A New Year

"A Girl Doesn't Need Anyone Who Doesn't Need Her."

-Marilyn Monroe

Silver Lake Montana -Winter -2017

Leon Kennedy had been big on Christmas.

The ranch had standing orders to light up and decorate it from one end to the other. They, often now, checked with Chris or Rebecca to clarify orders in lieu of other options. But this one? This one was clear.

Ho-Ho-Hold your horses. He had them string lights and spread cheer and leave no bush or tree unadorned. The snow, the lights, the twinkles and the jingles and the bells and merriment.

You had to stand out in the cold, breathing frigid air, and delight in it.

There was no way not to.

A broody man by nature, he'd still loved the Holidays.

And the Ranch.

And the element of surprise, clearly. What had he said that day on the training ground? The only thing I have, Rebecca, is the knowledge that my enemy doesn't know I'm coming.

Ada Wong had seen him coming. Ada Wong had seen him naked. Ada Wong had seen him dead.

The rage of that? It was an ugly red pall on the holidays he'd loved so much. She was hoping, somewhere, that Ada Wong was rotting in hell. It was RED in hell. That faithless bitch would like that. Red was her signature color after. She'd died BATHED in it.

A bullet in the heart for Leon Kennedy. A bullet in the throat for that bitch in red. A fitting end.

She sat at the table with the gift still wrapped there on the surface before her.

He'd had a gift left for her.

To be opened on Christmas in the event of his death.

Manny had brought it to her early that morning while she'd been nursing Faith. Faith was trying to take over the world right now and never left a dull moment in her wake. She was currently crawling around the living room and finding every piece of dust or schmootze available to attempt to cram in her mouth.

The gift was just sitting there now, waiting. Watching her. Waiting.

Like a bomb.

Or a dead body.

Or decoding DNA to mRNA to tRNA to Amino Acid…or something.

Laughing lightly, she poked the box.

It was brightly wrapped in green, red, gold and silver.

Would it self-destruct in five seconds after she viewed its contents?

Was his head in there? Like Seven?

A horrifying thought.

Amused at her own reluctance, she undid the bow and opened the box. A small tablet was inside and a little gold jewelry box.

Her hammering, she picked up the tablet and clicked the button to turn it on.

It shimmered, it winked, and it killed her where she sat.

Because there he was.

He was grinning, he was so fucking handsome, his face…it hurt her to see him. She felt her breath hitch and her eyes fill. And then it got worse.

Because he spoke, "So creepy right? The reaching out beyond the dead thing? Utter creepfest."

And she answered, softly, "Just a little bit."

"For the record, I'm aware this is totally fucking weird. But you've met me, ever known me to be conventional?"

Again, she answered, "Not in recent memory."

"This sounds utterly off the wall here, but you're currently outside getting our stuff ready to head on out to Italy on this cluster fuck of a mission you've roped me into and I gotta tell ya…I'm feeling like this is the right time to do this. Rebecca…open the box…inside the box." And now he grinned, amused, "A box in a box. Is it full of socks? Or rocks? Romance by Dr. Seuss."

He was always saying that. Romance by Dr. Seuss. Love by Dr. Seuss. Death by Dr. Seuss. Puns and rhyming and music. What a man he was.

…had been.

No longer was.

Her breath hitched harder, settling into a steady gasp of pain.

"It's full of faith, Rebecca. The kind you've given me. The kind I think you need now." He shifted and the humor left him. His perfect profile stared off into the distance for a moment, "If you have this, if you're watching it, it means somebody finally got me. It's math, kid, in one hand. How many times can I go in, unarmed, outmatched, and on the losing side and win? Eventually? I had to draw the short straw huh?"

He laughed lightly, "Weird. Entirely. To talk about myself like I'm dead. But I must be." His gaze moved back to the camera, "And you aren't. You lived. You're there. And you gave me the only hope I've had in…shit…in years I guess. I can't ever give that back…but I can give you this."

