Stage Sixteen: Reanimation


The Compound


Sherry Birkin found herself being punished for running away. Ordinarily, through the course of her imprisonment, her punishments consisted of time spent in isolation. She was treated like an unruly prisoner in a maximum security penitentiary. She was given food and water by way of a single guard and left to herself in her bedroom…sometimes for days.

Simmons, her captor, wouldn't even visit with her during this time. He would leave her with Mr. Kennedy and she would spend three to four WONDERFUL days with her notebooks and her pens and her relative peace. Often times, she'd use her isolation to go down by the pond on the property, under the cover of her one guard equipped with anti- BOW rounds, and spend a lazy afternoon with her feet in the water.

At all times, while she drifted somewhere between dreams and hope, Leon Kennedy was with her. Her notebooks were full of his face. Her diaries full of her dreams of him. She would imagine him there beside her with his feet in the water. He was always laughing.

On the train, as they'd fled the city, he'd knelt down to talk to her. And he'd made her laugh. The first real laugh from a girl who'd been terrified for so long she couldn't remember the last time she'd done anything but cower and hunker and hide.

His face had been filthy, stained with ash and filth, brown in flaking patches with old blood and rot. He glistened beneath a fine sheen of sweat and smelled vaguely of gasoline and the acrid stench of burning flesh. His eyes had been so blue amongst all the filth, nearly gray in the rising dawn. His hair, that fine coppery strawberry blonde of a boy becoming a man, had been ragged and sticky. It had fallen in that iconic way of his in chunks of singed and crunchy hunks.

He'd said, "You doin ok, sweetheart?"

And she'd yearned a little, as young girls do, for the sweetheart in that voice. It was still smooth, still lacking that deepness that had come from aging and living, and made her feel warm and soft. She'd nodded, wide eyed, watching the way his mouth moved.

Leon had nodded and winked at her, patting her knee above her dirty knee socks and just below her filthy blue shorts. "It's ok now, Sherry. I know it's hard to imagine it…but I think it's ok now."

And Sherry had answered, in her tiny voice, "I was alone for so long. I was afraid for so long. How do I stop being afraid?"

There was no pity on his face. Even then, Leon Kennedy hadn't been the type of man to pity. He looked at her so evenly, so honestly. And he'd replied, "I think it'll always be there, sweetheart. I think you'll always be afraid. All you can do…all WE can do…is just hold on until the scenery changes. Maybe we don't stop being afraid. Maybe we just learn to take that fear and use it to make us stronger."

Sherry thought he might be the smartest person she'd ever met.

Some years later, she knew that to be almost true. His file said he was a genius. It said he was versatile and dedicated and strong. It said he had a penchant for foreign language and a unique ability to learn skills in a fraction of a second of the normal human response. He had a photographic memory and an unparalleled skill with hand to hand combat.

But on that day, on that train, he was so much more than that. Because she whispered, "I don't want to be alone anymore."

And he'd told her the first real truth of her new world. "You're not alone, Sherry. I'm with you now."

"You won't leave me?"

"Never. I'll always be with you. I promise."

They'd taken him from her. That part was true. They'd come off the train and Claire had left them to try to find her brother. They'd had one afternoon together where he'd given her ice cream and brushed her hair when it was clean to help her calm. He probably thought of her like a daughter or a sister…she'd thought of him as the only thing in her world that made it a little better.

He joked. He always joked. He'd made sweet jokes and silly jokes and off color jokes. The first joke he made that was rather inappropriate for a young girl had caused him to pause. He'd had a beer half way to his mouth and stopped. He'd glanced at her face in the little pub where they'd been eating and said, "….so that was all kinds of uncool huh?"

And she thought maybe he was the coolest person she'd ever met too.

The little town had a zoo and he'd taken her to it. They'd walked around and looked at animals and laughed. He'd sat on the bench with her while she just talked. She talked. She talked about growing up with parents that never loved her. She talked about their dedication and their eagerness to create something worth being remembered for.

And Leon Kennedy had put his arm around her and pulled her into his side. She'd melted, curled against him and breathing him in, and he said, "They already created something pretty special here, Sherry."

"The G-Virus?"

"No, silly goose…you."

Well shit, thought a twelve year old girl, and it was the moment she'd known she'd love him forever.

