Author's Note: And the Epic Story begins...
Summary: Once set in stone, feelings are hard to rewrite. Even when carved over, the original grooves remain. Some things... just never change.
Rating: T. We will try to tone down the swearing.
Some Things Never Change
Chapter One: I Miss Claire
By: TheMazzieDonut
Sherry Birkin's tiny feet sunk into the tacky and altogether hideous shag carpeting covering the cramped apartment-turned-motel-room she'd been staying in since then. Since there. The outbreak. Raccoon City. The event and the town that orphaned her.
She tried to force those thoughts out of her head, for Sherry had another issue that needed to be addressed, and sooner, rather than later. She knew exactly how she intended to go about it, too. She was groggy, still stuck somewhere between awake and asleep, and feeling considerably less self-conscious than she typically did.
"Mmm," Sherry grumbled, stumbling into the motel room's tiny kitchen area, certain Claire was in there. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she continued, "My boobs hurt. That means they're getting bigger, right?"
From his position bent over, head inside the refrigerator, Leon very slowly stood up. Once upright, he ever so gradually turned his head to where Sherry stood. He'd paled a bit over the statement, and had unconsciously raised an eyebrow.
Sherry had yet to notice anything was wrong as she was still rubbing her tired eyes. A moment later her hands came to rest at her sides and she found herself face to face not with Claire Redfield, her savior and confidant, but Leon Kennedy.
Leon and Sherry started at each other for a moment, dumbfounded, until Sherry realized her mistake. She had just walked into the kitchen on this particular morning positive Claire was in there. But Sherry would have no such luck, as Claire had walked out on her and Leon the previous day.
Who knew where she was. Neither Leon nor Sherry, that was for sure. Where Claire was, however, wasn't the issue. Where she wasn't--that was the issue.
Whatever Leon had been looking for in the fridge was long forgotten, replaced with his adolescent companion's declaration of a moment before, ringing in his head.
Sherry, now blushing a deep crimson, let out a little gasp, put both hands over her chest as if to further cover the offending body parts and ran to the bedroom, sure to slam the door behind her.
Leon made his way to the couch and sat down It was going to be one of those days. "Couldn't have picked a better time to ditch us, Claire," he muttered.
"Name's Leon Kennedy. Nice to meet you."
"Mine's Claire. Claire Redfield. I'm looking for my brother, Chris."
Always. Eternally. Not a moment passed, it seemed, in which Claire wasn't thinking about finding Chris. A peculiar notion, Leon thought, that the younger sibling with no military or police training whatsoever would be the one determined to rescue the elder sibling--a former Air Force man and member of en elite unit such as STARS. Leon never outright said anything to Claire about her skewed vision of reality,though he sometimes wanted to.
Really, what were the chances that Claire would save Chris? Sure, she'd done a damn fine job of getting herself and Sherry out of Raccoon City alive--something that made the rookie cop proud. But the same could be said about Chris Redfield. He'd survived the infamous "Mansion Incident," and was in the process of blowing the whistle on Umbrella and with any luck, getting them the hell out of his town forever. He just may have been able to do it too, if not for the fact that the chief of police had been taking money from the corporation to keep their dirty little secrets just that--secret.
Leon and Claire had learned from a small, tattered spiral notebook found on Chris's desk that he was no longer in Raccoon City. In fact, he'd been gone for about a month. Off to France, to Umbrella's main headquarters to put a stop to them once and for all. Information he'd purposely kept from his sister.
"Looks like we aren't gonna find your brother here after all," Leon had told Claire, their hands touching for a moment as he passed her the notebook containing Chris's words.
He had gone onto say that since finding Chris was Claire's only objective, they had no reason to stay any longer. They'd look for survivors and a way out. That was it.
Well, it seemed Claire had taken Leon's words to heart, some two weeks later. Chris wasn't in this pathetic little town they'd stopped in and so Claire decided she had no reason to stay any longer. Seemingly without a second thought she had dismissed Leon and Sherry. The man who had saved her life when one of those zombies nearly took a chunk out of her inside Emmy's diner, and the lonely little girl she had sworn to protect.
