A/N: I don't own Resident Evil. Sadly.

Love and Other Drugs

Part Two:

Denial

You meet thousands of people, and none of them really touch you. And then you meet one person, and your life is changed...forever.

― Love and Other Drugs

London - 2000

The grand summit of international leaders was filled with suits. Suits, suits, suits as far as the eye could see. It was hard to remember that suits had a head when you looked at gray, navy, and black everywhere.

The final word had come to favor the continuation of the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team. Apparently, different organizations would continue to help fund the anti-terror program, in conjunction with US-STRATCOM, to stop the widening band of bio-terror incidents that were trickling down from the loss of Raccoon City. The need to train and educate to avoid catastrophic losses was equivalent to the success of the entire military.

Jill excused herself to head to the lobby during the heated debate over financing. The last thing she cared about was talking heads debating nickles and dimes. So long as she got to continue knocking Umbrella down and grinding its bones to dust, she didn't care where the funding came from. Before it was done, she was going to ensure the only thing left of that corrupt corporate greed machine was a smoldering pile of ash.

The blue suit she wore was more cobalt than navy. It fit well against the pale rose of her complexion and made the open-necked white blouse beneath it pop prettily. Her hair was secured at the nape of her neck in a sleek, professional, and elegant ponytail. Her toes were poked into serviceable pumps in no-nonsense black. Her hose was basic beige. For all intents and purposes, she was as much of a corporate vampire as the rest of them.

As she sipped coffee, she studied those coming and going from the enormous conference center. They paused to chat; they took elevators and laughed by the fountain that trickled prettily in the lobby. The dreary gray light from the misty morning beyond the windows filtered through to cast shadows on good shoes and smiles.

It was a cookie-cutter corporate world at its finest.

And then it wasn't.

The expression a diamond in the rough took on new meaning.

She paused with her coffee halfway to her mouth.

The vest was royal blue in a shade that stood out like a splash of color in a sea of black and white. The blue and silver striped tie he wore paired nicely with the crisp white shirt beneath it. He'd rolled those shirt sleeves up his forearms and high cuffed them at his elbows, making a stuffy generic look into something sharp and sexy. Jill sipped her coffee with a little smirk.

The stubby ponytail was still in place, and the wild Celtic beauty of the eyes fit the careless strands that had slipped through to frame his jaw. She wanted to stick her thumb in that little cleft in his chin and see if he liked it. He had just enough of a few days' beard growth on his perfect face to look less like the fresh-faced rookie she'd sacrificed her morals on a few years before.

He paused, spoke to someone beside him, and they both laughed. Liking the little jitter in her belly at the sight of him, Jill turned back to the coffee cart to freshen her cup. She was just lifting it, nicely sweet and light with just the right amount of sugar, to her mouth when a voice beside her ear murmured, "Why are you always wearing a skirt when I see you?"

The smile was on her face before she could help it. She felt her lower lip roll under her teeth, amusing herself with the feminine reaction, and drawled, "Why are you always behind me when I'm in one?"

She'd forgotten how much she liked that laugh. Careless, carefree, and so very full - he bubbled with good humor in a way she realized she'd been missing. For all Chris' company, he wasn't much of a joker when they were in public. His seriousness rubbed off on her until they were both often perceived as cold. She had a bit of a reputation for it in the right circles. You didn't touch Jill Valentine, or you drew back a frozen nub.

She wondered if anyone would believe she knew how to give shit with the best of them.

What was funny about Leon Kennedy? He didn't even care about social graces enough to let it stop him. He just opened his mouth and said whatever he was thinking.

He chuckled, "Put down that coffee and come here."

She did, without thinking, surprising herself.

"You gonna rip my skirt if I don't?"

His amusement curled around them like a warm blanket, "I might rip your skirt if you do. I'm unpredictable like that."

His hand slid to the small of her back, turning her. Smooth. Thoughtless. She found herself enveloped in a hug in the lobby of the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium, and she didn't even care.

She tensed, for just a breath, as she couldn't remember the last time anyone, anywhere, had tried to hug her - and then she just...relented.

Her arms slid around him. He encircled in a way that said somebody had hugged him a lot in his life. Envious, Jill leaned her cheek against his for just a moment. With laughter in his tone, he teased, "You grow? You feel taller."

