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

Love and Other Drugs

Part Nine:

Amends

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

2009

"The depth of her rage is a terrible thing. I've never seen someone so consumed with it before...Albert Wesker did a real number on her."

Standing in the quiet observatory, Chris Redfield watched the orderlies restrain Jill for the fifth time since they'd started trying to access her memories. With a calm face but a rapidly aching heart, he realized she might not be salvageable. She might be beyond recovery.

Each morning she awoke in a rage, screaming and fighting the shadows. Each night she went to sleep with her back in the corner of the small room and her knees to her chest. It was the only place she could see the whole room without being exposed: a defense mechanism, a survival instinct, a traumatized survivor's response to terror and attack.

She attacked when she felt cornered. She was swift, skilled, and deadly. She didn't need a weapon to be one herself. Whatever training she'd undergone, she was now the deadliest thing he'd ever seen on two legs. The scars on her chest were a tribute to the horror she'd been enslaved to commit.

Jill occasionally let him in to see her. It was rare, but she relented from time to time. When he did, she was careful to stand far away. She tried to tell him what she could to help him shut down anything related to what she'd seen or done. Wesker had tentacles that stretched across the globe. He had pockets of resistance fighters set to distribute his madness even in the event of his demise.

She knew enough to help them put a stop to three potential hot spots before they'd been exposed. Even with Wesker dead, the world wouldn't survive the fallout if Uroboros were released. Jill made sure they knew everything she could process. She submitted to hypnosis to help uncover the rest. But Wesker had put fail-safes in place to stop her access.

She became aggressive when she tread too close to memories he wanted buried. Her mouth, hands, and body reacted in a way that told of continuous, terrible, tortuous brainwashing.

She finally asked to be restrained while the hypnosis occurred, but the restraints panicked her. It took a sedative to calm her enough to get her to relent. As she floated, she wept, the subconscious trauma of a woman who'd done unspeakable things. She talked about children and blood. She talked about villages that she'd leveled. She spoke of watching the eyes of BSAA agents she'd disposed of at his behest.

She was heavily traumatized. Neither she nor Chris was convinced that she would be able to come back from it.

At one point, she fled. She was gone for a whole night and most of the morning...and she returned in the care of Leon Kennedy. It didn't take a bloodhound to sniff out why he'd been so determined and dogged about her survival. He all but stank of love for her.

The moment she was back in the care of her handlers, she refused him entry to see her.

Surprised, Chris tried to find out why, but she refused to speak of it. She said only she was protecting him like she was protecting them all, and if he pushed it, she'd also block Chris from seeing her.

So he stopped pushing for Kennedy to be allowed to see her. He watched the other man hang outside the compound, determined and tenacious, for months. And then, one day, he was gone.

When Jill found out he'd stopped hanging around, she'd retreated to her room for three days. She emerged more determined than ever to get better. A curious thing to know his leaving had someone prompted her to push harder than she ever had to recover.

Apparently, sometimes, love could be the thing that saved you after all.

St. Louis, Missouri - 2011

Downtown Saint Louis was known for a handful of things - The Arch, otherwise known as the Gateway to the West, where people would cross from one part of the country to the other. The enormous structure towered above a sprawling metropolis..with one of the highest crime rates in the U.S.A.

Anheuser-Busch - the biggest distributed of beer on American soil.

And sports. While the Cardinals dominated most of the significant attention, the Blues remained why he returned. The need to watch the ice swirl with sticks and sweat was almost addictive.

In the private box provided by the government, he watched them slap and score while the Ottawa Senators did their best to defend. It was rapidly becoming a fight of the ages. It wouldn't have been more entertaining if Agent Smith and Neo popped out of the walls around them to do battle themselves.

He tried to focus on it, he did, but he was distracted by the last time he'd sat here and couldn't concentrate. Jill. Her name in his head rang like a bell.

He hadn't seen her since her return to recovery. A few days after she'd been readmitted, he'd tried. He'd gone to the hospital and been stonewalled at the front gate. He could see her in the courtyard beyond the heavy grating.

But the cold-eyed guards weren't budging.

He'd said, "You know I can take you both out and go anyway, right?"