Leon and Sherry had both been wounded in Raccoon City. Sherry in the form of becoming host to her mutated father's embryos in the sewers beneath her hometown, Leon taking a bullet to the shoulder in those same filthy depths.
Ada... Leon shook his head, trying to oust any thoughts of the mysterious lady in red. She was gone from his life before she was really in it and he blamed himself. But he didn't have time for that. He didn't have time for any of it. Not the traumatized young girl on the verge of womanhood, nor the nagging wound in his shoulder, or what few memories he had of the woman he'd sustained that injury for. Well... maybe Leon had time for Sherry. He just didn't know what the hell to do with her.
Sherry sat on the bed, hugging her knees and hiccupping from all the crying she'd done. She was quite an emotional girl. She always had been, there had just never been anyone there to notice it until Leon and Claire came along. Grateful as she was to Leon, she really would've preferred Claire's company to his at this point in time. At this point, and at that point, too, Sherry concluded, allowing herself a moment to reflect.
Liquid fire. That was what it felt like, burning her insides. Sherry didn't know why it hurt, only that it did. So bad. It felt likesomething was melting her from the inside out. It started deep, deep down, in the very pit of her stomach, spreading all the way to her fingertips.
The last thing she remembered was feeling wobbly, unsteady and woozy, as an intense heat rose inside her little body.
"Claire," she began, weakly, and afraid. "My... stomach."
"Sherry?" Claire had asked, calmly, yet with concern present in her voice.
"It... burns." The little girl, so small for her age, barely squeaked out the words before slumping over in her seat in the transport car.
She had regained consciousness to find herself laying on a small, hard cot in one of the security offices at the Umbrella plant where both her parents worked. Claire was kneeling at her side and smiling sadly at her.
That was the last she'd seen of Claire until the train.
Sherry thought she heard her name, but she couldn't quite place the voice that had spoken it.
She was sure of only one thing--it wasn't Claire. It was a masculine voice, but it wasn't her dad.
Her dad... She's heard his pained cries more than once and each time she had, she'd run into that horrible monster just moments later. Sherry, of course, was convinced that this creature, whatever it was, was after her dad and that she had to protect him. How could she have known that creature was him?
From her half-conscious state, Sherry could smell blood. Someone was holding her. Tight and well above the ground. She was powerless to fight it.
She turned her head, burying it in something warm. It was a comforting feeling, though the aroma of blood had become considerably stronger. Sherry heard a faint groan and felt someone ease her head away from the body heat she'd found herselfdrawn to. Her eyes fluttered open to gaze upon the blurry figure cradling her in his arms.
It was him. The cop she'd run from in the police station. He hadn't been fast enough to grab her, like Claire had.
Claire... So pretty, but in an almost scary way. She was rough and tough, but so stunning, and caring, too, causing Sherry to swell with envy and admiration at every turn. Claire was the kind of girl Sherry feared, yet, secretly wanted to be like.
Did this man know Claire? Why else would he be holding her? Sherry wondered. Where was Claire? Why wasn't she here? She said she would be.
Sherry moved her head to the best of her limited ability, willing her eyes to focus.
The cop looked young. He had blue, blue eyes, and reddish blonde hair. He looked so serious. So sad. His uniform was covered in all sorts of muck. Muck, and blood...
There was a lot of blood on his uniform. Right around the shoulder. There was a hole in the material, too, and Sherry could see a bloody bandage through it.
Was he hurt? Well, that was a stupid question. Of course he was.
Sherry felt her stomach jump into her throat, and the man carrying her began walking.
As he carried her through the open elevator doors, she fell unconscious again. Her last thought before blacking out was simple.
Why didn't you come for me, Claire?
Sherry stood up from the bed, more determined than her twelve years and headed for the door. She slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open. She peered out, looking for signs of Leon. She didn't see him. Surely he wouldn't leave her too...? First Claire, now him?
But then she saw him. That perfectly straight, but still messy and unruly as all hell strawberry blonde mop giving him away.
