The Girl on the Train

Part Two:

Practically a Genius, Pretty Much a Dumb Ass

A fonte puro pura defluit aqua

"Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?"

― James Patterson

Harvardville, 2005

The tent was quiet and dark, the girl seated there inside it was grieving. She'd found out the truth, that her attempts to save the world had probably cost it something. The airport…it had been over run…if they'd just gotten out of the way…the vaccine could have been administered and the infection controlled. Now…there was only death for those inside who had turned.

Claire put her hands to her face and wept.

He found her there inside the tent, the boy who had become the man. Almost a decade had passed since that first night together in Raccoon City but some things remained the same: the T-Virus was still trying to destroy the world, the bad guys were still trying to take it over, and he was still rocking that haircut he'd been given all those years ago.

Leon ducked inside, looking for her. He knew she'd be taking it hard.

He hesitated, seeing her crying, and wondered if he should leave her to her privacy.

She lifted her head and saw him, gesturing with one hand while she wiped her cheeks. She hiccuped, cutely, and smiled a little. "Sorry…moment of weakness. You try to do the right thing, ya know? And this happens."

He hesitated again, the iceman, the person they called when they wanted it done quick, quietly, and without remorse. He decided to go with his gut. "Claire…this is not your fault."

Tears filled her eyes again and she sniffled, "Yeah it is. You know it is. How could we be so wrong? You have the best intentions and you just…it all gets fucked up."

Leon studied her and shifted a little toward her, "Seven years ago you and I walked into a nightmare. We should have died there, Claire. But instead we walked out hell bent on making sure no one else ever had to live it. Umbrella got a nuke shoved up their ass that night. But the tentacles they unleashed continue to spread their viral legacy. You've done a helluva lot more than any one else I know to try to stop shit like this from happening."

Claire lifted her head to watch him, she rose wiping her cheeks with her hands.

"I got all these people killed, Leon. I have to live with that."

"No." His voice was harsh and deep and caused her to fall silent, "Umbrella killed these people. Umbrella killed them all. I'm going to scrub this virus from the face of the Earth. I do that through bullets and blood and you do it through finding a cure. You chose the role of protector and not fighter. You followed a path your brother and I can't."

She shook her head and turned away, denying the sympathy that he offered. She didn't want it. She didn't deserve it.

He caught her arms and spun around to face him. Surprised, she grabbed his jacket in her hands.

"Claire," Her face was wet with tears when he shook her a little, "You weren't wrong."

She met his eyes, the earnest look on his face, and whispered, "I don't know if I can keep going. All these people, Leon. All these people…."

Two tears slipped from her eyes and trembled there on her lashes before they fell, sliding over her damp cheeks. "How can I keep going? How can I look at myself in the mirror?"

"Facing yourself in the mirror is a part of this, Claire, the hardest part. But you shouldn't regret the battles you lose. You shouldn't. You can't win every one of them. You should only regret the ones you choose not to fight. You can't stop, if you do…that's the only time you should ever be ashamed to look at yourself in the mirror."

She scanned his face in the dim light of the tent, looking for what? For hope? For the answers?

No, he thought, she was looking for absolution.

"Leon, I don't know if I have your strength."

"Claire," His voice was gruff, harsh, and deep. Such a change from the voice of the boy she'd known, "You've always had twice my strength. How many times do you have to save my life before you realize that?"

She made some sound of regret, some sound of mourning. Later, he'd think it had to go the way it went, for both of them. And maybe it had been years in the making. Or maybe they both just needed to feel something but the cold, hard, hateful regret that flickered around the room like broken light bulb, winking and threatening to go out and leave them, broken, in the dark.

He knew only that he didn't want her to hurt anymore. And she knew only that she wanted to leech off his strength, his indomitable will, and his light for just a little while. She pulled at his jacket. He pulled at her arms.

His hands slid up from her arms to cup her face. She fisted her fingers into the cool leather of his jacket and clung. She made that sound again and kissed him.

Surprised, he froze for a moment before he could gather his thoughts. She had her eyes tightly closed and her cheeks were wet and pink from crying. Her hair was soft and red and pretty in the low lights around them.

And she made that sound again in her throat.