She picked up the little jewelry box, staring at it.

And Leon said, "Take the faith, Rebecca. And the ranch, which was always my only hope. Take them. Love them. Like you loved me. Freely. Completely. And find your strength to do this. I know you can. I never, in my life, met anyone stronger. Don't miss me, celebrate me, celebrate the season…Merry Christmas, Rebecca Chambers, I hope the ghosts of Christmas past don't overshadow your future."

No, I love you.

Even there.

Even now.

No, I love you.

Always such a complex man.

On the screen, he was smoking. He laughed, winking, "Smoking will kill you. Bacon will kill you. But smoking bacon will cure it...bum psh."

And so his final words to her? A pun. Lord. LORD.

No, I love you. Just a pun.

She opened the little gold box and inside was the crucifix. Simple, elegant, gold – and inscribed with a single word: Faith.

He hadn't known about her. Not about their daughter. She hadn't even existed yet…not in a way that impacted them.

But she was there.

Even then…she was there. She was the thing that bound them. The thing that braced them. The thing that saved them. Faith.

And she'd been afraid hers had died with him.

But it was there, in that little box, and on that little tablet.

And he'd given it back to her when she needed it most.

Outside, the first of the caroling had begun.

Rebecca whispered, softly, "You've been waiting for this moment to arise..."

The moment Leon Kennedy gave her the faith to start letting him go.

The lights of Christmas had reached the training ground.

They were looped over the hollowed out carcass of the VW bug. They were curled around the crumbling building with the sniper nest that waited to be cleared. They were on the dumbies that took hits and kept coming back for more.

They made a playground of death...adorable. They twinkled. They winked. They were red and green and in time with the music.

The music of the holidays swirled around the smoke and bustle of the place where a warrior came to train.

Chris stood in the center, surrounded by snow and the stench of burning destruction. The smoldering ruins of the building he'd just torched was punctuated by the bright burst of LED icicles. Jaw clenched, he puffed on the cigarette in his hand and fumed.

Kennedy.

What a dumb ass.

What kind of bad ass agent had his training ground decorated in twinkling lights and laughter?

What a doofus.

Against his better judgment, Chris was charmed by it.

He could see the ghost of the former rookie swirling above the pretty pattern of flashing bulbs. He could almost HEAR the puns.

He should train, he really should.

Instead? He stood among the singing and laughter of the ranch hands in the distance and felt like the Grinch.

Down below him, in Whoville, the merriment went on anyway. There was no Leon Kennedy. But he was still here.

Spreading his joy even when there was nothing but ashes.

Chris inhaled on the cigarette, and couldn't stop the smile.

And he toasted the ghost of Christmas past. And he toasted that Christmas ass that was Leon Kennedy. And he laughed.

Because even in death that mother fucker was the smartest dude around. He knew EXACTLY what they'd need without him.

Every night, in the quiet moonlight, Blackbird to a restless baby.

Every night, in the quiet bedroom, Rebecca lay in a restless tangle of sheets.

She listened to him sing. She listened to the baby giggle and coo. She listened to the clock on the wall.

She rubbed the crucifix in her hand.

She was restless with need.

She was restless for a sign.

She heard him laugh. Her mouth curved without realizing it.

It was always like that. She was always smiling when he was there. When he was close.

She kept her eyes on the closed closet door. She hadn't opened it yet. She wasn't ready.

Every night, in the quiet moonlight, Blackbird to a restless baby.

And a restless lab mouse with a fractured heart.

She lay in the dark smiling, listening to him sing, and rubbing the cross around her neck.

On Christmas Eve, beneath the big tree they'd cut and put up and decorated, Faith took her first steps.

Rebecca shouted in joy. Claire filmed the whole thing on her phone.

And the little thing that she was waddled right passed her mama and into the arms of the Human Tank.

He laughed. It echoed. He caught her and tossed her while she giggled.