Jill returned her voice rich with humor, "I would be since I'm not bent in two with my ass in the air."

Without missing a beat, he put his lips to her ear and tempted, "...you wanna be?"

She didn't even stop the laughter. It spilled out of her on a merry tinkle of sound. She let go of him and stepped back, shaking her head, "And here I see some things don't change. Still a shameless pervert, Mr. Kennedy."

"Fingers crossed that never changes, right?" He winked at her. They stared at each other with stupid grins until Jill took a gasping breath. She realized, sadly, she'd been holding it.

His eyes flared with amusement as he teased, "Took your breath away, did I?"

She slapped his left biceps with a roll of her eyes, "So does a windy day, handsome, don't flatter yourself."

Amused, he tucked his hands in his back pockets. Why? He wanted to put them on her ass in that stuffy little suit she was wearing. He had that reaction around her, sadly. The last time had cost him a relationship, which was fine as his ex-girlfriend in those days was a thunder cunt and a good slice of his dignity. Part of him had wondered if he'd managed to knock her up that day.

Clearly not, as the child support police had never arrived on his doorstep to castrate him and take his hard-earned income.

It was a curious thing that a little piece of him was quite sad about that. Apparently, he liked her enough to wish he'd blown his load in her and laid claim to her womb. It was very feral of him and almost amusing. He usually wasn't that type of guy.

Making polite conversation, he asked, "You done here yet?"

She shrugged, "Waiting on Chris and Barry to tie up loose ends with Wil-Pharma, I think. You?"

He rolled his eyes, "I'm the poster boy for the US involvement in bioterror-related training." He did air quotes and had her grinning, "Basically, they plan to parade me around like a puppy and show me off as their perfect soldier."

Jill tilted her head, "Are you?"

"You tell me."

Charmed, she shrugged again, "The flirting could use work, but the face is good."

"Not perfect?"

He was something else. She pursed her lips. "I don't know. I think I'd need to see the whole package."

It was his turn to roll his bottom lip under and laugh. "...shit. Siren. I realllly want to make a package joke right now."

"...I'm kinda glad you didn't. Why say it when you could show me?" She winked at him and picked up her coffee. "You didn't get the memo about the dress code for this boring shindig?"

He shook his head like a dog coming out of water. "What's that? My brain fell out my ass, picturing you looking at my package."

Enjoying the banter, Jill tapped a finger on the side of her cup. "...who's the siren?"

He threw his head back while he laughed like an exuberant kid. It was a good one, too, damn him. It made him somehow even more adorable. He was just a happy guy. Maybe their lives had turned to shit on the one hand, but he'd managed to hang on to his unflappable charm and good humor. She coveted his spirit in some ways.

Jill studied him as he leaned on the coffee bar beside her. He didn't invade her personal space precisely, but he was close enough that she knew he was happy to be there. She had the strangest urge to put her hand in his pants like that first time.

She turned her head to put their faces a few inches apart and told him, "I can see your package."

His face flushed across his cheeks in a way that was endearing as he leaned another inch forward. Their noses brushed, and he replied, "Yeah? You should put your hand out and open it."

Her hand slapped over his mouth. She couldn't stop the soft giggling that started. She could not be this girl who stood in the lobby flirting with pretty-faced former rookies. His eyes fairly sparkled above her hand as she informed him, "No more talk like that, good sir. Or I'll punish you."

That was the wrong thing to say entirely. She winced the moment she said it, and his brows winged up in a grin behind her palm. She pointed at him with her other hand and warned, "Don't you dare say it."

Her hand slid away, and he queried, "What? Say what?"

She pointed at him again. "You know what."

"Do I? Are they friends with who, where, and why?"

"Stop it. Idiot." She turned toward the counter and ordered him a shot of espresso.

"Thanks." He waited a handful of seconds and added, "...I think I'm due for a good spanking. It is my turn, after all. Fair is fair. "

Jill closed her eyes, barely held in the laughter, and slapped his ass for good measure, "You had to say it. You couldn't leave it alone."

"I'm a rebel."

Was he?

She looked at him for a moment and considered him. He kind of was. He was the only guy not wearing a stuffy suit. He was the only guy sporting some rocker haircut tucked into a ponytail. When she glanced down, she realized he had combat boots poking out his perfectly creased pants.