He echoed it, a sound of need, and his arms slid around her and pulled her hard against him. One hand cupped the back of her head, the other looped at her waist to draw her up to him. He lifted her off her feet to hold her against him.

She gasped a little and made a little moan. A tiny sound, small, but it put a fire in his blood that was nearly painful. He tasted the salt of her tears and stole that moan from her mouth with his. Her hands wrapped around the back of his neck and pulled him tighter to her.

Leon felt the warm brush of her tongue against the seam of his lips and let her inside. They both made a sound then, something like a hum from her, something like a groan from him. Of course there was no way for her to know what kind of fire she was fanning. How could she? The truth of that celibacy was his own dirty little secret.

What would she have said, he wondered, if she knew she was the first girl who'd ever had her tongue in his mouth?

He answered the thrust of her tongue tentatively at first, unsure of himself. The taste of her was insane. He wondered why he'd never tasted her before. But, of course, he knew that answer too. And it was always wearing red.

Claire Redfield tasted like lemonade on a hot summer day.

Claire made some sound and drew back a little to look at his face. The wonder on her face matched his. "Oh."

He was breathing heavily, looking at her.

She started to extract herself from him and he looked at her mouth again.

She felt the stirring in her belly and said, again, "Oh." She pulled him back down to her mouth. They kissed again, deeper this time. He explored her mouth, testing them both, and himself. They both were making noises as they kissed. She'd moan a little, he'd make some noise like he was starving for her.

She shifted her hands to rub inside of his jacket and touch the warm muscle of him. She'd always wondered what he was wearing under those clothes. She'd always wondered what he tasted like too. How could she not?

Leon Kennedy tasted like hot chocolate on a cold winter night.

They bumped against the wall of tent and Claire made another noise, this one nearly a keen. It nearly broke something in him to hear it. He finally understood the fire filled abyss that waited for him at the bottom of all the need he'd been straddling for years. You'd have to be dead not to be curious what Claire Redfield tasted like. He wasn't dead. He was very much alive.

He tested the bonds of his control and slid his hands down to cup her ass and pull her against him. She purred. She literally purred. Their mouths slid apart so they could both draw air.

She wasn't crying now, nope. She was breathing hard. She held his heavy lidded gaze and slid her hand over him. And that was the first time a woman had ever touched him there as well. She brushed her hand over him through his pants, a tease for them both. And a question. He knew she was asking for something.

Something big. She had no idea how big. She was so beautiful. She was soft but strong and sexy. He trusted her. Hell, he loved her. Had always loved her. It wasn't the kind of love he felt for -

No. He wouldn't let that bitch into his head. Not now.

He kissed Claire again, softer this time, smoother. Yes. He liked the taste of her. He wanted it to be her. He wanted it to be her that took him over the threshold. Wasn't it right that it should be her?

She kept one hand on his distended fly, rubbing at him. Her free hand jerked down the zipper of his jacket and she put her hand inside, rubbing over the smooth, wondrous texture of the moisture wicking shirt he wore.

He pulled at the buttons of the white over shirt she wore until it was open and she just had the thin material of the red long sleeved top beneath it. He pulled her against him so they could feel each other. She moaned, tight against him inside the circle of his jacket. Warm was about right, she thought, warm was what she wanted from him. Hot chocolate on a cold winter night. Something hot to chase away the chill of regret.

His heart hammering, he lifted a hand to cup it over her left breast over the thin layer of shirt she wore. Her breast fit perfectly in his hand. Again, they both made a sound of contentment to finally touch each other. She pulled at his shirt until she could get her hands on the naked skin of his back.

Leon kissed her now like he would die without the touch of her mouth. She murmured his name and drew back a little to look at him again in wonder. God lord, she thought desperately, she'd had no idea what was under the surface here. He was like a volcano, almost searing hot, he bled that greed on both of them and hers rose like a leviathan from the deepest, darkest, most desperate parts of nearly ten years of desire to answer it.

She skimmed her hands around his sides and felt the goosebumps that followed her. And then she touched his stomach. A sound came out of her mouth, a laugh that was muffled by his delving tongue.

She watched his face as he pulled away, his cheeks blushing and pink from desire. He blinked at her, trying to focus. "Funny?"

