The Long Dark

XVIII:

In Mourning

They didn't have a body to bury.

They didn't have a body for a funeral.

There was no graveside and mourners.

What Rebecca got was a warrior's goodbye. They watched the fire. They felt the heat. They stood in the smoldering village of Nome and grieved. But grief was too simple of a word. It was so much deeper than that. So much more profound.

Rebecca had been the best of them - the purest, the cleanest, the most hopeful. To lose her when they needed her most was like watching that bus full of survivors ignite in Raccoon City. Jill had stood in the firelit darkness and wept. She'd cried so hard. Every soul on that bus had been her responsibility.

And she'd failed them all.

Rebecca had been hers as well. Whatever Nikolai had wanted in Jill, he'd taken out on Rebecca. And now their best hope for a peaceful solution had died with her. Unless they could somehow recreate her findings from her notes, there was no way they could battle the plagas with UV instead of weapons.

Chris, wounded, but determined, was already arguing for the fastest and most expedient course. Where he'd once been the rabble-rouser, he was the voice of reason now. Yes, he explained, the risk of exposure was high with bombing. But hadn't they just proved it worked on that compound where Rebecca had died?

Nothing had risen from the ashes. Nothing had emerged. The bombing had done the job.

Chris didn't pause to grieve. He didn't pause to think. He acted. His determination propelled him through countless hard losses in their world, keeping him motivated. Rebecca's death was just another reason to fight.

Jill huddled in the cold, watching the smoldering sky thick with inky smoke, and mourned. She mourned Rebecca. She lamented the life she'd known before the world flipped sideways, leaving her in the nightmare-laden dark. She mourned hope.

She wanted it back.

She didn't know how to find it.

The town hall was bustling with people. There was an open forum filled with shouting and suggestions. Those who'd survived the blaze in town were as determined as Chris to save what was left. Calls for swift justice rolled between suggestions for caution.

Leon and Chris both gave rousing speeches. The people listened. The crowd's murmuring was as divided as the promise of any positive outcome. Leon was the cool voice of reason to Chris' fiery battle cry. Standing between them, you were locked in the great divide.

Leon still had operational control. But for how long? And what did it mean if he lost it?

What did it mean if he was told to step down?

It was more than his career on the line here; it was all the people looking at him for answers.

Nikolai and his followers had nearly emptied out two surrounding villages and turned them to his cause. The people were terrified, and the people were panicking. And the White House wanted answers.

The need for vengeance oozed through Nome like an infection. Where it touched, it sparked blood lust. People started talking about forming a militia to do the job themselves. They started talking about setting off dynamite and shutting down all the caves in the area. There was talk of getting help from Anchorage or even the Canadian side. There were whispers of revolution against the government if it failed them here.

Who needed Uncle Sam to okay their strike? It wasn't his ass on the line here. It was theirs. Their fathers, their sons, their mothers, and friends. They didn't want to lose any more of them.

The village of Calk was close to the bombing that had taken Rebecca. There were almost no survivors. The people wanted what was left bombed. Destroy it, they shouted, save those of us still breathing. They feared the spread.

They were straddling mass hysteria. They wanted action. They wanted it now.

Softly, Shenmei told Leon, "Make the call. Level that village."

He gave her a look of horror and rage. "...what if there are people left there?"

And Chris answered, "My men scoured. It's near total infection. And you know damn well there's no cure. Level it."

Shenmei added quietly, "What's the protocol, Leon? Say it."

His eyes flashed as she growled, "When the loss of life is less than the risk of exposure, sanitation is the recommended course of action."

She nodded. Her eyes were determined but sad. "It's the only way."

Kat stood to the side and shook her head. "It's not expedient. Not yet. Let's go in; there could be those worth saving still."

Chris shook his head again, "My men have been scouring that village for hours. It's over, Leon. It's done. They've contained what they can to buildings, and the perimeter is holding, but it won't last. These damn things are getting stronger daily. Something big is happening. Eventually, they'll break down fucking walls and overrun everything they touch. Make the damn call for the airstrike...do it...while we still fucking can."

