Authors Note: Disturbing content ahead, seriously. If you're easily upset then turn away. But for those of you in it for the long haul, lets find out how RE4's stoic, quippy warrior was created, shall we?

Also apologies for the small delay on update. Was just getting another story finished, now? this one has my undivided attention. Lets break some hearts!

I'm trying not to think about
All the things you did before,
But sometimes it all just gets to me.
I can't take it anymore.
I'll stay with you,
But remember to
Be careful what you do,
Cause I'm not bulletproof

- Kerli

January 17th, 2000

Totleben Island, Russia

You can only ride the crest of a wave for so long before it has to come crashing down. In just over a year Leon Kennedy had gone from rookie cop to star USSTRATCOM trainee to the top of his game. In demand, always busy, leading the front line on the new and unfolding war against Bio Terrorism and the companies that enabled it. He took every mission and smashed it to pieces. He felt untouchable, invincible. When you're constantly told you're the best it's hard not to develop a bit of a chip on your shoulder. Leon led a team in to Russia with two goals in mind:

Find and extract the missing undercover agent.

Track down Ada Wong.

Maybe it was the fact that a fraction of his focus was elsewhere, or maybe it was just the universe finally deciding it was time to teach him a big, bad lesson. Whatever it was, Russia would become an event in Leon's life that would change everything for him – once again.

They had tracked down the missing Agent's last location. An island off of St Petersburg that had been turned in to a fort and bunker during the second world war. It was now overtaken and modified. Labs for what – as far as they could tell – was a syndicate with ties to Umbrella and Bio Weapon research. Everything had been going well, their stealth tactics infiltrating the base. Leon and his team had swept through it cleanly and swiftly, until they discovered they had been herded directly in to a trap. Sometimes, even the best laid plans aren't enough.

It was some kind of gas that knocked them out. When Leon woke, he had no idea how much time had passed, where he was, or what was happening. For a moment he thought he was blind, his eyes flickering open only to be confronted by darkness. It was only after a few steady breaths he realized there was a bag over his head. Some kind of thick, heavy sack material. The air hot and suffocating. He'd been through the training – of course he had. What to do when you were captured, how to make it through. But the reality of it is a lot different to a training situation, no matter how realistic they try to make it seem.

He manages to keep his breathing slow and steady. Despite the fact that he couldn't see, he assesses his situation. His hands were tied behind his back, what felt like a mix of thin rope and maybe cable ties. Plastic that dug in to the skin at his wrists. They'd stripped him of his tactical shirt and his body armor and he was bare from the waist up, the room was freezing cold. He still had on his combat pants, but his holsters and his boots were gone. His naked feet sat on cold cement floor, gritty and dirty. He couldn't sense anybody in the room with him, but that didn't necessarily mean there wasn't.

He's torn for a moment between asking if any of his team was in there with him, but it seems someone had spotted that he was awake by his movements. The sound of a heavy metal door opening almost hurts his ears in the silence. Footsteps, more than one set. He breathes in through his nose, doing his best to remain calm. As cold as ice.

The sacks ripped from his head and light blinds him, before he can make out a thing, a fist strikes him hard and heavy across the jaw. Once wobbles him, he spits out blood instantly, the second blow knocks him from the chair and he lands on the dusty, dirty floor. His breath kicking up dust as blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth and pools between his cheek and the cement. He blinks, getting his bearings. He could make out five pairs of feet around him. Then he's grabbed by the restraints and hauled up – face to face with a man's eyes. No features, he was covered by a balaclava. Part of Leon wanted to taunt him for being too much of a coward to show himself, face him man to man. But the logical part tells him to keep his fucking mouth shut.

"Name." His attacker demands in Russian.

Leon doesn't answer.

He takes repeated blows to the gut and two more to the opposite side of his face, ending up on the floor again before he's yanked back up. Again, they demand his name. Blood fills his mouth, and he spits it on the floor.