"No. Not funny. You're perfect. You are really perfect. Even your abs are fucking perfect."

"Sorry." The second the word came out, hoarse and hungry, she had to laugh again.

"Don't be sorry. Lord." She kissed him again, desperate for him.

Ok, he thought, ok. This was..she was…and he wanted to—

The noise from outside the tent sounded like people running. There was a booming litany of curses and someone was shouting about idiots and drums of flammable liquid. Oh my god…

He pulled away and she did at the same time. He set her back on her feet and turned away from her, putting his hands on his knees. He leaned over, breathing heavily.

Claire pressed a hand to her mouth, panting. "Wow."

Leon rose, closing his eyes to regain his composure. How could he forget where they were? THIS WAS A MISSION. He was literally in the middle of an assignment…and he was playing tonsil hockey with his best friend.

Claire pressed her other hand to her heaving bosom, feeling her racing heart. He turned to face her. She blinked at him. "Holy shit. The iceman, they call you. I think you're a big faker, Leon Kennedy. There's nothing cold in you."

He blinked at her and she smiled. She grinned. She rubbed her mouth with her fingers.

"What the fuck man. Where was that in Raccoon all those years ago?"

He stared at her, trying to find the words. He finally lifted his hands to zip his coat. She shook her head and moved to him. She grabbed his shirt and lifted it. Oh yeah, she thought, perfect. Every fucking ridge of muscle and every line…perfect.

"Leon…" She zipped his jacket for him now with a great deal of regret. She ground her forehead against the leather, groaning. "Do we need to talk about this?"

He finally answered, quietly, "No."

"Good." She nodded, breathed deeply, "Thank you for…taking my mind off…things…and for believing in me…" Her hand had a mind of its own and rubbed over the bulge in his pants one more time. He jerked like she'd bit him.

She backed off, hands raised. "Sorry. Sorry. But…maybe we should talk about this. Right? We should talk about…this. After? After right?"

He had no fucking idea what to say. Part of him wanted to ask her to take off her pants, spread herself across that desk in the corner and prepare herself for him. Part of him wanted to call her a cock tease for making him lose his mind. Part of him wanted to run away screaming. The man who'd faced things that no one alive had ever survived and he wanted to run away from what he felt for her. The image of him running like a coward from the tent from one skinny little girl was amusing and made him grin. Embarrassing. So, he said, "Yeah. Right. After. Not now. Now..is…mission. Now is mission time."

Her grin spread, delighted. "Yes. Now is mission time. And I am so glad I'm not the only one who has no clue how to talk right now. Leon, you're my best friend."

"Same."

"Let's just…ok. Now's not the time. Right. But let's just…I am kinda glad we did this."

Surprised, he blinked.

"I've always been curious. I have. And I'd…if you want…but maybe not." Frustrated she shook her head, "I don't think I want that to change. Do you?"

"Not at all." This part was true at least. He didn't want to stop being her friend. "I don't know."

"Ok. So maybe we don't…do this again. Unless…you want to?"

He raised both his brows at her. She backpedaled, adorably. "Right. Let's just say no and be done with it. Mission time. Right?"

"Right. Mission time."

And they'd done just that. They'd finished the mission. What was interesting about it was that they'd never spoken of it again. Besides, how did one ask his best friend on Earth to take his virginity? He figured it would make things insanely complicated if he even attempted to do that. And whatever else was true, Leon Kennedy tried to keep things as simple as possible.

And usually he failed miserably.

They moved down the beach together in the shimmering spill of sunlight. He had scratches across his face, across his nose. She limped a little on the one leg that been damaged in the explosion. They looked like a pair that had survived the worst night of their lives…again. And they had…again.

She turned to him and caught his gaze on her. Things were different now. In the tent, they'd finally touched each other. After all that time, they'd tasted the temptation of what the other offered. It lingered between them like a heady perfume.

Trying to lighten the mood, Claire joked, "When did you go diving together?"

Leon shrugged and smiled, "I'm an accomplished diver."

Of course, they were speaking of Angela, the sister of the recently diseased Curtis Miller. She'd made it clear that she was interested in him. And clearly something had happened in the water. Claire waited for an elaboration and he was surprisingly mum on the subject.

