Authors note: Just to say that I took heavy influence from Firewolf's fanfiction for the fight between Krauser and Leon in this chapter. Full credit, as Firewolf's fic's actually got me into this pairing in the first place too!

Chapter 2

And Pick Up the Knife

Two weeks passed in the blink of an eye. I'd never noticed the difference until it was presented to me; before my days had been long simply because I had little to do, but now, well, if you weren't doing something you generally had someone on your ass asking you why.

My hand to hand combat skills weren't the only thing that my Sergeant had been impressed with; my weapons knowledge and aptitude and even my tactical knowledge was enough to have him put me into some advanced classes. It felt good, but at the same time it was a little intimidating. I think the older vets thought a green rookie like me had no place being in a class with them at all. Until they saw what I could do.

"The fuck did they train you kid?" Gowan's, one of the assessors from tactical weaponry, asked me after class one day as we sat in the cafeteria.
"Didn't you know?" Kessinger said with a grin, "Kennedy got his first day in Racoon City, the night it all went down."

I don't think Gowan's looked at me the same way after that. In fact most of the rookie's and the vets alike had seemed to fall into two camps when it came to how they interacted with me: awe or respect. I hadn't known how to handle the awe at first, it was just plain weird. The respect I was simply thankful for, glad that as of yet I hadn't come up against any resistance. Even Gross, after I apologised for the hundredth time, told me that it didn't matter and that if I apologised one more time he'd return the favour. Then he'd asked me to join their table for lunch and bombarded me with questions about the advanced classes I had been put into. Gross was a gun nut, but he was a friendly enough gun nut.

It unnerved me, sometimes, how well I got on with everyone. I found myself waiting for conflict at every turn, every new face, but it never seemed to come. I studied, I trained, I ate and spent downtime playing ball or cards or just talking with my roommates. It was like some sort of parallel universe where everything goes right without you knowing how or why. All I could think was that, after Racoon, I must have built up a hell of a lot of Karma to spend and I was spending it now.

I e-mailed Claire every couple of days. She'd made me promise to give her updates so she didn't have to worry. I wasn't sure how to field the accusations that I had a secret girlfriend, until they found out she was the girl who had lived through Racoon with me. Once Kessinger got hold of the photograph I kept, of me, Claire and Chris, he wouldn't let it go. He passed it round and from then on they all just hassled me for her phone number every time I mailed her. One time I actually got the chance to call her but I'm not sure if she managed to hear me over the wolf whistles from my bunk mates. Assholes, but I had to laugh when I told them that the tall guy in the photo was her very over protective big brother who just happened to have once been a member of S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team. Yeah, that shut them up.

Things were finally settling down. It was during the third week, during advanced combat class, that things changed.

"Get your weapons ready gentlemen, and I'd rather you were a little careful, don't want to cut yourselves," the assessor, Graves, said with a smirk; he was an older man, grey peppered short black hair and a scar over his right eye, "Kennedy, get up here."

He'd started me off on some of the basic techniques of the class while the older students paired off against each other and went thought the motions. When he asked me to get my knife he'd been happy when I'd produced a two sided blade, just like he used himself. It was just standard issue for the unit I'd been assigned to in the R.P.D. I'd told him, and he seemed to sober at that. I cursed myself and tried to remember not to ever bring it up if it didn't need brining up.

"My daughter, she lived in Racoon," he said quietly, flipping his knife back and forth between his hands, his eyes focusing on the space between, "never got her body back. Maybe, one of these days, you'll sit me down over a bottle of whiskey and tell me what really happened, eh Kennedy?"
"Sir," I nodded unsurely, feeling ill at the thought of reliving any of the events to someone who'd lost a family member.
"Right," he smiled sadly, "sorry kid, let's get on with this."

He taught me a more advanced blocking technique that ended with a punch to the face, blocking to evade, rolling while keeping an eye on the target. I think I learned more in that one hour than I had in my entire combat class in the academy. My adrenaline was high and I was sweating with the exertion of keeping up, but I felt great. I was getting used to the negative reinforcement he used.

"You can do better than that Kennedy! Don't be such a pussy, come at me like you mean it!"

Yeah, he was a little overenthusiastic like that, but it made things interesting. We had moved on to a sort of mock test in which he asked me to demonstrate the techniques I'd learned on him with a dummy knife. It was heavier and unwieldy compared to my own slimmer knife but I was managing to compensate. I was so focused that I hadn't even noticed that someone else had entered the room, even as the other students began talking excitedly among themselves. Graves finally stopped me and I blinked, breaking myself out of my focus.

