BOOK ONE: IN PLURIBUS UNUM


Episode 7: The Trifecta


Chris seemed a little concerned, which, in turn, concerned Jill as well. He reiterated, "Leon Kennedy. Do you remember when I went to save Claire?"

"On Rockfort Island?"

"Yeah."

"So?"

"So before that, when she escaped Raccoon City, she was with a rookie RPD officer. He's the one who let me know where she was because she contacted him on the island. But it's more complicated than that...they were kinda engaged for awhile there."

Jill stared at the photograph on the bed. "Him?"

"Yeah. Leon Kennedy. But there's a problem."

"What?"

"If he's working for USSTRATCOM than he lied to her. Alot. He probably didn't have a choice, given what he does, but usually when you lie to those around you -"

Jill studied that profile, kissed by the light of the sun. "It's because you're a spy."

"Bingo."

"A spy for the government."

"Or an assassin, Jill. I think you should ditch the mission. You have a gut feeling that leading this guy and his partner was bad news. If Kennedy lied to my sister, the woman he claimed to love, who's to say you weren't right? Maybe he's there to find you for USSTRATCOM and finish you off. We can't guarantee that the government is going to back our play here. We've been in hiding since Raccoon and haven't dealt with the big guys in awhile. Maybe they want to locate us and bring us in for questioning."

Jill skimmed a finger down the perfect line of his jaw in the the picture.

The agent had a name now. Leon Kennedy. Her brain queried: Why are you looking for me, Leon Kennedy? And who do you work for? Are you the good guys? The bad guys? Are you here to end Hidalgo...or me?

Jill mused, "It's a pretty elaborate cover up if he's here to kill me, Chris. Barry set this up directly through the FBC."

"You didn't give your name to them, right? THey don't know who the guide is?"

"Nope. Not directly. Just my call sign: Vermillion."

"Then I don't know how he would have found out about you."

"Did you ever mention me to him?"

"No. Never."

"Did Claire?"

He spoke off to the side, Jill waited, and Chris replied, "No. They were engaged so briefly. It was a whirlwind romance for them both. She broke it off to spare him having to lie to her. She suspected he was up to his eyeballs with something, but not this. She's having a rough time with it."

"Can't blame her. Hard to find out you were bumping uglies with an assassin."

"No shit." Chris sounded so cool. Jill could almost TASTE his rage beneath it. God help, Leon Kennedy, Jill mused, you did NOT fuck with Chris' baby sister and come out alive.

Jill replied, "If he's a good guy, here to do just what they said, he's on our side Chris. There's no killing him for you. You hear me?"

"...I hear you."

"Good. Tell Claire I'll find out how deep he's in it, ok? And not to worry until we know."

There was a rustle of sound and Claire came on the line, "Jill?"

"Yep?"

"Take care of him, ok? Please?"

"I will."

The line rustled again and Chris came back on, "I don't like this, Jill. I think you should abandon the damn mission and let Barry send someone else."

"Why? I've been here undercover for months trying to get all I need on Hidalgo. I'm not running now. I can handle one pretty agent and whoever else."

"You don't even know what he really wants, Jill. Is it worth it?"

Jill frowned, preparing to hang up the phone. "Okay. Well he's on his way here. Two days, tops, he should be showing up. I'll find out then."

"Jesus Christ, Jill. Get out of there. You don't even know if he's alone, or what he wants."

"Can't. Gotta know."

"Jill-"

"I won't be checking in for awhile. Tell Claire I said thanks."

Jill hung up, not giving him a chance to answer.

Leon Kennedy.

Ex-rookie police officer, Leon Kennedy.

She tilted her head, studying his face, "What secrets do you keep, Mr. Kennedy? And where have we met before?"

She laid down on the smooth bed, studying that picture, trying to figure out why Leon Kennedy's face was haunting her.


There was steam wafting under the bathroom door.