Surprised to feel the little niggle of jealousy, Claire made the conversation polite again, "So what now?"

"Hard to say. I never know from one minute to the next. You need a ride?" He gestured to the chopper waiting for him at the far edge of the beach.

"Nope. I have a limo waiting." And she gestured to the limo waiting at the other.

"Where you off to?"

Claire shifted a little in the sand, hating the discomfort between them. Would she take back what happened to make things ok again? Part of her wanted to, part of her wanted to see what happened next if they both just let it happen.

Confused, she replied, "There's a press conference regarding the outbreak here. We have to take responsibility for the mess that was made. Hopefully we can set it right."

"Good luck with that. It'll be a media firestorm for awhile."

"Yep. I'm used to it."

"Remember what I said, Claire. You didn't do this. You did everything you could to make it right. Don't let anyone take that from you. The second you start to cave, you've already lost."

She lifted her face to him again. The cool breeze off the water played with his hair. It cast the blonde and showed the riot of colors that made the rest of it. Would there ever be a time she didn't want to touch him?

"Thanks. I won't forget. Maybe next time we meet up, it can be someplace…normal."

Leon chuckled a little. "Sounds like a plan to me. What do you think about the Chesapeake Bay?"

Claire blinked, curious. "I've never been there."

"Yeah?" He put his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels a little, "My family has a place there. We could go fishing, take the boat out. What do you think? I've got some furlough time coming to me. I could use the break."

The smile slid over her face and held there. "I think that sounds like the best idea I've heard in weeks. When?"

"How's a couple weeks?"

"I think that's perfect." She smiled at him again, "I guess we should both get a move on here. Pretty rude to keep people waiting huh?"

"Probably," He seemed as reluctant as she was to go though. Touched, she figured it was best to cut the tie before things edged into awkward again.

"So I'll see you soon?"

"You bet."

"Great. Thanks, Leon..for coming. For saving me. You're always there when I need you. I won't ever forget that."

"Claire bear, where else could I be but where you need me to be? Saving each other is what we do."

She smiled at him, "So…see you."

"See you, pretty girl."

Claire hurried toward the limo. She turned back to see him watching her. She wanted to run back and beg him to come with her. She wanted to run back and leap on him like a monkey. She wanted to run back and confess her undying love for him.

Instead, she waved one more time.

Chesapeake Bay, 2006

They made the trip to the Bay an annual thing. It felt good there and freeing. And their friendship had blossomed and grown into something so beautifully simple and so painfully complex.

Laughing they hurried into the cabin from the cool air that surrounded the bay where they'd been swimming. The cabin was chilly from the air conditioner. They were in a full blown heated discussion about something completely pointless. And naturally the pointlessness of it was worth arguing about.

"No…it's entirely realistic!"

"Because shooting a banana peel out the back of a go cart to make the other cars slip and spin in circles, just happens all the time?"

Claire chuckled and shrugged, dripping in the cold air. "Mario Kart is the best game ever made. You're just mad because you know I'm right."

"Pfft," Leon shifted to move toward the linen closet on the far wall and grab two big fluffy towels, "I've never seen someone slip on a banana peel."

"Challenge accepted!" Claire hurried, wet, into the kitchen and pulled down a banana. She peeled it, took a big bite, and tossed the peel on the floor in front of him.

Leon glanced down at it, looked at her face, and again at the banana. "I'm sorta confused here. Am I supposed to purposely step on it? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of the thing?"

"Go on, hotshot. Put your money where your mouth is and slide on that peel. If you don't slip, you win. If you slip, I win."

Intrigued, he lifted a brow at her. "What's the winner get?"

"To be determined."

"Fair enough." He put his barefoot on the peel and pushed a little. "It's sticky. Not slippery."

"Come on, be fair. Run at the banana peel."

"Hold on, what? I'm supposed to RUN at it?"

"It's only fair." She giggled a little at the stupidity of it and leaned on the counter, watching him. She shivered a little in the cold air. "Come on, tough guy. You study fifty eight different kinds of martial arts. Surely you can best a banana peel."

Leon chuckled, amused, "It's not exactly fifty eight but close enough. What the fuck right? Sure."

