Ashley expected she would have nightmares about this later: hiding in some dark closet while she waited for Leon to kill things.

She thought she'd been waiting for a quarter of an hour this time. For most of that, the crack of Leon's pistol and the occasional blast of a grenade had told her he was working down the hall outside the storage room where she was wedged between a shelf and a coat rack hung with moth-eaten old cloaks. But silence had now stretched for several minutes. Ashley was trying not to think about what that could mean. She couldn't hear Leon, but then none of the cultists were marching down the hallway looking for her, either, so that had to be a good sign, right? She clenched her fists and breathed slowly, counting each inhale.

She was up to twenty-three when she heard firm, even footfalls returning down the hall. She knew it was Leon, though she waited for him to call her name before shoving past dusty wool and opening the door.

She shrieked.

For a moment, Leon was monstrous and unrecognizable, features masked in red. Blood covered the right half of his face, soaking through his hair and dripping down off his chin onto his shirt.

"Leon!" She pressed hands to her mouth, terror melting quickly into concern.

"I'm okay." His brows were drawn in focus, she thought, not in pain. "It looks a lot worse than it is."

"Are you sure?" Ashley glanced over the rest of him; he seemed otherwise whole.

"Yeah. Come on; I found a place we can rest." Leon gestured for her to follow him and turned down the hallway. "Shit." He flicked blood from his eye, then touched his forehead.

Ashley dragged the scarf from her collar. "Here." She handed it to him.

He took it without breaking stride and pressed it to his head.

Leon turned at a cross hallway and then again at a narrow gallery along the castle's outer wall. Ashley started at a movement in the shadows ahead, then realized it was only a curtain flowing in the air from an open window.

"Gosh." She released the breath she had drawn in to scream. "It's like they decorated this place to be as creepy as possible."

"Our host has a real twisted sense of taste," Leon agreed. "Wait." He readied his gun, then opened the last doorway off the gallery. After checking that the room was clear, he motioned her in.

The chamber was lit with more of the ubiquitous candles, but in this smaller space, the effect was more comforting than eerie, especially combined with the light of the fire burning steadily in the marble fireplace. Ashley wondered if Ramón Salazar always kept the entire castle furnished as if it were fully occupied or if he was doing so merely as some sick game he played with them. Neither option indicated sanity.

There was a large canopy bed against one wall; a wardrobe, dressing table, and mirror against the others. And, most blessed of all, a wash stand with a faucet.

Ashley rushed over and twisted the single old-fashioned knob. Clear water spurted into the ceramic basin. "The water's cold, but it's clean," she said.

"Good." Leon came beside her, and she moved to give him access.

He splashed his face, and the water that fell back spattered the white basin with crimson.

"What happened?" Ashley asked, voice muted.

Leon splashed more water. "Son of a bitch had a scythe, like the God-damned grim reaper." He gave a single sharp laugh.

"What the heck?" she breathed, too horrified at the thought of cultists swinging blades at Leon's head to find anything funny.

"Exactly." He grinned at her, weariness making him almost wild for a moment. Still, he looked much more himself when he wasn't painted in gore.

He blotted his face on her scarf, then went to the dressing table mirror. He dragged his hair back and peered at his scalp. Over his shoulder, Ashley watched the fresh trickle of red work its way down his reflection from hairline to eyebrow.

"Fuck." He straightened, letting wet hair fall back in his face.

"What's wrong?"

Leon turned around and looked her in the eye. "Ashley, can you handle some blood?"

She waved a hand, indicating his current appearance. "I haven't run away screaming."

The words came out more fragile than she'd wanted, but Leon seemed to take her intention. He nodded, already digging in a cargo pocket. "I need you to put in a couple stitches. It'll be easier for you than for me working in the mirror. Can you do that?"

"Sure." Of course she would help him. And she was terrified. "But I've never—"

"It's okay. I'll walk you through it." He looked up, eyes holding hers again for a moment, grounding her with his steadiness even as more blood dripped down his hair and onto his cheek. He still seemed so calm, as if even now he knew exactly what he was doing. How did he manage it?

"Wash your hands," he instructed. She discarded her blazer and obeyed, making use of an ancient sliver of soap, then dried her hands on the inside of her sweater as the cleanest option.

When she turned back, he had laid out some tools on the dressing table: gauze, needle, tweezers, and a small pair of forceps. Sweat pricked out on Ashley's palms. This was going to hurt him, even if she had known what she was doing. Oh God . . .

She stepped closer, resisting the urge to wipe her palms on her dirty skirt.

"Clean it with this first," Leon said and pressed the can of disinfectant spray into her hand. The metal was reassuringly cool against her suddenly hot skin.

