The Long Dark

XIV:

Voices

Refusing to be the girl who wore a guy's sweatshirt because she was starting to get feelings for him, Jill found herself back in her room, lying on her bed with the television droning. She pointed at the sweatshirt, eyeing her like a man wiggling his brows to flirt, and she told it, "You stay right there. There's nothing for you over here."

The sweatshirt seemed to rebuke her with a staredown.

Jill gave it the finger, "He doesn't even smell that good."

The shirt seemed to think otherwise.

Amused, she flipped back on the porn channel to see what was shaking. An orgy was in mid-sway, with people sliding naked and sweaty all over each other.

After a moment, her room phone rang, and she picked it up, "...yes?"

"...busted."

She fumbled off the television via the remote as she laughed, "You spying on me?"

With a chuckle, Leon answered, "The walls are thin in this place, Valentine. Just saying. Gettin your perv on?"

She wondered if he knew what it meant that he tried so hard to keep things light. Was it just him? Was it a ruse? Was he just a guy who did better putting aside the pain to exist in the humor? All three, maybe. Or none. He'd kept her smiling somehow in Spain when he could have descended into the dark and festered, and he hadn't. He'd kept pulling out the puns and the jokes to keep her from giving up.

Could she do anything else for him now?

Cradling the phone, she teased, "Just another night in a podunk town adjacent to monsters."

Leon snorted, "Story of our lives."

That got her to grin. She shook her head, "...why do we do this again?"

And he said, "Danger. It's what we chase, right? It's our high. You think we could just quit and become dentists?"

Jill shook her head, "And give up the perks? Blood and guts and horror."

"...and porn." He quipped and had her laughing again. "Lots of porn. Never forget it."

"Oh, I won't." She leaned back on the bed, "What were you like before this?"

On his end of the phone, he paused. It was a good question. It was a personal as hell one, but she probably thought it was polite conversation. It was, and it wasn't. Because the answer wasn't that simple, or maybe it was...maybe it just wasn't that easy. So, he answered, "Young. Determined. I won't say innocent because that died when I was a kid...but I was naive."

She tilted her head, "Who'd you lose?"

Yeah, she got it. She usually did. "...more than I should have. The old man died on the job thanks to a robbery gone wrong."

"...I'm sorry."

He sighed, "S'ok. It's the job. He knew that. But fate decided that wasn't enough. My Mom kept us in Boston. We didn't live in the best part of town, and she worked two jobs to keep us afloat."

He shifted on his bed as he remembered. "I was eight. A man broke in, robbed us, killed my babysitter June...came for my sister Leah...and then for my friend who was sleeping over and me. I hid in my bed and listened to the slaughter."

Jesus.

He said it so casually. Like it wasn't the entire story of him in a nutshell, he'd been the kid who hid and the boy who'd cowered. And he'd come out of it to kill in the name of those who couldn't fight back. Every single part of him was born in blood.

"He came into the bedroom, fired two shots, and managed to miss me but got Jared. I pretended to be dead. I listened to him rob us. I listened to him leave. I stayed in that bed for two hours, terrified to move while Leah and June bled out on the floor...he got Jared in the head...so at least he went quick."

Jesus.

Softly, sounding almost like he couldn't believe he'd told her, he added, "I remember the carpet squished when I finally stopped shaking. My legs felt like jello. I didn't look at Jared. I couldn't. I saw enough of his brains on the wall to know he was gone."

Jill made a slight sound of sympathy and let him finish, "...Leah was in the hallway like she'd been running to my room. June... never made it off the couch. He gunned her down with her Geometry book still in her lap. Somebody had screamed...it's what woke me. Some screamed...Jared never woke up...maybe there's some comfort in that."

She wanted to hug him, and it radiated where she lay. She wanted to comfort him, but there was no comfort. She knew that too. Sometimes, there was no comfort. After a moment, he confessed, "I did nothing. I just lay there and let it happen. I was so afraid...I just laid there."

Softly, Jill returned, "...and blamed yourself ever since."

A moment passed. The line crackled, and Leon finally said, "Yeah. Looks that way. But blame don't mean shit, gorgeous. I dealt with it. My Mom came through for me like a tank. She turned to my Dad's cop buddy on the force. He showed up for what my Dad couldn't. He made it his mission to hunt down the guy who'd killed Leah and June. Turned me into a badge-wielding savior and went out there to make a difference...one day on a job that should've meant nothing...and a choice I will spend a lifetime defending...and here I am."