Kevin remained quiet the whole time. When Leon looked at him, the big guy said, "Not my call, hoss. I can't make it. I sure as hell couldn't if I was you."

Leon shook his head, "You could. You would. Just give it to me."

Kevin licked his lips and answered gruffly, "Save anyone we can...then call the strike—Redfield's right. I don't have to like it...but there's no stopping a horde of these things, Kennedy. We'd need a battalion even to try. Get the National Guard in here; let's get out who we can, then order the strike. No nukes. You hear me? No nukes. I don't ever want another Raccoon, you know, but there's no reason we can't ensure the villages are clear before striking with regular bombs. Because the thing is, those damn things spread to anything living, right? We gotta kill it to stop it."

He didn't look happy about it. He looked pissed. Like anyone who'd been there on ground zero during the strike on Raccoon, the horror lived in your head, heart, and soul. You didn't ever forget it.

Leon closed his eyes, and that moment still lived behind his lids, a movie on rerun, a memory mired in an impotent loss. Plenty of people were alive in that city before the government had sanitized it. They'd been screaming, turning, dying, trying like hell to survive...they'd stared up in hope and seen those rockets and thought it was a savior, but it wasn't...it was death. And death didn't give a shit about hope.

The guilt of leaving them and fleeing was just another ghost that haunted him.

When Leon said nothing, Kevin added, "But don't touch those fucking caves that Rebecca was working on. We saw what was down there. Even if -and that's a big if- the strike took out the top floor. Eventually, that ice will melt...and what's in there will burst out of there like the wrath of hell. I don't want a damn Thing situation. We need to try everything we can to avoid releasing what is in those caves."

Chris scoffed. "Easy enough. Take us in there."

Jill finally spoke, "You don't know what you're asking. We sealed that descent to their village for a reason. What's in there...it's not something you can fistfight, Chris. It will kill us all. You saw the acid blood. You know conventional weapons are a Sword of Damocles. You'll kill your men trying to fight."

Chris shook his head, "Controlled assault. We go in, we lay bombs, we evacuate - and we blow the fucking thing from the inside out. Jill, you can't tell me what's down there would survive a controlled explosion. We bomb it in stages. Bottom, middle, top. Then there's nothing to come up - because we've blown it all to hell."

When no one said anything, he added, "Unless somebody wants to find a goddamn staff and control them. Maybe we can let someone get infected and have them pied piper the masses into a fire. Who wants to be the first to volunteer for a little tea bagging?"

Silence again until he snapped, "Yeah...nobody wants to be a bitch to the parasites, shocking." He eyed Leon and warned, "Make the right choice here. You wanted someone to see the other side, to offer perspective, and I'm giving you mine. We've seen this, both of us; we fucking know what happens when you let the infection go. Do the right thing."

He passed by, paused, and finished, "You didn't sign up to be a savior, Kennedy; you signed up to be a warrior. And this is what it means. It means killing monsters even when the collateral damage is human."

Jill whispered, "You don't mean that. You can't. You're not this cold."

Chris eyed her and returned, "We already lost Rebecca because I let you talk me out of what I knew was the right thing here. I won't lose anyone else. And what we're risking is already lost. It's not cold, Jill; it's practical. And you never could see the difference."

Chris left them standing in the cold. And he was wrong. He was wrong. What differentiated between good and bad if you killed what you were trying to save? Who protected those who couldn't protect themselves when the good guys stopped drawing a line in the sand?

And his words spoke for themselves; he blamed her for talking him down. He blamed her for Rebecca...he wasn't alone. She blamed herself.

His words resonated until Shenmei murmured, "The White House will likely see it the same way. These people want action, Leon...give it to them. And let's save who we can."

She headed off through the dying sun herself. Kat shook her head and said something in rapid Russian. When she finished, she cautioned, "There's another option, Leon. You know it, and I know it. You just have to say the word."

