The Goliath Protocol

Chapter Forty-Four:

Holding On

Silver Lake, Montana

In the weeks before Eva went to her new family, he spent time with her. He taught her to ride a horse and weed a garden. He taught her about fixing the plumbing and how to fart on Logan and get away with it. They went on night raids into the weeds and pretended to hunt ghosts. He taught them secret handshakes and gestures to use against Jill in combat.

Logan liked to punch imaginary bad guys. He often got punched back by no one. He tried to fight Leon and got tossed into the lake. Eva rushed to his rescue and ended up tucked under Leon's arm as he calmly walked her into the water.

She squealed, "Noooo! Catflapped!"

She probably meant kidnapped.

When Jill rushed to save them, Leon kept hold of the girl under his arm, turned his hip, caught Jill's racing form, and tossed her over his shoulder to join her son. Logan shrieked happily. Eva squeaked and tried to tickle him.

Jill went under and came up, and Leon mused, "...who's the best?"

Jill jerked on his ankles in answer. Eva squealed as he went down on his back but stuck his arms up to keep her free and clear of going under. It was...just who he was. The guy who protected even as he went down.

When Eva and Logan played on the sand making ugly castles, he showed them how to fortify their troops. He floated out to join Jill in the water, and she wrapped her arms around him. He dunked her for it while she laughed.

However long it lasted, they made the best of it.

She found him asleep on his big bed with a kid under each arm. Logan curled against one side, Eva the other. The Stinky Cheese Man open on his lap. She carefully took the little glasses off his face and set them on the nightstand. She set the book aside and covered them all with a blanket.

She went down to play the piano and settle herself. Each note felt different somehow, healing and holding on. Home was just a four-letter word - a place you went to heal your hurts. But was it a place? Or a person?

Was home as simple as the person who never gave up on you?

How did she become that for a man who'd spent a lifetime running? Was it just a matter of being there? Maybe that's all it took, she mused; maybe you just had to stand at the edge of a graveyard and wait.

She'd keep on standing for as long as he needed her.

Until he was ready to come home.

When the time came for her to meet her new parents, Leon stood with Eva in the soft rain and held her. She cried. She begged. She finally settled on resolute. She looked him in the face and asked, "...don't you want me?"

And broke his fucking heart.

So, he told that little girl the only truth he had. "I do. I do want you. But what I do, Eva...it means I'm gone all the time. It means sometimes I'm in danger. I can't do what I do...and keep you with me all the time. If something happens to me, you would be all alone."

She sniffled and gripped his hair in her hands. "...I don't want to go."

He lifted her and held on. When Claire came to guide her to the lovely people waiting, he didn't want to let go. Claire, heartbroken for him, urged, "Leon...they're waiting."

He nodded. He gave her desperate eyes like she had that day over her brother. Family, Claire thought, was formed in so many ways. This was his. And he was a guy who just kept holding on when it mattered.

Eva whispered, "If you don't lets go, they will go away."

Jesus Christ.

Finally, he promised, gruffly, "I will come see you."

And the little girl whispered, "...p'omise?"

He nodded, and he smiled, "I...p'omise."

She gave him a watery grin, "You always keep you p'omises."

He kept that smile on his face, "I do. You betcha."

Softly, she whispered, "...I lubs you."

Jesus. He clutched her so hard he thought he might hurt her, but she just kept squeezing tighter. His voice was so small he was afraid it wasn't him, "...I lubs you too, little girl."

Claire had sparkly tears in her eyes as she touched his arm. He set Eva down and nearly snatched her up again to run away. But this was the right thing. It was. It was the way it had to be.

She let Claire lead her away by the hand. He lifted his hand in a wave.

He stood in the driveway until the car was gone.

He went inside and poured himself a drink. When Jill found him, he was still contemplating the glass on the counter. She leaned on the doorjamb and said, "It's ok. Take it."

He blew out an unsteady breath and returned, "If I do, it just reminds me of what I already know."

"...what's that?"

His answer killed her. His tone was so raw, so close to broken. "That I didn't deserve her."

She kept leaning there as she calmly replied, "You don't really believe that."

He leaned on the counter with his hands flat. She watched him gather strength around him like inhaling perfume. His voice was gravelly as he finally stated, "...I did the right thing. I had to let her go."

Keeping her voice cool, she responded, "Did you?"

"I did." He said it firmly. "I can't be what she needs."

"Who says?"

He shook his head, denying that.

