Authors Note: Get yourself something to cuddle.. is love any less messy than violence?

He comes undone
Says he's lost the map his life was on
Says everything is unraveling
I take his hand
And then I kiss him like the world is ending and say
"Where logic ends, faith begins"

And I'm wondering if we just try and risk everything for love
How can we ever go wrong
Embrace this life
Every punch and kiss on this wild ride
The end could be a moment away
We're strong enough

- Bird York

Present Day

Leon leans his hands against the bathroom sink counter and gazes at his own reflection in the mirror. Funny what time did to you. The lines it gave you, the scars you ended up wearing on your skin. It was a little like leaving graffiti on your own body, a stamp or two to say 'I was here, and I lived'. Leon's body told a tale – a noir comic book in scar tissue. Everywhere he looked there was something, a grim reminder of the past, a battle fought and won – or lost. So many memories, it was a bit of a shame your body couldn't wear the marks of the good ones, though he supposed a tattoo could do that. He'd often contemplated getting a tattoo to remember her by, but he didn't suppose his wife would take too kindly to it. She might understand the grief and loss he still felt, but she likely didn't want it rubbed in her face, they'd been rivals for his heart after all.

He hated that thought, that it had been some kind of competition to win him. Win over his heart. That it had been a choice. Truth was he'd loved them both and in all honesty, if she was still alive, he likely never would have settled down. How could you, when you were torn in to two halves? They both had a piece of him and would forever. One of them quite literally, she had carried his child. She hadn't told him. He'd gotten her pregnant and she'd gone through it alone, hidden it, never said a word. Why? He didn't know. Maybe it was their lifestyle, maybe she thought he wouldn't want it when she did. Maybe it was the age old excuse he'd heard a thousand times – the world needed him, no time for him to have a life. Maybe she'd found out he'd gotten back from their vacation and ended up back in her rivals bed – she knew he'd never settle down. Maybe it was bitterness. He didn't know, there could be a thousand reasons why she never told him she was pregnant – but he wished she had.

He wished he could have been there for the birth of his baby girl. Could have helped her. But wishes – just like regrets – were pointless. Got you nowhere in the end.

He'd changed a lot over the years, yet not really changed at all. His hair still hung over his eyes, sitting at around the same length as his nose now, the tips tickled it when he hung his head forward. He wore a few days of stubble that covered the scar on his cheek. He also suited the lines in his forehead, his wife called him a fine wine. Apparently he wore his age well also – he just thought he looked kinda tired.

He gazes at the scar on his shoulder, originally a gunshot wound sustained in Raccoon City – his great debut in to the world of Bio Organic Terror. It had been made worse in Russia when his captor had driven the blade of a knife through the damaged tissue. He closes his eyes to the memory, that event still echoed in his head to this day. Some of his worst nightmares saw him hanging by his hands as they drove that electrical charge in to his skin, its a feeling you never forget. He could feel it now, if he thought hard enough, even all these years later.

That mission had taught him a kind of humility. He'd been so full of bullshit and bravado, brimming with testosterone. What was that saying? Young, dumb and full of.. well, you get the idea. That had been Leon Kennedy in the first year. Thought he knew it all, thought he was untouchable, invincible, a prodigy, future savior of the world. He'd thought he was single handedly going to win this war – he was just that fucking good. Russia had taught him that no matter how much of a badass you were, there was always someone waiting to take you down. Someone bigger, scarier, more ruthless. It taught him that sometimes mistakes were made without even knowing they were mistakes, that one error in judgment could cost you dearly. It taught him that no matter how well you planned something, chaos reigned. Anything could happen, your worst nightmares could spring out of the shadows and grab you unprepared.

No matter how good you were, you couldn't always see what was coming around the corner.

Adapt. Survive.

Russia had taught Leon that your greatest weapon wasn't a gun or how quickly you could reload it, but your heart and your will to survive. Endure. And your ability to adapt to the world around you. Your greatest weapon was your spirit, and your ability to remain calm. If you could do that, you could see your way through anything. It was a lesson that would serve him well when he went up against the Los Illuminados cult in Spain. He'd taken nothing for granted, he'd approached it with respect, he'd practically meditated his way through four days of relentless battle and survival. Remain calm, reload, don't panic. You've already been through the worst thing that can happen to you, so just breathe.

After Russia he knew how much he could take. A tough life lesson to learn, one he didn't recommend to anybody. But a lesson nonetheless.

He lifts his hand from the edge of the sink and turns it over, running the fingers of his other hand over a scar in the middle of his forearm. They'd driven a blade right through, it hit nothing, nothing life threatening anyway. But he remembered the pain of it. And he remembered Claire.. lightly tracing her fingertips over it, a sadness in her eyes as she lay beside him.