He backed up about six feet and ran at the banana peel. In a sense of comedic timing, his foot hit the peel, slipped out from under him, and his ass hit the floor. Claire let out a whoop of success.

"I WIN!"

"Son of a bitch," Leon remarked in wonder, rubbing his tailbone, "It works. You learn something new everyday. I'm throwing banana peels under zombies from now on."

"Right!? That's what I'm screaming." Claire shivered again and moved into the room to help him up. "Thanks for being a good sport about it, honestly. You ok?"

"The ego is worse than the ass, I promise you."

"Oh I don't know about that. It's a helluva ass."

He laughed a little and Claire shivered. "Here. You're freezing." He grabbed one of the big poofy towels and wrapped it around her. He rubbed up and down her arms, putting the warmth into her. He was looking into the kitchen as he did, thinking about dinner.

She was looking at his face as he did it, thinking about him.

"Warmer?" He queried and turned his gaze to her face.

"…oh yeah." She murmured it. He kept on rubbing her arms. She lifted her fingers and started to grab the hem of his shirt.

And he shouted, "Tacos!"

Startled, she dropped her hands and stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"We're having tacos! It's the perfect food." He let go of her and went into the kitchen. Claire blinked, staring at where he'd been. "You can put anything you want on it. I'm thinking fish tacos. The local market here has the best fish. Seriously. You'll die when you have my fish tacos. I don't want to brag but I kinda know my way around the taco."

Amused because she kept picturing all kinds of dirty things, she laughed a little. "I'm sure."

"Seriously. I make a mean tartar sauce, just saying. You'll seriously question how you made it through your life without filling your mouth with it before. You'll want me to put it in your taco every time. For real."

"Oh yeah?" She laughed again and turned to watch him digging out pans. He was whistling while he gathered things for dinner. "I'm going to change, ok?"

"You bet. I'll do that too once I set the fish out to thaw. I'm serious Claire before the night is done, you're going to say Leon, your tartar sauce in my taco is the best thing to ever happen to me. You won't be wrong."

Claire closed the door to her room and burst into heavy laughter. He seriously had no idea how dirty his own comments were sometimes. He was utterly charming, was Leon Kennedy.

She came out to find him cooking the kitchen.

She stopped breathing when she saw him.

He was in pajama pants in a soft red plaid. His feet were bare and so was his chest. He was shirtless. Shirtless. He had music playing on the radio and he was cooking, kinda dancing, and singing along. Shirtless.

Jason Mraz was singing about love love love love. Leon was singing it with him. He had a beautiful tenor, very rich and full. He had a beautiful body. Good lord. And the awkward skinny boy in Raccoon City had grown into a lithe, athletic, pretty rhythmic god. He was a helluva dancer.

He saw her, winked, and decided to sing for her a little bit more. He couldn't know he was killing her. There was no way. He was so…cute. So cute. So utterly cute. The simple act of cooking, dancing, singing and being so very perfectly, utterly, gorgeous was ridiculous.

She figured out she'd forgotten to breathe and she sucked in a hard breath.

He beckoned to her with his hand and she went. She was in a little white tank top and sleeping shorts in pale gray. He pulled her to him, spun her around, and settled into a little dance with her as the song changed and tried to kill her where she stood.

They don't know how long it takes…waiting on a love like this…everytime we say goodbye…I wish we had one more kiss…I'll wait for you, I promise you…I will..lucky I'm in love with my best friend…lucky to have been where I have been…lucky to be coming home again…

He waltzed her and spun her, pulling her close and singing softly into her ear. Her damp hair was loose around her shoulders. His lips tickled her ear. His chest was warm and smooth and steely with muscle. He had to know what was happening here. Surely.

Why else was he playing a damn Jason Mraz CD? Was he torturing her?

She leaned back to see his face. His eyes were closed, he was smiling, he was dancing. He was…so happy. She said nothing. She just watched him while they danced.

His eyes opened at the end of the song. They met hers. She lifted her thumb and skimmed it over the little bit of tartar sauce at the corner of his mouth. And she put it in her mouth.

Softly, she said, "Mmm. Yum."