She'd heard that Adam Benford had helped raise him. She knew the current director of the C.I.A. had stepped in like a father and given him a good life. When the government hooked Leon to serve, Benford pushed him to be brought into the C.I.A. Sadly, the White House wanted him piped into bioterror.

He might have been a different man if he'd ended up under the umbrella of a man who loved him and not a corporation out to destroy him. She knew the guilt of hiding while those he'd cared about died was probably his ultimate failure. It was what motivated him now to save anyone he could. She understood it. Maybe better than she wanted.

Jill sighed and confessed, "Oh, Leon...it wasn't your fault." When he said nothing, she added, "but I get it...nothing hurts worse than being inches from it and knowing you can't stop it."

And she told him. She told him about the people in Raccoon, and she told him about her failure to save even one. She confessed with the same tone, cool, efficient like she was reporting to a commanding officer. He listened, and he said nothing.

And when she was done, he replied, "Sucks the big one."

She laughed sadly, "Yeah...yeah, it does."

"So...maybe we do this for more than the danger."

"...maybe," she agreed, "maybe we do this for the vengeance."

"Maybe we do it to look in the mirror and forgive ourselves for the ones we couldn't save."

And that was another reason she liked him. Either he was just that good at knowing precisely what you needed to hear, or he just got it. He got it. And that wasn't something you could find from anyone who hadn't survived what they had.

After a handful of moments, Jill replied, "...yeah...maybe that's exactly why we do it."

They could have left it there, and they could have said goodbye. But when he answered her, when she responded, when they talked - neither of them felt quite that alone. And it was easy. So easy. It shouldn't have been that easy to talk. But it was. She talked, he talked, and they both listened. Stories about the kids they'd been and the things they'd done.

They turned the conversation to things that didn't hurt so much.

They talked about her dog as a girl. And his favorite pass time - Dungeons and Dragons. They spoke about guns and cars and how he'd spent a whole summer fixing up an old Mustang with Benford after high school. She admitted she joined the military to escape an overbearing mother, and he confessed he used to feed the stray cats behind the gas station by his high school.

She told him about her love of the piano and how it had become her safe place to land. He talked about being in a band in high school and falling in love with the guitar. She teased him about sounding and looking like a rock star, and he laughed in a way that she knew he was flustered by her light flirting. He was such a curious man. He talked sex like a pro but balked when you talked it back. She was betting that most of the women he hit on didn't hit back, which was probably exactly why he was picky about who he flirted with - only the girls he couldn't have.

What should have been a ten-minute call became an hour and then two. It was easier to do it like this - on the phone, not face to face. Because face-to-face, they both knew, came with risks. They might clam up or lie or pretend to suit the other person. On the phone, there was no risk of seeing the face of the other person and trying to guess what they were thinking. It provided, in a way, the anonymity that allowed for a strangely cathartic honesty.

When he finished a story about trying to raise a family of bullfrogs as a boy and hoping they'd create an army to stop the mosquitos, she finally curled on her side with the phone. She just stopped trying to be anything but what they both should have been - two people getting to know each other in the worst possible situations.

He finished the story with a sigh, "...the fat one stole my Varsity Lacrosse ring and never came back."

Her small laugh made him smile on his end of the phone. "Can't trust anything that croaks and wants a kiss."

"...words to live by."

She wanted to keep talking. But she knew he needed to turn the call to business. Like her, he focused when it came to the job. Maybe that's another reason he was so good at it. It gave him something to keep him from dwelling on what he couldn't change.

And he used humor like a weapon to beat back the loss. Maybe they had more in common than they had realized at first. Maybe...that's what drew them together - a need to protect and serve.

Jill grinned, "Everything go ok out there?"

"Seemingly. We'll head back out with Rebecca in the morning to run a sample test on the main level. I kept the lower route sealed for now. No reason to invite chaos."

Jill nodded where she lay. "Good deal. You should get some sleep. It's late."

"Soon. Any luck with Nikolai?"

"Not yet," she confessed with a sigh, "hopefully, Shenmei shakes something loose soon."

He grunted an assent and sighed. "Enjoy your porn, Jill."

She laughed. "Oh, I will."

"You want some company? I could stop by."