Sherry didn't say a single word as she neared Leon and finally took a seat next to him on the springy, ratty old couch. It was deathly silent in the room for a small eternity until Leon finally spoke.
He uttered a single word. "So..."
Sherry sighed. "So..."
Leon shifted in his seat, and cleared his throat- a sure sign he was feeling uncomfortable. "So, you need to go...shopping?"
"Yeah." Sherry said, quietly, eyes looking downward.
"Then, we should probably go...shopping." Leon concluded.
"Yeah."
Leon rubbed his neck, avoiding her eyes. "Look, Sher, I won't lie; I don't know how to do that kind of shopping."
Sherry looked up with an exasperated yet relieved face. "Well, I won't lie to you either, Leon; I'm glad you don't know how to do that kind of shopping."
The two sat and blinked at each other.
Leon sat in the driver's seat of the rusty brown POS he'd found at the edge of Raccoon City, claimed for "official police business" and then hotwired. Not very becoming of a policeman, yes, but desperate times called for desperate measures. He had to get Claire and Sherry out of town, somehow, and after all they'd been through, it was safe to say no one was up for that much walking.
Today, however, was a little different. Claire was absent, and this was no escape for Sherry or Leon. They weren't fleeing a small mountain community overrun with zombies and other unimaginable abominations. On this day, their destination was simply somewhere that sold brassieres.
Unimaginable abominations... The two women working the ahem intimate apparel department of the store Leon and Sherry had decided to award their business--the term would suit them just as well as it did a licker any day of the week. Long tongues, constantly in motion and the first to show off both their brains and their desire to inflict suffering upon Leon.
Sure, it must've looked funny to see a twenty-something man come waltzing in there with a pre-teen girl who neither looked nor acted like his sibling. Sherry seemed so shy, so quiet, so utterly uncomfortable around Leon that he wondered if those women might think he'd abducted her and call the cops on him.
The cops. He was a cop. Sort of. The RPD no longer existed, as the town had since been wiped off the map. But that didn't mean he wasn't a cop anymore. Or did it? Would he get a severance package or something? It would sure come in handy, Leon thought, eying a price tag.
Leon had heard the older of the saleswomen say, "Off you go," in a somewhat snooty voice. He turned to see her pat Sherry on the back and usher her into a fitting room, with an assortment of bras hanging from both arms.
Leon didn't realize it would be such an involved process. He crossed his arms, and tried not to look at all the skimpy, lacy, racy, hot little numbers on display as far as the eye could see. He would've avoided looking at the garments anyway, but he felt he had to make it obvious he wasn't happy; a girl with straight red hair and angry green eyes, about Claire's age if he had to guess, was giving him a very disapproving look over her newspaper. When Sherry had been ushered away, she'd mouthed the words "You-Are-A-Per-Vert" to him over the sports section. She was the one he figured would call the cops.
His concentration on counting the dots on the ceiling was broken a moment later, when the other saleswoman--a cute, flirty girl about his age, piped up and said, "You wanna taste the body frosting? We have a tester."
Leon shot her a strange look, though he hadn't really meant to. "No thanks."
"Are you sure?" She sort of batted her eyelashes at him and bent over the counter, sure to give him an eye full of cleavage.
"I'm sure," Leon said, through a forced smile of gritted teeth.
The girl pouted, then proceeded to take a little taste herself. Slowly licking her index finger, she almost whispered, "It's really good."
"No thanks," Leon insisted. He said it firmly, as to get his point across--he wasn't enjoying this one bit. He turned away from her, but just enough so he wasn't facing her head on. If she were going to lunge at him from over the counter in a sudden burst of lust, he'd have time to react. He could practically feel her working up to it when the dressing room curtain opened a moment later. Despite his best efforts, Leon more or less threw himself away from the counter.
Sherry emerged from the fitting room a few moments later, flushed. The saleswoman that had been helping her was right behind her, her tape measure swinging from her neck, and carrying all those bras Sherry had just tried on.
"Done?" Leon asked, eyes twinkling with hope.
"No," Sherry said, quietly. Clearly, she wasn't enjoying this either.
