A/N: In anticipation of the RE4 remake, I decided to try some fluff with a pairing I've actually never touched before - Ashley and Leon. This is post-Vendetta, so everybody is older, and time has changed a hero and a girl into a little harder, a little more lost, a little sadder. But it's an homage to A Star is Born because we know I love the music, I love the romance, and I love the promise of finding what you're looking for...when you stop trying to be what the world says you should. And you just put down that gun and get on with your life.

Shallow

Chapter One:

- Walk on Water-

New York, New York - 2014

He slid in the blood, his breath fogging out before him. His hands caught, they gathered, they slid and stopped and anchored.

It didn't matter.

It was done.

Gasping, the woman in red was slathered in it. She grasped his face and murmured, "...fairtrade...see ya round...handsome."

Her eyes fixed. Leon slapped his hands over what he could, but it was done. It was over.

He sat in the cold and couldn't let go.

Even when they came to take her away.

Silver Lake, Montana - 2014

"It's not much," Kevin Ryman told him with a little shrug, "But it's a place to sleep."

"It's fine," Leon grumbled as he followed him up the stairs to the converted barn space turned apartment. "It could be a bed in the woods, and I wouldn't care."

Kevin leaned on the wall as Leon tossed his bag on the pull-out bed in the corner. It squeaked as he turned to survey his surroundings. A desk. A bookshelf with old faded spines of classic novels. A table beside an old couch in buffalo plaid. A vast window overlooked the enormous valley outside and the gorgeous lake with its frame of mountains.

It was a good place. Clean. Comfortable. The pretty blue chair by the window had a small table and a light, perfect for reading.

He was a man who needed only the creature comforts anyway. This would suit him. For how long? As long as he wanted. He had no plans. He didn't make them that far ahead and hadn't for some time.

The moment Ada had shown up in New York after Arias' death had been a moment. He'd met her in the street to speak to her, and the bullets had started flying. He hadn't known, even then, that she was under a KOS order. He hadn't known. He'd led them right to her.

And watched in horror as they blew her away.

Just like that - the last thing he'd had that wasn't tainted entirely by what he did was gone.

Ada found her peace.

And he was somewhere he couldn't even begin to understand.

He'd turned in his gun and credentials and stood in front of the most powerful woman in the Western World and said, "I'm done."

The newly elected former Vice President under Benford had tried like hell to change his mind. But it was over. He was finished. He'd known it, sitting in that bar in Colorado, he'd known. But he'd fought one last time beside Redfield to try to find his meaning again.

His meaning had died riddled with bullets in an alley like garbage.

He was done.

Finished.

It was time to see what life looked like without a gun and a barrage of B.O.W.S. around every corner.

He'd called Kevin, the last person in the world who'd known before Raccoon had fallen, the man who'd piped him into a job at the RPD and asked for a job. Just like that. Kevin had laughed and remarked, "You wanna be a ranch hand?"

To which Leon had said, "Yep."

As Leon toured the little apartment, Kevin invited, "You could live in the big house with me if you want, man. You sure you wanna be out here?"

Leon laughed, "I need some illusion of privacy, dude. This is fine."

Kevin shrugged, "I bounce at the local bar for extra dough when the need arises. You game?"

Leon snorted, "Throwing out drunks and dumbasses for cash? I'm in."

"Awesome." Kevin gave him a flicker of a smile. "This isn't an easy life, Kennedy. It's not bullets and blood and bioterror...but it's hard work."

Leon met his eyes and remarked, "Good. I don't need easy, Kevin, just simple."

"Simple, it is, brutha. Get some rest. The day starts when the rooster crows." He smacked his back and headed toward the stairs. "I'll introduce you to the crew when you're ready."

Leon heard his retreating footsteps and moved to open the window behind the chair. The wind tickled his face, reminding him it was winter. He left it open, watching the snow shimmer like diamonds in the sun on the sleeping grass beneath it. Hibernation, he thought with a tingle of truth, was what happened when your body went down to rest, recover, and wait...to find its way to awakening again.

He was here. It was time.

He would learn how to hibernate and wait and see what the Spring brought him.

Leon found himself the following morning fixing fences along the east pasture. It was all part of preparing a winter calving location. Apparently, the birth of calves didn't just happen in the spring. It happened year-round on a producing ranch like this.