They'd looked less than impressed, and one had returned, "Just orders, sir. Not personal. She's to have no visitors."

Annoyed, he'd spat, "Whose orders? Hers?"

And the other one had replied, "Captain Redfield, sir. She's in debriefing and recovery. She needs solitude."

Leon told them with a snarl, "She's had enough fucking solitude! Go and find him, now, or we find out how fucking tough you really are."

One left the other to guard the gate as Leon stepped aside to catch glimpses of her in that white hospital garb that looked like a gi without a belt. To get her attention, he'd called her name. She couldn't seem to hear him anyway.

And Redfield had come out of the gates.

They'd stood in the dying sun-facing each other as Leon had demanded entrance. To this, Redfield had denied, "No. She doesn't need the drama, Leon. Not now. She needs peace and the chance to recover herself. She needs therapy and patience, and time. If she asks to see you, I'll let you know."

She'd never ask. They both knew that. Leon shook his head, surprised to find he was almost pleading, "I can help her. Let me in. Let me help her."

Redfield had looked cold and unyielding when he'd told him, "No. Don't come back. Don't push the issue. I'll have you forcibly thrown off the premises. When she's ready, she'll come find you."

He wasn't sure anymore why he said it. Maybe Redfield needed to know. Maybe it would change nothing, but he'd said it anyway, "...I love her."

And there'd been a flash of sympathy on Redfield's face. Just a flicker. There - gone. He'd taken a deep breath and answered, with feeling, "I know. My guess is she knows too. Why do you think she's hiding?"

Leon had closed his eyes to gather himself. With more sympathy, Redfield had told him, "Go home, Leon. Go home. It's all you can do here. We both know what you did to help find her. She's safe. She's here. Let her heal in her own way...and go home."

Each had stood in the bloody light of the end of the day with their jaws set, but it was Leon that relented. If she needed this, if he were right, it would only hurt her to make a scene. So she'd backed off.

He'd gone home.

He kept on trying. They kept on stopping him. Eventually, he stopped trying.

She'd never called.

Two years. He'd waited that first year out by taking missions that might have scared a lesser agent. He'd killed and maimed and broken apart the pockets of loyalists still clinging to a future filled with fear, and he hadn't thought of her for more than a handful of minutes every day.

With the beer halfway to his mouth, Leon shook his head. Liar. He was a liar. He'd thought of her every day. At the end of it, when he was alone and settled in his sheets to sleep, he'd thought of her.

At first, he'd attempted to bury her under other women. A waitress, a nurse, a receptionist, a fellow agent, a former beauty queen - he'd had his fair share of female faces popping in and out of his bed. Some more beautiful than Jill, some more simple, some more deserving of his affection. No lie there. He could marry one and have a family.

He'd come across Ada once a few nights before. He'd shared a drink, some intelligence, and two orgasms with her in the Hilton by the ballpark. He'd woken up to find she'd stolen his PDA and left a little note with a kiss.

She was undoubtedly bad for him. She was definitely more complicated than Jill. In a way, she was even more intriguing.

Why was he still hung up on her? He could ditch Jill at any point and move on with his life.

As the shink and swish of ice filled the cold air, he called himself a liar for the second time that night. He knew why he was hung up on Jill. He'd spent a lifetime now denying that she was anything but the best sex he'd ever had.

It wasn't because she was a goddess. It wasn't because she was the most beautiful or the best fit or the most flattering. It wasn't that simple. It had never been. When he was with her, he wasn't a hero with a lifetime of battles behind him. He wasn't a teacher in a lecture hall guiding the next wave of warriors to the fight. He wasn't a legend. He wasn't even a soldier.

He was just a man. He remembered what it was like to be just Leon. Just a kid with a ponytail in a city looking to make the world a little safer. Jill reminded him that under it all, at the bottom, he was still human.

He'd probably been in love with her that first time he'd touched her. Casual, tawdry, and filthy as it was...he was still a good guy under the shell of a man out for nothing more than a good time. He still wanted someone to miss him when he was gone, mourn him if he died, and look at him with something other than pleasure at being fucked good and hard.