"What's the matter, can't read?" Leon retorts, finally. He shouldn't have, but they weren't getting anything but sarcasm out of him. Somewhere, he hears one of his team screaming in pain. It's a chilling sound. His attacker looks amused by his minor reaction. Leon eats another punch to the face, this one breaking his nose for sure. He staggers back, hits the wall and slides down it. Where his captor proceeds to kick him in the stomach repeatedly, until he's retching. He's fairly sure a rib cracks, maybe two. Breathing becomes hard.

"Name."

"Are you stupid?" he responds in Russian, "it was on my dog tag."

"Name."

This was a test, to see if he'd give up information. He doesn't.

He's beaten until he slips out of consciousness.

His captors put the bag back over his head and leave him there on the floor.

Leon has no idea how much time has passed and there's no opportunity to think about it. He's woken on his back, a bucket of ice cold water tipped over the bag on his head. It sticks the material to his face. Shocking, choking, suffocating. He gasps and kicks out at whoever might be around him, but hits nothing. His hands still tied underneath the bench they had him lying on. Someone holds the back of his head and his chest heaves, fighting for air. No chance to think, as a steady stream of ice water is poured over his mouth. Waterboarding, designed to make you feel like you were drowning, one of the nastier forms of torture. He battles his way through it, spitting the water against the sack covering his face. Gasping, spluttering. It's so fucking hard not to panic when you feel like you're dying.

"Name."

He gives them nothing. They repeat the process. He chokes on the water, his entire body fights against the restraints, the plastic ties digging in to his skin and cutting, he can feel the slick warmth of his blood on his hands. They stop, the sacks removed from his head and he gasps for air, looking up at the masked faces staring down at him.

"Give us your name and this ends."

"Suck my balls."

He laughs at them – its a kind of desperate, humorless thing. They put the sack back over his head. They drench him with more ice cold water. He chokes, he gasps, he fights. He gives them fucking nothing. When they finally decide he can't physically take any more without dying, they drag him to his knees and he's hauled back to the cell they held him in. He struggled to stay conscious, he could hear other screams of pain. He's thrown face first on to cold ground, the welcome embrace of unconsciousness takes him.

It had been a few days, at least. He was exhausted, starving, but at least he was hydrated. The waterboarding had gone another few rounds. He'd still given them nothing. He could no longer breathe through his nose, one eye was swollen shut and the other seemed a little fuzzy. He'd been beaten and cut, they'd taken a hammer to his ribs. Pain didn't quite cover it. He wakes this time sat in another chair, hands behind his back, stripped now to nothing but underwear. He shivers, it was so cold he could see his breath. Were they just going to give him hypothermia now?

Four people step in to the room. He slowly licks his lips, tasting nothing but blood and dirt. With his one working eye he takes in the people, one set of eyes – one set of eyes seemed so familiar. In his exhausted state, his brain was working slowly. Not really a surprise, they'd kicked him in the head enough times, he probably had swelling or some other terrible shit. Maybe he'd been brain dead by the time this was over and he wouldn't have to worry about Raccoon City memories anymore.

"You might as well kill me," he mumbles, his voice rasping, "I'm not giving you shit."

"Idiot American." Someone speaks up. "You come in to our country, in to our business, and think you won't pay the price?"

He can't see who said that, it came from behind him. But he slowly nods. "Think you got the wrong idea, we're just here for the Vodka."

"Funny."

A blade is stuck in to his ribs. Its sudden and sharp and agonizing, Leon can't help the wail of pain he lets out. He quickly gets hold of it, gritting his teeth, growling. His chest heaving.

"There's a hundred places I can stick this blade that wont cause you immediate death." His tormentor tells him, in English, but with a heavy Russian accent. "Shall we see how many of them we can get through before you cry like an infant?"

Leon grits his teeth. His fists clenching. He could feel the warmth of his blood trickling over cold skin.

"I'd rather you just get it over with. I'm missing my favorite TV show."