Rebel.

He really was.

Why in the world did she find that charming?

Because she was such a company man about everything, it was that simple. She followed the rules. Kennedy? He spent most of his time breaking them, ignoring them, or rewriting them.

She'd heard he was recruited after Raccoon. The details were sketchy on the why, but the side mouthing said he was making a name for himself as being top of the tier. A natural. Gifted. Someone said he was practically a genius.

It was incredible that he looked like a rock star, not a badass.

Jill set down her coffee and shook her head, "Far be it for me to stifle your rebellion then. It was really good to see you, Leon. But I should probably head back in with the talking heads."

Leon arched a brow and lifted his cup at her, "I wish I were seeing more of you sometimes, Jill, but the good news?"

"What's that?"

"I have a photographic memory."

Her eyes twinkled at him, "I heard that somewhere. Pictures are worth a thousand words sometimes."

Leon gave her a half-smile, "I could use some new ones."

Jill shrugged as she walked backward away, enjoying him, "I'll just bet there's lots of girls here that would be happy to oblige."

"Yeah? How about you?"

Jill winked at him and answered, "Can't do it. This is business, Mr. Kennedy. And I am a professional."

"Damn the man. Be a rebel with me, Jill. Rebellion feels good. Just sayin."

Jill turned away with a laugh. "And sometimes? All being a rebel gets you is trouble."

Leon leaned on the counter with his elbows behind him at his hips. He tapped the toe of his left boot and rolled his tongue around his teeth. He asked himself what it was about her that lingered in the back of his head for the past few years. On the one hand - it was the best sex he'd ever had. She'd come at him like a man in a way, all aggressive need, and disregard for the rules. She had a reputation for being a straight arrow, but she was a succubus inside a bad suit. She was beautiful, but that wasn't the whole of it because lots of women were nice to look at. It didn't usually guarantee he'd pay attention for long.

But she wasn't wearing a drop of makeup. Not a drop. She was clean, pristine, played down, and straightforward. She shouldn't have stood out as she did. But where other women tried, she didn't bother. She wasn't trying to make you look. She wasn't flashing those perfect tits or inviting you to stare at her tauntingly tasty ass. She was comfortable in her skin and clearly in command.

Was it the chase? Was that what he liked so much about her? She had signs flashing around her that clearly said HANDS OFF. Did he simply want to put his hands on?

Maybe.

Curious about it, Leon leaned away from the counter and tracked her a little through the gathering. Maybe it was a little stalkerish, but it was also what he was trained to do. He was trained to locate a target, secure it, and move in when the opportunity arose.

She paused to speak to a handful of people near the staircase. Leon sipped a little liquid courage and turned when a woman with a big smile stopped to flirt. He gave her all the smiles and the soft compliments. He was trained to do that too.

In their kind of business, it was likely that Jill was often looked at like she was either something to fuck or to protect. He was betting she counteracted that by simply taking the sex off the table. She dressed like a nun and acted like an ice queen. It kept away even the most eager of suitors. It helped tremendously that she was also good at her job.

She wasn't looking for attention - and he was tracking her around the party like a pervert planning to kidnap her.

He wasn't this guy. He kind of resented her for bringing it out of him.

Jill was in the middle of some kind of debate about the use of nuclear weapons on B.O.W.S. when he passed behind her. Testing her, his hand slid against her butt as he did it. Just a brush, simple, unobtrusive, maybe even unintentional if she wanted to see it that way.

But she stiffened.

Sadly for them both, so did he. But it wasn't his back, and it was happening as it remembered what that butt looked like out of that ugly skirt.

Annoyed, he turned left and helped himself to the first open doorway. The empty office was as sterile as the rest of the building. It was devoid of pictures and personal knick-knacks - nothing but a shiny mahogany desk and a beige chair.

Blowing an irritated breath, Leon leaned against the wall by the door. He let the thrall of muffled sound descend. He ignored the voices and all the talking. He heard the laughter. He heard the conversations about anything from bombs to baths for babies. He listened with his eyes closed and reminded himself there was nothing wrong, at all, with having a crush on a girl.