Her heart had pounded so hard, curled there against his side. She'd tucked her knees up against him and put her cheek on his chest. He'd rubbed her arm while she'd drifted off to sleep. It was the only time in her life she'd ever felt loved.

She'd come awake that afternoon to the men in the suits. She'd never forget any of it. The way he'd stood between her and them. The way he'd fought them…a rookie cop with no skills back then..he'd given it his best. They'd knocked him down eventually but he'd fought like a madman for her.

When they'd finally pulled them apart…she'd called his name as they dragged him away. He'd been in handcuffs like some kind of criminal…this boy that had saved her life. They kept jerking her arms to force her to move.

"Leon!"

And he'd looked over his shoulder at her…and winked at her. "Don't be afraid, Sherry. Ok? Remember…."

"….be stronger."

"Be stronger."

"Leon…I don't want to be alone!"

He'd struggled against the dragging hands. She'd jerked against the pulling arms. And he'd answered, "Not alone, Sherry. Not alone. Don't worry sweetheart, I'm comin for ya."

And they'd thrown him down the hallway.

She hadn't seen him again all those years.

She sat now on the edge of the pond, a grown woman, feeling the water on her bare toes. Now she had him, in a way, the man that filled her in places with hope and need and want. She had him. But she couldn't ever really have him.

Not while she was a prisoner in this place.

Her punishment this time wasn't isolation. Simmons hadn't thrown her off alone to punish her for sneaking away. He'd, instead, told her she would be spending her time in testing. And she had. She'd been poked and prodded and pushed.

He'd shot her full of something that made her itchy and gasping and pained. Her reaction hadn't pleased him, obviously, as he'd let her go shortly after while muttering. Whatever he'd wanted from her, he wasn't getting it. He'd sent her to train with her handlers.

They'd come at her like usual but they sensed, as she flipped and kicked, tossed and took them down…that something had changed. It had. She wasn't the little girl that needed them anymore. She'd escaped them, avoided them, and trained with Leon Kennedy. She didn't need anything they could teach her anymore.

They'd sent her off to be alone for the day by the pond.

Mr. Kennedy sat beside her on the embankment, panting and smiling…if dogs could smile. Sherry looped her arm around his neck. She laid her cheek on his shaggy head. And then he spoke to her in Claire's voice, "I'm pretty sure that handsome fella next to you is the best looking Kennedy."

Sherry smiled and glanced up at her as Claire settled onto the ground beside her. Sherry shifted her head and laid it on Claire's shoulder. Her long red hair tickled Sherry's face as a the breeze ruffled it.

"You're not mad at me?"

Claire glanced down at her and cuddled her arm around her. "How could I be? He pursued you, right? He's known for it."

Sherry considered and said, "No. It was me."

Surprised, Claire glanced at her face again. "You?"

"Oh, yeah. It's always been him for me. Since that first day twelve years ago. First, it was a crush right? A little girl looking for someone to idolize. Later? An obsession. I couldn't do anything but dream of him. I'd roll sweaty in my sweets hungering after him."

Claire rubbed her arm as they stared out over the pond.

"And now?"

Sherry sat up, shivering a little in the cool breeze. "Now I'm in love with him. Desperately. It's insane."

"Sherry…" Concerned, Claire looked over to hold her gaze. Two sets of blue eyes locked together, "Sherry…he's not for you. He's not who you think he is. He'll try to be good. He'll try to love you. He's made that way…to try. And he'll fail at it. Because Leon Kennedy is good at a lot of things. He's great at more than that. But he's BAD at love. His love? It doesn't last. He'll get bored, Sherry…and he'll hurt you without trying. He's not cruel. He's not mean. He's just…not the type that sticks around. I cut him loose before he could cut me loose all those years ago. That allowed us to stay friends. Because I knew, when it started, that he isn't a man you try to tie down. You love him, you fuck him stupid, you use him up and ride him until you can't walk…and then honey?"

She took Sherry's face and held it, determined to help her see it. "And then you let him go."

Sherry looked so cool. She looked so calm. "I won't use him up. He'll use me up. And I'll let him. And if he asks? I'll keep letting him. The only thing I won't do if he asks? I won't let him go."

Claire shook her head, trying to see reason on that young, innocent, determined face. "Sherry…Sherry…you can't keep him. He'll hurt you."