He glanced at her mouth and back at her eyes and said, "Right? Told ya."

He let her go to go back to cooking.

Claire blinked, blinked again. He was the dumbest man alive. Clearly. He was a complete dumbass about women. She thought about Angela and her "diving" remark. The poor girl. She'd probably pressed her tits all over him and he'd given her some air and not even realized it. CPR for dumbasses.

Amused, she watched him dice cilantro and tomatoes. The song had transitioned to Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis. Yeah, somebody somewhere was sending her signs here.

Curious, she leaned on the counter, "Been diving lately?"

Leon glanced at her from under his hair and chuckled. "What's with the tone?"

"What tone?"

"You didn't like Angela huh?"

Claire shrugged, "She seemed ok. The better question is: how much did you like her?"

Leon started toasting the tortillas. He shrugged a little. "She was cool. And a little sad. And you know, guy that I am, I had to save the girl."

"Yes, you and your savior complex."

"Don't worry my Claire bear. You are still the only one for me."

Ugh.

He had no idea how he tortured girls. He really didn't. He was all jokes and good humor. All senseless charm and steely muscles. He was a unicorn. It was as simple as that. The gorgeous, funny, witty, sort of bumbling innocent man who had no idea he was all of those things. It was why women wanted him. He had no clue that he was the holy grail of men.

"You get that she was into you right?"

"Hmm?"

"Leon, stop chopping."

He did, smiling at her. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked the lime juice from the pad of it. Yep…total dumbass about women. Leon cocked his head, studying her, "What now?"

"Angela. She was in to you. You knew that right?"

Leon shook his head and went back to chopping. "Nah. It was the adrenaline. Surviving the fight does that sometimes. It blurs the lines. I didn't do anything out of line."

"I'm sure you didn't." She was sure of that. "But she was into you. She mentioned diving again. You got the reference, right?"

"Flirting never hurt anyone. We flirt too, right? Harmless." He turned and grabbed an avocado from the fridge.

Right, she thought, harmless. He didn't see her. He didn't get it. Maybe she was the biggest fool of all.

She sighed, smiled, and said, "Right. Harmless. I'm starving. Where's the grub?"

The warm air brought her out of bed to get a glass of water about midnight. She padded across the tiles to open the fridge.

She was bent over and searching when she heard the clatter. It made her jump and spin. It made him stare.

Yep. There he was, frozen, looking at her like a deer in the headlights with those big blue eyes the size of dinner plates. His water bottle was currently spilling everywhere at his feet where he'd dropped it.

It shouldn't have been a big deal at all...save for her. She'd figured he was sleeping, after all.

The light from the fridge illuminated her from the back. It cast shadows on her breasts and hips. It left NOTHING to the imagination. She was, officially, the girl who was standing there in the doorway of the fridge...butt naked.

She was also the first one to speak, though it squeaked as she did, "...your-your uh...um...your thing...you dropped it. Your...bottle."

He kept on standing there, staring.

Claire put an arm over her tits, uselessly. "...so...I should...I should just...I really..."

Her other hand dropped to cover her mound. The door swung shut as she tiptoed forward, trying to keep all her parts covered. Leon hadn't so much as moved. As she reached his side, she instructed, shortly, "Breathe, Leon."

He did. Harshly. It wheezed out of his lungs like he'd been holding it.

And Claire laughed. She didn't know what else to do. So she just laughed and backed up. "So...we're best friends now huh? No secrets...no clothes. That's how we roll...right?"

He was still staring at the fridge like her naked body was standing there. She coughed, twice, and added, "I feel like maybe you should return the favor. You know? Fairs, fair."

He was already shirtless, standing there in his boxers anyway. What was one last layer? Maybe if he dropped the shorts, she could show him what to do with the big fat boner he was sporting under them.

It was there. She'd seen it as she'd scurried past.

It proved one thing: He wasn't gay. He also wasn't blind. He was, apparently, just that stupid about her.

Her fingers were itching where they were covering all her goodies. She wanted to go back and put her hand in his pants. It was visceral. It was almost painful.

But what kind of friends would survive that?

So, instead, she snapped her room door shut and leaned against it...until she simply dissolved into a puddle of stifled need right there on the floor.