Coping
by:
Aoi Kusanagi
Chapter Two.
I believe there's just one F; but yeah, it's the FBI. The woman named Aya Brea slips into the driver's seat and shuts the door. After noticing that Sherry and I linger outside of the car, she lowers her window and she peers at us both with eyebrows creased in question. You guys comin' or not? Though the doubts about this Aya being related to the Umbrella Corporation in any way shape or form dwindled when she revealed to me that she's from the FBI, they're still there. After all, anyone with a cool looking car and a government license plate can say that they're a part of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Whose to say she didn't jack the car from a _real_ fed? Only a reckless idiot would fall for this trick, if it really is one. Not me. Show me some identification, I demand. Aya looks to me incredulously. I'm not going anywhere with you unless you show me some I.D, miss. The tone of voice I used scares little Sherry, who now stands behind my protective body. I can't believe this. Aya shakes her head, her platinum locks softly whapping her on the face. When she does that, it reminds me of someone I knew, grew somewhat attached to and lost months ago in Raccoon City, except her hair was raven and of a much shorter length My jaw clenches at the memory. Keep it together, Leon. Nevertheless, Aya reaches into the confines of a pocket located within the interior of her chic black leather jacket. She extracts a black wallet and flips it open to flash a shiny badge and an identification card towards Sherry and I. I step closer to get a better look at it. Detective Brea, Aya I.; Federal Bureau of Investigation — M.I.S.T. division', are inscribed on the card along with her vitals, her signature, and her fingerprint. The acronym gets to me but I don't question her about it—that can be saved for later. I give her statistics the once over. Her height, weight, blood type—everything is there, except for her dimensions (not like I wonder about them). She's 5'3? Damn; she sure doesn't look it And then I look at her badge. It's gold and it too has the FBI's insignia on it. This is the Real McCoy. I turn to wave Sherry over and then I look to Aya once again with a bit of an apologetic smile. Alright. We'll go. You got any bags or nothing like that? I love how New Yorkers talk. it's just us two, I reply. I had all of the necessary documents for Sherry and I either on me in my pocket or with Ark Thompson. Clothes and products were just gonna have to wait for us. Aya grins to me and unlocks the doors to her car with a single press of a button. I step around the silvery vehicle and sit shotgun beside Aya while Sherry climbs into the backseat. As I buckle my seatbelt and as our pale-haired driver revs up the engine and backs the car up and out of the service station, I glance out of the window to notice that the Camry provided to me and paid for by the government is _just starting_ to get its tire fixed. Man, won't those boys be mad when they realize I'm gone?
The amber colored heavens of nightfall around the skyscrapers of the Big Apple were evident by the time we arrived. At first, things went smoothly but by the time we reached the city's limits, traffic, on any route, was a complete disaster. Several accidents and roadwork kept cars at a bumper-to-bumper gridlock. We must've stayed on the Bronx Expressway for at least two hours. My nerves were on the edge. I was so anxious to get to New York I found myself pressing my face against the window, turning the radio stations every five minutes, and sighing out loud about fifty times. My limbs literally shook with anxiety and worry for Claire Redfield. Where was she? Was she still alive? Did she make it out of the Prison by now? She didn't di—of course she didn't Kennedy! Stop being so stupid! Sherry was as worried about Claire as I was. She remained tight-lipped and as still as a statue in the backseat. She didn't even react to the sight of Yankee Stadium or the Empire State Building in the distance. Miss Aya Brea attempted to keep our spirits up by commenting on everything except the traffic and what kept us so quiet. Instead, she spoke of recent New York City events and the weather. To be honest, I couldn't give two flying shits about the recent windy weather nor would I ever find myself caring about a new restaurant in Times Square—and something told me Aya didn't either. Yet she carried on those conversations for me, so I wouldn't grow sick with worry and dread, therefore I feigned interest by nodding and commenting half-assedly. That carried on for just about the entire trip. Right now, it's nearing 7 pm and the tall buildings of Manhattan are starting to light up brightly. The traffic has died down to some extent, with most of it resulting from the numerous yellow cabs throughout the city and, of course, the populace. I swear, I've never seen so many different types of people in one place in one day in my entire life. Not even Chicago had this many people! Finally, Sherry opens up from her shell and begins to show interest in what the city has to offer. Her petite form kneels on the backseat to help her poke her head out of the opened window, pointing and staring at the crowds despite my arguments to keep her inside the vehicle to avoid injury and a possible ticket for our kind driver. Aya, however, insists that what Sherry does is perfectly fine and normal, and thus I am forced to listen to the eleven year old shout out at everything that captures her interest: Wow, that lady's walking six—no, _seven_ dogs at once! Ooh, he's a mime! Look at what that