She considered that. Maybe they both needed a hug after all. She wanted to say yes. But yes came with so many bigger issues. It wouldn't just be a hug. It would be a more complicated one. And because she wanted to say yes, she kept it light - for both of them.

"I don't think I could compare to what we'd watch, Leon. And then my feelings would be hurt. And you'd always wonder if you could do better."

He chuckled and made her feel good for saying it.

"Sleep tight, gorgeous. Don't do anything heroic while I'm sleeping. I don't know how often I can climb in bed with you naked and be a gentleman."

Jill grinned as she answered, "I'll keep that in mind. Good night, Leon."

He hung up on a laugh. With a sigh, he flopped down on his bed. The ceiling fan turned above him as he considered what it meant that everything, at the moment, was going well. Eventually, of course, all of this had to blow up in their faces.

But for the moment, he was hoping it would all work out.

Why? So, he could see what things looked like when there wasn't a looming nemesis standing over them? Maybe. Or maybe it had just been too damn long since he'd been able to relax. Maybe he was just desperate for an entire window of time to be Leon and not worry about being Agent Kennedy.

He hoped to put this to bed, save the day, and maybe walk away with something besides death to look forward to.

The voice in his head scoffed, "...death is the greatest release...come home..."

He poured some whiskey over ice and gave that voice in his head the finger even while part of him agreed.

And that was the part he was trying like hell to ignore.

Leon fell asleep thinking about Jill with her mouth sliding over him - pink lips, perfect tits, and soft white skin. Maybe it wasn't porn, but it was better somehow because it was so easy to feel her and smell her and see her while doing it. His damn photographic memory. He couldn't do anything but memorize and have that burned forever on his brain like a dry fuck with no finale.

Maybe if he'd gone ahead and jerked off to finish the feeling, he wouldn't have been so susceptible.

Because it was whispering that woke him.

It was beside his ear a moment before the gun pointed through the darkness at shadows. He nearly pulled the trigger before he eased his finger back on a shaky breath. Because the shadows were nothing but moonlight and trees in the breeze, and there was nothing in this room but him.

The moment he thought about it, Leon knew that wasn't right either. He wasn't alone here, and whatever was in this room, he couldn't shoot it. Breathing hard on the bed, he waited for the terror squatting on his chest to abate and let him breathe.

The ache in his head joined the softly whispered song in his head. He felt the terror claw up from his chest to his throat as the nearly musical tone urged, "I'm waiting...I'm waiting...I'm waiting...find me."

Clearing his dry through, he whispered, "...no."

The soft laughter made his blood chill, "Give in. You know you want to. I will give you what you want. I'll give you what you need. I'll grant you the power to change it all. Find the false vessel and free us."

Jesus.

But there was no Jesus here. There was no god. Just a hive-minded parasite that was somehow still inside him enough to send out the call to arms.

"...fuck off."

The laughter again and the whispering sing-song voice, "Then finish it. End it. And we will find another vessel."

The gun in his hand shivered. Leon quickly popped the magazine and jerked the slide, tossing away the now useless weapon, so it bounced on the bed and slid across the carpet. He clutched the ejected round in his hand and lobbed it, hard, at the wall. It plunked to the floor, and the voice breathed, "...powerful. Resistance is paramount. Chosen...chosen...chosen...your time is coming."

Fumbling in the dark, Leon threw back a shot of whiskey. The second the spicy liquid hit his tongue; the voice hesitated. Another shot, and it became a hiss of anger and rejection. A third shot down, and the siren song was lost in the music of ocean waves within his skull. The whiskey burned away the voices.

The whiskey muted the guilt, and it made the regret a murmur. The whiskey silenced the call of the damned.

He gripped the glass in his hand and blew out a shaky breath. It was the first time in history that alcohol helped offer salvation and put a band-aid on a breakdown.

Leon rose from the bed. Unable to find his sweatshirt, he settled for a thermal shirt instead, and topped it with his sock hat. He could breathe again when he exited the hotel and stepped into the cold. He was sitting beside the bonfire with the whiskey bottle dangling in one hand when the snow rustled beside him.

He started to snap at his companion to leave when he realized it was a shaggy white dog. Surprised, Leon lifted a hand and laid it on that big head. The dog kept watching the fire. Leon turned his eyes back to it and breathed, "...shit."

It was the second time a dog had wandered in at the right time to save him.

The wet nose of the hound bumped his cheek, and Leon leaned against its solid side. The heavy panting comforted him.

