Wildfire:

Chapter Three:

The Executioner

She came to visit him in the infirmary. It was cold and cool. Leon lay on his side, watching the shadows beyond the bed. Krauser lay in a bed three feet away, staring at the ceiling with one good eye.

The other would heal, they warned, but it wouldn't ever be the same. Leon had fucked him up. His hubris had nearly gotten him killed. Leon's need for revenge had done the same.

Jill crouched beside the bed and urged, "Leon?"

His gaze kept staring into the dark. She touched his arm, and he murmured, "Why are we here, Jill? Is it worth it? Is it?"

Jill cleared her dry throat, swallowing tears. "We didn't have a choice. You know that."

He finally turned his gaze to her. "There's always a choice."

She nodded, conceding that. "Sure. A shit steak or a turd sandwich is not much of a choice. Both stink. But you gotta eat, am I right?"

His eyes teared as his mouth twitched with a small smile. That was good. If he could smile, he'd probably be ok.

Probably.

Leon blew out a shaky breath. "...fuck."

"I know."

"He deserved better than that."

"I know," she agreed again, lost for words.

"I'm gonna fucking kill Jack Krauser. I'm gonna get good enough and put him in the goddamn ground. I swear to god."

Jill kept her hand on his arm. "I believe you." And she did. She didn't think she'd ever believed anything more.

In his bed, Krauser answered that threat. "Everybody dies, rookie. Everybody. The only fucking thing you can control is what you do while you're alive. So get good. Get up. Get back into the fight. If killing me is what motivates you, embrace it. But remember this - it doesn't fucking matter what you're fighting for, just that you never stop fighting."

It was odd to hate him and simultaneously agree with him too. That was the power of Jack Krauser. He was a hulking son of a bitch, but he was a devoted one. He believed in the fight he was preparing them for. He was loyal to those he served. But he was a wild dog - it could pretend to be your best friend when it suited, right before it ripped your goddamn throat out.

Leon warned her in a stern voice. "If I ever end up like him, I'm already lost. Promise me you'll finish me off if that happens."

Jill urged softly. "I won't," when he turned his eyes back to her face, she added, "I won't. Because you won't get lost, Leon. You can't. And if you do? I will find you because that's what you do for friends. And that? That's exactly what I'm fighting for."

His stern gaze softened. He flipped his hand over, and she laid hers in it. They gripped, palm to palm. She held his hand until the pain meds took him under.

And she was still there holding it in the morning when he woke.

Eventually - a machine is oiled. It's prepared. And it's put out into the world to fulfill its purpose.

Those sent into that camp to serve the government?

To kill.

Most people's dedication to the cause came with the drive to be a hero. Leon and Jill's came from blackmail. It came from manipulation. And it came from the power that poured into them to break free of the chains that had bound them. They were more connected than they knew. A handful of minutes spent together over a hundred days of training didn't let them see it in each other. It didn't let them even understand the roots that bound them to each other.

Jill was utilized primarily as a support pawn - sent to guide and back up others. She paired well and played well with others. Leon didn't. He was a lone wolf, his power coming from solitude and almost inhuman reflexes. He was sent out as a weapon, a death-dealing knife in the dark that they sent in when they wanted it quick, quiet, and without a trace.

They shared one singular purpose in all of it: They were both going to scrub the T-Virus from the face of the Earth. And the cost? It would never be too high.

They tried to make puppets from the survivors of that fateful night. But puppets had strings binding them to their masters, making them dance. It should have been simple enough - two instruments, forced onto the stage, performing for the show. It wasn't.

Because no one could anticipate what would happen when they stopped dancing...and decided to fight back.

The morning they finished training, Jill hurried through the tunnels trying to find him. She wanted to say goodbye. It was important she did. It mattered. And nothing much mattered in her life anymore.

She caught a glimpse of him being loaded onto one of the buses. She ran toward it and called, "Hey! Hey! Rookie! Wait!"

He stuck his head out the window as she jogged behind the bus. He tried to get them to stop it, but they didn't care. Why would they? The bus continued, and Leon said, "I will find you!"

Jill ran out of steam as the bus picked up speed. She stopped, and he called again, "Did you hear me, Jill? I will find you!"