And now Sherry shivered a little. And her beautiful blue eyes glowed. "….I know. I want him to."

Claire held her gaze for a long, long moment. She finally rose from the ground. "We're working with Simmons to have you assist on this mission. If he says yes, you want to come with us?"

"Oh, yes. Please….Leon's here?"

"…he's here." Claire caught her chin and held her face. "Sherry, he's gonna use you up."

"….promise?" Her little voice. So soft. So excited.

Claire understood it. She did. Leon Kennedy was something you coveted. He was all blue eyes and shaggy hair and sexy little smiles. He fucked like a porn star and commanded like a general. He took and took and turned you over and used you while you screamed and bucked and fucked and fell apart for him. He just didn't stick around to clean up the mess he left behind.

No apologies, no regrets.

It's why you loved him. He was cocky and sexy and charming and suave. He was almost impossibly beautiful. He was deadly night shade – so utterly gorgeous, so covetous, so carefully constructed to make you want it, need it, yearn for it and touch it…and wither and die from it.

This girl was the perfect answer to him. She was soft. She was untested. She lived in the shadow of her horrific parents with their stigma slathered all over her like poison. She was a delicate bird in a gilded cage. She wanted so badly to be free. She wanted so badly to die from his touch. It thrilled her…the idea that she might die at his hands, enthralled in him, impaled on him. HIS. It was the answer to a question a desperate little thing like her had been asking for years. Who was she? If she allowed him to own her, empty her, and fill her…she would be Leon Kennedy's…and that was what she CRAVED.

Claire brushed her fingers over Sherry's cheek and still saw her as twelve years old. That was her failing here. It was her fault. She saw the little girl and not the woman. The woman? She knew what she wanted.

How did she protect her from Leon? Could she? Should she? Letting Sherry try and fail to keep him was something every woman needed to learn in their life. If what Excella Gionne had told them was true…a cure for her was waiting in Mauti-Kifo. Maybe the answer was there to what she'd need. Freed from Simmons, maybe she'd spread her little wings and fly away. Maybe she'd find her way from him and it would all end…if not happily…safely.

And maybe unicorns would be waiting there as well.

But she started talking. She told Sherry all of it. She talked about Jessica Sherawat. She talked about Ada Wong. She told her about Excella and the games and the dark. She told her about the missions, the pain.

Sherry held her look. She didn't look upset. The story had only made her love him more. Didn't Claire see? He'd gone in, side by side with a man bent on vengeance, and nearly died saving him. Maybe he wasn't perfect. But he would always be the boy in the uniform that went in, when there was no hope, and saved you. It was all he knew how to be.

If that meant he atoned for that self sacrifice by seeking to control his universe outside it? It was a small price to pay. She wasn't Jessica Sherawat…she didn't want to own him…she wanted him to OWN HER.

"Thank you, Claire. For loving me. For telling me. I know who he is. I've always known. If he wants me for now…or for a minute…or forever…it'll be enough. I'm only me when he's with me. He's on my walls, on my pages, on my heart. He's it for me. I can't change that because it's dangerous. I can't change it because he'll use me up. I hope he does. I can't think of a better way to die than loving him."

Undone, lost, and afraid for her, Claire stroked her soft hair. "Sherry….honey. Oh, honey."

There was nothing left for her to say here. What could she say?

Nothing to Sherry. Nothing. But Sherry wasn't the only one in it now.

Claire turned to head back toward the compound and the door buzzed. It slid up and he stepped out into the cool autumn air. His jacket was soft wine red hand woven wool. The collar was wide and high, black, with a lapel that hinted at a suit jacket and big black buttons that gave hints a of a pea coat. He wore a brilliant gray vest beneath in shades of good dove feathers and tie that was striped in red and black. The shirt beneath was crisp white and catchy. He paired it all with those deconstructed jeans he loved so much that made his ass look edible and black boots that were likely steel toed.

The wind tossed his hair with playful fingers. It was always so dark as the winter months drug on. The summer would often see it light and soft. As the fall edged toward winter, it was a rich shade of dark somewhere between blonde and brown.

Claire moved toward him across the grass. The cool breeze felt good on the face as they moved. She smoothed her hands over his vest, an old gesture between them. He lifted his hand, encased in those fingerless gloves that he was always wearing, and scooped her hair behind her ear…and this was another gesture as old as their friendship.