Leon sighed, not doing such a great job of hiding his frustration, as the words "Jesus fucking Christ," slid out with the sigh. He was angry at Claire for the way she had left, burdened by Sherry, and to top it all off, he was sore. His shoulder was still bugging him. It had gotten steadily worse over the past couple of weeks. Taking care of it... Well, he had just been too busy to seek proper medical attention. He put a hand to his ailing shoulder, his patience was wearing thin and it was showing. He acidly muttered, "Son of a bitch," under his breath.
Sherry scrunched up her face in anger--something she hadn't done in years--prepared to throw a full-blown temper tantrum. She threw her arms up in the air and shouted, "I hate you! I wish Claire was here!"
"I wish Claire was here too," Leon agreed, albeit very coldly. He turned away from the flustered girl and added, "Cause then I wouldn't have to deal with this shit. I'll be in electronics. Come get me when you're done."
Sherry was too shocked to speak. She was so stunned, in fact, that she hardly noticed Leon turn back around to face her, and stuff a wad of cash into her hand, leaving her to finish her awkward task without any support.
Sherry, at the strong urging of the increasingly pushy saleswoman, tried on several more bras, before finally deciding she was ready to check out.
No doubt, the whole afternoon would've been much more pleasant with Claire there. She stood by what she had said to Leon. Well, except for saying she hated him. She felt bad about that. But there was no taking it back now. Sherry made her purchase--her fist adult purchase, and boy, it was a big one, too. She headed for the exit, a bag over each arm and the all-too-familiar ding of the motion sensor in her ears.
Leon was waiting for her right outside the store, and they made their way to the car in silence.
Back in the car, Leon fastened his seatbelt, and eyed Sherry to make sure she buckled herself in as well. He started the engine, but before so much as shifting out of park, he looked at her and said, "Sorry."
She smiled, meekly and said, "Me too." She fumbled with her bra strap--something she wasn't used to.
After spending most of the money Leon had given her, Sherry had gone back into the fitting room and put on one of her many new bras. Why had she bought so many anyway? Those women had told her she needed one for every day of the week, at least, and although she didn't quite believe them, she listened and bought seven bras.
"Hey, Sherry," Leon called out, calmly, sweetly, and smiling crookedly at her.
"Hmm?" she asked, still adjusting her strap.
"You look good," he said. A moment later he realized how inappropriate his statement sounded. "Oh, shit. I didn't mean it like that."
Sherry seemed less concerned with Leon's odd compliment than with the word he'd just used, and right in front of her too. Her parents never swore in front of her.Mostly because her parents hardly ever stood in front of her. "Did you just say shit, Leon?" she asked, dumbfounded. She immediately gasped--forget Leon saying that word, she'd just said it. "Oh! I'm sorry!"
"Sorry for what?" Leon asked.
"Well, for what I- I mean, I said the s-word."
Leon just shrugged his shoulders and shifted into drive. "Ah, don't worry about it. Shit happens."
A shy smile crept across Sherry's face. Did she dare...? "...Shit happens?" she asked, tentatively testing the waters. Tentatively testing Leon.
"Yup. Shit happens and then you die," Leon continued.
Sherry smiled to herself and looked out the window. "Shit happens and then you die." What a concept.
Author's Note: Okay, so you've found your way to this fic. Could've happened several ways. A) You saw it on the Resident Evil page, read the summary and went, "Sounds interesting." B) You've read (and liked, we hope!) a story by either Mazzie May or TheDonutMistress, or both of us. C) You've been unfortunate enough to see us practically spamming our own profiles to promote this, our joint account. In any case, we're glad you're here and we hope you enjoy this. Now, we both love or Resident Evil, and writing, but don't expect us to update this like clockwork. We've got a few states distance between us, real lives, and our own solo writing efforts. But stick with us and you'll be treated to, like, the coolest, awesomest, most totally bitchin' fic ever. Also, we're not Claire haters (TheDonutMistress LOVES her) but she's not the greatest girl in the world in this story. -shrug- Someone has to be the bad guy. Don't worry, though; Mazzie May promises to spread the blame.
R&R Please