"Well if it isn't Jack," he said to someone standing behind me; I whipped around to get a look, not feeling comfortable with a stranger at my back, and found myself looking up, "where they been keeping you holed up?"

He must have been at least a foot taller than me, short blonde hair pulled back tight against his skull, arms like fricking tree trunks. He looked like he could snap me in half if he sneezed too hard in my general direction. He eyes me for a moment as if confused, but then talked right over my head to Graves. Awkward.

"Yeah, well, no talking about the mission and all that, eh Paul?" he scanned over the students and then back to me, "new recruits?"
"Just this one," Graves said with a laugh, which I realised I'd never heard him do until then.
"Yeah," he said, blue eyes focused on me with interest, "pretty good for a Rookie, what's your name kid?"
"Leon Kennedy," I didn't tag a title onto the end as I had no clue who this guy was; I felt as if I should say 'sir' considering everyone seemed awed by his presence and Graves was treating him as an equal, but it just didn't seem right.
"Hmm," he narrowed his eyes a little but a smirk played at the corner of his mouth, "that Kennedy huh? Well, how about we up the training programme for today. What do you say Graves, give the celebrity a one on one trial run?"

Celebrity. The word made my eyes narrow in silent acceptance of any challenge he was throwing down. Hadn't I proven myself as more than that already? Who the hell was this jackass to walk in and chalk my skills up to my notoriety? Graves seemed to hesitate but this guy, Jack, he simply snorted out a laugh. He pulled out his own knife from its holster, shining in the artificial light of the hall. The recruits shifted uneasily and Graves tried to put up a protest that, for some reason, this guy managed to talk down.

"Oh come on Paul, the Rookie can take it," he joked, "I'll be careful."
"I don't think that's such a great idea..." Graves began.
"What, don't trust me now?" he'd said.
"It's fine," I'd said, my tone steady and confrontational; I tried to quell the adrenaline, feeling the danger.

I put down the training blade and unstrapped my double edged blade from my harness. We squared off against each other from across one of the training mats. I dropped into stance, noticing Graves shaking his head out of the corner of my eye. Who was this man, that had enough clout with the assessors? No Leon, I thought, focus, this guy isn't playing around, show him what you're made of.

His knife was longer, but only single edged. An advantage and a drawback depending on what situation I we ended up in. I would just have to make sure it was always in my favour. We stood, observing each other for another half a minute. I moved first, trying to duck down under his defences, but noticed just in time as he brought the knife down to jab at my exposed side. He grinned as I spun away, but I couldn't tell if he was impressed at my agility or simply mocking me for taking the fake opening in the first place. He took the next initiative, trying for a sweep towards my face, which I blocked with a quick backhand, followed by a slice across my torso, which I managed to step back from just in time. My frustration began to rise. Was this guy taunting me?

I moved back before he managed to set up his footing again, aiming for his side, he grabbed my hand by the wrist, his reflexes lightning quick and, I can't explain it, I felt that danger again, surging against the barriers I'd tried to put in place to hold the feelings back. His grip was like a vice and I felt my hold on my blade loosen. I twisted my wrist to the right and down to have him disengage before slashing at his exposed shoulder. He blocked it easily, but didn't seem to anticipate my going on the attack. He even had the good grace to look surprised when I jabbed towards his sternum, deflecting my blade with a quick flick of his wrist, the sound of metal on metal grating through the silent room. He came back with a cut towards my side, which I rolled to the side to avoid, throwing myself up into his torso to try and get him to stumble so I could...then he managed to get a hold of my arm, I was tight up close to his chest and his breath in my face, all I could see were his eyes, narrowed in concentration, but it could have been anger and, god, the heat I could feel, the heat it was so close and I could see the pale glint on the blade as it came round for another stabbing slice at my exposed arm and, that hand it was tight around my own I could feel...

-Kill him, before he kills you-

...come on Kennedy, what does your training count for if you can't even get these people out of the city? Are you going to let this monster kill you? Are you going to let it end like this? What about Claire? She's relying on you, they're all relying on you, you can't let it end here, not now. Kill this fucking monstrosity and get the fuck out of the city!

With a shout I grabbed my blade from my incapacitated hand, deflecting his blow, taking a sick sort of pleasure in his look of shock, before I brought the knife up towards his face. I thought I heard someone calling my name but I ignored it. He managed to let go and duck back in time, or what I had thought had been in time. His growl of pain brought me out of my flashback like being submerged in ice cold water. I stood there, panting like I'd run a mile, staring at the blade in my hand in horror as the red drops slid to the tip and dropped off slowly. I felt Graves pull me round by the shoulder as my opponent clamped his right hand over his face while the blood ran through his fingers. He stared at me with his right eye, anger blazing, teeth gritted. I couldn't look away, feeling the look of abject mortification and sorrow on my face.