"You ok?"

Claire eyed his face, looking at the spill of that sexy little weeks worth of beard that he was sporting. She got it. She'd always get it. He rang bells when he breathed. Women just dropped panties and waited for him to fuck them. But Sherry wasn't just some girl. She wasn't. And it had to be said.

"If you hurt her, I will kill you."

They held eyes.

"I didn't come here to hurt her, Claire. I've been trying all these years to get her set free. You know that."

"And you know what I mean here, Leon. You know what I mean. That girl out there? I'm going to kill you if you hurt her. I hope you realize that while you're playing whatever game this is with her. This doesn't end with us friends if it goes badly."

And now he lowered his hand from her cheek. "You choosing her over me?"

"…do I have to?"

He took a step back from her. It hurt her. But it had to be said.

"I hope not."

"Me too. For all of us."

Nodding, he passed by her, and he said, "Simmons agreed."

Finding out about the potential cure in Mauti-Kifo had been all the information needed to influence the President to put pressure on Simmons and allow the meeting. Apparently, Leon could charm even that old stick up his ass because Simmons had agreed to let them take Sherry with them. It was unheard of.

"Really?"

"Yes. We'll leave in the morning."

She watched him walk away from her. And she hated the distance here. But Sherry couldn't protect herself. She was too soft, too open, too HIS. Someone had to protect her.

He crossed the ground toward her and Mr. Kennedy woofed at him.

Sherry turned her head, saw him, and felt something in her click back in place.

She rose, turning slowly. "I tried to get him to let me stay. To let me say goodbye. He wouldn't let me. I wasn't sure…that you'd come back after what happened."

He said nothing, walking toward her.

She wondered if there'd ever be a moment her heart didn't pound like a wild thing in her chest when she saw him. What a life she'd have, chasing and feeling him in her bones like she did. If someone cut her…would she bleed Leon Kennedy?

Sherry spoke again, so softly, "I don't…know how to get you out of me now. I think I'm obsessed with you…I didn't think you'd come back…"

Leon shook his head. His face, she thought wildly, was he always so controlled? Where was the laughing boy who'd shared ice cream with her? Were they even those people anymore?

She said, and he was so close now, maybe eight feet away, "But then I remembered…I REMEMBERED…that you're always with me…even when you're gone…I think maybe I'm pathetic…because I can't do anything but miss you…and I just tried to be….stronger."

And he was there now. He was right there. She opened her arms and in him came. He caught her against his front and picked her up off her feet against him. She made a sound and opened her mouth. Her hands speared into his hair and his tongue filled her mouth.

She didn't realize she was crying a little. She was crying in his arms. Why? Because he was some part of her that she couldn't understand. Because she'd loved him for half her life and felt him in her even when he was gone. Because she wanted him to open her up and bleed her dry and fill her full of him until she couldn't tell where he ended and she began.

The pond was scenic behind him. The weather was so cool. He smelled like something smoky and sexy and rich. She popped her mouth free and jerked at his hair to hold his face still.

And she licked his mouth.

His lips curved up at the corner; that little half smile that ruled her soul.

Sherry said it again, softly, "I missed you."

And he finally spoke, "Show me."

She slid effortlessly to her knees. Her hands jerked, unzipped, and molested him. She molested him like some kind of desperate pervert. She licked over his hip bone and across the smooth plain of his belly beneath the shirt she lifted. She swirled her tongue in his belly button and drew a laugh from him that was edged with want.

Her hands pulled him free and her mouth amorously licked, lovingly, at his soft and exquisite head. He was still only semi-erect which thrilled her. And it allowed her to open her mouth and take him in as far as she could in a single, breathtaking dive.

He went rock hard from it, gasping with delight. And her throat closed around him as he grew, throbbing in the slickness of that waiting cave. She gagged, thrilling him, but she didn't let go. She sucked, unskilled and eager, sucking and rolling her head and gagging at how far she forced him down her throat.

Jesus, he thought with a reckless greed, she was starving for it. She didn't stop and she didn't quit. He watched her pink mouth feast, furious and dying. She drove him into her. Her hands caught his hand looped them in her hair.