Wolf Hollow was a beautiful place. He looked out over the endless snow and sky and felt a kind of peace he hadn't anticipated. The beard on his face, the rangy cowboy boots, and jeans - they weren't him...but they were here. He was a chameleon. He could be anything he wanted. He blended; he fit in. He made it work.

He'd been trying to find himself for years. Maybe this was how he did it: putting down the gun and picking up a hammer. Good, hard, physical labor suited him. He was here in some far-off place, away from the fight, forcing him to rethink his life. He was starting to sense he was slowly becoming someone else. Who?

He hadn't figured that part out yet.

He'd met the crew - from the surly face of Butch - the head ranch hand- and his big red beard. To Pickle, the little guy who handled the horses looked like a jockey in a race. To Kat - the woman with bushy black hair who dealt with the herd with Butch like she'd been born to do it. Deuce and Kip were the other ranch hands, young guys - like drifters - who came and went as the seasons changed and picked up extra work when available. They played cards. They laughed. They drank beer and hung out.

One night in the bunkhouse, one of them remarked - anybody got a fucking guitar? I need some music.

And Leon made his first contribution to their growing circle of friendship.

Kevin showed him how to pull calves and ride the land. Leon took to a horse slowly. The first time it bucked him off, and everyone laughed. It seemed to sense he was uncomfortable as he approached, "Easy, girl...easy. I'm friendly."

She eyed him defiantly as he cooed, "I'm a good guy. Who's a pretty girl?"

Her muzzle nudged his palm as he approached as Pickle cackled, "Lookit that. You ever seen her take to someone like that?"

And Leon returned, "...women like me."

Kip snorted, "Course they do, lookin as you do. I thought Ryman was fucking with us when you got here. You don't look like a ranch hand, man. You look like a model."

Leon stroked her soft flank as he told her, "You antsy girl? You need a good ride?"

She'd whinnied and nudged his shoulder. He got it. He understood it. The need to run free was like a drug. You chased the high, tried to hold it, and got withdrawals when it was gone.

He had it here.

He was free.

Nobody was making him stay. Nobody was making him fight. Nobody was making him be anything but whatever he wanted.

Leon dropped the hammer repeatedly against the barbed wire to finish securing it. This was simple. It was manual labor. He was good at it. Had the rangy build and dexterity to excel at it.

He had two steel screws in his shoulder, leftover pieces of a parasite in his chest, and scars on his honed torso for days, but he was better than some of these guys. Butch had been sewed up and fixed nearly as much as Leon. Kat had a steel plate in her skull from a bad kick from a bull. Kip and Deuce sported scars that made Leon think they'd had their fair share of damage doing what they did. Pickle had a scar from lips to ear and cut across the left side of his face, a love tap from a pissed-off guy with a whip when he'd been a boy and refused to use it on the horse they'd been training.

Life, it seemed, didn't care if you were a hero or a horse trainer - it left its marks all over your body and soul anyway.

About three weeks into living like a hermit-turned rancher, he figured out the perks of a life without the battle.

Rodeo.

After watching a man ride a bull, he figured out how he was going to get that high he'd spent a lifetime chasing and couldn't seem to leave it entirely behind. It didn't come from the fight; it came from the ride.

The second he secured his leg on that angry bull and lifted his hand, he knew his life had become a series of seconds.

Instead of minutes spent in misery and agony, it was seconds spent in spirited survival. All he had to do was just hang on.

Just hold on.

He'd made a lifetime of just holding on.

When the bull in question - aptly named The Nemesis by Kevin- threw him into the dirt in four seconds, he rolled, ran, and made Kip shout, "Goddamn! You ever seen anybody anywhere move like that!?"

Leon gave the Nemesis the same look he'd given countless monsters in his life - the one that said - this isn't over until only one of us is still standing.

The Nemesis pawed the ground, snorted, and seemed to taunt him.

Kat whistled wildly from the fence around the pen. "Kennedy - you're a fucking ballsy bastard. Who goes straight for the meanest sumbitch out here?!"

Kevin mused, leaning on the fence, "The meanest sumbitch in the business."

Leon blew out a breath as he walked toward the rest of the crew. He rolled his neck and considered, "Harder than it looks."