Ashley combed his hair back from the bloody spot on his head. With him seated on the dressing table stool, thankfully the place she would be working on was at eye level.

She sucked in a breath through her teeth. There was the cut, midway up his forehead. It started just outside his hairline and ran back about an inch over his scalp. Considering the location, it was deep. Ashley hadn't thought about basic anatomy since high school, but this seemed to have sliced through all the layers of skin; the edges gapped slightly, and she didn't want to think about whether there would be bone visible under the blood.

With a gauze pad, she blotted as much blood as she could, then shielding Leon's eyes with her hand, doused the area in disinfectant.

"Here." He held up a pair of long, narrow tweezers and the forceps with the curved suture needle clamped in the tip. "Needle driver in your right hand and tweezers in your left." Ashley took them both, then glanced once more at Leon's face. His expression was impassive, though the skin about his eyes was tight.

"Okay, now what?"

Leon said, "You're going to put three stitches in. Stitch from top to bottom of the skin on one side of the cut. Pull the needle all the way through. Then the needle goes from bottom to top on the other side, straight across from the first half of the stitch. Make sense?"

Ashley nodded.

"Once you've done that, you'll tie it off before you start the next stitch."

She swept at his hair again. She would start at his scalp so that by the time she got to his face, she would have had a little practice with this. At least a scar would be covered by the fall of his hair.

She settled the tools in her hands, hovered them over the gash in his head. "Leon, I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't worry about me," he said. "Just pretend you're stitching your favorite pair of jeans."

"I dunno; they screamed a lot."

He exhaled sharply, almost a laugh. "I promise I won't."

She clenched her jaw and started, lifting the edge of the wound with the tweezers so she could see where the needle was going to come through. This wasn't going to be delicate, but she supposed that going slow in an effort to be gentle wouldn't actually make this better for him. He didn't move as she worked the needle through, though his slow, deliberate breathing sounded loud in her ears.

It took longer than she liked to unclamp the forceps and move it to the other end of the needle so she could finish the first half of the stitch. This must be awful for Leon, but he didn't move. Ashley checked that the edges of the cut were aligned, then pressed the needle through his skin a second time.

"I'm ready to tie it," she said when this was done.

Leon finished another slow breath. "Pull the thread until you have about an inch left on the first side. Unclamp the needle, then wrap the long end of the thread clockwise twice around the end of the needle driver."

The thread slipped loose, but she succeeded on her second try. "Got it."

"Now catch the short end of the thread and pull it through the loops. Pull it just tight enough to close the edges of the cut."

She tugged gently.

"You'll do that two more times. Wrap the second one once counterclockwise, the other way. And then tie the third one clockwise again." Ashley could hear the strain in his voice, but his tone never wavered.

When she had finished this, Ashley drew a shaking breath. "Done," she sighed.

"Great." Leon sounded as relieved as she felt. "You'll have to trim it with this."

Ashley looked down to see him offering her his big combat knife. She stared at it, transfixed by the memory of it in her hand, driving towards his heart. She hadn't wanted to hurt him, but she'd had no choice . . . What if that need to kill him still lurked in her body along with the parasite infecting her?

"Ashley." The command in his voice cut through the thoughts that held her paralyzed. "I trust you."

She took the knife. It was heavier than she remembered, and trimming the sutures with it was awkward, but she managed, hands barely shaking.

Ashley blotted more blood, then switched back to the needle. "So I guess you've put in stitches before," she said. "On yourself, or someone else?"

Leon hissed softly as she pricked him. "Both."

She winced, both for his pain and at the thought of him stitching himself out in the field. His job was a harsh one, requiring self-sufficiency under such extreme conditions. Was he glad for her help now, inexpert as it was?

There. A second stitch placed. "Okay, two turns clockwise, one the other way, and one clockwise again," Ashley repeated his instructions for tying off.

"You've got it."

She took more time placing the final stitch; she wanted to get this one right, since the spot would show. Ashley could feel the tension in Leon's body as he waited. "Sorry," she murmured. "Almost done."

That was the best she was going to be able to do. Ashley hoped it was good enough; Leon didn't deserve an ugly scar. She picked up the knife—it was almost easy this time—and trimmed the last stitch. "It's done," she breathed.

Leon sighed and slumped gently against her. All the stoic control had slid from his face like a mask, and for the first time since she'd met him, she saw him weary and hurting, shaken. She pressed her hands over his shoulders, and he didn't protest this familiar touch. Then again, she'd just stabbed a needle through his living flesh, so personal boundaries didn't seem to mean what they had before.

"Will you be okay?" Ashley asked.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Thanks."

Ashley sprayed him with disinfectant again, then rinsed out her scarf as well as she could and blotted the blood from Leon's hair, careful to avoid the stitches. "At least that jerk didn't ruin your haircut," she said.