Jill simply demanded, "What do you want, Leon? Right this second, what do you want?"

And what he said was why she loved him. It just was. His voice broke, and he whispered, "...I wanted to keep her."

Undone, Jill crossed the kitchen. She wrapped her arms around him from behind, put her cheek against his back, and soothed, "I know you did. I know."

And Leon Kennedy broke in her arms.

He kept his head down, stood there, strong and stable, and cried like he fought, utterly, ultimately, full force. But…softly. He was so quiet. So lost. She held so tight she thought she'd shatter him.

He didn't turn to her. He didn't do anything but stand in the soggy light of his perfect kitchen in his big, beautiful empty house and cry for a girl he couldn't have.

While the one who wanted him held him and didn't say a word.

Sometimes you didn't have to, it seemed. Sometimes, words were a wasted effort.

Sometimes, you just needed a fucking hug.

And he didn't take the drink.

It wasn't perfect.

But it was something.

Leon was in the barn with the horses. He was feeding them and rubbing them down for the night. When he realized he wasn't alone, he looked over to find Logan looking at him.

Curious, Leon arched a brow at him. "'Sup, brutha. You alright?"

Logan dug a toe in the dirt for a moment and announced, "I miss Eva."

Leon absorbed that with a punch in the heart. "Me too, buddy. Me too."

"...you let her go."

Ah.

Leon absorbed that too. He nodded, clearing his throat before he responded, "I did. She needed a good family."

Logan shook his head a little, "She needed you. She loved you. You...you said when you love someone, you don't let them down."

This was why he avoided love.

This.

The guilt had fangs that chewed through his already shaky resolve. But instead of running screaming, he faced it head-on. "Sometimes, what we think we want isn't what we need, buddy. I know it looks that way. But I can't be a Dad to Eva."

Logan twisted his lips and considered, "Or me?"

Jesus.

Leon blew out a breath. "...you have a Dad."

Logan shrugged a shoulder, "He doesn't want me...like you didn't want Eva. Maybe my Mama doesn't want me either. And she'll just...send me away."

This he could answer. This? He could face. Leon said it clearly, cleanly, and firmly with more power in his voice than he'd felt in his own goddamn body since that car had disappeared around the bend in the road. "I wanted her."

He didn't mean for it to sound so goddamn mean. He didn't. It came out a gravelly snap of desperation. The tears sparked in his eyes and annoyed him, but there it was. He didn't run from that either.

Logan looked up and met his eyes. They held matching blue gazes as Logan searched his soul for the truth. Leon didn't know what was on his face, but it must have been something because the boy looked at him like he could see the truth beneath his skin and bone. Leon affirmed, voice shaky with anger, "I wanted her. You don't understand, so I can't blame you for what it looks like, but you need to know that. I wanted that little girl. Like your Mama wants you."

Logan's lips quivered, "...what if she changes her mind?"

"Come here." The command was firm but gentle.

Now he knelt, and the little boy came over to hug him. That was easy. That was good. He squeezed Leon's shoulders as Leon told him, "Your Mama wants you. You hear me? You're the most important thing in the world to her. And your Dad? He'll come around. I know it feels like he won't. But he's trying. He's a hard guy, Logan. He is. But he's trying."

Logan sniffled wetly. He muttered against Leon's neck. "I don't want him. I want you."

God.

The urge to punch Chris Redfield in the face until it was hamburger was real. It felt like fire in the flesh and blood. He curbed it, remembered that under it all, Redfield was still a good dude, and felt a slight shiver of something like warmth because the kid wanted him.

He'd somehow stolen Redfield's life while the guy just shit all over what he might have had. He had his kid and his woman and his world. He hadn't wanted any of it. And now? Now he couldn't think of anything in the world he wanted more.

Leon felt his eyes fill as the kid went on, "He doesn't want my Mama."

Leon felt his heart rip for the kid. It was hard enough to have lived as he had for so many years. And here he was, just trying to find his place in the world. He was going to figure out that you only made your way in the world by ripping it out with your bare hands.

So, he simply answered, "Maybe he doesn't. That happens sometimes. It's complicated. It's grown-up stuff."

Logan nodded and whispered, "Do you?"

Leon laid his cheek on that soft dark head where he clung. "Do I what, buddy?"

"Do you want my Mama?"

That was easy too. Maybe the easiest thing so far. Leon told him, "I do."

"You want to keep her?"