Touching Jill electrified him. It was like a defibrillator against his chest, sending electrical currents into his cold, dead heart. He wanted to feel it all the time. In the absence of it, like a junkie, he sat around craving it.

And he tried to trade one high for another.

After the game, he found himself wandering down on the Landing beside the mighty Mississippi. The semi-darkness cast shadows over the glistening and well-lit arch. He could hear music from the bars on the walk and laughter. He could smell the familiar scent of meat on an open flame. He lit a cigarette, and the orange light flickered over his tired face.

The heavy brown wool peacoat he wore kept the chill at bay. The navy-colored scarf circling his neck in the open collar tossed color into the dull. He'd forgone the hat, but it didn't match the outfit anyway, so he was better off without it.

The curl of smoke slid around his ear as he turned down the alley beside a bar to head toward the pier beside the arch. There was a soft skitter of rocks and the bump of a gun into his lower back. Leon let out a snort into the tense air, "You're robbing the wrong person, asshole. I don't have anything worth stealing."

Beside the shell of his left ear, a voice returned, "I think we'll agree to disagree on that."

The gun relented and moved away, and he turned. Jill stood there with a cell phone in her hand and no weapon in sight. She was in a soft blue coat the color of a robin's egg. Her long, long, long hair was around her shoulders and topped by a pretty white sock hat that slouched cutely to one side. The soft ring of fur on her hood hugged around her face.

He blew out a smoke ring and shook his head with a snide sound of laughter, "I think I'd prefer being robbed."

Her lips turned up into a smile. "Don't be petty."

Leon sighed and turned back to start walking. Jill fell into step beside him. She pursed her lips around a small smile, "Mad at me, are you?"

He rolled his eyes, "Sure. Take a minute and flatter yourself."

She chuckled as they stepped onto the pier, and the first swell of cold river airbrushed over them. Jill shivered, and Leon almost put an arm around her shoulders out of habit. Annoyed at the impulse, he flicked aside the cigarette and put his hands into the pockets on his coat instead.

They stood looking out at the barges and the city's twinkling lights.

Jill finally said when the silence dragged on, "I heard you've been spending time with Annabelle Wallace in Field Ops."

Leon scoffed and took a deep breath, "What do you want here, Jill? You haven't said a word to me in almost eighteen months. You wanna pick up where we left off?"

Without missing a beat, she replied, "Yes."

The sheer surprise alone had him turning his head from the river view to her face. She was watching him so calmly. The blonde hair suited her in a way you didn't expect. He'd heard that the cryostasis had sapped her melanin, leaving her pale and flawless. She'd never tan; she'd never wrinkle; she'd never go gray. It had retarded the aging process to the point she might always look close to what she did now.

Would she still be young and beautiful when he was old and gray?

He was three years her junior, but she looked timeless. He scanned her face with a shake of his, "...no."

He started to move past her, and she reached out a hand. He hated the fact that they both felt it the moment her fingers curled into his coat to stop him. She brought him up short with her following words, "I couldn't-I couldn't, Leon. Not then. I couldn't."

Frustrated, he studied her face with his brow furrowed. And he was betting his brow was wrinkled. Hers? Smooth. "What the hell does that even mean, Jill? What am I supposed to do with that?"

She turned him toward her, and he let her. Her hands petted down the front of the soft wool. She shook her head and closed her eyes with her face bowed before speaking, "I knew you'd let me use you up. I knew you'd let me hurt you if I needed it. I knew I'd drag you down with me if I didn't cut you loose. I couldn't be what you needed. I couldn't even be what I needed. I was too fucked up for that."

With a trickle of sympathy, he lifted his hand out of his pocket and cupped her chin. Lifting it so they could look at each other, he finally said, "I'm not something you use and toss aside, Jill. I can handle myself. Whatever ugly dark is all over you, I can handle that too. You didn't cut me off to spare me; you cut me off because the thought of me seeing you - naked, exposed, and broken- it scared you to death."

Her face flickered with pain. She shrugged a single shoulder, "So what? Is that so bad? I'd spent so long without control of myself, my world, my actions. I needed to just...reboot. I needed to decompress and rebuild. I couldn't do that, worried I was losing parts of myself to you too. I had nothing left to give. Nothing. And you deserved more than nothing."