Claire felt her belly warm and shiver. She glanced at the frosty window like she could see Leon there, watching. She winked a little and felt like, just maybe, he winked back.

And then?

That little girl put a sloppy kiss on Chris' laughing mouth and exclaimed, "Mmm! DADA!"

So, it was likely just sounds. Just sounds by a happy babbling baby.

But it made Rebecca freeze and grab Claire's hand...and squeeze so hard.

And Chris?

That big squish put his face on her little belly to make her squeal and giggle...but Claire was pretty sure she saw his big blue eyes get misty.

The only thing she knew? Hers sure did.

Chris thought, there was no Grinch here in this house. But there was a heart...and it swelled three sizes too big for his chest.

And he stayed up with that little girl long after the lights had died and the silence permeated the sleepy house.

They fell asleep in the big chair by the fire with the Night Before Christmas open on his lap as he'd read to her. She was tucked against him, sucking her thumb. Her hand curled into his shirt, her drooling face pressed against his chest.

And his cheek laid gently on the top of her head.

Rebecca stood in the firelight, watching them. Such a big man. He'd spent so long fighting. Was this what happened when he stopped fighting?

So often she listened to him read reports to the baby while he cooked or did dishes. Long, horribly boring, lectures and reels of information regarding B.O.W.'s and pre-exposure inoculation strategies for mass conversion in large scale assault areas.

Her eyes would cross with boredom. But Faith was enraptured. Just like when she'd been in the belly, she was always so quiet when he talked. She'd watched, owl-eyed and happy, sucking her fist and grinning.

Faith was in love with Chris Redfield. The baby. She was in love with the Human Tank.

Rebecca leaned in the firelight watching them. Sometimes it was clear that babies were better judges of character than grown-ups. The baby saw a softness in the battle-hardened bad ass that the rest of the world missed or ignored.

Rebecca only knew one thing: she'd never felt alone since he'd started living there. Ever. Not once. Even when he was gone for work. Because he always came back. Always.

And when he was gone?

She missed him. They both did: the baby and the lab mouse. They both missed The Human Tank.

And it was the first time she didn't feel the pain of missing Leon Kennedy.

It was the first time she didn't feel Leon there at all.

When Faith was asleep, Rebecca looked about her bedroom for Excalibur. It was missing from its spot on the floor where she kept it.

She heard it as she stood on the balcony, in the cold, smoking Leon Kennedy's cigarettes and using his lighter.

She heard it strum. She heard it.

Do you remember me?

I sat upon your knee

I wrote to you with childhood fantasies

Her heart swelled. It crested. She puffed on the smoke, watching the snow fall.

Well I'm all grown up now

and still need help somehow

I'm not a child but my heart still can dream.

So here's my lifelong wish

My grown-up Christmas List

Not for myself, but for a world in need

She tossed aside the smoke. She breathed. She moved to his door and put her forehead against it, listening. Outside, the lights twinkled and the laughter spilled from the party down in the barn. They'd gone. They'd laughed. They'd danced and enjoyed and celebrated.

And inside that room where he sat, strumming that guitar and singing, she heard the grief that swirled in her chest and was answered in his. For her, it was Leon Kennedy. The pain of it. The loss of it. The failure to let go.

For him?

It was everything he'd lost inside that castle. Everything he'd given up to survive. And everything he gave up daily to get out of bed and keep going.

No more lives torn apart,

Then wars would never start

and time would heal the heart

And everyone would have a friend

And right would always win

And love would never end,

This is my grown-up Christmas List

His heart, she thought, his heart was so big and encompassing. He sat alone in his room on Christmas Eve and offered his prayer to a world in need. Not for him. Never. Did he ever ask for anything for himself?