As the bus rounded a corner, she panted quietly and almost begged, "...come back."

But she was alone again. Alone - without anyone in the world to miss her.

It was challenging to find each other after the camp. The training tossed them into the wind. It left them little time to connect. A message here, a letter there, a note left on a cooler at HQ. It always said something similar: I was here, or I will find you. At one point, Jill forgot what he looked like. It was easiest enough to do under the weight and rapidity of their respective missions.

She heard rumors he was a goddamn machine. He killed and left nothing behind. And he saved who he could. Whatever he'd been before, he tried to hold onto pieces of that in what he became.

She tried to call Chris upon her release from training, but the number she had for him was disconnected. The last she'd known, he'd been heading to Europe to hunt down leads on Umbrella. She hoped he was still there, safe and with Claire. Claire was long gone from her college. When Jill checked to see if she was still there, she was informed that Claire had left in the second semester to head to Raccoon and check on her missing brother.

Both Redfields were in the wind.

With the few familiar faces she'd known lost to her, Jill threw herself into the job. Of course, she wasn't given a choice, but she still made the best of what she was given. Because she simply didn't have it in her to fail.

Ada Wong was being held as a valuable informant. She refused to talk to anyone but Jill. When she returned from training, they sent her in weekly to meet with the former spy who sang for her supper and to keep her in an isolated cell away from other inmates.

It wasn't freedom but better than Genpop for the traitor. It meant Wong got her own room and her own entertainment without the risk of incursion by other prisoners. A pretty cushy gig, implying she was a wealth of intel for the government.

Jill sat outside the plexiglass cell where the spy was kept, eyeing her inside her gilded prison - a white tiger trapped behind glass. Ada's hair was longer now, sweeping her neck as she sat in the ugly orange jumpsuit, making it look chic. Without a stitch of makeup, she was still gorgeous.

She flipped through the little book of poems on her lap and decided, "I want a television."

Jill rolled her eyes, "Sure. Betray the government, get cable on the taxpayer's dime - makes sense to me."

Wong smirked. "Never hurts to ask."

"Read some more books; make Hannibal Lecter look like a dumbass. What else do you have to do?"

Wong sighed heavily. "I assume you're here about the Sacred Snakes."

Jill shrugged. "I'm just the middle man. They said go, and here I am. You wanna tell me why you won't talk to anyone else?"

Ada tapped her unpainted nails on her thigh. "I don't like men," she remarked conversationally, "I've fucked them. I've worked for them. I've spent a lifetime working against their hold on the world. But I hate them."

She set down the book of poems on her bed and pulled a chair to face Jill directly on the other side of the glass. "They're stupid, you see, men," Ada continued with a dramatic sigh, "they think with their dicks and their guns. One cock, another cock - no difference."

Jill snorted. "So, what is this? Female solidarity?"

Ada shrugged. "I think you're different. But most of us are. Sure, we think with our hearts as we're emotional creatures at the core - or so the media tells us. But you.." Ada tilted her head, "you think like me. You operate on purpose instead of passion. I like that."

Ada leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. "You'd have never taken me if I wasn't wounded that day."

Jill shrugged. "Worked in my favor, right? And I promise you...I could take you now."

Ada laughed. "Maybe. I hear the training is something for this life you're about to lead," Ada studied Jill, "I will work with you, only you, and only when rewarded. You want something; you give something - those are my rules."

"I look like I got the authority to bribe you?"

Ada smiled sweetly. "You don't. But those cocks above you do. You give, you get - that's how this works."

Jill considered her and shrugged. "Why not? Cable, right?"

"Yes," Ada grinned like the Cheshire Cat, "Cable, with news access."

"Why not?" Jill laughed, "Now tell me what I want to know."

Ada folded her hands between her knees where her elbows rested. "The Sacred Snakes is an off-chute of the Hidalgo Cartel. The purebred Zealots won't see reason or be bribed out of their bad business. They slaughtered their way to rule the pack in their area easily enough. They staged a coup and took over law enforcement in the surrounding villages. The Communist guerilla forces keep threatening them, but I think that's why you're here."

Jill arched a brow.

Ada added, "Javier started ensuring the guerrillas couldn't overtake him."

"By...?"

