Part ten:

Recovery

Montauk, Long Island, New York -2012

The lighthouse sat like a sentry above the tiny little town. The red and white were a beacon in a dreary gray sky.

As they exited the ferry, the picture-perfect seaside village gave Jill a moment of genuine appreciation. She felt like she was looking at a painting from her dirty bed in that apartment she'd shared with her brother while their father had worked odd jobs and drank himself into oblivion.

It was the type of place she'd always thought she'd live one day with a little girl and a dog...and a man like Leon Kennedy.

He held her hand as they walked. He spoke softly, talking about his family. He greeted people as they moved like a native. They knew him here. He was a local. He was a family. He was in the bosom of something real.

Their fingers blended as he surprised the hell out of her one last time - and guided her to the bicycles chained to a post beside the post office.

Her brows shot up. His grin was white and happy. "That's how we get around here. Some of the roads are impassable by car."

With a shake of her head, Jill chuckled, "Why not? When it Rome..."

She threw her leg over the pretty blue bicycle and followed his adorable ass onto the dirt road beside the water. He was at home here, in the middle of a beautiful island, as he'd been in a big city. He was riding that bike in that pretty peacoat like his legs and butt were made for it.

He was the greatest mystery she'd ever known.

The ride was scenic and quick. The part of the island just wasn't that damn big. The house he rode up to was white, the paint peeling in a way that spoke of centuries of beauty and sea air and graced with a front porch made for seagull watching. She heard one cry as they set their bikes against the wood, and he guided her to the door.

What waited beyond that red door? A wife? A couple of kids?

He called out in some language she didn't understand as he opened the door. It took her a moment to realize it was probably Portuguese because the woman who came around the corner clearly was. She was coppery-skinned, plump, and pretty in a way that said immigrant.

Her laughter was musical as she chattered at him. He picked her up in a hug until her feet dangled.

As he set her down, she scooped back his hair from his face and was clearly teasing him about it...and then her eyes fell on Jill.

The pleasure was swift and fast. She started speaking in rapid, rolling words. She rushed forward to kiss Jill on both cheeks. She hugged her. She turned to kiss Leon again on the mouth.

And he said, almost sheepishly, "Jill...this is my mother, Fatima."

He said it with an accent as if he'd never said it any other way. Fatima was teary-eyed as she finally spoke English, "You bring me, finally, a daughter-in-law. You are a bad boy to keep me waiting all these years. Where are my bebês?"

Jill started to speak, and Leon guided his mother away with a wink at Jill. After a moment, Fatima looked disappointed but understanding. She grinned and patted his cheeks as she declared, "I am making Feijoada! You will stay for dinner!"

She spun away and disappeared into the kitchen, which wafted with wonderful smells and sounds. It was warm in the house and done in varying shades of yellow and pale blue. Jill started to ask precisely what feijoada! was, and the door beside the small red sofa in front of her opened.

It wasn't a child that walked out, but it wasn't an adult either. The grinning face was blonde and full above a pink dress. The small woman paused, blinked, and grinned. And it was apparent she had Down syndrome. She had a round face, a flat profile, a small nose, and a mouth. Her almond-shaped eyes were the same seafoam as Leon, with skin covering the inner eye.

When she spoke, it was lisping, "...oh...my...Gawd..."

Leon narrowed his eyes at her and remarked, "...I never expected to see the likes of you round these parts."

The woman pursed her lips, grinned, and tried to look serious, "...I should poke those eyes out so you'll never see again."

He laughed. She laughed. He opened his arms, and she shuffled into them to hold him. With a kind of softness she'd never seen on anyone, ever, he looked over her shoulder and announced, "Jill...this is the light of my life...my sister, Ana."

Surprised, Ana leaned back to blink at him, "Jill? She's real?"

He'd spoken of her to his sister. He'd told his family about her. Her heart shivered as Jill replied, "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Ana turned toward her. She narrowed her eyes. Jill felt like she was being x-rayed before the other woman finally announced, "She is prettier than you said, Leon."

And everyone laughed.

Jill remarked, tongue in cheek, "I think I should be insulted."