"Penny for them.." his wife's voice brings him out of his memories and he looks up in to the mirror, seeing her arrive behind him. Her hand slips around his middle, resting on his bare stomach. He still kept in shape, even retired. Never knew when the end of the world might come knocking.

Her pregnant belly presses gently against his back and he smiles, covering her hand with his. "Putting that book together for Lily just.. got me thinking about the past, that's all." He says quietly. She rests her cheek against his shoulder, hugging him a little.

"Wish I could take it away." She whispers.

His lips upturn in a wistful little smile, a small nod of his head. "I should go put her to bed."

"She's already asleep," she answers, tilting her face and kissing between his shoulders.

"Tired her out at the park," he chuckles softly.

"Who even knew that was possible." She muses.

He turns, slipping his hands over her tummy and sliding them around to the small of her back. He presses a kiss to her forehead as she leans against him. "I love you." He murmurs.

She looks up to him, her hands drifting over his bare chest. "I love you too."

The response widens his smile and he draws his palms back around, stroking over her belly, feeling the responsive kick of their baby. "Are you happy?" he asks her quietly.

She frowns, looking at him curiously. "Of course I am. Are you?"

He dips his chin, nodding. "I think.. everything worked out like it was supposed to. And.. even she knew that." It's hard to admit, but there it was.

His wife gently rubs his arms, and then lowers her hands to his, taking them and linking their fingers. Silence for a while, it wasn't always easy. They'd both seen and done a lot of things in their lives and the decisions of that day could never be changed. Fate.. right?

Things worked out like they were supposed to.

"Come to bed." She whispers. It was barely 9pm, but sleep isn't what's on their mind.

She leads him back in to their bedroom and they lovingly undress one another. With her, he could always outrun the past. She just took it all away. Always.

January 26th, 2000

Nebraska

Seeing him like that when he'd opened the door had shaken something inside her. She'd seen him injured before, she'd seen him sad and struggling. But she'd never seen anybody in the physical state he was in. It was jarring, a cold hard reality of what he now did for a living. A job he hadn't even chosen – nothing but fate and circumstance driving him in to it. He'd told her how they'd threatened him, told him that joining their war was his 'only choice'. It sounded terrifying. She'd often wondered what would have happened if she'd stayed, if she'd not chosen to run and keep the search for her brother going. Would they have forced a 19 year old in to their battle too?

Not that she wasn't a part of it. She still nursed her own scars, she still remembered the fear of being captured in Paris. Of not knowing what was going to happen to her. It's a hopeless, helpless feeling you can't describe. She'd ended up in the thick of another bout of madness on Rockfort Island. Ultimately, she'd emerged unscathed. Nothing but bad memories and a few scrapes – somehow.

She couldn't imagine what he'd gone through. To be held, stripped of your defenses, and tortured for information you might not even have.

Chris had heard through the grapevine that a team had been captured in Russia. He'd looked in to it and discovered that one of them was Leon. After the man had helped him locate and rescue his sister, he couldn't help but feel like he owed him one. But there had been nothing he could do, the US Marines had it in hand. Sometimes you just had to send in pure overpowering force. He'd mentioned it to Claire – and here she was. She knew he'd need someone, he had nobody, and she had to see for herself that he alright.

But he wasn't alright. Not at all.

She carefully tucks some of his long hair back from his eyes and gently dabs a wound at his eyebrow with a cleaning solution. She could do this. She couldn't take the memories, but she could help him heal.

"You don't have to do this." He says quietly, the two of them sitting on the floor in the living room of his tiny Nebraska apartment.

"I want to." She answers him simply, getting a fresh cotton pad and dousing it in the solution. He doesn't complain, it felt nice to have a gentle hand on him, soothing the ache. He sits quietly as she takes care of him, changing dressings on the wounds that had required them, applying antiseptics to the burns. She was fearless with this stuff, not grossed out at all. A healer, through and through. "How long a leave did they give you?" She asks as she stuffs old dressings in to a bag.

"Two weeks, then I have to have a psych and physical assessment." He answers with a small shrug.

"That's not very long." She sounded concerned.

"Well, doesn't mean they'll clear me. Just a check up." He explains.

"And what about in the meantime, you're just.. left?"

"Got a few things they want me to attend." He was vague, what he meant was that they were forcing him in to some post trauma therapy. It wasn't something he particularly wanted to admit. She studies him.

"Tortured for your country and then just left to fend for yourself." She sounded disgusted. But it makes him blink.