That was normal, right? Even if his life hadn't been normal since he'd driven his Jeep into a town turned into a nightmare. He never regretted covering for Claire, never, but part of him was aware that it had cost him his freedom. There was nothing else for him now but the job.

Jill was the last thing he remembered that wasn't tainted by terror and loss.

There was nothing wrong with coveting that - a little.

Nodding to himself, he started to lean away from the wall and head back to the party.

And she said, "You always the type to grope and run?"

She was joking, but she wasn't smiling.

Leon dropped the glass in his hand and let it plunk on the carpet. He grabbed her face and curled his fingers around the back of her neck to drag her forward, but he didn't need to. She gripped his tie and shoved him against the wall.

In the heels, she still had to go on tiptoe to kiss him. His fingers mussed her ponytail when he jerked her flush against him. It was such a desperate kiss that there wasn't much time to do anything but let it happen.

She tugged his ponytail out to let his hair fall around their faces so she could grip handfuls of it and bring him to her. Forceful, she met him like a hurricane hitting a tornado; where they touched, they tore down everything but each other. He wanted to rip off her clothes and get closer, but his hands were too busy filling themselves with her butt to drag her up to him.

Jill's mad desperation was matched only by his painful need. They kissed until someone called her name. Abruptly, she shoved him back against the wall and volleyed her eyes over his face. Flushed, she was disheveled and incredible. He was pretty sure he looked as bright-eyed and wild as she did.

Her hand slid against his groin and rubbed. He grabbed her face to drag her back, and the person called, "Jill!? Where the hell did you go?"

Jill's other hand slapped against his chest to shove him away again. Leon bumped the wall roughly, and she simply walked out of the room.

Panting, pulse racing, he listened to her answer, "Hey, sorry...I had this itch that needed some private scratching."

Shit. He understood that.

The nearly wild amusement trickled out of his mouth in a hoarse laugh as he bumped the back of his head against the wall. Apparently, he was leaving the grand summit with an ugly mug, a new assignment, and a pair of blue balls.

Muttering quietly, he saluted the shadows, "Nice to see you again too, Jill...shit."

Good girl, his ass. That girl? She was nothing but trouble.

Santa Marta, Columbia - 2002

He could hardly move. He was so sore. Nothing like a rousing fight with a former colleague to leave you battered, exhausted, and mostly begging for relief. Leon stared at the bottle on the table from the chair in his seaside shanty.

Painkillers.

Would they?

It seemed like they'd just masked the physical pain and opened the door to the mental. At some point in his journey, he'd missed a step. Sure, he was roped into the path, but he'd chosen to walk it. The choice was his to protect Claire on that day when the adrenaline was still thick, the battle just won, and the joy of survival thick with the regret of all those he'd left behind to save his own worthless ass.

He'd chosen the mantle of reluctant hero. He'd said yes when they'd blackmailed him with Sherry's safety. He'd done that.

He would have found his way to the fight anyway. After what he'd seen, there was no other way but to destroy Umbrella. He'd known that. So saying yes, accepting their training, becoming their sword against the shadows...that worked for him anyway. Why not?

But the horrors of it kept compounding. He'd had a panic attack nearly; the second, Amparo had begun to run red with the blood of the damned. Not again, he'd thought wildly and almost abandoned his damn mission to run for the hills. Why did the dead haunt him?

Why couldn't he just get away from it all?

Manuela was the only reason he was still alive. He knew it. He accepted it.

She'd jumped in front of him and spared him a massively ugly death.

A brave girl barely old enough to drive.

And she was somewhere now being examined and picked apart like a test subject.

The swamp of guilt was all around him. Sometimes, when he was trying to sleep, he'd picture all the faces of those he couldn't save in Raccoon. They wouldn't let him rest. He was undead, in a way, because there was no chance for him to lie down and stay down.

A painkiller would do that. It would put him down. That was the point, right? To grant oblivion to the struggling.

His hand closed around the bottle and brought it closer. He took off the cap and dumped one of the big white pills into his palm. He hesitated, shrugged, and tossed it into his mouth.

Sometimes the oblivion laced with ghosts was better than the world saturated with monsters.

As he set the bottle down on the table, he turned it over accidentally. The little white pills spilled over the file, opened, and waited there. Pictures and reports from various witnesses absorbed the blow of blessed relief.