If only it were that simple. God, to be so young that it was that easy. It was just a couple of words. It was just a promise, hug, or hand up when you fell down. When had it stopped being so easy?

He was joking more, hurting less, and not drinking as much. Always moody, he'd taken a turn somewhere to self-inflicted misery. It was hard to see when. Hard to know when the regret had swallowed his soul and tried to devour him. Somewhere between burying friends and burning bodies, he'd lost his grip and fallen into the darkness. He coveted Chris Redfield's ability to feel it, grieve it, and fight on. He just wasn't built that way.

But Jill was. Jill, who'd fought and died and come back again to try like hell to live on. Jill was. And so was her kid.

And it cost him nothing, at this moment, to admit the truth. "I do. I want to keep her."

"And me?"

Jesus. Leon told him softly, "...and you."

His voice broke, and it didn't annoy him; it felt good - and honest- and real. He hadn't been real in a long time. Here, with this boy, he was real. No hero, no legend, no badass battling the dark - just a man, a boy, and a woman in his house that waited for them to make a family. It was the scariest thing he'd ever faced and the only thing that mattered.

Then the little boy in his arms broke his heart and healed it simultaneously. "...I love you, Leon."

The man who couldn't say it? Finally had the words, "I love you too, pal. I love you too."

Logan nodded sagely. He sniffled again and demanded, "Just don't let go, ok? Just...for a second."

So it was that Leon stopped running, and he gave that little boy a solemn vow. "I won't let go until you're ready. Ok? I won't let go."

And it was all he had to give.

It wasn't enough, but it was a start.

Jill found him on his bed with those little glasses on his nose and a pile of reports around him. He was shirtless, which she enjoyed, and in a pair of red plaid sleeping pants. He kept flipping pages and going back to others. The intensity on him had her querying, "What? What do you see?"

He gestured with his hand in a come hither motion. She moved over to look down at all his research. He shook his head when she didn't see it and patted the bed. Jill joined him on it; he pulled her back to his front, lining her against his chest, and tucked her between his legs as he picked up reports to put them in her lap.

It was a couple move.

It's what you did with a lover. It spoke of intimacy and trust and...love.

She didn't have more than a few seconds to let that resonate before he excitedly drew her attention to what he was working on, nearing midnight. He gestured to the report and urged, "Look here - we've been tracking Alesio through his crimes, right? Little else to go on at this point. But if you look here..." He rolled a little to the side, and his left arm crossed over her face as he went. It made her laugh as he leaned back and brought a map over.

"I've got this asshole pinned down to about a thirty square mile radius in Asia. He escaped Italy, but he didn't go far. I think I'm gonna have him down to a ten-mile one before I'm done here. This is just using about five murders. He's not covering his tracks at all. Not really."

Jill took the little glasses off his nose and poked them on hers as she lifted the triangulation he'd started. When he gave her a pointed look, she lamented, "What? I'm old. I need to be able to see your chicken scratch writing."

He just scoffed, "You're not old. Redfield is old. You're timeless."

No flirting. He tossed it out there. No thinking. He meant it.

Touched, Jill tested him and turned her head to the side. True to form, he took the cue and leaned a little in to kiss her like a lover.

Like a boyfriend.

Amused again, Jill focused on his research. When she was finished flipping through it, she intoned, "...he wants us to find him."

"Yeah, he does." Leon nodded and sounded excited, "He wants us to follow. Here look." He picked up one of the crime scene reports he'd collected, "This one. He carved up the ass of the victim. And if you squint hard enough? He could be me, right? Bring your pretty agent, he said. He wants you to come running and me with you."

Jill studied the victim of the crime scene. Alesio had carved up his ass and face and flayed his chest open. They'd found him strung up from a light pole with his intestines looped around the thing like that damn tetherball at the park. Since he was so messed up, it was hard to agree that he resembled Leon. But the hair was similar, and the one eye he had left was blue.

Jill muttered, "You want to go chasing after him?"

Leon nodded happily, "You kidding? Hell, yes, I do. Let's shut this son of a bitch down. We'll go in hot this time. Back up in place. Heavily armed. He can't fight what he can't catch. No swords. No bravado. You only get to stab me in the ass once, princess. And he had his turn."

Jill studied the other victims. Horrible. A tableau of death and destruction. Finally, she responded, "No."

She slid his glasses off and poked them back on his face. Leon, behind her, went very still. "Wait, what?"