She turned. She left with her phone in her hand. She wanted to call in Wesker and his H.I.V.E. force. She was wrong too. Wesker would lay waste to all of it, there was no doubt, but not before extracting his pound of flesh. And they didn't need him. Not now. Not for this. If Leon had his way, not ever.

Kevin laid a hand on Leon's shoulder and offered, "I'm sorry, man. For what it's worth..." He looked at the smoky sky, "Rebecca would have wanted you to save them all and take the risk. She was a good girl, and she deserved better."

Jill closed her eyes at a wave of pain as he added, "They all do. God help us all."

"She'd want you to avoid the bombs at all costs," Kevin's final statement rang between them, "for whatever that's worth..."

Jill listened to Kevin retreat and kept her eyes closed as she breathed. It took four good ones before she could be sure she wouldn't cry. Crying wouldn't help anyone. Not yet. Not here and now.

Not yet - the litany of their entire lives.

Here and now was about all the people they could save, not those they'd lost.

Jill's voice was laced with hurt when she spoke, "...she was eighteen when I met her."

Her eyes opened and latched onto Leon looking so stoic and stalwart in the bleeding day. "She was a child. So smart. Brilliant. And so, determined. She wanted to make a difference..." Jill shook her head, and her voice broke a little, "...if she'd just gone to Harvard and been a fucking professor..."

Her voice trailed off, and she drew another shaky breath, her eyes flickering closed again as she gathered strength. "...fuck this goddamn war..."

Jill turned and moved away, heading through the snow. Rain caressed her face in an almost gentle tickle.

He called after her, "...what do I do here, Jill? What's the right answer?"

Without turning, she answered, "...I watched Raccoon go up in flames. I knew...there were so many still alive in there. I swear to god I could hear them screaming when that bomb struck."

Jill echoed Leon's thoughts almost perfectly. It was eerie, or it was just what it meant to have lived it. Chris, he hadn't stayed to see it all end. He hadn't watched, felt, heard, smelled, or lived it. He didn't know, not really, what he'd left behind when he'd fled. Maybe that motivated him -denial. Or even worse- guilt because he knew those who hadn't been able to flee had died in horror, pain, and terror.

And he'd lost too many since. He was clouded. He was afraid. And his fear culminated in a desire to stop it, stop it here and now, at all costs; before, it was another loss that floated in his head like a ghost of failures past.

Or maybe he was just a guy who lived and died on action. This was something he could control. This was something he could do. So, he was willing to pay whatever price necessary to do it.

When Leon was silent, Jill added, "Terragrigia went up like a Christmas tree. It burned. People fell in the fucking street and burned alive until the full blast claimed them. That beautiful place...all those people...that goddamn waitress whose number you lost...the families...the kids...gone."

After a moment, she finished, "Chris is wrong...you're a savior, Leon...so save them...even if it's just one...because if you don't save one life-"

He finally spoke and finished the thought for her, "-then you won't save any."

"Yeah," Jill's voice broke again as she concluded, "Get them out, Leon. Everyone you can. Save them...because that's what you do."

When he absorbed that, she finished, "...I gotta go. I gotta call Rebecca's mother and father. I gotta tell them she died a hero...and hope like hell they understand how mundane of a word that is for what she was."

She left him to make the call. At the end of the day, it was his. Whatever he decided, it had to be done.

She called Rebecca's family. She relayed the news. She listened to her mother's soft weeping. She listened to her father's gruff pride and heart-wrenching grief. When she hung up, she leaned on the picnic table outside the hotel, tried to suck all the pain down, and buried it under cold determination.

She was four shots into a bottle of vodka when she knew she wasn't alone anymore.

The wind licked at her face as a voice demanded, "There's still time to do the right thing here."

Jill lifted her eyes from her clenched hands on the table. Chris stood in the wavering darkness, and it was so slick around him that it almost seemed to glisten like oil on water. The aurora borealis was messing with her mind.

She held his look as she answered, "What's the right thing, Chris? Tell me."