"Dealing in B.O.W.S. What else?" Ada shrugged, "It's good business. Smart. But it's stupid as hell when you can't control it. The project, colloquially dubbed "CODE: REMNANTS," required the abduction of humans for test subjects and the trafficking of slaves."

Jill urged, "He was taking villagers to turn into weapons."

Ada nodded. "Naturally, you can't amass a bunch of people without blowback. I'm guessing he's got most of South America calling for his overthrow."

"What does that have to do with the US?"

Ada rolled her eyes. "What doesn't it have to do with U.S. interests? You think they want B.O.W.S. in their backyard? Who will be the first to buy them from him if he goes more than local? Venezuela, for starters, and by extension, anyone else who wants to see the end of the tyrant over the border. So, I'm supposed to tell you where to find him."

"Do you know?"

"Of course I do," Ada gave her a look like she was adorable and a little slow, "Now...about that cable?"

Ten minutes later, Ada had a television outside her glass cell playing the news. She watched it and sighed with regret. "It's amazing how much you miss the world's stupidity." She leaned on the glass and lamented whimsically, "What I wouldn't give for a latte. I had a penthouse once in Paris, and now I'm living here in this hovel like a rat. What price pride? I should have removed that sample instead of sticking around to treat my wounds. Instead, here I sit, in cheap polyester, looking like a reject from a bad prison porno."

Jill tapped her wrist. "Hey, Julia Roberts, if you're done with your one-woman show, I've got places to be here."

Ada laughed lightly. "You want to head to Amparo. It's overrun, but you'll get in easily enough. Though, don't go alone. A woman, there is nothing but a target. They'll snatch you up, lock you away, and breed you like a mare. Bring some penises for cover - the meaner, the better."

"You think I need a bodyguard?"

Ada rolled her eyes again. "You weigh what? A buck twenty? Get some muscle, Jill. Make sure it's intimidating. You don't want to look like a slave to these people, trust me."

Jill rose from her chair. "Thanks. Amparo...where's that?"

"Where else?" Ada cooed, "The heart of cartel country." She waggled her fingers at the brunette, "Best of luck, darling. Don't let your guard down...I'd hate for you to know what the inside of a cartel prison looks like."

"What?" Jill mused, "Worse than this?"

Ada gave her a droll look. "This is a Hilton, doll face, a gift. Trust me."

"You been in one?"

Ada dropped the act again and met her eyes. The spies' were dead and cold, but under it was a fine layer of old rage. "There's nowhere I haven't been."

"How'd you get out?"

Ada quirked her mouth. "How else? I fucked my way free. It's a skill I acquired young and used to break free of the chains that bound me."

Jill blinked. She felt a shiver of something like sympathy and pushed it away. "Was it worth it?"

Ada kept that cold dead stare on her. "That's a story for another time. Survive this, come back, and I'll answer."

Jill tilted her head. "Why?"

Ada shrugged. "Because when you come back, you'll understand."

"Understand what?"

Ada turned her chair toward the television and answered, "What it means to be a woman in a world filled with men who'd rather fuck you than fight beside you."

Jill started heading out, and Ada called again, "You'll never be their equal, Jill. The best you can hope for is being their sidekick. Use them how they use you, and keep your eye on what matters."

Jill turned back to look at her, pacing backward. "Which is?"

Ada held her eyes and returned. "Power. Fuck whoever it takes to get it. And then fight like hell to keep it. And kill anyone who gets in your way."

Jill stood there looking at her. The moments ticked. She felt the strangest urge to stay. It was an odd feeling. Whatever else Wong was, she was fascinating. Jill rebuked, shaking her head to clear it, "Thanks, but no thanks. I'll hang onto my integrity a little longer if it's all the same to you."

She left with a swish of doors opening. In her cage, Ada mused, "I wish you luck with it, but remember this - no one ever stared down the barrel of a gun and held onto their integrity. You wanna live? You learn to play their game. And it's zero-sum. You or them. Dog eat dog. Don't be the little one, Jill, be the biggest bitch in the yard. Or hitch your wagon to a man, pop out a couple of kids, and learn your place in the world. There's no in-between in our business."

Jill scoffed. "Thanks for the speech, Lady Liberty, but we're nothing alike."