Pickle snorted like a dork as he chuckled, "You bet it is. It takes more than just balls, my brutha." His dark face studied Leon with enough interest to make Leon arch a brow as Pickle added, "You got what it takes, I think. Just gotta stick it out and learn how to take a fall."

Kip called, "Oh, he knows how to fall. You see that shit? He rolled like a ninja or something."

Deuce, rolling a matchstick in his teeth, queried, "What'd you do before this, ace?"

Before he could answer, Butch called, "It matter? Nobody ever asks that shit, Deuce. You know that. Whether he was a convict or a champion of the poor or fucking Batman, it don't matter a rat's red ass anyway."

Kevin told them, "He knows how to keep getting up, I promise you. And there's not a bull out there mean enough to scare him off."

Leon and Kevin held eyes until the older man slapped his back, "Let's get some grub, tough guy."

Leon snorted and followed him into the main house for supper. They always ate together, like a big, dirty, gruff family around a massive table. Dinner rotated among the hands-on who was cooking. Tonight it was stew, or something like it, with chunks of beef and barley floating in a tasty gravy.

When dinner ended, he and Kevin trudged down to the Watering Hole to help bounce bullshit cowboys.

Leon leaned on the bar watching the antics of the locals. They drank, danced, played pool, and threw darts - a live band cranked out country music with a dedicated strum of strings and gravelly vocals. When someone got rowdy, Kevin surged in to separate and dispel animosity.

Leon studied the pattern of the patrons to determine who was a shit disturber and a sulker. The lurkers in the corners were harmless, just there to drown their sorrows and be left alone. He knew the type; he was a champion lurker.

A couple of burly types in overalls were the loudest and most obnoxious. They hit on girls and got rowdy. They made other patrons uncomfortable with their sheer dedication to overt and archaic misogyny.

They grabbed the asses of servers and got hit in the face with trays. It didn't stop them. They kept being annoying until one grabbed the wrong girl and got a fist in the face from her boyfriend for it.

The second the fight was on, Kevin invited, "You ready?"

Leon laughed, threw back the shot of whiskey in his hand, and waved, "Let's do it."

The second a bottle flew at his head, Leon caught it, reversed it, and hit the wall a quarter inch from the guy who'd thrown it. He paused, considered, and taunted, "What are you...some kinda Chuck Norris?"

Leon arched a brow, "I'm the party police, asshole. This one? It's over."

"It ain't over til I say it's over."

The guy slinging his fists in defense of his girlfriend was muscled back by Kevin, who invited, "Ease down, guy. Let us handle this and buy your lady a round at the bar. Ok?"

The man looked put out to have his chivalry usurped but finally nodded, fearing being evicted prematurely from his good time.

Kevin laughed as he wandered off with his flattered girlfriend, "Somebody's getting laid tonight for being a hero."

Leon tilted his head at the big man in front of him, "Shame it's not you, tubby. Why don't you grab your ugly friend there and hit the bricks."

The big guy snorted, "You think I'm afraid of a skinny girl in a tight t-shirt? Catching a bottle don't make you a badass."

Leon shrugged, "Maybe not, but I promise you...you don't wanna see what does."

The big guy swung, his friend echoed the move to swing at Kevin, and Leon thought - fucking right on. He deflected the arm, pummeled the side of the giant, trying to take his head, and caught his fat belly in a hug. The fat guy shouted; Leon arched his back, and all that girth went up and over his shoulder. It threw him to the floor on his back with a grunt.

Kevin slapped the other fat guy down on the table and pinned his arms on his back, and Leon declared, "Stay down, dumbass. Make this easy."

When the idiot on the floor rolled to his feet, somewhat gracefully for such a tub of lard, Leon sighed, "Or not. Come on, then. Let's dance."

The fat guy charged him; Leon ducked his swinging ham of a fist and kicked him clean in the balls. With a wheeze and a squeak, he collapsed to his knees, cupping his injured manhood.

Leon decided, "Treat women like bitches; get made into one. Fairtrade."

He grabbed the back of the guy's overalls, jerked him into a loping stumble, and tossed him out the bar's door with little fanfare. Kevin followed it up by ejecting the other guy with a laugh. "Find another place to wet your whistle, Cartman. You're done here."

Leon advised, "Keep your hands to yourself next time, or I'll shove them up your ass."

The fat guys shouted warnings. They stumbled away, giving the finger. But they didn't come back.