He shifted in all his gear. He was patched up, bruised, burnt, and looked badass. There was no other word for it. He was The Human Tank - he never looked anything but ready to roll over his enemies. He had one hand on the butt of his rifle and the other clenched at his hip. "We have to take that place down, Jill, all of it. And any surrounding compromised structures. You know that. I know you wouldn't be sitting here in the fucking cold drinking that poison if you hadn't already figured out the truth."

Feeling almost as defeated as she was cold, Jill demanded, "What's the truth?"

"That you can't save everyone."

She gave him a boiling look. "You're not talking about everyone, Redfield; you're talking about no one. You can't decide who lives and who dies. You don't have the right."

"Neither does Kennedy," He answered quietly, with a swimming look of anger she couldn't understand behind his eyes, "Yet somebody decided he did. And he decided whether or not we do."

Ah. He knew. He knew about Leon burning the B.S.A.A. Someone had told him. Shenmei? Seemed likely. Jill returned quietly, "He did the right thing at the time. You know that. This isn't a contest with him. Do you understand that? It's not a battle with Leon, Chris. We're on the same side."

"No," He shook his head, "no. Not really, and he made damn sure of that."

"Don't make this personal, Chris," Jill practically begged, "don't. It's not. You have to trust him."

That was the wrong thing to say. Chris punched his fist on the table so hard it rattled her bottle and made her jump where she sat, "Trust him?! Trust him? You must be drunk on more than cheap Russian garbage if you think there will ever be a time, I can trust that lying sack of shit. He's done nothing to earn that trust. Not a damn thing."

She held his eyes as he finished, "but I have. I've earned your trust, haven't I, Jill? We were partners once. Does that go away because of a stupid crush?"

A slap of insult had her eyes flaring as she spat, "Not personal, huh? That sounded personal to me," she scoffed and threw back another shot of vodka, "and the worst part? You don't even know how wrong you are here. You're mistaken, Redfield, about everything. It doesn't matter what I feel; it never has; it matters what I do. And I'm doing the right thing. Backing Leon here, it's the right thing."

"You're drawing a line in the sand," Chris warned quietly, "you're choosing sides."

"We're on the same goddamn side," She reaffirmed, "get your head out of your wounded pride and realize it."

"...I shouldn't be surprised," Chris determined with a gruff thrust of insult, "you have a history of backing traitors."

Jill took a sharp breath, "...you son of a bitch. Fuck you."

"Yeah, fuck me, " Chris returned with an angry laugh, "but we both know who convinced the rest of us to follow Wesker that night. We both know who worked so hard to convince us he wasn't the enemy. You're blinded by loyalty, Valentine, and that's both your greatest strength and weakness. You make this choice; you do it alone."

She held his eyes, "It's not a choice, Chris; it's the right thing. And I'm doing it."

"He's gonna get you killed...just like he did Rebecca."

He turned and left her sitting there. The hurt and the insult, the loss of Rebecca, the shiver of pain and acceptance beat down on her until she could barely breathe. Halfway through the vodka bottle, she knew her grief was being invaded again.

There was a rustle of sound, and Leon came striding across the courtyard toward her. He was fuming. And she knew. She understood. He'd lost.

Whatever battle he'd waged, he'd lost.

He jerked off his communicator and tossed it on the table. The phone in his hand joined it as he threw it aside with a vengeance. He had to be cold in a blue shirt and a combat vest, but it didn't show. He vibrated with rage.

Jill breathed, "...they're going to bomb."

He held her eyes, and his were turbulent with wrath. "It's simple math, Jill. It's protocol."

Her voice caught as rage rose to meet his, and she accused, "...did you tell them to do it?"

The insult of that slapped across his face, and his breath blew out in white clouds as he snarled in response, "Is that what you think of me?"

She shook her head and breathed, "...then why?"

"Redfield told them he's scoured; there are few survivors. And they know it's bled into the overrun village and surrounding terrain. They want to bomb the neighboring village as well. Because those caves connect to almost everything along the water, they want to stop it from reaching the ocean. It's only eight hundred lives, Jill. Just eight hundred. What's that loss to the risk of millions?"