"Not yet," Ada decided as the brunette left the room, and she added in a murmur, "but the game ain't over yet."

They sent Jill to Columbia to deal with a threat from Javier Hidalgo. They were having her rendezvous as a guide for the area on-site with two other agents. One, they aptly called a tank, the other, they murmured, was known as the executioner. They said it like it should be in all caps - a brutal killer with a growing reputation in the right circles for his immense body count. She was heavily cautioned that it didn't bode well for her that he was coming. It was even whispered that if they sent the Executioner after you, it probably implied you weren't meant to come out of the mission alive.

What was this? Was she being targeted for elimination? She tried to think of why and couldn't find a single reason. So, that just meant she needed to watch her six regarding this guy and the other. If it came down to mission protocol or survival, she'd put them both in the fucking ground to make it out alive, supposed teammates or not.

Jill arrived on location before their arrival to secure a safe house. She hunted one down quickly enough, dealing with a contact she had made there after a sideways mission about six months before. He set her up in a relatively obscure location on the edge of the derelict village.

She secured her satellite uplink, mapped out their destination, and booby-trapped the place for invaders - all standard operating shit. And then? Then she waited for her playmates to arrive, thinking about Wong's words the whole time. Which was she, dog or bitch?

Only time would tell.

Jakarta, Columbia - 2000

There was steam wafting under the bathroom door.

Tracking the guide here was child's play. He'd located the safehouse with little more than a few well-rubbed elbows in the right places outside Jakarta. Finding his guide was easier than finding a wolf among dogs. He could track a fart on a foggy day; he could find anything.

The wafting steam beneath the door told him they were showering.

He considered waiting for the door to open to be sure, but instead, he kicked it in and instructed, "The lock on the front door is cheap and ineffective. A child could kick it down and kill you where you stand."

Of course, the joke was on him - because the shower was empty.

He started to turn, and the gun barrel pressed to his spine. "It's a good thing I was expecting trouble then, I guess."

The voice gave him pause. Leon lifted his hands, open palmed, beside his head, "Not armed. I'm scheduled to meet you here. I'm your charge."

"I know who you are," said the voice, "And I know you're a liar. You've got a knife bigger than my forearm strapped down the front of that vest." Her fingers jerked at his waistband, tugging the pistol free under his shirt. She tossed it away down the hallway with a clatter of sound, "Not armed, my ass."

He almost smirked, surprised to find her amusing, and she instructed, "Pull the knife slowly and toss it into the bathroom."

He cocked his head a little, "Are we enemies?"

She jabbed him in the back hard enough to hurt him with the gun, "We will be if you get cute. Now, please."

"Might be too late for that," He quipped and didn't see the twitch of her lips behind him. Leon effortlessly spilled the knife into his hand and informed her, "I could kill you before you pull that trigger, just so you know."

The hammer dropped on the gun she held, and her voice was soft and deadly, "No, you couldn't. Trust me. You aren't that good."

She clearly didn't know who she was dealing with here. He started to open his mouth and retort, and she kicked him in the back of the knee. It surprised him enough that he stumbled, and she smacked his wrist to knock his knife out of his grip. It clinked musically as it hit the floor and spun off to slap against the tub.

Sadly for her, she'd blown her advantage - she wasn't going to kill him, so the gun was useless. She drove back to kick him again, and he turned his body into the pistol, forcing her to jam it into his vest as he did. She grunted as he swept his arm down and knocked hers aside. Her leg shifted to kick him, but he shin blocked her and gripped her wrist to jerk her arm up and out.

Hyper-extended, she lost her edge, even as he put his boot to the back of her knee and simultaneously jerked the pistol from her hands. She let him take it, went to one knee to avoid losing it completely, and caught him at the hips. Admittedly, she was fast. She used his body to flip up, roll over him, and lock arms in a throw that sent him rolling down the hallway.

He came out of it already aiming, and she kicked him in the hip, threw him against the wall, and put his own knife to his throat in a crossbar.

They were breathing fast and hard, with her pistol pressed into her belly and his knife to his throat.

He said, calmly, if breathlessly, "I like a little rough and tumble as much as the next guy, sweetheart, but I didn't come here to hurt you."