"What else are they gonna do, have a babysitter here all day?" He asks.

She rolls a bit of gauze in her hand and stares at it sadly, shrugging. "I don't know, just seems like there should be something more."

"Not much more they can do. Just.. something I gotta deal with." He reasons.

With a heavy sigh she finishes packing the medical supplies away and then sits on her knees. "And how are you dealing with it?"

"Right now I'm focusing on the physical." He turns over his forearm, looking at the bandage wrapped around a knife wound there. "Maybe once I'm not feeling like I got run down by a truck I'll be able to process the rest of it."

"Is that even something a person can process?"

"What choice do I have?"

"You're a stronger human being than me, Leon Kennedy."

"It's not a competition." He says with a small smile, reaching out and brushing his thumb over her cheek. She looks at him curiously and he breathes a little laugh, showing her the dab of antiseptic cream she'd somehow gotten on her face.

"How on earth?" she laughs at herself. She was clumsy, clutzy, and always getting things on her face.

"I'm just gonna start following you around with a towel." He chuckles. It hurts his lungs and his messed up ribs, but it still felt good to laugh.

"Change of career, keeping me clean." She muses, then seems to realize what she said, eyeing him a little and laughing softly.

He wipes the cream off on a piece of tissue and gives her a thoughtful look in return. "Not sure if that's a job I'd wanna succeed or fail at."

She blushes, looking away. Her cheeks flushing bright crimson. Adorable. He smiles.

"How are you still embarrassed by me?" He asks.

"Hm? What? I'm not? I don't know what you're talking about." She gets to her feet, taking the bag of trash in to the kitchen and dumping it in the bin.

To tease or not to tease? He considers this for a moment. He should behave. Because despite the fact that the last time he'd seen her she'd trusted him with the most precious thing a girl could, he didn't know what that meant now. He'd told her there was no fairytale here, and that was likely the truth. How could you commit to something when half the time you weren't even in the country? When you ran the risk of being ripped apart by monsters or dying in a gunfight almost daily? Nobody could be in a relationship with that – and what's more, he was too fucking young for that word. He'd done relationships, he'd had one, one where he thought he was going to marry the girl. It had ended horribly, soul crushingly, the worst feeling in the world. He didn't want to do that again, ever if at all possible. Relationships were for 32 year olds, not 22 year olds.

So what happened now? Was it done, back to just friends? Or..

Not that it mattered, not right this second. He was in too much pain for any of that anyway. But as he watches her, he can't help but wonder.

That night, they order Chinese and watch a movie. She sleeps in his bed, curled up against him. No funny stuff. Not a hand out of place. Just friendship and comfort. In the middle of the night he's plagued by nightmares, reliving memories. She wakes as he groans to her side, his body flinching. She winces for him, resting a soothing hand on his chest. Wishing she could take some of it away so he could at least get some sleep.

"Ada.. I need you.." he mumbles.

Claire blinks, drawing her hand back and looking at him with a frown on her face. Ada? Was he dreaming about Raccoon City? Still beating himself up over her death? She watches him, listening for more, but eventually he settles and seems to drift back in to a more peaceful state. She however, was awake and in need of the bathroom. So she carefully climbs out of his bed and heads there. Washing her hands after, she pads in to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Pouring it and taking a sip, she notices a file sitting tucked away on the counter. She was a nosy, curious person. It had helped her through a few sticky situations, but it had also gotten her in to some.

She takes the folders and pulls them over to her, sipping from her glass as she reads the cover of the first. Mission brief for Russia. Details on the woman they were supposed to be extracting. She lifts it and takes in the cover of the next. It makes her pause, looking toward his bedroom. She frowns and flips it open, finding a photograph pinned to a document.

"She's alive?" Claire murmurs, placing her glass down.

She reads.

Ada Wong. A codename. Likely a spy – who for? Nobody knew. She was alive. Her last known location? Russia.

She feels her stomach flip flop a little bit.

But if the woman was alive that was a good thing, right? It meant he could stop beating himself up over her death. Meant he could finally move on and not think about it anymore. Only, he was evidently dreaming about her. Claire bites her lip, putting the folders back where they came from and standing for a moment, thinking. It wasn't any of her business anyway, was it. He wasn't hers. He'd made that quite clear. She didn't know if there would ever be anything between them beyond that one night and friendship. If he wanted Ada..

There was nothing to suggest he wanted Ada – although the woman was utterly, breathtakingly gorgeous and not some skinny plain Jane redhead. He was allowed to feel bad about the woman's death – or not death. She rubs her forehead, she was tired after the travel and now she was locked in a battle with jealousy. She couldn't be jealous of someone she knew nothing about and that he hadn't even shown any interest in. She couldn't be jealous when he wasn't hers anyway. Get a grip, Redfield. You promised him this wouldn't get messy, just because you made him your first.