The blades driven in to a spot in his thigh, he yells through his teeth.

"That's two."

"Fuck you."

"Why are you here?" He's asked as the blade is driven in again, this time around the same entry point as the bullet scar in his shoulder. The pain was blinding, sharp and intense. "What do you know?"

Leon battles through the pain, it choked him, his body didn't even feel like his own anymore. It was ravaged and broken. Some part of him was beginning to feel numb. He licks his lips, tears leaking against his will from his one good eye. "I know..." he begins slowly, weakly, "that porcupines can float in water."

He withstands the drive of the blade through his flesh, he withstands the torture. Some part of his brain drifts away to another place, somewhere safe and warm, where he wasn't freezing cold and covered in his own blood. As he's kicked to the ground, he closes his eyes. It's Claire that he finds in that hazy world between the conscious and the unconscious. The smell of her sweet skin, the softness of her touch on his beaten body. That night, new years eve, becomes his place of escape.

He'd never been more gentle or careful about anything, as he'd rocked his hips and watched her beautiful face, kissing away the discomfort. Whispering to her, guiding her through. How it felt to be inside her, the sweet sounds she'd made. She'd given him something so precious.. she was half the reason he hadn't given up that day, back in Raccoon City.

"Leon?"

He blinks his one good eye as the whispered voice breaks in to his delirium. Was there finally a rescue party? Someone knew his name. So familiar.

A gentle hand rests on his hip.

"I don't have much time."

He forces his eye to focus. A figure dressed like the others crouched in front of him. She lifts her hand, pulling down the mask and revealing her face.

"Ada?!" he chokes on her name, taking her in. Her beautiful face, that dark hair framing it. She wasn't a ghost.. was she?

"You have to be quiet." She tells him, "they're watching."

"What's happening?"

"They think I'm a medic, shhhh."

He swallows, wondering if he's dreaming. She covers her face back up and proceeds to clean his wounds as he lies there, he was no use to them dead after all.

"My team."

"Alive." She replies quietly.

"How can I trust you? You're dead."

"Now is not the time for that conversation."

"You're working with Umbrella?" He persists.

"Hold out another 24 hours." She dabs the corner of his mouth with a cleaning solution that stings.

"How long has it been?"

"Four days." She rinses off a cloth in a bowl of water. He remains perfectly still, barely moving his mouth when he talked. He had no reason to trust her, she was supposed to be dead and here she was, deep in the heart of some insane Umbrella related stronghold. Yet for some reason, just like in Raccoon City – he did. "I managed to get out co-ordinates and details to your people." She whispers.

"Why are you helping me?"

She blinks and turns away, going through something in what looked like a briefcase. She turns back holding a syringe. He grits his teeth.

"I'll see you soon." She says quietly, leaning in and easing the needle in to his skin. He flinches. "Hang in there, Leon."

Darkness comes to collect.

Ever been woken up by a cattle prod? I don't recommend it. The electricity sears through Leon's body and he jolts from unconsciousness, screaming. The metal barbs dug in to his stomach and his body felt rigid, he couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but feel the intense shock of pain gripping his entire being. They take it away and his body sags, he takes in his situation. He was hanging by his arms, his wrists tied above him in a dark room with a single – hot light shining down on him. Naked now, exposed to the world. He hangs his head, getting his breath. He wished he was dead.

For the second time in his life, since the moment he'd considered putting a gun to his temple in Raccoon City – he wishes he was dead. He didn't want to do this anymore. He couldn't. After five days of no food, little water, and relentless torture he felt like his mind was close to breaking.

The tips of his toes scrape the ground and something about that made him feel all the more desperate. The tension in his shoulders from his entire bodyweight hanging was intense and painful, almost as bad as the shock. Being so close to the relief of being able to put your feet down was a torture in itself. So close, so far.

"This can end, Mr Kennedy." Someone says.

He breathes out a laugh, his head bobbing in a weary nod. "So you do know my name."