He kept sitting by the fire with that dog until the fear met the whiskey and floated away.

And he couldn't hear the voices anymore.

Jill woke to a rustling outside her door, and she eased it open to find him trying to key himself into his room. But he kept fumbling at the knob.

Surprised, Jill queried, "Leon?"

He swung his shaggy head at her and slurred, "...this is like Fort Knox."

Concerned, she opened her door and invited, "I see that. Come here."

He swung around, stumbled, and cursed. The empty whiskey bottle in his hand concerned her even more. What had happened? He'd been nearly hopeful when she'd spoken to him last.

He lumbered into the room as she gripped his arm and guided him to the bed. "Leon...what happened?"

With a gallic shrug, he sat down heavily, and she started unlacing his boots for him. He dropped the whiskey and sighed, "...they didn't get it all."

Surprised, she glanced up as she set his boots aside. "Didn't get what?"

He smiled wryly and slurred, "The plagas...it's still there...im-imperfect er..." He fumbled for the word and finished, "...fuck it...a botch job, ya know? It's still in there."

After a handful of moments, Jill whispered, "...how bad?"

He laughed weakly. "Pieces. Fused to my fucking bones. It's on me like bone herpes...that shit is forever." His mocking laugh sounded like broken glass. "And this close to...whatever the hell is out there...I can..."

She froze on the floor at his feet as he confessed, "I can hear them, Jill. I can hear them whispering or something. Calling. Singing."

Jill said softly, "I heard them singing too, Leon."

"No." He denied it and laughed again darkly, "Not just in the cave. In here."

"...in this room?"

He gave her a lost look. "No...in my fucking head. In me."

She shifted and gripped his wrists where he was holding his head. "You should have said something. We'll get Rebecca on it and figure it out."

Leon laughed again and muttered, "Why? I can use this, right? I can use it to find the source. We need it."

Jill shook his arms and returned, "Don't be stupid. And don't be heroic here. You're not a fucking carrier of the ring to Mordor, Frodo. You don't need a link to the damn monsters to fight them."

"No?" He held her eyes and confessed, "You saw me before. You know. You were there. I was nearly one of them. Maybe I still am."

"Stop it." She commanded in a cool voice, "Stop it. You're drunk, and you're feeling sorry for yourself. This isn't you. It's fear. You always say stupid, noble shit when you're afraid. We got it out, Leon. Most of it, anyway. We will get the rest."

"I get drunk to stop the voices." He shrugged and laughed again. The laughter was bad this time. It was bad, and it was self-deprecating and scared. "Maybe I'll stay drunk to fight them. Monster ala monster."

"You are not a monster." She urged with a snap of anger. "Stop talking stupid."

"No?"

"No."

He flipped his hands, caught her wrists, and slung her over his shoulder in a move so fast it left her breathless as she bounced on the bed. He was over her, pinning her to the mattress with his hands on her wrists and his legs pinning hers at the thighs before she could fight back. It stole her breath for a moment but didn't scare her. She wasn't afraid of him. Not anymore.

He'd fought like hell against the plagas in Spain. She knew he could, and if anyone could, it was him.

He gave her a look beneath him, "...go ahead. Struggle. Fight back."

Quietly, she wondered, "Why?"

"Because part of me likes it." He laughed now and again it was tinged with pain. "I like it. But is it me? Or what's in me?"

"You think because you like a good tussle before you fuck, that makes you a monster?"

He studied her mouth like it had the answers to the universe, "No. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hold you down and hurt you, Jill. But the fight? The fight I like. Like the battle. The adrenaline. I like it."

She gave him a sad look, "Of course you do, you stupid man."

He blinked in confusion as she explained, "We all like it. Not what it means. Not what drove us to it. We don't like the pain, Leon. We like the rush. We said, you and I, that night we met. We admitted it. We're warriors...it's ok to like the fight."

"...but what if that's all I am?"

She tilted her head again to study him in the dark, "A warrior?"

He laughed again and made her heart race with the undercurrent of anger, "A weapon. What if I'm just a weapon, Jill? To the job. To the fight...to the parasites."

With a cold tone she hoped would steady him, she assured him, "You're not. You hear me? You're not. You're a man. Just a man. And you've survived a lot of shit, Leon. It doesn't make you a monster. It makes you a survivor."

"Yeah?"

"...yes."