Jill watched him with Ana as the evening wore on. Through a dinner made of something wonderfully filled with vegetables and spices and pork to a game of Scrabble that he lost - and she wasn't entirely sure he didn't do it on purpose - to a trip out the back door to sit by the water on a blanket and watch the stars...she'd never have imagined this was what he'd come from.

Ana was never far from his side. They spoke softly in whispers and had his mother piping in to wonder what mischief they were up to. They were in their own world and brought her along for a ride.

Ana pointed out constellations. She talked about Hercules and how he saved so many when he rose from nothing. She spoke of her brother in the same tone. When Jill watched Leon carrying something heavy from the yard to the house for his mother, Ana remarked, "He always pretends he's not."

Curious, Jill wondered, "Not what?"

"...a hero. But he was a hero the day he was born."

Jill glanced down at her adoring face to find they were watching him. She slipped an arm around Ana's shoulders as the woman added, "He's always been, my hero. He was the baby...but he was always protecting me. He thinks I don't know."

Jill felt her heart shiver as she whispered, "Don't know what?"

"...what it cost him." Ana smiled up at Jill, "I'm slow, not stupid. He was afraid to leave me for so long. I'm glad he found you, Jill. I think you're the reason he didn't come running back. I think he knew he needed you with him first."

With a tiny sliver of something painfully like hope, she wondered, "Why?"

Looking confused, Ana tilted her head, "Why else? You're his girl."

Jill laughed and smiled at her, "I think you're his girl."

Without missing a breath, Ana replied, "I think we both are, Jill."

Jill was quiet the rest of the evening while she digested that. What good could come from this? What good would it do either of them? The life they led, the things they'd done and seen, the world they lived in...there was no place for love, romance, or commitment.

What good would it do to crave it from each other?

She was still trying to figure out who she was now. She didn't have a place in her life for him. Yet she couldn't stay away. She didn't want to. She wanted to be wherever he was for as long as they could stand it.

She wanted to be his girl. Whatever that meant.

When his mother and Ana went to bed, she found herself nervous around him in a way she'd never been. When he went outside to clean their blanket on the sand, she caught his hands as he lifted it to shake it.

In the moonlight, his hair looked white. So did hers.

Softly, she told him, "I was wrong before."

He paused, considering that, "...about what?"

Jill shook her head, "I was wrong. When you told me you loved me...I said I had to think about it. I was afraid. I was stupid. I was wrong. I don't want to think about it. I just want to feel it. I was numb for so fucking long. I just want to feel it. I'm sorry I panicked. I'm even more sorry I kept you away when you just wanted to help me. I don't know how to accept help...worse than that...I don't want to see what I was when I look at you."

Surprised, his brows winged up, "...what you were? When you were with me?"

She nodded. Her hands curled over his wrists to hold them. "I was determined once and good and true. It's trite and cliche and stupid...but I was. I was a woman with a purpose to change the world...what am I now? A weapon that was broken when it was no longer of use anymore. I'd do anything to keep you remembering me the way I was."

Softly, he wondered, "The way you were?"

"Young. Beautiful. Strong."

His head tilted as he asked, "...and what are you now?"

Without missing a beat, she told him, "Empty."

He shook his head. His wrists rolled in her hands to grip her underarms and tug her forward. She let him, shifting her body in against his until they were nose to nose as he told her, "Not empty, Jill, wounded. I can't fix you; I'm not a miracle worker, but sometimes being with someone makes it just a little easier to live with the pain."

She almost desperately whispered, "...you could have someone unspoiled, someone good..someone soft and hopeful. If I was a better person, I'd have stayed away to let you find that."

Leon shook his head no and returned, "I don't want someone hopeful, Jill; I just want you. I'll take you scary and damaged. I'll take you broken and hurting. I'll take you scared and struggling. I'll take you any way I can get you. How far you let me in...that's up to you. But I'm not going anywhere."

To make a liar out of him, his mother poked her head out the door and informed them, "Leon...you have a call. He says he is your boss."

Leon let go of Jill as his mother disappeared back into the house. He started to move around her to answer the call, and she caught the front of his jacket and turned him back to her. His hands lifted and caught her face to turn it up.

It was a good kiss. It was possibly the first of its kind in a way. It was the first time she dropped her guard enough to be vulnerable with him. Urgently, she told him, "Don't go. Ok? Don't go."