A shiver rode down his spine. He knew what she wanted. So he commanded her, gruffly, "Don't fight me."

And his hands twisted in her hair like handlebars. She made a moan of pain that thrummed around his dick and stole his breath. Her hands settled on his thighs and braced. She readied herself, shivering in his grip.

Jesus Christ…he was mad for her.

He drove her down on his body mercilessly. She made a sound of shock and hunger and drove her nails into his thighs. With a grunt of greed, he ground himself in her mouth, felt her body resist him, and pulled her back to give her relief. They both shuddered with it.

And he gave her more.

He almost pulled her off and shoved her back on. She gagged and he pulled her back, let her breathe, and thrust into her again. Her gripping nails finally relented as he found the rhythm that robbed her breath, forced her to the edge, and then pulled her back. She slid her hands up now under his shirt, under his vest, and raked those nails over his nipples.

He popped her off his wet, slick, sticky cock and pulled her up off the ground by her hair to feed her his tongue. She took it, sucking, jerking against his chest and bringing his desperate moan into her. Dying, he dropped her back to the ground and she dove at him.

That mouth, he thought as she waited, and he shoved all of him into her. That mouth. It brushed his groin, all in, and he shuddered….and held her there. She gasped, impaled, shaking…shaking and too full. She gagged, she pushed…just a little…against his hips as if to unseat him from her. Those tears on her face, her mouth so ruthlessly owned by him….it made him nearly spill into her eager little throat. And he jerked himself out of her aching mouth.

Sherry made a sound and collapsed into the leaves as he released her. She slumped, breathing short, choppy, and raspy. Her throat throbbed, telling her of its abuse. She craved it. Each sharp pain, each terrible little ache. She DIED for it.

He jerked her to her feet and spun her around. She made a sound of surprise and grabbed the tree in front of her. His hands unbound her belt, they jerked her zipper, they pushed her jeans down her body until they pooled at her feet, trapped by her boots.

The cool air on her bottom thrilled her. She whispered, "Oh god…"

And his hand came down. It spanked her soft skin and echoed. It echoed in the quiet fall air. She'd resisted. She'd resisted. She'd CRAVED this. He stroked her, he spanked her, he petted her, he punished her. He shoved her little panties to the side and hooked his thumb into her heat.

She was slick, wet, swollen. It settled in his groin and brought his hand down against her again. She moaned, her cheeks pink and pretty. She was poison. She was infecting him with the want of her. She gasped his name, she offered herself to him, she looked over her shoulder. He unhooked his thumb from her and almost tickled her creamy slit with his finger.

"Please…"

That please.

He spread her little cheeks in his hands. He traced his thumb from her swollen lips and over the tight little hole of her, smearing her juices over her crack and that eager little entrance. Sherry mewled, needy, "Not like that, ok?"

And he laughed. "Not like what?"

"Not there."

Jesus. It made him want to fill her there. Not there, she begged. God.

He didn't invade that little virgin hole of hers. Not yet. He shifted and gripped her pink, pulsing, little cheeks instead to angle her up. "Don't come, Sherry. And don't beg."

He slapped his aching shaft against her needy little cunt. He just…slapped it once with his throbbing dick. She mewled. But she didn't beg. She was a GOOD girl.

And he rewarded her. He thrust into her swollen heat hilt deep. He hit the end of her, felt the spongy press of her cervix, and ground himself there while she cried out. She went so wet around him it was insane. He didn't relent, he rode out and hammered back in. They slapped together, rough, loud. Her gripping hands on the tree shifted and she fucked back against him, forcing him into her body fast, hard, thick and raw.

The angle put him at her cervix in a crushing way. It stole her breath. It hurt. It throbbed. It milked. She screamed once, thighs quaking, world shaking. She gasped, gasped, "I can't! I can't! Please!"

She could. They both knew it.

But he rasped, laughing a little, "Can't what? You can't what?"

"I can't take anymore. I'll come!"

"Not yet…not yet."

"Oh...please…"

That please.

"More?"

She gasped, bowing, nodding.

And he slid his thumb down and hooked it into her little eager hole to show her. Sherry squealed, she made a sound of want that ruled him, and she was so slick she could do nothing but feel him smash into her body and destroy her.