And second. The second time around that night was even better than the first, she was more relaxed, more in to it. He'd made her see stars.

She downs the last of the water and heads back to his bedroom. When she crawls somewhat timidly under the covers with him, he turns and wraps his arm around her. Holding her.

Right here was where she felt the safest.

But pressed against the warmth of his body, she felt more than just safe. She felt a want. The same need she'd felt when he kissed her on new years eve. A kind of ache in her heart and between her legs. It's an intense, overwhelming feeling and it worries her. Please God, don't be falling in love.

They spend the week together. She clears out her schedule and tells work she needed to take care of a badly injured friend. She helps him with his wounds and tries to distract him from getting too caught up in the memories that echoed around his brain. She doesn't mention Ada.

By the seventh day, he has both of his eyes back. His depth perception returning which was a relief. The bruises had gone past their worst stage and were beginning to recede. Wounds healed over, now just the process of regenerating. The body was pretty incredible, really. It could take a lot. It gave Leon a kind of newfound respect for what a human being could endure and recover from. And Claire helped with the memories. There had been a couple of bad nights, a couple where he'd woken up in a cold sweat. Two nights ago, he'd woken up in to a full blown panic attack. Hyperventilating. She'd calmed him down. Held on to him and kept him grounded. He wouldn't have made it without her.

On day six he'd had one of his therapy sessions. Now, he had decided to pay a visit to his father. Taking Claire with him. It's only as he gets up to the front door of his childhood home that he realizes what he's about to do. Glancing at her standing at his side. He's about to introduce her to his parents – well, parent. His Mother had died when he was 17.

He slides his key into the lock and pushes the door open, gesturing for her to go inside. Ever the gentleman.

It was a pretty large house, back in the day both of his parents had had pretty high profile and very well paid jobs. But when his brother Michael died, it had all kind of fallen apart. Still, the house remained in the family, he'd likely inherit it one day. Though quite what he'd do with it he didn't know, it wasn't like he was about to have a family of his own to fill it up with. He wasn't even sure that was a thing he wanted 'in the future'. What kind of Dad could he possibly be? Spent a lifetime killing, not exactly a role model.

"Wow, this place is.. wow.." Claire looks around as she steps in to a kind of small foyer. It had marble tile floor and led to a staircase, with antique looking tables on either side, both dressed with vases. Nothing in those vases, his Mother used to keep flowers in them, but that was a thing of the past. His Father was only interested in keeping the liquor cabinet stocked these days.

Leon drops his bag down and looks around. Was just his plain old childhood home, to him.

"Is this.." she steps toward a photograph on the wall and he sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans, moving up behind her. "My brother."

"Holy crap, you look so much like him." She leans in closer, inspecting the picture.

Leon smiles a little. "Yeah I kinda janked his look after he died."

She turns him a sympathetic little look and nods. "I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "Is what it is, y'know?"

She agrees. She knew about loss. She and Chris had lost both of their parents in an accident when she was very young. She barely had any real memories of them to go on, probably why Chris was so hyper protective of her these days. "Your Mom?" she asks, looking at another photo.

He sighs. "Yup. She used to sell real estate, I think that was like.. her business card photo." He chuckles, looking at the photograph of his smiling mother. He missed her.
"Dad?!" he calls out into the house to no response. Then looks to Claire. "Might be in the yard."

She follows him through the house and sure enough they find his Father in the back yard, attempting to rake up some leaves. "Dad," he calls from the back door. His Father looks up and smiles when he sees him, putting the rake aside and coming over. They greet each other with a hand shake and a hug, and then his dad turns his attention to Claire.

"Well, Leon hasn't brought a girl back since – what was her name?"

Leon rolls his eyes, "Maria."

"That's it. Strange girl, I think she was trying to look like Morticia Adams." He chuckles, shaking Claire's hand enthusiastically. "You're a definite upgrade."

Leon narrows his eyes. Claire laughs good naturedly. "That's kind of you, but we're not.."

His Father looks between them. "Oh, you're not?"

Leon flashes her a look, then shrugs. "Just friends. She was in Raccoon City with me."

"Ohhhh." His Father gives an understanding smile. "Well, I'm glad you made it out safely." He finally releases Claire's hand and turns to Leon. Inspecting his son, the smile fading.

"What did they do to you?" He sighs.

Leon makes a bit of a face, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter. I'm still here."

"You're my son, obviously I'm going to worry." He tuts.

