Okay, as I promised, acknowledgement.

JoJo10: Thanks for keeping up with this fic!  You make me happy! =]
Toxin Blackheart: The pencil's still going… Heehee, keep up the awesome fic, m'mkay?  Thanks a lot, Toxin!
Yot: Yes, Wesky.  Once I finish my Leon plushie, I'll try to get started on a Wesker plushie just for you! Whee!
Fred: Umm…that's nice.  I like this game too.  But cookie-mix?  Erm…it'll be all rotten and stuff…
Demon: …THAT'S WHY THIS IS CALLED FANFICTION.  I can do whatever I want as a FAN of the game.  Example, many people have written Carlos as a booty-shaking Latino poppy, Brad is also portrayed as a gay pervert, and even Billy as a drug addict.  I hope that this is making a point to you that it's MY story so I can do whatever I want in it's plotline as it goes, and if I want to make Ashley competition for Leon, I'll do that.

Thank you, now carry on.

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CHAPTER 3
            Ice Cream Shoppe Burn Up

     Though protecting the daughter of the nation's capital was the bread of life, Leon S. Kennedy found it to be a major pain in the ass.  When he agreed to the job, he thought that he'd be babysitting a ten-year old or a little bed-wetter who thought of little Jimmy next door and had constant tea parties with Mr. Teddy and Ms. Dolly Pants every day.  Never did the disturbing thought of a 21-year old brat clinging to his body and constantly courting him, slowly destroying his deep relationship with Claire cross his mind.  It was hell, almost as aggravating as trying to escape Raccoon.
     He watched as Ashley pointed out ice cream flavors, wondering if she'll forget to buy him a cone again.  Leon surveyed the room, raising an eyebrow as he spied a former co-worker with two others, an equally buff, pony-tailed man and a female Japanese student.  His name was Kevin-something, or whatever, he didn't care.  He'd seen him during a quick tour of the station, just to know where everything was before his first official shift the next week.  He's probably a survivor, along with the other two, thought Leon.  But then, who was the red-haired hottie in the knee-high, deep maroon dress sitting down with them?
     "Huh?" Leon was jerked away from his thoughts, feeling a sharp tug and bug-bite pinch.  "I'm sorry, what was that?"
     "God, Leon, don't you pay attention?  I was asking you what flavor you wanted." Ashley pouted.  "Every time you see Claire, you're on Cloud Nine!  You don't pay very much attention to me.  Leon?"
     Every word that had spilled out of Ashley's mouth was "blah-blah" to Leon's ears.  His wandered over to the table of four, focusing on Claire dressed up and sitting next to Kevin.  By the way she looked, Ms. Redfield appeared to be on a date…No, Leon shook the thought off.  Claire was loyal to him, he was sure of it!  They were just the Raccoon survivors, no big deal.  But then, why were all four of them dressed to impress?
     Leon saw Kevin's arm snake its way around Claire's shoulders, and suddenly he felt his own arm slipping and sneak up to his holstered handgun with the undying urge to open fire at the former RPD officer hitting on his girl.  Luckily, Claire smacked Kevin's hand away.  Yes, she's still mine, smiled Leon.  Love was undying.  Love was everlasting.  Love was true.  Love was-
     "Leon!"
     -causing time to melt his ice cream.  Small streams of butter pecan goodness drizzled down a cut-off gloved hand that clutched the crispy waffle cone dearly.  Leon simply stared as the sticky mass sunk lower and lower until they streamed down his fist and dripped onto the counter.  He saw that Ashley was eagerly waiting for the moment when she could lick the ice cream off his hand, but Leon decided to perform the task himself.
     His warm, pink tongue slowly licked off every part of his hand that screamed "sweetness!"  His favorite flavor danced merrily in his mouth, fully aware that the mere spectacle nearly put Ashley in tears (both of joy and sorrow) and made Claire giggle uncontrollably.  When at last his hand was presumably licked clean, Leon sucked the remnants of his scoop out from the cone and proceeded to consume his sugar waffle, feeling the bits of squishy cone turn to mush by his personal food processor.  Once there was no trace of his frozen delight, he took a napkin and wiped his mouth clean, following that came the counter.  Leon scored a 3-pointer with the napkin ball and proceeded toward the men's bathroom.  Before his hand reached the door handle, he threw over his shoulder, "Mr. Smithey, the ice cream rocked.  As usual." And he disappeared behind the "men's restroom" sign.
     "That's 'Smith-ey,'" said the cashier with a British accent.

     Kevin knew he recognized the hand-licker, but from where?  Mall, gun shop, adult store, Raccoon or RPD, the possibilities were endless.  All he knew was that ice cream boy looked insanely familiar.
     "Hehe, Leon.  What will you do next?" snickered the girl beside him.  Her flaming red hair bounced in springy curls as small amounts of laughter erupted from her trembling frame.
     Leon!  That was it!  He'd read his file in the RPD office the day hell came up from underneath man's feet and fed upon Raccoon's flesh.  That day was supposedly Kennedy's first day on the job; a new graduate fresh out of cop 'cademy to be put under Irons' command.  Poor bastard.  He liked his clean record, though.
     How did Claire know Leon?  Were they crossed fingers?  Maybe even more?  How the hell should I know, they probably went through hell and back, possibly even lather, rinse, repeat.  God, I suck, he thought.
     A young, classy blonde stomped toward their table, sour pouts signaling her arrival.  Kevin raised a brow and paused for a moment, trying to remember the familiar face pounding in their direction.  Sexy body, shoulder-length blonde locks, the piercing eyes…the President's daughter?!
     "Clair Redfield, I presume?" her cool voice asked.

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