His hand slid down her arm to catch hers. He twined their fingers as he picked up the phone from the railing where his mother had left it. He remarked, "I'm on furlough. I'm not leaving."

His face said otherwise. Whatever the call was, it wasn't something he could skirt. He argued, he tried, but the anger on him was legion when he hung up. Without a word, he turned toward her.

Jill shook her head, feeling a shiver. Maybe it was a sign. It was a sign to slow down. She was trying to make up for lost time. She was trying to fuse herself with him when she knew it was a mistake.

She let go of his hand, "It's ok. You don't have to say it. You have to go. It's alright."

When she tried to back off, Leon trapped her against the railing. He caught her face again and told her, "I will come back here. Stay here. Right here...and wait for me. Stay."

Her eyes twinkled as Jill mused, "Right here? On the porch? What if I have to pee?"

When he didn't smile back, Jill remarked, "Leon, I can't. Here? With your family? How long will you be gone?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. A few days. A week. Hard to say."

Jill laughed dryly, "I can't stay here in your family's house for a week, Leon. That's weird."

He let go of her and shook his head, "Not weird, but I get it. I do. So you don't have to stay right here, not exactly. I have a house down the water about half a mile. I think-I think Ana would benefit from knowing you, Jill. I'd like for her to get the chance."

Jesus.

What kind of bitch would say no to that?

After a handful of moments, she finally nodded. "...ok. I'll stay." He had no idea what that cost her. It was the first real-time she'd ever done something like that for someone else.

The bad news about his job was that there was no time to make love or something to say goodbye. The helicopter showed up about fifteen minutes after the phone call. Apparently, Uncle Sam could move like lightning when he wanted.

Just like that - he was gone.

She stayed the first night with his family at their request. Ana was an excellent companion. She never, even for a second, let Jill feel like a hindrance. Fatima plied her with food until she could hardly stand it.

In the morning, Ana rode bikes with her down the shore to Leon's house.

Whatever she'd expected, it wasn't what she found. She'd thought...what? That he'd have a mansion overlooking the trembling toss of the sea? Maybe she'd underestimated his distaste for mansions. Hell, did any of them like them anymore?

It was a cape cod-style bungalow with a copper roof. The porch was so wonderfully hand carved. She paused, considered, and Ana answered the question she hadn't even asked, "He built it...with my father...right after he graduated from high school."

Jesus.

He was a hero, a badass, a carpenter, and a humble family man. There was no facet the same in Leon Kennedy. You could stare at his face until you went blind, curl up on his porch until you took root, and never really know him.

A perpetual mystery for all time.

At what point would she acknowledge that she was in love with him? It wasn't hard. It wasn't. It was just saying it out loud and accepting it. Chris was the only man in the world she'd ever said I love you too. And that wasn't the same at all.

Chris was her best friend in the whole world.

And she'd never, not once, looked at him and felt like she could spend the rest of her life naked on top of him.

God knew what her life might have been if she had.

They crossed up the porch and stepped into the house, and here, again, she saw pieces of Leon that Chris would have never left behind. Chris didn't personalize. He left things Spartan and easy and straightforward. In a way, Jill was exactly the same. It's why they made good partners and friends - less mess, less attachment, less trouble.

There were things that said personal all over the tiny house. The guest bedroom was done in shades of seawater and sunshine. It was soft and feminine somehow and likely decorated by his sister. The other, the master, was all him.

A Star Wars alarm clock was on a hand-painted dresser in pale white. She touched it, and Darth Vader grumbled at her to wake up. An apron was slung over the chair of a small desk that said May the Forks Be With You - a pun. Of course, it was a pun. He had a legendary sense of humor.

The bedspread was nautical blue and white with a ship steering wheel in pretty brown slapped on the center. The pillows fluffy and encased in bright white cases. The walls were exposed wood and met on the ceiling in pretty naked beam work.

A series of things greeted her eye on the dresser. An old pocket watch with the face open to show the tick of a little second hand. There was an inscription in Portuguese on the open lid. A pocket full of change was gathered next to a faded photograph. She picked it up to find all the smiling faces of his family at what was likely a reunion.

Smiling gently, she set it down. The drawer beside her was slightly ajar, so she wiggled it open. Socks, underwear, an adorable little case with gold reading glasses, the faded old t-shirt he'd been wearing the day she met him, and the edge of something tucked beneath the socks.