Tracking the guide here was child's play. He'd located the safehouse with little more than a few well rubbed elbows in the right places outside of Jakarta. Finding his guide was easier than finding a wolf among dogs. He could track a fart on a foggy day, he could find anything.

The wafting steam beneath the door told him they were showering.

He considered waiting for the door to open to be sure, but instead he simply kicked it in and instructed, "The lock on the front door is cheap and ineffective. A child could kick it down and kill you where you stand."

Of course, the joke was on him - because the shower was empty.

He started to turn and the barrel of the gun pressed to his spine. "It's a good thing I was expecting trouble than, I guess."

The voice gave him pause. Leon lifted his hands, open palmed, beside his head, "Not armed. I'm scheduled to meet you here. I'm your charge."

"I know who you are," Said the voice, "And I know you're a liar. You've got a knife bigger than my forearm strapped down the front of that vest." Her fingers jerked at his waistband and tugged the pistol tucked there beneath his shirt free. She tossed it away down the hallway with a clatter of sound, "Not armed, my ass."

He almost smirked, surprised to find her amusing, and she instructed, "Pull the knife, slowly, and toss it into the bathroom."

He cocked his head a little, "Are we enemies?"

She jabbed him in the back hard enough to hurt with the gun, "We will be, if you get cute. Now, please."

Leon spilled the knife into his hand effortlessly and informed her, "I could kill you before you pull that trigger, just so you know."

The hammer dropped on the gun she held and her voice was soft and deadly, "No, you couldn't. Trust me. You aren't that good."

She clearly didn't know who she was dealing with here. He started to open his mouth and retort and she kicked him in the back of the knee. It surprised him enough that she stumbled and she smacked his wrist to knock his knife out of his grip. It clinked musically as it hit the floor and spun off to slap against the tub.

Sadly for her, she'd blown her advantage - she wasn't going to kill him, not really, so the gun was useless. She drove back to kick him again and he turned his body into the pistol, forcing her to jam it into his vest as he did. She grunted as he swept his arm down and knocked hers aside. Her leg shifted to kick him, he shin blocked her, and gripped her wrist to jerk her arm up and out.

Hyper-extended, she lost her edge, even as he put his boot to the back of her knee and jerked the pistol from her hands at the same time. She let him take it, went to one knee to avoid losing her knee completely, and caught him at the hips. Admittedly, she was fast. She used his body to flip up, roll over him, and lock arms in a throw that sent him rolling down the hallway.

He came out of it already aiming and she kicked him in the hip, threw him against the wall, and put his own knife to his throat in a crossbar.

They were both breathing fast and hard with her pistol pressed into her belly and his knife to his own throat.

He said, calmly, if breathlessly, "I didn't come here to hurt you."

And she whispered, "Really? That's what you do...Executioner."

Ah. He started to answer that stupid name when the bathroom door spilled light down the hallway onto her face. Something made his blood pound in his ears as he answered, "I'm just Kennedy. Leon Kennedy."

This close, she could really see his face. Her brain shivered with memory.

The knife at his throat relaxed a little and she breathed, "...holy shit...like JFK?"

She suddenly realized why he haunted her.

He glanced down and couldn't see the gun he had pressed against her belly because of the perfect press of her breasts against his chest in the little tank top she was barely wearing. The ponytail left her face naked and perfect, naked and beautiful, naked and taunting.

Why?

It was her.

He wasn't a man given to coincidence but what was the likelihood of finding her here? Her? The woman in his dreams was Jill Valentine - Raccoon City survivor, fellow playmate of White's Circle of Hell.

How much more coincidental could the world get?

He breathed, "...cut me or let me go."

She returned, "Shoot me or drop the gun."

"You didn't die in the The Cage."

Jill shivered, shaking her head at the memory of it. "I don't die easy. He didn't break you."

Leon's voice was whisper quiet, "I don't break."

Her hand trembled on the knife. "Ever?"

"Ever."

A breath of a moment that shimmered and she murmured, "I could break you."

Lord.