Leon chucked and sipped some water to swallow the pill. His not aching arm drummed a finger atop the picture cocked sideways beneath three tablets. Was it fitting she had drugs on her?

She was kind of like one.

Jill Valentine stared up at him from a glossy still somewhere cold. Her hair was tucked into a puffy white hat. She had on a coat that fit snug and simply to her body. She had a communicator tucked in her ear. The photo wasn't about her. She wasn't even the focus of it. She was just in it so the photographer could snap the enormous warehouse behind her.

Why did he have the hots for her like this? It was irrational. Usually, you fucked a girl and made your peace with that. But this one...she just wormed her way in and wouldn't leave. Like a parasite?

Jesus. He worked too much. Even his sex references were bio-warfare related.

His side throbbed like a bad tooth and had him shaking his head. Blue balls or not, he needed to sleep.

There it was, officially, he was a wuss. Aching, he rose from the table and made his way to the bed. Easing down, he finally laid flat on the comforter. The phone stared at him with judgment until he picked it up and dialed a number.

After some heavy Spanish flirting and overt cajoling, he was connected to the States as the line rang.

A familiar voice greeted the other end, "Who's this?"

Fascinating thing she was, really. And he answered, "You always answer the phone like that?"

After a halting breath, she answered, "How'd you get this number?"

"...child's play."

"You stalking me?"

He laughed, hurt himself, and grunted, "Ow. Don't do that. You amuse me; I might break another rib."

Concern in her voice now, Jill answered, "You break it stalking me?"

Leon chuckled, groaned, and tried to curl on his good side, "Have mercy. Please."

To which she replied, "Never. Haven't you heard? Ruthless."

"I have indeed. What do they call you? The Master of Unfrocking?"

The silence dragged out. He finally coughed to fill it, hurt himself again, and grunted in pain. Jill filled in the silence with a smooth, "You deserved that. What a terrible way of asking me what I'm wearing. You're as bad at phone sex as you are at making jokes."

"Hey! Hey, "Good-natured and enjoying it, Leon rebutted, "Don't blame the jokes. The jokes are above reproach. The pain makes me a bit of a juvenile pervert."

Jill zinged him without so much as a second to retort, "More like a rookie one. Bum psh."

Yep. He kind of liked her. It was annoying. "I hear you have a thing for rookies."

She stopped eating whatever she'd been enjoying on her side of the phone. "...touche."

"Thank you," He managed to sound magnanimous before he ruined it with, "Now what are you wearing?"

Jill finally chucked and gave up. She leaned back on her pillows on her bed and enjoyed him. "Nothing. My air conditioning died. So I'm going commando."

Floating a little on the pain meds, Leon murmured, "...I'm gonna pretend that's true. I didn't get to spend enough time on top of you last time, Jill."

Amused, Jill teased, "Oh? I remember you being up there for a good amount of time. Don't sell yourself short, my friend."

Woozy, he returned without thinking, "Mmm. But I didn't get to see your face. I like your face. I wanna watch it when I'm inside you."

Jill froze with her sandwich halfway to her mouth again. Her heart thumped. She liked that. He had some silver on that tongue, constantly tripping itself up with lousy dialogue.

Feeling warm inside, she cooed, "Yeah? What are you doing right now? Wanna come over?"

Damnit.

There were moments when he hated being who he was. This was one of them. With a note of genuine regret, he told her, "...I would. You have no idea how much I would. But I'm on the other side of the world, I think."

Disappointed, she pouted, "Maybe not. Where are you?"

"Columbia."

"...South America?" Surprised, she laughed a little, "You're calling me from South America?"

Slurring a little as he headed to sleep, he answered, "Yup. Long mission. Longer day. Lots of pain. I just...I guess I just wanted to hear your voice."

Oh. Oh, oh oh. He was on painkillers. It was clearly making him loopy. Jill soothed him, "Get some sleep, hot shot. You'll regret this phone call in the morning. I promise you."

"I won't." He denied it, and the phone slid down his cheek as he added, "Are you wearing a skirt?"

She was still laughing as he drifted off, and Jill sat there, just for a moment, listening to him sleep. She had a sneaking suspicion the person feeling loopy tomorrow? That just might be her.