As children, we believed

The grandest sight to see

Was something lovely

Wrapped beneath our tree

But heaven only knows

That packages and bows

Can never heal

A hurting human soul

She tried to remember the last time she'd heard him speak of his own needs. She'd tried to remember if she'd ever heard it. In all the years she'd known him, when was the last time he'd stopped...and just took a moment for him?

Had he ever?

Did he even know how?

Claire was watching her across the balcony. They were both so quiet, listening to him.

What is this illusion called the innocence of youth

Maybe only in our blind belief can we ever find the truth

This is my grown up Christmas list

This is my only life long wish

This is my grown up Christmas list

Claire said, softly, "All my life, he's stood like a shield between anything that would hurt me. But he's so lonely. Aren't you, Bec? Aren't you lonely?"

Rebecca made a small sound, running her finger over the lighter on the table.

Claire looked at her with sympathy and understanding. "He wanted you to be happy. He wanted you to be loved. Stop being lonely, Bec. And go find your truth."

Rebecca squeezed her hand. She rose. Claire smiled at her, eyes shimmering. She kept the lighter that Rebecca pressed into her palm.

Leon's lighter.

Leon's lights that twinkled around them.

Leon's guitar that made music in his house.

And Chris' song that swirled inside her.

He'd protected her in that castle. He'd protected Faith. He'd stood, like Claire said, like a shield against the world for them.

And his pain was all he had left in the long night. It wasn't fair. And it wasn't right.

Rebecca didn't know anything but this: Leon had died on that rooftop. He'd died to save her.

And Chris Redfield had stayed there to be tortured to protect her.

The only thing that was clear here?

She didn't deserve either of them.

And she would spend the rest of her life trying to live up to the idea of what they'd suffered so much to preserve. It was all she could do. It was all she could offer.

Rebecca moved to the closet in the dark. She opened the door in silence.

And she stared into the depths while the laughter and the lights twinkled and swelled around her.

To honor Leon Kennedy, she had to start letting him go.

To honor Chris Redfield, she had to start living her life again. No more lives torn apart. And wars would never start...

...and time would heal a heart.

And it started by touching all the things the Executioner had left behind...and saying goodbye.

She looked at her shoulder to see if Leon was sitting there, judging her.

But her shoulder was empty.

And she was finally alone in his bedroom...and it was time to make that bedroom hers.

The New Year was rung in with a baby cutting teeth. Faith kept her up all night, gumming and crying.

Harried, hopeless, and exhausted - she went down to get another teething ring from the freezer.

Rebecca dug into the freezer and shifted various things around. Hungry Man meals, a few bags of various vegetables, and cubes of ice. She paused, considering, and reached for the disgusting scotch Leon had left behind in the cabinet.

With a sigh, she popped the bottle open, poured it over two cubes of ice, and took a long pull.

Lord.

It was like heaven.

The man knew his liquor, no lie there.

She hadn't drunk a drop since she'd been nursing.

Faith was nearly weaned completely now. So it was ok to indulge in a little coffee or a little sneaky peek here and there.

Sighing, Rebecca set the bottle on the counter with a long shiver of relaxation.

Claire came in laughing from the main door on a gust of cold air. She was on the arm of the stable master Devon. The draw was obvious there. Devon was a cowboy out of GQ magazine or something. Handsome, weathered, and built rangy and strong.

He was all dark hair and blue eyes. He was almost insanely good looking. Rebecca and Claire spent a few lazy afternoons oogling him down by the barn when the weather was nice.

One day, Claire declared, "I'm going to pull a Chris Redfield on him!"

Curious, Rebecca had queried, "A what now?"

"Watch and learn little mouse. Watch and learn."

And Claire? She'd gone over. No bullshit, no waiting, and just asked the dude out. Additionally? She didn't come home that night...or for three more after that. When she had, she'd been grinning.

Chris had looked at her, winced, and cringed, "Gross, CB. I'm gonna barf."

"Jealousy looks good on you, old man. Just sayin."

Rebecca had never been happier for her. She was just...out there living it. She wished it was that easy for her. But it seldom was.