"And doesn't that make you feel stupid? We've tortured you for four days over information we already had, you might as well have given it up."

He sighs heavily, his lungs hurt. "What else do you want, my shoe size? Shirt size? Dick size?" he asks. His mouth tasted like metal, old dried blood caked inside and out. He'd lost a tooth in a beating days ago, but it was okay, it was one of the ones at the back.

"We already have all of those."

"Then what else do you want?" He manages to lift his head, taking in the people surrounding him. His eyes fall upon one and his heart thuds. It was Ada. She was watching this. He'd recognize her anywhere, even covered in arctic clothing. Her eyes. Had she lied to him? Was she really one of them, here to watch him suffer?

"We want everything you know."

He laughs, but its a limp sounding thing. "Our bodies are 90% water?" he rasps, "Almonds are a member of the peach family and John Lennons first girlfriend was Thelma Pickles."

They jam the cattle prod in to his ribs, right next to an infected wound.

He screams in pain. He couldn't keep it in anymore. He writhes and tries to get away from it, but there's no escape. When they pull it back he sags.

"You're not as funny as you think you are."

He nods. Tears run down his face.

"You want to die here?"

He sighs.

"We've already broken one of your team."

Leon lifts his head and looks at the talking tormentor. Had to be a bluff.

"Tell us what you know about the Raccoon City incident, the Birkins.."

He looks away.

"Tell us about Claire Redfield."

Leon's head jerks back up and his teeth grit together, glaring at them. "Fuck you."

There's a laugh. "Well that got a reaction. Is she your Achilles heel, Mr Kennedy?"

He growls, saying nothing. Glaring.

"Maybe we should find her, bring her in.." the cattle prod is tapped against him, but he isn't shocked. It makes him flinch and that pissed him off. "Rape her in front of you until you talk."

"I'll fucking kill you." Leon snarls.

"Kill the member of your team that sold you out. Told us who you are, what you've done. We know you have information that will be useful to us. It won't take us too long to have her found and brought here."

He tries to lunge toward the man making the threats. A sudden desperation and rage giving him an adrenaline kick. Of course he can do nothing, he can barely move. And to shut him up they jam that cattle prod in to the small of his back and he writhes and screams again.

Ada slowly unbuttons her arctic jacket, watching his horror unfold.

As she hits the last button, an alarm suddenly sounds in the underground bunker. Everybody in the room looking surprised. Leon slumps. Ada dips her hands inside her jacket and produces two silenced handguns.

She shoots everybody in the room. Perfect shots to the head. She rushes to Leon as the alarm blares through the bunker. Gunfire and yelling breaking out further down the halls. She aims and fires, shooting through the rope holding him up. He collapses to the floor and she crouches beside him. Using a knife to undo the fastenings holding his hands together.

"Leon, can you hear me?" She asks, gently touching his shoulder. "I need you to get up."

He groans.

"We have to go." She tells him, reaching over to one of the bodies she'd slain, she yanks the mans arctic jacket off, dragging it over and covering him. She taps his cheek. "Leon!"

He was dazed, his mind spinning. But he comes around to see her over him, the bodies scattered at his side.

"Ada?"

"Put this on." She nudges the jacket against him. "We need to go. Now."

He was exhausted, confused, wounded, dehydrated and starved. But somehow he gets to shaky feet. She helps him cover himself with the arctic jacket and she guides him out of the cell. Ada Wong rescues Leon from hell – again. He couldn't tell you how he makes it outside, how he ends up in the back of a chopper surrounded by US Military. When he comes around under the care of medics, she's gone. Nowhere to be seen. It all happened so fast.

Had he imagined her? Again?

"Ada?" he rasps. The thud of the helicopter blades hurt his head.