And she whispered, "Really? That's what you do...Executioner."

Ah. When the bathroom door spilled light down the hallway onto her face, he started to answer that stupid name. Something made his blood pound in his ears as he replied, "I'm just Kennedy. Leon Kennedy."

This close, she could really see his face. Her brain shivered with memory.

The knife at his throat relaxed slightly, and she breathed, "...holy shit...like J.F.K?"

The recognition speared between them - fast and hard. He was looking into the face of Valentine, from the camp, from the pit, from the most humbling, taxing, somehow rewarding 100 days of his life. He'd faced her in that pit, and neither had emerged the victor.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

He glanced down and couldn't see the gun he had pressed against her belly because of the perfect press of her breasts against his chest in the little tank top she was barely wearing. The ponytail left her face naked and flawless, naked and beautiful, naked and taunting.

Why?

It was her.

He wasn't a man given to coincidence, but what was the likelihood of finding her here? Her? The woman in his dreams was Jill Valentine - Raccoon City survivor, fellow playmate of Krauser's Circle of Hell.

How much more coincidental could the world get?

Leon commanded, "...cut me or let me go."

She returned, "Shoot me or drop the gun."

"How are you still alive? I couldn't find shit on you when I left that camp. They make it like finding a needle in a stack of needles to locate another agent."

Jill shivered, shaking her head at the memory of it. "I don't die easy. They didn't break you."

Leon's voice was whisper quiet, "I don't break."

Her hand trembled on the knife. "Ever?"

"Ever."

A breath of a moment shimmered, and she murmured, "I could break you."

Lord.

Someone's heart was beating a sharp tattoo. It didn't really matter whose. The danger flashed bright and painful around them. Leon finally spoke, into the electric silence, "Then maybe. Not now."

Jill shivered a little. "I've heard the stories."

"Yeah?"

"Who hasn't? But guess what?" They were whispering. It felt somehow intimate. "I'm better."

Leon's gaze was laser sharp. "Yeah? Try me."

"Drop the gun." She nearly choked on the words.

But he dropped the gun. Just like that. No more stand-off. No more power play. He dropped it to the floor with a thump.

He watched her face, a coiled snake prepared to strike, "Your move."

She tenderly, softly, almost sweetly pressed the knife against his carotid. She watched the butterfly beat of his heart beneath the delicate skin and knew that he'd likely win if they went hand to hand, that he'd get her killed if she didn't do it first. She should put this knife into his throat and end him.

But she couldn't. She didn't want to. Executioner or not - something in her guts told her he was a good guy, a good guy in a bad guy shell. Her instincts were honed and nearly perfect. She never went against them.

Jill only trusted herself implicitly. It was how she stayed alive. She demanded angrily, "They send you to finish me off after we end this?"

His eyes flickered in the yellow light. "Not to my knowledge."

Jill eyed him shrewdly, "You lying to me?"

Again, the same answer, "Not to my knowledge."

"Tell me you're on my side."

His eyes held hers. "You gonna believe that?"

After a moment, she decided, "Yeah. Because the guy I met in that pit didn't lie."

She was right. He didn't lie. If he said it, he did it. He liked to think he was still that guy. He might kill people for a living, but he didn't lie. It was his only goddamn saving grace. And if he promised something, he kept it.

"I'm not here to kill you." The unspoken part of their goddamn job was still there - not yet. Not today. But not ever? Neither could guarantee that. It was the best she was going to get.

She dropped the knife to the floor with a clatter. It hit the ground with a metallic clang.

Jill kept the crossbar of an arm pressed against his collarbone, effectively pinning him to the wall. She started to back off, and Leon shifted, making her gasp. She let him push her against the other wall. She let him pin her there with his hands on her upper arms.

The pictures over her head rattled with the movement as he didn't pull it. Her back hit the wall and stole her breath.

He breathed, "My heart is pounding."

His voice. He sounded so surprised. He sounded impressed. She tilted her head to scan his face. She'd heard that about him, that he was dead inside. She'd listened to the stories. She'd heard the tall tales and the rumors. She'd heard.

She hadn't believed it. This was a guy who'd felt everything like a blow to the heart when she'd known him. He was still in there...she was damn sure of that.