"Put the knife down Kennedy," I heard Graves say, and I dropped it without argument.
"I didn't mean...god I'm sorry I..." I couldn't get any more out.
"Just be quiet," he said, voice neutral, his hand clamped over my shoulder, "Harper get the god damn medic for Krauser and hurry up about it! Jack, sit the hell down over there and keep pressure on the wound."

It was like coming down from a high. I felt the world slowly slipping back into reality, racing down from the adrenaline. I wasn't there, it wasn't real. This was real. God damn it, how I didn't wish this was real. Graves led me over to one of the seats that lined the wall and guided me onto it. He must have noticed how out of it I was because his voice became calm, just as we'd been taught to use in training for people who had gone into shock.

"Just stay here, okay kid? We'll get this sorted out," he turned to the other students, "Alright everyone, this isn't a free show, everyone out, come on move it!"

Fuck it. What the fuck use am I here if I can't hold it together under the pressure. I put my face in my hands and breathed deeply. God damn it, the second person I'd fucking wounded since I got here. Only been here three weeks and I'd put two people in the medical wing. I didn't realise just how long I'd sat there trying to sort my head out until Graves shook my shoulder to get my attention. I looked up slowly, noticing that the room was empty but for us.

"Sergeant Howes needs to talk to you," he said gravely.
"Of course," my voice was steady but detached, I stood and followed him to the door, "I guess we won't be having our talk about Racoon then sir. Believe me, you wouldn't want to have heard it anyway. Some horror isn't made for sharing."

He looked shocked. I couldn't tell if it was my words or the look in my eyes, which I'm sure looked far older than twenty. I walked quickly and efficiently to the Sergeant's office, feeling the odd sense of déjà vu from three weeks earlier. There was no excusing this, I thought numbly, I really am too dangerous to keep now. I could have killed him if he hadn't ducked back from that knife blow. I had been aiming to slice his damn head in half, destroy his brain. God damn it, I had wanted to kill him.

I raised my hand to knock at the Sergeant's door but stopped when I heard voices from within. I listened hard

"Dammit Jack, what the hell were you thinking?" the Sergeant sounded pissed as all hell, "The kid is trying his best to settle in, get over the trauma, and then you waltz in and fuck around with our carefully arranged training? What the fuck were you thinking?"
"How the hell was I supposed to know he was that dangerous? Look at the size of him!" another voice, gruff, which I recognised as the man I was sure I'd heard Graves call Krauser.
"You should know better than to judge someone by their size," the Sergeant barked back, "and the kid's got issues. You know about his history right? He's recovering from PTSD. Graves said he noticed the change in him not long before he nearly decapitated you."
"Yeah," Krauser sounded contemplative and resigned, "I kinda caught it too late to do anything about it. Look in his eye, I was surprised he didn't kill me."
"Yeah, well think yourself lucky then," the Sergeant said.

I took advantage of the natural break intheir conversation and knocked, waiting for the reply before entering. I walked to the front of the Sergeant's desk, not entirely happy as I'd expected us to be alone for this interview. Instead I found, to my dismay, that it was indeed the man I had wounded who was sitting in one of the chairs, thick plasters holding together the stitched skin. I blanched as he looked at me, an unreadable look in his eye. I looked back to the Sergeant quickly.

"Take a seat Kennedy," the Sergeant sounded tired.
"Sir," I said stiffly, sitting just as rigidly.
"You know why you're here," he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of Krauser, "I thought you said we weren't going to have to deal with any more incidents."
"Sorry sir," I said tightly, not having any excuses this time.
"Well, considering the circumstances, I'm just glad the damage wasn't more severe," he said, glaring at Krauser as he spoke, to which the other simply snorted and looked away.
"What now, sir?" I asked, sounding more hollow than I'd anticipated; I shook head lightly, I needed to be more in control of the situation.
"Well, considering Krauser here told me the details, we're not going to dismiss you," my eyes snapped to him, widening, had I heard him right? "But you are going to have to see the on base psychiatrist, every week, until we think that we've helped you through this. Understand?"
"Yes sir," I said, breathing deeply, amazed that I'd managed to dodge the bullet once again, "but may I request that it be Doctor Hydan that performs the session?"
"I don't know about that, let me look into it alright?" he said kindly, "Look Kennedy, you just need to get a handle on this. Show us that you're trying and we'll help you, we're not all cold bastards who just want to see you perform. We want our recruits to be healthy, physically and mentally. We'll get you through this, and then we'll see about continuing with your programme, okay?"
"Yes sir," I nodded, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with Krauser glancing at me out of the corner of his eye every few minutes, "thank you, sir."