"Leon, don't try to move." A US Marine medic speaks gently to him. Administering an IV and fluids right there in the back of the rescue helicopter. He closes his eyes, his head was pounding. It felt like the worst hangover of his entire life, his whole body ached and throbbed. "I'm going to give you some antibiotics, it might make you nauseous."
He just nods. It doesn't immediately hit him that the torture was over, that after five long days he'd somehow survived. If Raccoon City was a nightmare, then this had been a night terror. Paralysed, terrified. He grits his teeth to the urge to break down. He couldn't. Not yet.

He's returned to the United States and placed in a USSTRATCOM Medical facility. It takes a handful of days for the delirium of infection fever to die down and for him to completely come around. When he does, he's told only he and two other members of his team made it through the ordeal. And that one of them was a turncoat and had given up top secret information.

They had been sent detailed ground plans and locations of each of the team, by an 'anonymous source'. The Marines and a second USSTRATCOM team had been sent in to rescue them and shut that place down. Thanks to the information sent in by this mystery person.

Ada.

He knew it was Ada. But he tells them nothing. She hadn't been there when he'd woken up, so he knew she didn't want to be identified. She'd saved his life, she'd kept him going, he wouldn't sell her out or get her killed. To speak of her could blow any deep cover she was under, and though he didn't know who she was working for, all he needed to know was that she'd rescued him – again. She was alive, and she'd found him. He wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her.

He's released two days after returning to US soil. Given a leave of absence to recover from his injuries.

Leon couldn't settle. Sat in his small apartment a mere handful of days removed from getting tortured in a foreign country, he couldn't relax. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't get comfortable either. Every bit of his body hurt. The only place he felt a little respite was in a hot shower, it soothed the various wounds scattered around his body. Eased the burns courtesy of the cattle prod. As he stands in front of the mirror and gazes at himself, he doesn't recognize the man there. At least after Raccoon City he knew who was looking back at him in the reflection. Still Leon, just a Leon is shock. A Leon discovering there was true horror in the world. A little more wary, a little older and wiser and shaken up.

Now?

He closes his one good eye, looking down in to the sink at the bowl of pinkish water. He'd been washing out his mouth, the lost tooth near the back still bled a little. He needed to see a dentist.

He runs a hand under his broken nose and his shoulders tremor.

"Get it together." He mutters to himself in a breath. He couldn't fall apart. That wasn't who he was. He wished he could talk to her, wished he could thank her for getting him out. For keeping him going. For risking her life in the belly of the beast to get him out. If they'd discovered what she was doing they'd have killed her for sure. He just wanted to speak to her – but there was no earthly way for him to make contact.

Leon yanks the plug from the sink and grabs a towel, drying himself off and looking back at his reflection. He looked a fucking wreck. One eye swollen shut, the side of his cheek welted and bruised. His torso was blackened, he had fractured ribs and multiple knife wounds in precision places, places that weren't life threatening or even particularly damaging. Just painful. Lucky him.

Why did people always say when you survived something like that, you were 'lucky'?

There's a knock at the door and he hears it. Usually Cooper answered the door.

Cooper hadn't made it back from Russia.

Leon closes his eye, sighing. He pulls on some comfortable sweatpants, moving like an old woman, and he shuffles through the small apartment as another knock comes. "I'm coming!" he raises his voice, it was raspy. His throat still sore and hoarse from all the screaming he'd done, not to mention the waterboarding. He reaches the door and opens it.

Claire.

She lifts her hand over her mouth as she looks at him standing there, beaten and bruised. Tears welling in her eyes. "Oh my God.." She breathes.

"What are you..?" How did she know he was home?

She steps up to him and carefully moves her arms around his neck, tentative, like she was scared he would shatter. For a moment he doesn't know what to do, shocked she was there. Surprised. Relieved. His arms gently move around her In return, gathering her to him and holding on to her like he'd drown without her.

"Chris told me what happened.." She explains in a whisper beside his ear, her hand coming up to rest at the back of his head. "I had to come."

He closes his eyes, burying his face in her neck and breathing her in.

His home. His calm in the storm.

She came.