Her skin went cold as she snapped, "You can't let them. You can't want this."

"You think this is what I want!? You think I like knowing this is how it ends?! I don't know any other way but full force here, Jill...tell me...tell me there's another option. Tell me sanitation isn't the only way we stop this. Tell me...and I'll trust you. I'll believe you."

Her breath heaved from angry lungs. Her eyes darted over his face. He looked back, that blue gaze desperate, pleading, begging for another option. For a solution that didn't spell death for those people living who trusted them. He was hoping like hell she knew how to avoid another Raccoon City. Help me, he begged with those eyes, help me stop it.

But what help was there? What hope?

She didn't know how to fight something like this, and she didn't know how to stop it.

Defeated, teeming with rage, Jill hissed, "I can't...I can't. I wish to god I had another way...any other way...but I can't."

The regret on his bearded face made her heart slap in her chest. It hurt. It hurt to think, to feel it, to know it. It hurt to accept it. They had no choice. To save who they could, they had to stop what they couldn't. Somehow, they'd become the people who had to sacrifice the few for the many.

Voice-breaking, she begged, "Evacuate the village. Please do it. You can do it."

And he returned, "The airstrike is inbound. It'll be here by dawn. It was en route before I called to try like hell to stop it. Even if we could try, we don't have any time. I don't have the resources or the men I'll need even to attempt a full-scale evac. I can't do anything. It's done. "

When he stood there breathing hard, Jill stepped closer and shoved him. He took it, letting her slap his chest as she spat, "All those people, Leon...all those people...you have to get them out!"

With a burst of rage, he grabbed her arms above the elbows and snapped her back from him. He shook her, shouting, "I tried! I tried like hell to get them out! I fucking pushed hard to make it happen! No one listened! Do you hear me!? No one listened to me! Redfield and Shenmei double-teamed me; they made me look like the bleeding heart...I tried, and it wasn't enough."

"You didn't try hard enough!" Jill threw the words at him like darts, "You let them roll right over the top of you! You let them cow you into their agenda! You coward! You stupid coward!"

But it wasn't him she was angry at; it was herself. Because she couldn't do anything. She couldn't do anything then; she couldn't do it now. And she hated herself for it.

The anger rolled into regret and guilt, making his blood fire like lava. Leon growled, "Shut up...you hear me!? Shut up, Jill. You don't know what the hell you're talking about here."

"No!? You let them win! What's the point of being a good guy if you don't fight the fights worth fighting, Leon!?"

She shoved him in the chest again and made him stumble with it. "Stop backing down! Fight for those people out there! I know you can!" When he glared at her, she shoved him again.

"It's done, Jill. I can't stop it."

"You mean you won't...you're playing their puppet...how can you let them get away with this!?"

His eyes flashed as he snatched her by the front of her shirt and dragged her toward him. He snapped, "...this isn't about me. It's war. Sometimes, people die. And you just have to fucking deal with it."

The echo of Chris in his words was nearly alarming. Jill looked at him like he'd sprouted a second Redfield hat-wearing head.

The look on her face hurt him. She looked like he'd told her the monster under the bed was real and had come to eat her mother. "...how can you bury your head in the sand and pretend?"

Throbbing with hurt, he growled, "...because sometimes revenge is the only thing I can offer. Sometimes, that's all I've got."

She gave him such a look of profound loss he felt like a bastard. He felt like that little boy hiding in the dark - hopeless, helpless, and unable to do a damn thing. Forces beyond his control crippled him.

He absorbed it. Part of him felt he deserved it. She was right. She'd tried to get him to evacuate the town and made it clear what would happen if he didn't. He'd gone to the right ears. He'd pleaded his case.

He was overruled. And because he'd backed down, all the people out there would die - unless he found his balls and fought back.

The look of hopelessness on her face was the least of what he deserved.

She breathed hard in the cold, and it echoed. His eyes flashed as she pleaded, "You can't let all those people die and do nothing, Leon...that's not who you are...or is it? You're not a little boy anymore, Leon. Stop hiding in your fucking bed."