Jill tugged it free, figuring it was a booby magazine and smiling about it.

It wasn't. It wasn't even close.

It was a picture of her on the balcony of the clock tower in Raccoon City. She was in mid-life, in profile, and dazzled by the bright sun. She looked impossibly happy. She looked young and optimistic and hopeful.

The picture was faded in a way that said he'd had it a loooong time. He was a man who didn't throw away shirts...or old photographs of girls who were dead and gone.

She was still holding it when Ana joined her. "Oh, you found it."

Jill looked up at her as she walked over. The big smile on her face was contagious as Jill asked, "...you know about it?"

"Oh, yes. I found it one day when I did his laundry. He didn't try to pretend. He just...told me about you."

Jill sat down on the edge of the bed and shook her head, "...what did he say?"

Ana, grinning, joined her. "That he'd never met anyone in the world like you. You were open and honest and real." Ana patted her knee, "Leon...he appreciates real, I think. It's good for him."

Real.

Was she?

She didn't even really know who she was anymore.

The girl in the photo had taken an eager-faced rookie home and fucked him without boundaries, fears, or regrets. The one sitting on his bed was nothing but all of those things. Wesker hadn't just stolen her life; he'd stolen her hope. There was more than one way to die.

She was rotting from the inside, the same as any zombie.

Something about being in Leon's house, with his sister, near his things and looking at a photo of the girl she used to be made it just a little easier to breathe.

Somehow, he'd known she needed them almost as much as he needed her.

Jill tucked the photo back in the drawer and rose with determination. She offered a hand to Ana to help her stand and informed her, "Then what do you say we start making something real for him to come home to?"

And Ana smiled as bright as the sun beyond the beautiful windows.

Her phone rang in the middle of the night about a week later. She rolled over on the bed in the spare room to answer it.

Without preamble, Chris told her, "...we got news from the ESR, Jill. They've pulled all the support in the region."

It wasn't unexpected. The unstable civil war in the Eastern Slav Republic was a constant headache for Russian and American forces that attempted to prevent a coup for power there. With the infusion of bio-weapons, the tiny nation was now overrun. The best thing for everyone was to pull out and let them finish each other off before the area was sanitized.

Groggily, she replied, "Ok. Good. You're safe?"

Chris returned, "I'm fine. I'm not there. I'm in Edonia attempting to quell an uprising."

"Good."

"No...Jill, listen...it's not good."

She blinked hazily at the clock: 3 a.m. Nothing good ever happened after 3 a.m. "What is it, Chris? Quit with the foreplay and tell me."

He didn't say anything she'd been expecting. He fractured her world, "Kennedy was there on orders. He was in the hot zone. They tried to pull him, and he refused. He went A.W.O.L. to finish the mission. Nobody has heard anything out of him for eighteen hours. The last satellite trail we had on him...it lost him in an underground parking lot...facing off against at least thirty lickers."

Jill said nothing. She was afraid she couldn't breathe.

So Chris went on, "Heat signatures saw him go down, Jill. After that...we can't tell what happened. They converged on him...they dispersed...and his signature was gone."

He was being so careful. He wasn't saying it outright. He needed to say it. She needed to hear it. So she said it herself, "...he's dead."

Chris, softly, answered, "...yeah. Reports are? He was K.I.A."

Killed in action - a stupid way of saying it. A stupid, clinical, horrible way to talk about a man like that being ripped apart. His body torn limb from limb. His face split open and sucked dry by monsters.

There'd be nothing left of him. Decimated.

Like her heart.

Jill finally whispered, "Thank you for telling me. Stay safe, Chris."

"Kennedy was a good man, Jill; I'm so-"

She hung up. She couldn't hear it. She didn't want to hear it. She couldn't. Could not. Didn't want to. If she heard it, it might be real. She wasn't ready for it to be real. She couldn't imagine telling his family. She rolled over on the bed and stared at the moonlight out the window.

When that wasn't enough, she rose and went into his room. She pulled the faded gray t-shirt from the drawer and put it on her naked body. She climbed into his bed. She took his pillow to hold it against her.

She was still staring out the window when the sun came up.

The first morning of a world without Leon Kennedy.