teasing. Her harsh breathing started to alarm him. He could heard her running, but she was doing it in a way that said she was sneaking. He heard the creak of a door and she whispered, "Dad...there's someone in the house."
"Keep hiding, Moira. As quietly as possible. You hear me?"
"...I hear you. Oh my god, Dad...what do I do?"
"Wait for me. I'm comin for ya."
He was already moving. He'd never get there in time, but he'd kill himself trying