"I said no." She shoved the reports away with a flourish. "This is my fight, not yours. I will finish it. You stay here."

He went still against her. After a long moment of that silence, he pressed a kiss to the place behind her ear.

Oh, she thought with a flutter in her belly, he was soothing her. He was doing what she'd done that night. He'd come to her room to hurt, and she'd soothed him. Her eyes fluttered closed, and he tucked her hair behind her ear and murmured, "You know...for a second, I thought - why is she trying to block me here? Why doesn't she want me with her? Is it because I failed her the last time?"

She jerked a little and opened her mouth to answer, and Leon shook his head at her, "But then I figured...it's not me she's afraid of failing...it's her."

Her eyes filled a little as she twisted her mouth to the side. "On that mountaintop, I could hear him in my head." She gestured at her temple, "He's still in there when I sleep. When I eat, I can hear him eroding my control. What-"

She trailed off and took a long breath. He caught her chin in his thumb and finger to turn her face to him, and she finished, "What if I couldn't stop? What if Alesio says the right words or trigger phrases, and I just..."

She signaled, shooting him with a finger gun.

Leon pursed his lips and remarked, "Well, if I can't survive a finger gun, I'm in the wrong business."

She laughed, but it was wet, and she covered his mouth with her hand. "Don't. Don't joke. You'll joke us both to death."

She blew out a hard breath. "I've been working so hard with the stupid doctor to access my memories. Hypnosis. Behavior modification. Trying to get to the heart and the root of the memory erosion and the indoctrination...but what if what I find at the bottom is so horrible it cripples me?"

He tugged her hand down and said, "Then we'll make you a fucking wheelchair so you can keep going."

There it was, she thought, that strength under the softness. She might be hopeless. She might be lost. She might be a shattered mess with no chance of recovery. But she wasn't to him. He'd glue each piece back together until she was a Picasso of survival.

He'd do it because of who he was. He'd do it for a stranger. He'd sure as hell do it for her. And if she went down, he'd drag her through the blood and battle until she was clear.

It's just what he did.

She figured, what the hell, right? What did she have to lose here?

So, she just nodded. "But we do it right, Leon. No lone gunman. No big balls of steel moments. Promise me."

He was doing way too much promising today. Everybody wanted his promise. Jesus. Did they think he was perfect? How did he keep them all?

He nodded. And then he just replied, "I can't help the big balls, Jill. It's just part of the package."

She laughed and pressed a kiss to his mouth. "Jerk. Although it's a nice package."

He winked lasciviously and made her snort as she leaned back against him and went back to looking at his reports.

This was why you didn't get close to anyone, he mused; you ended up trying to promise them the moon. He was just one guy. How did he do what needed doing and not fail them?

The old work truck wouldn't start. He was elbow-deep in the engine when she found him and brought him coffee. She tossed an empty Diet Mountain Dew can in the back of the truck as she went. He took the coffee and praised, "Goddess. Seriously."

As he sipped, Jill got under the hood and tinkered around. "Starter?"

"Might be. Could be the goddamn oil line leaking again."

"These old trucks make it hard to replace too."

He sighed and sipped the coffee. Black, bold, and able to put hair on the chest. Just the way he liked it.

She glanced at him. "But this isn't your baby."

He tilted his head. She leaned hers back and had a smear of oil on her cheek. Charmed, he teased, "Isn't it? I'm not a dirty work truck guy?"

Now she laughed, "No. Chris is. Chris is an old Ford circa 1945 guy. You're not. So where's your baby?"

He narrowed his eyes. She did too. After a staredown, he chuckled and shrugged. He handed her the coffee and gestured. Following him, Jill sipped the horrid slop he enjoyed. It was thick enough that she could probably throw it down to stop a bleeding wound and strong enough to degrease an engine.

Disgusting.

But it didn't have whiskey in it anymore. So it was something.

He still got the shakes in the evening. She found him on the porch dealing with it one night. She'd put a shot of vodka in his hands and said nothing when he took it. To stop the apology, she'd admonished, "Don't. Whatever you need to get through this, don't you dare apologize to me. Clear?"

He'd nodded. They'd stood there together in the cool spring air and waited until the shakes passed.

And she'd told him, "I used to scream while coming off the P-30. I felt like my bones were on fire. I thought I was going to die from it. I curled in a corner and screamed and clawed at my arms."

The rage on him had soothed something inside of her. She'd put a hand on his forearm and squeezed, "I made it. You will make it. You hear me?"