Claire, enjoying the new year, was a little tipsy and grinning, "Becs! You're missing the party!"

Smiling, Rebecca shrugged, "Fussy baby trumps countdown, I'm afraid."

Claire weaved a little. She had a 2018 crown in cheap shiny gold plunked on her crazy curly red hair. She was in a green dress and looked disheveled, flushed, and beautiful.

And happy.

Rebecca was always a little jealous of her.

The happy part was the biggest part of that jealousy.

Claire intoned, loudly and made Rebecca grin with her enthusiasm, "You want me to watch her for a bit?! I'm happy to! You can go down to the party for the final countdown. Devon will help, right?"

Devon grinned, winking at Rebecca, "Happy to. This one could use a break from the champagne anyway. You should go down, boss, and take a break from this house."

Geez.

He was right about that. She could use a break from this house.

She'd been going through Leon's things for days. It was grueling. It was a matter of never really knowing him well enough to know what he'd want to keep. It was good Claire was there. She was so good at knowing what he liked, what he cared about, what he laughed about.

The more she lived in this house, the more Rebecca was aware that she'd known nothing about him.

The band nerd. The boy who'd become a hero. Who was he?

The most painful truth came from knowing she'd never get the chance to find out.

She handed Claire the teething ring, trusting Devon to be sure the sweet drunk Redhead didn't go handling the baby too much and threw on her coat to head down to the party.

At the door, Claire winked at her lazily and said, "Find my brother and give him a smooch from me to ring in the new year, k?"

Rebecca laughed and patted her butt.

Claire whooped loudly, "See this?! I got felt up by a SCIENTIST!"

Devon scooped her up and made her laugh loudly. And she shouted, "And now I'm about to get felt up by a COWBOY! This is the best new years EVER!"

Lord, Rebecca was jealous of her. Not her getting felt up by a cowboy...not exactly. But her LETTING GO. Claire? She just threw it out there and partied. She was so willing to roll with it. It was enviable.

Rebecca eased down the snowy path in her big boots, her heavy sweater, and a sock hat. She could hear the laughter. And the barn was lit up and filled with warmth and happiness.

The entire ranch was there. From the housekeeper to the hands, the dancing and stomping, the laughing and dancing. It was something to see.

Rebecca accepted a glass of champagne and stood against the wall, watching it all.

She'd barely known the man who'd left her all of this. And yet here...HERE...she could see his heart. It was this place. It was these people. It was this land.

He was everywhere here.

She felt closer to him out here, in this barn, than she had since he'd died.

Her eyes drifted and held, watching the man who'd stood beside her so stalwartly in that castle. There was something swirling in her for him.

What?

She had no answers.

When she'd met Leon Kennedy, she'd been floored first by his face, second by his aching loneliness, and third by his bravery. He was so many things to so many people. Claire had known him the longest. She had stories and stories and stories to comfort her when she missed him and felt his absence in her life.

What did Rebecca have of him?

A few brief months of mind blowing sex and desperation.

A ranch with his ghost.

His child.

And a hole in her heart where the idea of him had once been. Was it that simple? Was she holding on to the idea of Leon Kennedy?

In Canada, he'd fallen into bed with the spy who'd plagued him for so long. He'd thrown aside what they meant to each other for that brief run in the dark. In Italy, he'd rebuked it. He'd chosen her over that darkness. She'd felt him then. On the edge of something great. On the edge of becoming something wonderful.

He'd battled back from nothing. Broken and lost, he'd raced to that roof to save her.

And died a hero.

She had so much regret about all of it. She'd wanted more time. MORE TIME. And there was none.

All she had was those few short months.

It wasn't enough.

And the anger about that plagued her more than anything.

She didn't even have the memory of his first "I love you". Because he'd never said it. He'd been so afraid. He'd never gotten there. Had he? She would never know. She'd never know if he died loving her. Or if he died dedicated to the idea of her. Or if he'd died because he was just a fucking hero and that's what heroes did, they died saving the girl.