Because she echoed precisely what he'd been thinking a moment before, the anger and guilt burst out of him in a snarl of rage. "Projecting your demons on me, Valentine? We both have regrets. Stopping this bomb won't bring back those you lost, Jill. And it won't change the fact that you failed them...the same goddamn way I did."

She went to slap him, likely because he'd hit that raw nerve the same as she had his. He caught her wrist and made her flash with rage. She let out a slight sound of pointless loss and attacked him.

That was fine. He liked the anger in her. It echoed his own. They were both boiling for a fight. They were both on edge, angry, and impotent because neither could change the past nor avert the future.

He let her come for him and almost casually pushed her against the wall. Jill shoved off it and aimed for his knee. He shin-blocked her, caught her swinging arm, twisted her around, and pulled her back against him. "Stop."

He sounded so calm. She went for a reverse headbutt, and he knew it was coming. He shoved her forward and avoided it. She dropped low and threw her leg out to sweep his from him, and he was already out of the way. She knew, she'd always known, he was better than her. With the impotent anger on her, it was worse. Because he was better and he was calmer.

And all she wanted to do was beat someone until they felt as bad as she did. She wanted him to fight her. She wanted him to fight with her to give her anything to take away the guilt. She was being chased by her demons, which were eating her inside. She was taking it out on him, and it wasn't his fault. He was right. Sometimes there was no hope left.

And right there, at that moment, she hated him for it.

She pushed off the ground and caught him in a full tackle. He resisted it, dug in his boots, and they skidded across the dirt. Leon drove an elbow down into her back, grabbed her right arm, and spun her over.

"Stop trying to hit me. Keep coming at me, and I will put you down."

"At least that's something you can do!"

Oh, yeah. She was raging mad. He swallowed her rage with his own. He even fed off it like a vampire. It felt good. It felt so good to fight about it. Because he wanted to fight. He wanted to kill someone.

But not her. Not like this. Not ever. In the face of everyone out there pushing against him, she was one of the last he could rely on. He didn't want to fight her. He wanted her to remind him why he needed to fight for everyone else.

It wasn't as easy as it should have been to grab her around the waist, spin her around, and pin her to his front as he warned again, "...stop, Jill. Stop."

Jill breathed heavily, limited by grief, anger, and a few shots of vodka. She tried to wiggle free of him, and he stopped playing with her. And still...still...he didn't hurt her. Not really. Because he wasn't a guy who hurt those he meant to protect. He just wasn't.

Leon shoved Jill into the wall. Her back hit, stealing her breath. When she struggled, he caught her throat in one hand and pinned her arms over her head with the other.

His voice was cold and scary, with a quiet, stifled regret that made her blood turn to ice as he demanded in a low snarl, "Stop...I won't say it again. You think I have the power to fight the entire US government? I'm a grunt...I'm a nobody. I have no power, Jill. None. What you think you know about me? It's an illusion. I'm nobody."

Her breath wheezed with grief for those who'd die in the bombing as she confessed, "You have it. You're afraid to use it. Because what happens if you do? You risk everything. I think you can do anything. I think you can dodge lasers, kill a thousand bad guys single-handedly, and put a shot through the eagle eye of a quarter on a windy day from a hundred yards...I think you can do anything, Leon...stop letting them get in your way..."

Humbled by that, scared of it, he demanded, "You telling me to go over Redfield? Is that what you're saying? You saying he's wrong?"

"Yeah," She whipped that at him and made her eyes tear with it, "I'm saying he's wrong. I'm saying he's blinded by what he thinks is the greater good. I'm saying he's lost too much, too often, to see things clearly here. He'd rather burn it all than lose again. He's wrong...because you're not just a warrior, you never were...you're a savior...and he's so blind he can't see the difference between you."

The wind tossed his hair as she confessed, "Those people need a savior, Leon. Be their savior. Not their executioner."

Jesus. The pain lanced into his chest at the pleading and faith on her face. He didn't deserve it. He never had.