girl has on! That's cool! Check it out! A transvestite! At the latter comment, I almost break my neck with the whiplash caused by my hasty turning of it to see. I struggle to look out of the window as we pass yet another crowd of innumerable citizens. I see no one that matches Sherry's description, though. Ha ha! Gotcha, Leon! Sherry laughs and tugs at the tiny hairs along the nape of my neck, good-humouredly. Even Aya begins to giggle at me. I mutter dryly. Just for that, Sherry, you're going to have Spam for dinner tonight. I glance over my shoulder to watch her grow pale and quiet. Ah, revenge is sweet. Oof. Spam, Aya says as she flinches in sympathy for Sherry. That's way too harsh. Don't you think? Hey, she tricked me. I think she deserves _worse_ than that! Yeah, but _Spam_? That's awful and cruel. Aya's enjoying this as much as Sherry and I are. I can tell by how hard she's trying to keep snickers and grins at bay. Just whose side are you on, anyway? I tease her. Well, us blondes gotta stick together, don't we Sherry? the elder of the two blondes lifts her head a tad to grin and wink at Sherry's reflection in the rear view mirror before turning her attention back to driving. Sherry pumps a fist into the air. Oh please, I scoff at them both. Then I wag my finger at Aya when she halts the vehicle at a red traffic light. I highly doubt you're a _natural_ blonde. Aya simulates a gasp, holding a hand against her generous bosom I swear, I'm not looking! You take me for a peroxide using floozy? Hey, I only call it like I see it. And from the looks of it, I lift a hand and give the tips of her soft hair a playful flip, I'd say this is not your natural color. The female law enforcement agent boldly folds her arms. Feh. I got more than enough proof that this is my _real_ hair color. I flash her a grin so wicked, The Joker'd keel over with jealousy. Oh really? Yes really. Her grin is just as wicked as mine. Uhh huh Like an added reflex, my eyebrows begin to involuntarily wiggle. With mischievous intent.
Before I can challenge Aya any further, Sherry pops her head in the area between the driver and passenger seats, looking at us both with a confused countenance. What are you two talking about? Reality crashes down on me so fast that I jolt back into my seat as if the car had made a sudden stop, even if it just took off at the green light; and a wide-eyed Aya promptly turns her head to stare at the road again, wordlessly. Here I am, a bachelor who has seen and lived through more than your average Vietnam War veteran in mere months, _flirting_ with a fellow former police officer, in the presence of young Sherry. What kind of example am I setting for her? _Claire_ wouldn't do this And I _shouldnt_ be doing this N-nothing, Sherry, I tell her while coughing into my balled fist.
That's right. Nothing. Defeated at her game of Twenty Questions, Sherry shrugs and returns to her observation of the sights of New York City. I sigh softly, barely audibly, with relief. I steal a quick glance sideways towards Aya. She's got her eyes focused on her driving but I notice her carefully glance my way from the corner of her eye before fully turning her head and regarding me with a smile. I crack an awkward grin in return. And the interior of the car falls silent. Save for Sherry's frequent outbursts, neither of us bother to make conversation. I think that's the worst thing that can happen to three people stuck in a car. To relieve ourselves of the silence, I take out a folded up document from my jacket and look over the instructions for my relocating. According to the grapevine, these officials that hired me offered to give me a place to stay: a furnished and, most importantly, _paid for_ two bedroom apartment somewhere in the West Village sector. Uh, by the way, I begin, to get Aya's attention, we're staying in an apartment on Christopher and Bleeker Streets. You know where that's at? Do I? she retorts with a grin. I used to live around there. What's the building number? I can getcha there in a jiffy.
Aya wasn't kidding when she said she would get us to the apartment building in a jiffy'—she got us here within minutes _without_ getting lost. I don't know how. What with all the streets with numeral nomenclatures, I'd get lost in a heartbeat. I suppose getting around the largest city in the United States with ease is one of the few things that makes a New Yorker so remarkable Ah, home sweet home. Aya sets her silvery car into a double parking position just outside of the four story apartment building Sherry and I are going to call home' for God knows how long. Hey, look! There are some girls outside! With that as her only warning, Sherry begins to unlock the door. Sherry! Don't go— By the time I even warn her, the little blonde skitters out of Aya's car and over to a crowd of about three girls around her age, hanging around in front of the building. Oh, is she ever gonna have Spam for dinner tonight. Ah, don't worry about her, Leon, Aya says with reassurance. She's in a crowd and she's got two law enforcement officers watching her. I'd say she's pretty safe, mm? I glance to her, my mouth slacked agape in disbelief. How did you She merely winks at me. I saw your holster. So I'm assuming you're with the law. Am I right? I flush slightly. How could I have been so careless? No I wasn't careless. Aya's an FBI agent and former NYPD officer. She's trained to read people from the inside out like a book. I should have known she'd figure my job out sooner or later. Yeah, you're right. Come on now, the job's not so bad. I don't know; I find myself disagreeing with you, Aya.