"I can kill you," He warned her, voice thick with anger and impotent loss, "Right now. I can kill you, and you can't even stop me. In no less than eight ways, just like this. Before you could scream, I'd end it."

Jill held his eyes in the dark. "You won't. And you wouldn't. Ever. Even when it had you by the goddamn balls, you didn't. You think I'm scared of you?"

"...you should be." He warned, "You should be. Because if I can't stop it, this machine they made me...this becomes the thing I've been fighting. I didn't come back whole from Spain, Jill. I didn't. We both know that. There's something in me now...something ugly...and I don't know if I can hold it back. I don't think I can-"

She did the thing she'd done in Spain when he started down this rabbit hole. She craned her neck and pressed a kiss to his mouth. It worked, and he fell silent.

Kisses - saving souls and slaying demons since the dawn of time. They could rile you up, and they could level you out. In a good story, you kissed the hero to thank him. Here, she kissed him to save him.

Leon looked at her in a way she laid back against the pillows that had her saying, "That thing in you? It's not plagas, Leon. It's survival. It's guilt. It's rage and hurt and loss and being unable to forgive yourself. That's all it is. We all have it. It lives in me too, and it has for years."

When she relaxed entirely in his grip, he breathed, "What if you're wrong?"

"I'm not. The plagas might have left pieces in you, Leon...but it didn't leave enough to erode what makes you - you. The guy who nearly died trying like hell to save anyone he could. Over and over again. And it won't get the rest of you."

His eyes flicked over her face, "...how can you be so sure?"

"Because you won't let it." He gave her a look of such fear that she understood it. She did. He didn't want her to believe in him. But she did. Because she'd seen what he could do. She'd lived it. She knew who he was, even if he didn't anymore. So, she added, "...and neither will I."

On a sharp breath, he confessed, "What if I'm not strong enough?"

Jill answered, "Than I am. I told you then, and I'm telling you now - I won't let it get you. And it can't have you. Not now, not ever. But you gotta stop trying to handle everything alone. You gotta let me help."

When he said nothing, staring at her beneath him, she pushed, "Let me help, Leon. It's why I'm here. Let me."

"...why?"

It seemed so important to him to have the answer. She held his eyes and urged, "Because I don't ever give up either. You know that. So let your goddamn guard down and let me help."

After a moment, he rolled to the side and lay on his back beside her. Into the darkness, he confided, "...I can't hear the voices when I'm drunk, Jill."

She whispered, "I know."

"...I can't hear them when I'm with you either."

Her breath caught as she rolled her head to look at him. Eyes closed, not looking at her, he told her, "I don't feel alone when you're here."

Softly, she answered, "You've been alone a long time."

And he simply breathed, "...not alone...just...haunted."

His breathing leveled. Jill kept watching him in the dark. The stakes were higher than ever now. Whatever had happened to him in that cave had set off some timer; she was sure of it. It was speaking to him. It was calling home it's...what? It's seed? It's brethren? Was Nikolai one of them?

Is that why he was here?

And what would it take to stop it from gathering its forces?

Was Chris, right? Was it a matter of swift and sure action?

Was it wise to even let Leon near that cave again until they knew the answer?

He'd returned from a second visit there, and this had happened. What if every time he went back, it got worse? How many times could he brush close to the source without losing himself completely? She knew what he'd say- it was an acceptable risk and had to be. Because he'd come here to stop what was in those caves, and he never walked away from a job unfinished.

Hell, the truth of what he was followed him like a troubadour singing his praises. He went from one mess to another, cleaning, cleaving, clearing, and saving whom he could. How many had he seen since Spain alone?

Too many.

She knew that too. Too many. The same as Chris. The same as her. Too many.

What did it do to them to dance this close to the end of everything? But she knew that too. It took pieces of you every time you lost or won or walked away from the blood and the bombs and the battle. You always left more than you took in with you. You always traded hope for helplessness and desperation. You always tried like hell.

It was imperfect, but you tried. You kept trying. Maybe Leon tried harder than any of them. He was holding on so hard. What was he fighting for? It was something. He had something pushing him forward. It fairly bled from his breath with the whiskey he'd downed. Maybe he was lost, but he wasn't forsaken. Maybe he just needed someone to stand beside him for once.

Maybe that's what she could do for him here; find the answers he needed. Find the cure. Fix him...at least in the body, if not in spirit.

She knew without thinking, he'd have done the same for her.