And he'd believed her. He'd believed her even as he'd confessed, "If I could go back and kill him a thousand times over for you, I'd do it."

And that was enough. Whatever else he gave her, that was enough.

She stood in the warm air as he pulled the cover back on his "baby." A 1969 Mustang Mach 1 Cobra Jet in shiny black. He waited for the judgment and the jokes. He waited for the eye roll and the laughter. Nope.

She touched it reverently and cooed, "Oh, look at you, you beautiful girl. Do you purr? I bet you roar."

She petted the hood and laid her ear on the top like she could hear the engine.

After a moment, Leon teased, "You wanna be alone? I could close the garage door and give you a minute."

She brushed her fingers over the red racing stripe down the side and giggled. He felt something break off and add to the pile of things he'd started to let go of since he'd met her. "A minute? It wouldn't be enough if I had a lifetime with this lady. What's her name?"

With a twitch of humor, he told her, "Matilda."

She gave him twinkling eyes. "Like your gun?"

"Like my favorite Aunt."

Jill arched her brows at him, and he shrugged, "After my Dad died, Matilda was like...the man in my life? The Senator was a douche, but Matilda - the black sheep of the family- knew all about guns and cars. She took me to the range the first time and gave me that gun after I graduated the Academy."

Jill gave him a level look. "What happened to her?"

He shifted where he stood, "Car accident. Drunk driver. It was the reason I went home before my first day on the force. For the funeral."

Jill studied him and wondered, "And your girlfriend dumped you at your Aunt's funeral?"

He shrugged, mouth twitching. "Bad timing, right?"

"More like bitch. Seriously." She waited a moment and then remarked, "Though now I understand why you were wasted the night before your first shift."

"Ah. I have a weakness for grandpa's old cough syrup."

"Hmm." She gave him a sparkling look, "Does she run?"

"Oh, honey...she flies."

Her look was pure sex as she demanded, "Show me."

He did. He drove it like he stole it. He shifted like the car was a part of him. She barely felt him do it. He's a terrible driver, they said, but he wasn't. He was a born madman behind the wheel.

When he didn't have zombies back there trying to eat him. She put her feet on the dashboard, and her pretty pink toes pressed to the glass and made Leon laugh.

Logan sat in the back seat, whooping and laughing.

He kept it safe on his roads and his lands. He spun the car out and made them cling on for dear life. He swung it to a stop in a field of wildflowers, and Logan leaped out to run and turn cartwheels.

The riot of colors was something to see under the dying sun. Jill turned her head in the seat and met his eyes. Mouth quirked, he demanded, "Who's the best driver in the world?"

She laid her hand over his on the shifter and murmured, "...me."

And he just laughed.

He almost believed her. She'd driven him to a place he couldn't explain. She'd made damn sure he didn't wreck getting there. If she disappeared tomorrow, he'd never forget her. She didn't ask for love. She didn't ask for anything. Just now. Just this.

And she'd guaranteed herself a place in his heart that would remember her the rest of his life.

Clever girl, he mused, and they claimed he was the genius. He wasn't entirely sure, but he'd lay odds that Jill Valentine had bested him here. They called her the Surgeon.

She'd carved her way into his life and made sure he felt it.

And he didn't know how to get her out anymore.

For the first time in a long time, he didn't even want to.

So he kissed her among the wildflowers and just...kept breathing.

"Is it time?"

Ada studied the little vial in her hand. Her teeth flashed in a wolfish smile, "It's time."

"We sincerely hope you're right, Ms. Wong. This doesn't end well for you if you're wrong."

"I'm never wrong." She snapped the vial into the little tranquilizer gun. "I'll inform you when it's done."

"See that you do. And good luck."

She didn't need luck. Just opportunity. She studied the tracker she'd put on that idiot Alesio and Miracella. Both of them had been easy enough to track. Miracella had been activated with just a press of a button. Alesio, courtesy of Albert, was still green-lit for monitoring.

H.U.N.K. was another story. He'd never made things easy. The patchwork of Frankenstein's horror that he consisted of pieces stitched onto others. If he lost a limb during the battle, Wesker had simply replaced it. Who knew if any part of that freak was even his own anymore?

Ada looked at the blood-red liquid in the soft twilight one more time. What was Leon always saying? When the battle was done, and the victor went the spoils?

What corny line was that?

But, of course, she knew, "...game over."

And it would be soon enough.