He nodded back, telling me that I was to report to him tomorrow at 1200 hours to receive further instructions in regards to my schedule. Until then I was on free time but I wasn't to go off base. I stood to leave, managed to make it to the door, but felt the guilt seeping in at the edges until it was rolling around in my stomach making me feel sick. I stopped, hand on the door handle, and turned to look at Krauser who was sitting with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands joined, staring at the floor.

"Krauser," I said, and he looked up, a little startled, maybe because I'd used him name, maybe because he'd been lost in thought, "I'm really sorry, I mean it, I never meant to go that far. I'm sorry."

Then, feeling like a complete ass, I opened the door and left quickly, closing it behind me with a snap replete with cowardice. Fuck, how many lives did I have left in this place? I was going through them at a rate of knots, if I kept this up I wouldn't last another week. I meandered back to my room, feeling like a complete fool. What the hell had I been thinking taking that guy up on his insane idea of a knife fight anyway? The more I thought about it, the more I realised that it was my pride that had gotten me into this mess in the first place. I had thought I needed to prove myself to the cocky bastard that thought I was hiding behind my name to get ahead in my training, but instead I probably just set myself back months of hard earned sanity which I would now have to go through weeks of therapy with some fucking stranger to regain.

Great.

Kessinger was once again the only guy in the room when I entered, completing my feeling of déjà vu. He was lying on the bed reading a magazine, but sat up when I entered, looking at me solemnly.

"Hey man," he said, trying to gauge my mood, "everything alright?"
"Yeah," I nodded, "well no, uh...I kind of got into a fight earlier on and, well, it's a little complicated."
"Hell, I got that much, the stories spread all over the base, but there are too many versions to count and I couldn't count on any of them to be real," Kessinger said, shaking his head, "what really happened Leon?"

Kessinger had taken to calling me by my first name, and in a way it was kind of reassuring. Up until now everyone else just called me 'Kennedy'. It was only Claire, Chris and my mother that ever called me Leon.

"Graves was training us in hand to hand with combat knives. Some guy, his name is Jack Krauser, he came in and practically forced Graves into letting us have a fight to test my skills. Like an idiot I took it as an insult, I agreed and ended it by slitting his face open," I saw Kessinger wince, "they haven't kicked me out yet, but I have to jump through some hoops first."
"Like what?" he asked as I stripped off my t-shirt and routed around in my locker for something clean.
"Shrink," I shrugged, pulling out a clean t-shirt and a hoodie to stave off the slight chill in the air.
"They think it's PTSD, you know, from your journey through hell?" Kessinger liked to call it that, and I couldn't correct him considering it was pretty damn accurate.
"Yeah..." I said, hesitating as I pulled the soft, clean hoodie over my head, working my arms into the sleeves, "...and I guess they aren't wrong."

Kessinger gave me a sympathetic smile, rubbing the back of his neck. I sat down on my bunk and tried not to think about Krauser's face, all held together with white plasters and metal stitches. I shivered, rubbing my right arm, imagining I could feel the scarred skin underneath. Kessinger's voice broke me out of my stupor.

"One of these days you're going to have to tell me how you got that scar," he said, indicating to the spot I was rubbing at.
"Likewise," I smirked back, tapping at my throat where Kessinger's answering scar stood out against his tanned skin.
"Yeah," he chuckled, eyeing me intently, eyes flicking down and back up, "touché."

I looked away, feeling a little awkward.

"Don't let them get to you Leon," I heard Kessinger lie back down on his bunk, "Damn you're in more advanced classes than any new recruit has the right to be, if anyone deserves to be here, it's you."
"Thanks," I said quietly, leaning back against the covers, feeling the exhaustion steal over me.

It had been so long since I'd had the nightmares that I didn't even see it coming. The events played out behind my eyes without my consent. Dark alleyways crawling with death. Claire's terrified face. I thought I saw Grave's daughter, groaning as she dragged her rotting corpse across the street towards me, even though I knew there was no way I could have ever seen her, let alone known it was her. I hadn't intended to dream about it, but I still woke up screaming anyway.

An: Wow, I just do not want to give Leon a break...poor guy. Okay, let me know what you think if you have the time. Thanks for reading, toodles!

Maiko