Someone's heart was beating a sharp tattoo. It didn't really matter whose. The danger flashed bright and painful around them. Leon finally spoke, into the electric silence, "Try me."

"Drop the gun." She nearly choked on the words.

But he dropped the gun. Just like that. No more stand off. No more power play. He dropped it to the floor with a thump.

He watched her face, a coiled snake prepared to strike, "Your move."

She pressed the knife against his carotid, tenderly, softly, almost sweetly. She watched the butterfly beat of his heart there beneath the delicate skin and knew, just as she knew he'd likely win if they went hand to hand, that he'd get her killed if she didn't do it first. She should put this knife into his throat and end him.

But she couldn't. She didn't want to. Executioner or not - something in her guts told her he was a good guy; a good guy in a bad guy shell. Her instincts were honed and nearly perfect. She never went against them.

Jill only trust herself implicitly. It was how she stayed alive.

She dropped the knife the floor with a clatter.


Day 54


He was fairly sure he was incapable of any kind of real pleasure. He was pretty sure he was almost numb. He started to drive the knife into the ribs of the man pressed to the wall and froze. He froze.

Standing at the edge of the rise, near the top of the ring, she was the only face in the darkness.

He'd been killing his opponents - sometimes brutally. He'd been rising through the ranks like a shark, scenting blood, to devour those who stood between him and victory. He was descending into the madness with a venegance. He was good. He was the best they'd ever seen.

He was dying here.

The man in his grip bubbled blood from his lips from his fractured sternum. He should end him with a merciful thrust of the knife into his chest.

The girl on the rise shook her head as if she'd heard his thoughts. He dropped the man in a rush of sound and she turned, backing up two steps. She turned, shaking her head - and ran.

Through the tunnel, he raced like he was possessed. He raced, with his heart beating painfully in his chest, as if he'd arrest and die there in the mud. He could feel. He could feel it all. All of it. Everything. He could FEEL...her.

But he couldn't find her.

She was gone.

And he was still alive.

He was still Leon Kennedy.


The knife hit the ground with a metallic clank.

Jill let removed her crossbar of an arm that was pressed against his collarbone, effectively pinning him to the wall. She started to back off and he shifted, making her gasp. She let him push her against the other wall. She let him pin her there with his hands on her upper arms.

The pictures over her head rattled with the movement as he didn't pull it. Her back hit the wall and stole her breath.

He breathed, "My heart is pounding."

His voice. He sounded so surprised. He sounded impressed. She tilted her head to scan his face. She'd heard that, about him, that he was dead inside. She'd heard the stories. She'd heard the tall tales and the rumors. She'd heard.

She hadn't believed.

His voice echoed tremulously around them. He reached down to grip her wrist, almost roughly, and shoved her hand against his chest under the vest.

And she could feel the thunder of his heart.

Jill whispered, "That doesn't happen?"

"...no." He watched her face as if she were the only thing he could see, as if he were blind to the rest of the world. "Ever."

"Never?"

He shook his head, "...never."

Hers echoed his. It nearly burst out of her chest with its eager pounding. Jill reached her hand up and gripped his other hand, shoving it against her chest. He didn't grope, didn't take, didn't taunt - he just pressed his palm against the thump of her life force and trembled.

Jill whispered, "...mine either."

That's what The Cage did to you. It took away your ability to feel much of anything. It made you empty...until it brought you back.

Leon only knew that he wanted to feel her, touch her, press their chests together and share the echo of those pounding beats. He wanted to bury himself between her thighs and find himself again. He wanted, desperately, to drown in whatever power this was that she wielded and wove around them both.

And so he murmured, "Unhook my vest, Jill. Two straps. Each side...please."

Her hands lowered, scrambling almost, to follow that request. She caught the first in her left hand, desperate to touch more of him, and the door rattled.

They both froze, racing hearts the only sound in the quiet darkness.

The door rattled again.

Someone was trying to break in...and they weren't being subtle about it.

Leon let go first, dropping to grab the knife from the floor. Jill snatched the gun and the door burst open, the night breeze escorting in the enormous form of their third - Jack Krauser.