I shake my head, clearing out any thoughts of Raccoon City and the job—no, my dream of working there as a police officer. My mother told me that being a cop was going to get me in trouble. Apparently, mother knows best. It's nothing, really. Let's just say my first day on the job was shitty. _Very_ shitty. I hear ya, Aya says with an almost fake laugh. It's like she thinks she relates to me and my involvement in that nightmare. Highly doubtful, methinks. The only people that can relate to me are Claire, Sherry, and maybe even Ad— Seems she's really popular with her friends. She tips her chin in the general direction of Sherry and the group of girls, all currently engaged in some sort of lively conversation. Friends? Nah, she just met them, I reply off-handedly. But I thought you said this was where she grew up and lived? Fuck, I slipped up! Having no alibi to reply with, I decide to remain silent instead of lying to Aya any further.
I cringe at the sound of that. I give up and sigh. Sherry's not the daughter of my friend in the Navy— West Point, she says.
West Point, she says again, a little more firmly this time. You said her father's at the West Point Military Academy, remember? Damn, she's good. You see? I'm not that good of a liar Aya relaxes herself and rests her forearms on the steering wheel. Why lie, though? she asks. For our safety. Safety? From what? It's something I can't summarize for you right here, right now. Aya scratches her neck and leans it from side to side, popping it as she leans back in her seat. If it weren't my job to serve and protect, I'd mind my own business. But I nod. I understand. I look up from my hands and at her. She's offering me a reassuring smile, her bright eyes silently asking me to confide in her. She wants me to trust her. Ever since the incident at Raccoon, trust was not something I'd hand out like candy at Halloween anymore. I've trusted someone before, only to lose her minutes after I found out she wasn't who I thought she was A soft knock against the side of the car door jolts me. It's Sherry. Janine and Kimberly want me to stay over for dinner and a slumber party; they live across the hall from us. Can I stay? I briefly glance towards Aya. She rolls one shoulder back in a shrug, grinning. Sure. Just leave all the decisions to me. Sherry, we just got here and—
She bats a pair of doe-eyes at me, beseeching. I'm a sucker for eyes: Claire's deep browns, Sherry's hazels, and even Aya's turquoises. Tools of emotional blackmail. All of 'em, I tell ya. I finally acquiesce, sighing. But you better go upstairs and get me their parents' names and all sorts of contacts. Understand? Excitedly and happily, Sherry begins to dance around with her tiny arms lifted into the air. No Spam! No Spam! Did she even pay attention to a word I said? I ask no one in particular as I watch her trot into the apartment building with her newfound friends. Oh, she did, she did, Aya replies, grinning, as if that was something only girls can understand. So, what're you gonna do now, Leon? Gonna go upstairs and have a nice can of Spam before turning in? Har Dee Har Har, I mutter. Tight ass. Nice ass.
The look on Aya's face is priceless. I laugh and hold up my hands in surrender. Sometimes, I just can't help myself. What? Didnt think I had a sense of humor? I was kidding! Kidding! Sneering just a bit, the flaxen woman beside me drums her slender digits on the steering wheel as we wait for Janice-or-whatever's parents to come downstairs to give us the okay for Sherry staying over. But seriously, what _are_ you going to do? she asks me. You want me to tell you about Sherry and I, don't you? Aya nods. Here goes. So, why not listen to my story over a dinner or something like that? For the first time since I've seen her at the service station in upstate New York, Aya looks taken aback, maybe even impressed by my candor—something I picked up from Claire Redfield. Um. Sure Holy cow, she looks a little shy! Where do you wanna go? I'm from out of town. I can't recommend any decent places to eat, especially one where my state of dress wouldn't make that much of a difference. All of my clothes, what little I had to begin with, are being shipped from my old apartment in Mayville, a town outside of Raccoon, and won't be here for at least three days. So basically, I'm stuck wearing a pair of jeans, a white tee-shirt, and a badass black leather bomber jacket. Definitely not something you'd wanna wear to Tavern on the Greene. And besides, I sure as Hell don't want everyone near us in our business. Man, I'm paranoid. How about your place? She blinks several times. My place? She looks a little tentative, so I suggest: Or would you prefer just coming upstairs? We can order take-out or a pizza and simply talk. It'll be just the two of us. I mean, we need all the privacy we can have Aya lowers her head but keeps her eyes on me, in a disbelieving say what?' manner. I meant for our conversation, you pervert! I add. I knew that! I was just making sure _you_ knew what it was for. I roll my eyes with a smirk. So, you comin' upstairs or what? Yeah. I'm comin'. I can _easily_ make a joke about the sexual innuendo but I say nothing about it and I try to maintain a straight face—though Im sure the constant pursing of my lips is a dead giveaway. The sharp glance she gives me confirms my beliefs. I laugh. Alright, alright!
Author Notes: This chapter was tough to write but I think I got it out rather well... Please tell me what you think! I am new to writing RE fanfiction and constructive criticism, as well as ideas, work wonders!
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