Amused, Kevin and Leon leaned on the bar as the bartender - a pretty thing with long dark hair and big blue eyes - awarded, "Well done, usually this place gets destroyed during those kinds of fights."

Kevin winked at her. She giggled and offered him a free drink. Leon took the drink but avoided her amorous advances. He left her to Kevin to flirt with as he separated from them and moved to a corner to lean and watch.

He wasn't interested in pretty bartenders and flirty servers. He was here to be alone, brood, and figure out his life. Romance was as far from his mind as redemption. He wasn't a man chasing that kind of release.

But he'd never been a man to resist it either.

On the stage, a piano cued up with a musical jingle of notes.

Leon lifted the whiskey to his lips as the woman seated in the dull light slid her fingers over the ivory.

The short blonde hair caught the light in a sloppy ponytail where she'd bound it behind her face. Without a drop of makeup, the face was still something to see. Full lips, amber eyes, and an impressive nose graced by pretty little ears with a march of earrings up both sides.

She was pretty in a homespun way that said country and sun. Somehow pale and lovely in the harsh light on her face. The niggle of recollection had him narrowing his eyes at her. His photographic memory tried to tell him who he was looking at...and then? Well, then she started singing.

And pretty became something else.

You look around
And staring back at you
Another wave of doubt
Will it pull you under?
You wonder

The words arrowed in his guts and left him a little breathless. She played, swayed on the bench, and moved her body with the rhythm. Her face was a mask of determination and regret.

And the words...the words were a mirror of what happened in him.

What if I'm overtaken?
What if I never make it?
What if no one's there?
Will You hear my prayer?

When you take that first step
Into the unknown
You know that he won't let you go

Leon threw back the rest of the whiskey and watched her, fascinated.

As she played, some peace descended, leaving her looking like she'd found her place in the world.

And making him wish like hell he'd found his.

So what are you waiting for?
What do you have to lose?
Your insecurities try to alter you.
But you know you're made for more
So don't be afraid to move
Your faith is all it takes
And you can walk on the water too

Faith. He'd lost his somewhere. Between the blood and the battle and the endless race toward something broken and raw...he'd stopped believing. The only thing he knew...he felt more like him here, in the middle of nowhere where no one knew his name, than he had in a long time.

Step out, even when it's storming
Step out, even when you're broken
Step out, even when your heart is telling you
Telling you to give up
Step out, when your hope is stolen
Step out, you can't see where you're going
You don't have to be afraid

A man reached for her ankle at the edge of the stage, and she kicked at his hand. He snickered and called, "Come on, baby, take off the clothes and make it worth watching."

The woman finished the song with her head rolling on her shoulders. She finished the notes, and the scattered applause had her rising. As the man reached for her ankle and caught her calve, she raised her brows as he invited in an oily voice, "Time for the real show now, huh, sweetheart?"

When she just stared at him, he slid that hand up her leg to the knee. She waited, tilted her head, and he jeered, "There's a good girl; come on down here and show me how musical you are with my instrument."

His left hand grabbed for her hip, his right jerked on her calve, and Leon surged forward - but she didn't need him. She kicked the redneck right in his face for the effort. The crunch and pop of bone were so loud as someone laughed.

Beside him, Kevin remarked, "Yeah...there's a girl who doesn't need a hero, right?"

A girl who didn't need a hero. A nice change. A curious one.

And another thing that happened when you stopped trying to be one yourself.

He wasn't a hero here - he was just a man. And that man? He was trying to figure out how to exist in a world where he didn't matter and never would. While the fight surged in his blood like an addiction he'd denied, and the death that haunted him infected his heart like a virus.

As he tried to find his way in waters gone shallow with loss while the rocks tore up his legs, his soul, and his goddamn future.

Apparently, with enough whiskey, everybody was a fucking poet.

Even if they just wanted to be a washed-up has-been.

And stand there with dirt on their boots, listening to a pretty girl singing about letting go.

He must have stared at her for too long because Kevin joked softly, "Dorothy, I don't think we're in Raccoon City anymore."

They weren't. Raccoon was gone. Tall Oaks was gone.

Leon S. Kennedy was gone - it was time to figure out who he was without him.

And if there was anything left of the man he'd been.

Time to walk on water - or crash into the shallows for the last time.