"I know. But I'm alright. Really."

Claire watches as Leon reassures his Father he's okay. It's sweet, and so very him. He never seemed to want anybody to worry about him, the only person he ever let do so, was her. The thought makes her tummy flutter a little. That feeling that kept rising in her so often now.

She follows them through to the kitchen as they talk. His Dad insisting they stay there and not get a hotel. There were five bedrooms, she was welcome to her own if they were 'just friends'. She shares a look with Leon over the counter. It's one she can't quite make out. Just friends that slept together - but actually slept. What a strange arrangement. Maybe she should just take her own room.

It's a nice day. Its interesting to learn a little more about him and where he came from. Leon was always so closed off when it came to his life and to the thoughts that went on in that handsome head of his. So getting to hear a bit more direct from one of his parents felt like a special and rare insight. She's even shown a few photographs from his childhood. He was an insanely cute child, but was that really a surprise? Leon's red faced with embarrassment after his father brings out a photo album. Telling her stories of the mischief he used to get in to when he was little.

Leon ends up sat at the seat of his Mothers old grand piano, hiding his face as photos from his 'I want to be in a band' phase are brought up. His Father excuses himself shortly after, leaving Claire with the pictures. It was getting late.

She sits and leafs through them, turning a big smile to him.

"The rockstar hair really suits you." She grins.

"I look like a whole idiot." He lifts his head from his hands, chuckling.

"Nooo, I like it. It's kinda.. part biker part glam rock."

"There is nothing glam rock about that." He snorts, sitting up and running his hand over the polished surface of the piano.

"Needed more studs." She says thoughtfully, turning the page. She looks at him. "Can you play that?"

He glances at her, then to the piano. "This? Uh huh. Kinda." He brushes a little dust from the keys, rubbing it between his fingers. Less than fourteen days ago he'd been inhaling dust on the floor of a Russian cell, awaiting his next round of torture. Now he was wiping it off of a grand piano. Life was really strange sometimes.

"Can you do chopsticks?" She asks.

He laughs under his breath, nodding. "I don't know if its tuned. Don't think anyone's played it in years."

"Play something!" she encourages.

"It might sound like shit."

"I don't care. I've always wanted to play an instrument. Show me!"

"You want me to teach you?" He asks.

She gets to her feet, crossing over to join him, she sits beside him on the little bench, he moves over to fit her in. "Alright then, Heart & Soul." He lifts his hand to the keys and rather effortlessly plays the first notes of the classic song.

"I know that! That's the tune from 'Big'" She grins.

He nods. Showing her slowly, he gives her the repeating melody. Simple enough to learn. It makes her laugh, though, as she messes it up a few times. He's endlessly patient, he was a really good teacher. Eventually, she has the repeating tune down, and he looks at her with a smile on his face, waiting for his cue to join in.

When he hits the higher note and comes in, the song becomes complete. She looks at him wide eyed, they were actually doing music. And she wasn't messing it up. He grins. "See? Easy."

She giggles, they repeat the tune for a little while longer, until she slips up a key and brushes his hand as it hit keys close to hers. They come to a stop and she smiles, pleased with herself.

"What else can you do?" She asks.

He looks thoughtful, it had been a long damn time since he'd actually done anything on the piano. His Mom used to make him take lessons all through his childhood, right up until Michael died. He hitches a shoulder. "Well, was my Mom that made me play the piano. This was her favorite."

He cracks his knuckles and Claire moves aside a little, letting him take over. He sighs. "If I fuck this up don't laugh at me."

"As if I would." She nudges him.

He nods. Hands on the keys. A deep breath.

Its Clair de Lune, by Debussy. Of course, Claire has no idea what the song is called as he plays it.

As she listens and watches him play this soulful, sorrowful tune that sounded like the piano had lost something that it loved, she feels a lump well up in her throat. How did he know how to do this? A savage warrior, a trained killer, the man that got her through one of the worst days of her life. And he could do this. Where the hell had Leon Kennedy come from and who had sent him across her path?

He comes to a stop after a while, gesturing at the keys and clearing his throat. "It starts to get really complicated, and my arms kinda hurt." He says, looking up at her. He frowns. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She smiles back at him. "That was just.."

"Called Clair de Lune." He explains, when she doesn't find words. "Means 'Moonlight'. Kinda like you.. always lighting my way." He laughs softly.

She takes a deep breath.

She was in love.

And this was bad.

Music: Heart & Soul (Piano) - Look up Claire and Leons version via Toddiew on Youtube

Clair de Lune by Debussy. On youtube under CHANNEL3YOUTUBE