His voice echoed tremulously around them. Almost roughly, he reached down to grip her wrist and shoved her hand against his chest under the vest.

And she could feel the thunder of his heart.

Jill whispered, "That doesn't happen?"

"...not like it used to." He watched her face as if she were the only thing he could see as if he were blind to the rest of the world. "Not in a long fucking time."

"It hurt?"

He shook his head, "...feels..." He trailed off, and Jill finished for him, "Good...feels good."

"Yeah, it does."

Her heartbeat echoed his. It nearly burst out of her chest with its eager pounding. Jill raised her hand and gripped his other one, shoving it against her chest. He didn't grope, didn't take, didn't taunt - he just pressed his palm against the thump of her life force and trembled.

Jill confirmed, "...yeah, it does. What did that fucking place do to us?"

That's what the government did to you. It took away your ability to feel much of anything. It made you empty...until it brought you back.

He grumbled, "Made us animals. Tried like hell to make sure we know what we are - dogs. Dogs on a leash."

Softly, Jill joked, "...woof, woof."

Be the biggest bitch in the yard, Jill. Ada's words echoed in her head. Was Leon a dog? Was she? Was Wong right? She didn't know. But she knew it had been too long since she'd felt anything but determination to free herself. It was nice to stand there in the steamy hallway and feel her heart pound. The look on his face said he felt the same way.

The door rattled.

They both froze, racing hearts the only sound in the quiet darkness.

The door rattled again.

Someone was trying to break in...and they weren't being subtle about it.

Leon let go first, dropping to grab the knife from the floor. Jill snatched the gun, and the door burst open, the night breeze escorting in the enormous form of their third - Jack Krauser.

He caught one look at them in fighting stances and lifted his hands, open-palmed, harmless...as if he'd ever really be that.

"What? Too late to join the party? Drop the knife, Kennedy, and close your mouth. You look like you should be on your knees in prison waiting for some deep-throat action."

Leon thought: still a fucking asshole, Jack. But he lowered the knife and put a hand on Jill's wrists to have her do the same.

Meanwhile, Jack was giving Jill a look that made her blood cold. He was also picking his teeth with an enormous machete. "Hello there, sweetheart, you look cold in that top. Maybe a hug will warm you up." He opened his arms, "Anytime you're ready."

Since she'd beaten him in the pit, he'd never stopped throwing innuendos at her to reduce her to precisely what Ada had suggested - tits and cunt, something to fuck and fling away. Apparently, that's how he made peace with being bested - he made sure you knew what he thought you were worth.

Jill rolled her eyes and turned away, moving down the hallway. "Still an asshole, Jack," she echoed Leon's thoughts so perfectly he felt a little chill go up his spine as she spoke, "At least now your face matches your attitude. Now that you're both here, shower and get some rest. We'll move at first light."

Krauser shrugged around his scarred countenance -a gift from the asshole watching him from a model handsome, unmarred face and its stupid floppy hair- and carried his small assault bag into the one bedroom, "Dibs. Though it looks lonely. You wanna join me, sweet cheeks?"

She could argue she'd been sleeping in there, but she didn't want to bother with it. He could have the damn bedroom. She hoped he smothered in the pillows while humping the mattress like the rutting pig he was.

Jill ignored him and moved to the far side of the hallway. She added, "First light - bring only what you need to survive. Leave anything that allows you to be tracked. You hear me? Anything."

She claimed the narrow little couch in the living room, rolling to her side to face the door.

Leon disappeared into the bathroom to shower, and Jill dozed off, listening to running water. What had been about to happen between them? What?

She didn't know...but she kind of knew. She'd have taken his clothes and touched him. Would Krauser have come upon them in flagrante delicto?

She couldn't answer that question because it wouldn't have gotten that far. Surely. Surely not. Was she what Ada said? A woman looking to subvert herself to a man? But it wasn't really that simple. In that god-forsaken place, she, Jefferson Drew, and Leon had been friends- real ones. Seeing him again reminded her that she was still a woman inside the damn workhorse they'd created. It was heady and made her want to explore it.

She wouldn't, but it didn't stop the want of it.