But she didn't come. She didn't come. And his balls slapped against her eager little ass while he thumbed her, while he fucked her, and while he owned her. He gripped her hair in his free hand and stopped thrusting. He let her hump back against him, finding her rhythm. He drew her face to the side and kissed her, curled over her back while she moved.

She was so hot, so desperate. He freed her hair, released her mouth, and slid his hand around her hip while she fucked him. He thumbed her ass, let her impale herself on his dick, and dipped his fingers over her needy little clit. Sherry bowed, crying out, almost spastically jerking in his arms.

"Please!" She cried it out, so loud. So loud. Could they hear it in that compound where Simmons held her captive? Could they? Did they understand what was happening here? Did they understand she was no longer Simmons…but his? She was his now. Always.

He unhooked his diving thumb from her body and brought his palm against her ass, spanking, sharp, hard. She screamed. He mercilessly worked her clit, so creamy, so slick. And she slapped back once more, so hard it nearly threw him off her. She ground him inside her at the core of her body. And he put his mouth to her little ear.

"….harder."

She smashed back against him so hard he had to hold on to her to keep upright. She stole his breath, sucked him into her riding body and raped a cry from his mouth that delighted her. He saw it on her desperate face. She CRAVED his noises. She EARNED them.

He made a sound, she felt him go so hard inside her sucking body that it felt like steel thrusting between her legs. She knew he was close. She cried out, "No! NOT YET!"

And it nearly killed him.

He gasped, hands lodged on her driving hips like she was a bronco trying to buck him clean, and Leon finally curled against her back and dropped his mouth to her ear. She turned her face to him, rasping, hoarsely breathing, panting. He claimed her mouth and whispered into it, "….go."

She went.

Almost instantly.

She spasmed and came, so wet, sucking him into her while she ground there. He slid his hand up under her jacket and shirt to cup her bare breast and roll it in his palm. He wanted to feel her racing heart. RACING. Sherry was still going, still dying, and she begged again, "Please."

That please.

He cupped her around the waist and threw her to the ground. She went, gasping, and he mounted her body with her feet trapped by the boots. She eagerly arched, opened, and he filled her up. He caught her hands and threw them over her head. She linked their fingers. She craned her neck, he took her mouth, and he fired into her.

That please.

She gasped, "I love you. Now! Now!"

And he was done.

He came inside of her, pumping, pulsing. He filled her full of his greed like a man possessed. And she made a little sound of something that stole his soul.

He collapsed atop her, breathing so hoarsely it almost wheezed out of him. Her hands came up to cup his face where it buried against her neck. She stared up at the cloudy sky and wondered if she was dead from wanting him. She turned her face, he rolled his and they spilled tongues and lips together. Smooth and wet and slow, they coupled mouths like their bodies.

After a long moment, he shifted. She opened her eyes to find him righting her clothes. He zipped her up and offered his hands. She took them, rising.

It might have been ok. She would probably have just shivered and longed for him like she'd always done…but he didn't turn his back on her and walk away. He turned into her and she opened her arms to pull him close.

She shifted, his hands curled down the back of her thighs, and he lifted her. She looped her legs around his waist and one arm slid around his shoulders. The other curled up the back of his head and into his hair. He tucked his around her like an octopus. And he buried his face into the bend of her neck and shoulder…breathing her in. He stood there, near the pond where she'd pictured him so many times over the years, and held her in the cool fall air.

He hugged like he did all things: all in.

It was his body that drew her: that face, those eyes, that smile. It was his humor that killed her: the puns, the jokes, the soft and nearly sweet sense of wanting to make you laugh. It was his fucking that thrilled her: the way he ruled, the way he schooled, the way he tortured and tempted and abolished. But it was his hugging that kept her. It was his hugging. Because his hugging was like stripping away his armor to find the boy beneath the hardened warrior. There were no games here, when he hugged you, just something a little lost and a little lonely and a little…mine, Sherry thought, a little mine.

And just when she thought, maybe, she'd be safe from the final moment of knowing she was lost…he whispered, "I missed you too, Sherry...what have you done to me?"

And there was no more hope for her do anything but love him.

She was obsessed with him.

So she answered; a whisper of sound, "I'm making you mine, Leon Kennedy. Don't you know that?"

Against her skin, he replied, "….show me."

And she knew she'd probably spend the rest of her life doing just that.