He caught one look at them in fighting stances and lifted his hands, open palmed, harmless...as if he'd ever really be that.

"What? Too late to join the party? Drop the knife, Kennedy, and close your mouth. You look like you should be on your knees in prison waiting for some deep throat action."

Leon thought: still a fucking asshole, Jack.But he lowered the knife and put a hand on Jill's wrists to have her do the same.

Meanwhile, Jack was giving Jill a look that made her blood cold. He was also picking his teeth with an enormous machete. "Hello there, sweetheart, you look cold in that top. Maybe a hug will warm you up." He opened his arms, "Anytime you're ready."

Jill rolled her eyes and turned away, moving down the hallway. "Now that you're both here, shower and get some rest. We'll move at first light."

Krauser shrugged and carried his small assault bag into the one bedroom, "Dibs. Though it looks lonely. You wanna join me, sweetcheeks?"

She could argue she'd been sleeping in there, but she didn't want to bother with it. He could have the damn bedroom.

Jill ignored him and moved to the far side of the hallway. She added, "First light - bring only what you need to survive. Leave anything that allows you to be tracked. You hear me? Anything."

She claimed the narrow little couch in the living room, rolling to her side to face the door.

Leon disappeared into the bathroom to shower and Jill dozed off listening to the sound of running water. What had been about to happen between them? What?

She didn't know...but she kinda knew. She'd have taken his clothes and touched him. Would Krauser have come upon them in flagrante delicto?

She couldn't really answer that question because it wouldn't have gotten that far. Surely. Surely not.

The bathroom door opened and Leon emerged in a puff of steam. Jill tensed and forced herself to relax. He moved to the side of the living room and paused, glancing down at the sleeping bag she'd laid out on the floor. Through slitted eyes, feigning sleep, she watched the twitch of a smile on his mouth before he turned.

He was shirtless. A little pendant of some kind swung at chest level on him but she couldn't see the design. The moonlight skimmed his back as he knelt and dug something out of his dirty vest.

It showed the scars on his back in sharp relief. He was a mess. The roping mess of them gave her pause and nearly made her gasp in sympathy.

His chest was a masterpiece carved by angels - his back a nightmare melted in the fires of hell.

Jill stopped pretending she wasn't looking at him and began to openly stare.

She'd known he'd survived things since Raccoon City, but she'd never guessed it was that awful. It looked like whip marks, burn scars, mounds of scar tissue like beads down the flesh near the left hip that told her shock rod. He was a melted ruin.

She wondered if he ever really walked around shirtless.

Quietly, she finally spoke, "...so much pain. How do you stand it?"

He didn't even tense, didn't flinch, telling her he'd known the whole time she was watching at him. He spoke, low and grumbling, "Pain can be controlled. You just learn to redirect it."

She knew the answer. Hadn't it been hammered at them? But she wanted his answer.

"How?"

He turned to look at her in the dark. His hair fell over his brow, covering the silver of his eyes, "Ignore it. Eventually, you go numb."

They were whispering. Why? She didn't know, but it felt right. "I can't. It's my greatest weakness."

They held eyes for a moment and she added, "What's yours?"

For a handful of seconds, she didn't think he'd answer. Finally, he stuck the cigarette in his hand between his lips and struck the match, rising from the ground to move to the open window.

Jill pursed her lips, watching his back in the ragged moonlight. He wasn't a man who shared, she knew that. She wasn't either. It's how they stayed alive. What was it about him that made her want to know him? To share things about herself? Shared experience? Shared survival?

Something.

She closed her eyes to try to sleep and he finally answered, surprising her, "...regret."

Her heart shivered. "About what?"

That part he didn't answer. He just continued to stare into the dark like the truth was out there. What was his truth? Whatever it was, it was laden with regret.

She wanted to touch his scars and feel his strength.

Instead, she kept her hands to herself.

And she fell asleep watching him smoke away his greatest weakness.