The bathroom door opened, and Leon emerged in a puff of steam. Jill tensed and forced herself to relax. He moved to the side of the living room and paused, glancing down at the sleeping bag she'd laid out on the floor. Through slitted eyes, feigning sleep, she watched the twitch of a smile on his mouth before he turned.

He was shirtless. A little pendant of some kind swung at chest level on him, but she couldn't see the design. The moonlight skimmed his back as he knelt and dug something out of his dirty vest.

It showed the scars on his back in sharp relief. He was a mess. Their roping abundance gave her pause and nearly made her gasp in sympathy. His chest was a masterpiece carved by angels - his back a nightmare melted in the fires of hell.

Jill stopped pretending she wasn't looking at him and began to stare openly.

She'd known he'd survived things since training, but she'd never guessed it was that awful. It looked like whip marks, burn scars, mounds of scar tissue like beads down the flesh near the left hip that told her shock rod. He was a melted ruin.

She wondered if he ever really walked around shirtless.

Quietly, she finally spoke, "...so much pain. How do you stand it?"

He didn't even tense or flinch, telling her he'd known the whole time she watched him. He spoke, low and grumbling, "Pain can be controlled. You just learn to redirect it."

She knew the answer. Hadn't it been hammered at them? But she wanted his answer.

"How?"

"Jerk off a lot until your brain goes dead."

Jill shook her head, "Stop. Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop joking," she kept her voice demanding, "You did that too much in that fucking camp. I get it; I do. Defense mechanism, but I'm serious. Be real. Right now? Be real with me."

Damnit. He didn't want to. Real was dangerous. Real was risky. But she'd earned it. They'd covered each other so much in training she'd earned the truth. She'd earned the real him. He just wasn't entirely sure what it would cost him to do it.

He turned to look at her in the dark. His hair fell over his brow, covering the silver of his eyes, "Ignore it. Eventually, you go numb."

They were whispering. Why? She didn't know, but it felt right. "I can't. It's my greatest weakness."

They held eyes briefly, and she added, "What's yours?"

For a handful of seconds, she didn't think he'd answer. Finally, he stuck the cigarette in his hand between his lips and struck the match, rising from the ground to move to the open window.

Jill pursed her lips, watching his back in the ragged moonlight. He wasn't a man who shared; she knew that. Jokes you got, but real emotion was harder. She wasn't good at it either. It's how they stayed alive. What was it about him that made her want to know him? To share things about herself? Shared experience? Shared survival?

Something.

She closed her eyes to try to sleep, and he finally answered, surprising her, "...regret."

Her heart shivered. "About what?"

That part he didn't answer. He just stared into the dark like the truth was out there. What was his truth? Whatever it was, it was laden with that regret. The empathy was enough to have her rising from the couch to approach him.

He knew she was there. The way his back tensed when she got close, he was aware of her. She doubted there was little he wasn't aware of at this point. God knew it took a lot to get her to be caught unaware too.

She wanted to touch his scars and feel his strength. Her fingers hesitated over one, whisper close. Softly, he told her, "Go ahead. It doesn't hurt." She wasn't sure why that comment hurt her to hear, but it did. She didn't touch him. She didn't want him to feel like a freak show at a carnival.

Instead, she kept her hands to herself and leaned over his shoulder to whisper against his ear, "I never stopped looking."

He glanced over his shoulder at her. The smoke trailed from his lips. It snaked around his nose as she cautioned, "That shit'll kill you, ya know."

His lips twitched. "So I hear."

With their eyes locked, she reiterated, "I never stopped looking for you."

Quietly, he returned, "...me, either."

Jill took the cigarette from his fingers and put it to her lips. She inhaled the nasty taste of it and blew out a breath. The smoke curled between them as she offered it back, whispering, "I'm glad you're here, Leon."

So, so softly, he murmured, "...me, too, Jill...I missed you."

Her eyes softened in the moonlight. Her smile was gentle as she answered, "...ditto, kiddo," she headed back to the couch, advising, "Try to get some sleep."

He didn't say anything else. He returned to looking outside - keeping watch, she was sure, like a soldier or sentry or a bodyguard. Or maybe like a cop who'd never gotten the chance to protect and serve.

And she fell asleep watching him smoke away his greatest weakness.