His other hand shifted. It was swift. It gripped into the back of her hair and made her gasp. He angled her face up to him with all that hair tangled around his fingers. Softly, he gritted between teeth, "I think I fucking know what I can handle, Jill. I don't need you to protect me. Ever."

Quietly, she whispered, "I didn't say what you could handle, Leon. I said what you deserved."

He didn't let go of her hair, but he told her, "...it's too late-I've moved on."

And she returned, "... then why can't you just let go?"

Damn her.

He didn't have the answer.

She went to her tiptoes to kiss him, eyes opening and holding. He didn't help her, but he didn't stop her either. She traced her tongue along the seam of his lips, and he opened his mouth to her.

He just wasn't enough of a saint to stay still while she kissed him. The second time her tongue slid into his mouth, he sucked it. The hand in her hair tightened, and his other one went under her coat to cup her ass. He dragged her close, and she grappled at the buttons of his peacoat to get inside and touch him.

The warm touch of the thermal he wore didn't stop her from feeling the heavy tattoo of his heart. He pressed her back against the wooden post beside the pier, and her mouth broke from him with a gasp.

Before he could kiss her again, she commanded, "...look at me."

His hand slid down her belly under her coat. It skimmed over her jeans, and he palmed the heavy denim to rub at her beneath it. She made a slight sound and urged, again, "Leon, look at me."

And so he did. He opened his eyes to look at her face as he rubbed at her obscenely. Jill caught his hand to still him. She shivered and whispered hoarsely, "...you have to forgive me, Leon."

Surprised, he stopped rubbing at her. She looked so desperate. She looked so sad. His eyes swept her features. He dipped his mouth to kiss her and watch the pleasure on her shivering lids. Quietly, after a moment, he told her, "...I forgive you."

Did he? He wasn't even angry at her. Not really. He'd been concerned about her, sure, but never angry. He knew she'd been cutting him off. He knew why. He just wished she'd talk to him about what had happened to her so he could help her deal with it.

His hands shifted off her body. They tucked under her coat. Hers echoed him until they were standing in the cold, hugging. Her nose pressed into his neck. She closed her eyes.

Jill whispered, "You sleeping with Annabelle Wallace?"

Leon turned his nose into her hair. He took a deep breath. The scent of her made his balls tight. Forgive her? He was starting to think he was a little obsessed with her. He couldn't even picture Annabelle's face or anyone else. He hadn't even pictured them when he'd been fucking them. So he returned, "...not anymore."

And they both stood in the cold, just holding on.

After a long moment, his coat started vibrating. Ignoring it, he tucked a kiss behind her ear. Jill shifted her head. She nuzzled across his face until they could kiss each other. Soft somehow, almost gentle. Her fingers flicked at buttons to open it, and she tucked herself inside his coat against his body.

He closed it around both of them and kept on kissing her. Stupid, maybe, because she was still wounded. But he didn't care about that. Something about him made her feel safe and secure and almost desperate.

She didn't look at him like he was something there to fuck her and forget her. She looked at him like he was something there to heal her.

Her arms slid around his waist, and she tucked her hands up under his thermal shirt as she kissed across his neck. He cupped her face and tilted his head back to let her lips move over his jaw. Against his skin, she murmured, "You wanna come back to my place and rape me?"

He started to laugh and agree. As if the answer was ever no? And his jacket buzzed again.

Jill leaned back to look at him, "...you wanna answer that?"

In answer, he plucked the phone from his pocket and tossed it in a spinning arc into the mighty Mississippi.

Jill mused with a twitch of a smile, "What if that was a mission to save the world?"

He tugged her close again to hold her and answered, "The world can wait. I wanna take you somewhere I've never taken anyone else."

Her mouth against the soft space behind his ear, she murmured, "Where? In the butt?"

His soft laughter healed something in both of them. With his cheek on her hair, he replied, "Would you say yes to that?"

Jill chuckled against his skin, but she didn't say no. Amused, he shook his head and finally said, "But no...home. Will you come home with me, Jill Valentine?"

There was no way in the world she'd ever say no.