She'd never know any of it.

And part of her hated him for leaving her with this place, his child, and this unfinished song of his. She couldn't sing. She couldn't. How did she finish his song?

How did it end? The Ballad of Leon Kennedy. How did it finish?

What was the final note?

She needed to keep him alive for her daughter. But for her?

She'd loved him. Wildly. Madly.

But truly?

And had she ever really needed him? She'd wanted him. She still did. The want of him permeated where it touched like a poison. He was something you coveted. No lie there.

But need?

There was no answer. No easy one.

And there was a truth she wasn't yet ready to face.

It was a man who left a message for her from beyond the grave...and never once said I love you. Devotion. They were devoted to each other.

But where was the need of it?

Where?

Need drove you to couple madly in a dirty house with a spy who would later come to kill you. It drove you to betrayal and madness and passion that cost you everything.

In one hand, she couldn't understand that. Because she'd never felt it.

She wanted him. The moment she met him.

But he'd died before she'd ever touched on the need.

The need came with knowing she couldn't live without him.

She was living. She was here. She was doing ok.

She mourned him. She missed him.

But she didn't need him.

And she was never a woman that tried to pretend away her feelings. She just felt them, good, bad, or otherwise. She felt them.

The cheering started as the countdown began.

A new year was coming.

The first year after the death of Leon Kennedy.

She watched the laughing faces. She watched the bright excitement. Everyone was drinking and so happy. There was champagne and fireworks and delight.

10 - the number of times she'd laid beneath him as he'd made her the only thing in the world that mattered.

9 - the times she'd said I love you...and never heard it back.

8 - the seconds it took for him to throw aside everything she was to thrust inside of the woman who would later see him dead.

7 - the months she'd spent in captivity beside Chris Redfield, protecting their child, and praying for his safety.

6 - the number of times his heart had stopped after he'd been beaten to within an inch of his life trying to save her.

5 - the amount of times Wesker had come into her bedroom late at night to rub her belly and stare at her while she "slept".

4 - the age she was the first time she saw a miracle - and knew there was more than science at play in the world.

3 - the number of pregnancy tests she'd taken the moment she realized she'd missed her period.

2 - the pair of them in that castle - at the mercy of a madman - conspirators in a plan to simply stay alive.

1 - the number of bullets it took to kill a hero. To stop a heart. To end a dream.

Who needed the new year? She could countdown their time together in ten seconds too.

The cheering as the ball finished, as the date flashed above the big TV, 2018.

2018.

2018.

A new year.

Laughter, and she was turned around and kissed by Ollena. By Manny. By Gus and Fern.

She was spun from arms to arms, hugged, kissed and joyfully embraced.

Helga and Rich from the stables. Stu and Caroline that ran the local market. Ben from the neighboring spread.

Kisses and hugs.

Kisses.

She didn't need any of them.

She laughed, she turned, and there was Chris Redfield. In his sweater, soft and blue, like his eyes.

He ducked his head, face flush with good humor and merriment. She curled her fingers into that sweater and went on her tip toes.

She didn't need his kiss.

But she wanted it.

He aimed for her cheek. She tugged him right. And their mouths met, soft, smooth.

So brief. So simple

Over and done.

1 - the number of seconds she'd kissed Chris Redfield in Leon Kennedy's barn.

And the first time she'd felt alive since she'd held him in his blood on that rooftop.

He leaned back, eyes hooded, but he didn't let go of her arms.

She leaned back, breathing sharp and fast, but she didn't unhook her hands from his sweater.

She whispered, "Claire says happy new year."

And he answered, "Happy New Year...Rebecca."

No B. No Becs. Just Rebecca. And the first time she'd felt like Rebecca Chambers in a long time.

2018 - the beginning of the first year after the death of Leon Kennedy.