Heart pounding, he growled, "I'm not a hero, Jill. I'm not. Maybe Redfield's right, and we're the ones who are blind."

"You're a hero, Leon, "Jill rushed in a low voice, "You're a hero. Because you never stop. You never quit. So don't quit. Stop this. Stop them. Save who you can. I will help you. I know you can. I believe in you."

His rage collapsed under desperation as he demanded, "Why? How? I'm just one fucking guy."

"Because you're the right guy. You save the day, Leon...so save it...save it...I will stand with you..."

"Even if it means going up against Redfield?"

Their eyes held as she reiterated coldly, "I'm with you."

Quietly, with feeling, with a shiver of complete desperation, he warned, "You're betting on the wrong horse, Jill. If I do this, it'll burn any leverage I have. It could leave me with no authority at all...ever again."

"No," She told him with feeling, "I made the mistake of betting against you once...never again. I know what you can do. I've seen it. So, stop cowing down and fight back."

His heavy breathing made her own catch as she added,"...imagine if she was in there..."

Jill watched his eyes flicker and pressed that button ruthlessly, "Imagine if she was there, Leon."

After a heartbeat of silence, he demanded,"...who?"

But he knew. He knew. He saw it on her face. Still, she whispered, "...your daughter."

With a small, sharp breath, his gruff tone filled the heavy air, "...damn you."

Jill nodded, throat catching painfully, "...yeah. Damn me...and if you let this happen...damn you too. Someone's kid is in there, Leon. Protect them."

As they tried to burn each up down with the snapping electricity from their eyes, he finally demanded, "...I can't protect her if I have no power, Jill. I do this...I'll be nothing again...and what then? How do I protect anyone?"

Her eyes softened. He watched it seep into her face, the sympathy, the understanding, and part of him hated it. The other part needed to hear her say what they both knew she would. So, she answered him, with more feeling in her tone than he'd ever heard, "...the White House doesn't give you power, Leon. You do. Sometimes power comes from doing the right thing...even if it costs you everything. Some things you can't stop...but this? This you can, Leon. This? It's in your power to do it."

The hand gripping her face turned it up to his. He grunted, "...damn woman...you know just what button to smash, don't you?"

Her pulse thumped wildly under his thumb when he angled her face to him as she answered, "Only because you asked me to. You asked me to trust you. This is me trusting you. Right now, right in this moment, I need something to believe in...I need someone I can trust."

Damnit. If she was manipulating him, she was a master of it. Because she didn't do it with feminine wiles or flirting. She did it with gut-deep desperation. And he responded to it the only way he knew how - completely.

Sometimes you had to risk everything to do the right thing.

A tense moment passed before Leon let go of her. She leaned against the wall, watching him with hooded eyes as he turned away - breath heavy and hard as if they'd battled each other in the boiling heat. With his eyes on hers, he dialed the little phone in his hand. She waited, eyes riveted on him like his on her as he growled into the receiver, "...call the abort."

Whatever the voice on the other end argued, Leon answered, "I know. Give the authorization. The sanitation is on me. I'll find another way. Call the abort. Direct any arguments to me."

After a moment, he told the other person on the phone, "I'll answer the President myself."

He snapped the little flip phone closed and tossed it on the table beside him. It bumped. It slid.

The fire behind him flickered red and warm. The cold air puffed from his mouth in a white cloud. The dark shag of his hair over that impressive beard left those blue eyes as bright as the fire that framed him in a snug blue undershirt, black combat vest, and matching fatigues. The tiny hairs on his arms stood up, showing the only signs that he was standing in freezing weather, and his body was aware of it.

What had he said in Spain? I'm never cold.

He wasn't.

Jill was. Her denim-clad legs and feet were chilly against the patio stones beneath her. She was cold. Because she understood what he'd done, and her faith in him had never been stronger.

Even as he looked out at the horizon, watched the aurora borealis, and knew...whatever happened now...it was entirely on him.

And he prayed - please, god, don't let me fail them.