To her relief, this earned a smile. "That'd be unforgivable."

She rinsed the scarf again, wiped at his ear, his eyebrow, the side of his nose. This close, she could see how young his eyes were, the skin about them still smooth despite tired purple shadows. Based on his obvious experience and impressive range of combat skills, she had assumed he must be in his thirties, but in truth he might only be five years older than she was. The realization wrenched at her.

Already, he'd seen so many battles. She had noticed the scars on his arms, fine lines healed but not yet faded. One big, rough mark half hidden by his left sleeve probably never would disappear, and Ashley doubted the scars were limited to the parts of him that were visible.

He was a tool of flesh and blood to be broken and used. And he was suffering now, for her sake.

"I'm sorry, Leon."

He met her eyes. "You did a great job with the stitches."

Ashley shook her head. "What I mean is, I'm sorry you got hurt because of me."

Leon frowned slightly. "This isn't your fault. This kind of stuff is my job."

"I know. You're gonna get me home or die trying." No one had ever dedicated so much to her before. Leon's commitment was as terrifying as it was reassuring. "But what makes me so special? My dad's somebody important, but that doesn't make my life worth more than yours." Leon didn't have to be here. If it came down to a single life lost, why shouldn't it be her own? Her lip trembled. "Don't get me wrong. I'm really, really glad you're here."

"Hey." His eyes were gentle, the hardness that he usually carried there like a shield utterly melted. He touched her arm. "There's your answer. I'm not gonna leave you stuck in this awful place."

She nodded, too overcome by emotion to speak. Gratitude and guilt, fear and relief raged through her, and somehow Leon was tied into all of it. Just looking at him, she felt her heart would burst. Pain flowered in her chest. She doubled over, coughing, then wiped her bloodied palm on her skirt.

As she straightened, she noted that Leon's hold had tightened on her arm.

"Just . . . please be careful," Ashley told him. She skimmed hair back from his eyes. "You're not just a living weapon. That's what these people want to make us into. But you're not. Not for them, and not for my dad." Leon's gaze was so intent that her heart stuttered. "Not to me," she whispered. He was the incarnation of something much more precious. She needed him to believe this.

She took Leon's face in both her hands and kissed his forehead.

He didn't try to evade her as she had worried he might, so Ashley lingered with her lips against his brow and combed her hands back through his hair. As her fingers trailed over his ear, Leon's hand slid from her arm to her waist. A moment later, he lifted his chin. Their noses caught, then she found his mouth with hers.

Leon returned her kiss without hesitation, as if this had been his own idea as much as hers. Ashley felt something golden bloom inside her. Daring as Leon was regarding his physical safety, he seemed so cautious about letting her see what he really thought of her. More than once, she'd been sure he was flirting, only to run up abruptly against the wall of his reserve. But in this moment, he was completely open and vulnerable. She wanted to hold that feeling as long as she could.

Ashley wound her arms about his neck and leaned into him. He smelled of sweat and musty earth and the sharp, medicinal bite of disinfectant. Leon's hand swept her face—she felt the calluses at his fingertips—then his other arm wrapped her waist; he tugged her close and went on kissing her.

When they finally broke apart, Ashley's pulse was pounding. She twisted her hand in the leather strap of Leon's shoulder holster, wondering idly what the stress of the last few days was doing to her heart. Right now, she didn't care. She could feel the rise and fall of Leon's chest against her, and his breath skimmed her shoulder.

"Ashley." When Leon spoke, his voice rumbled in her own chest, and oh, that was nice. He tightened the arm still clasped about her. "Right now, what you need is a weapon. You have to let me be that for you, even if it means I get hurt."

She sighed. "I know. I just can't bear it when—"

He lifted his head from her shoulder and met her gaze. There was an icy blaze in his eyes, and she knew that she saw past the shield to some deep, inner passion. "I chose this. It's who I am."

The thought of what he was willing to sacrifice made her ache, but she saw now that it was a gift. "Okay, Leon." How could she deny what he so fervently offered?

He swept back the curtain of hair that had fallen across her cheek. "You're worth it," he said. "You know that, right?"

A tear slid down her face, and Leon brushed it aside with a thumb.

"Thanks," she whispered.

"Ashley, we're gonna get out of this together."

"Right." She nodded, smiling for him, and reluctantly let go.

As she stepped back, Leon's eyes fell to her chest. "Sorry about your sweater," he said.

She glanced down to see the red smudge on her top where she'd leaned against him. "Pff." She waved away this concern. "We've established I can handle blood."

"I'm going to get cleaned up, so why don't you rest?" He nodded towards the bed.

She went over to the imposing bed frame and tugged at one of the brocade curtains hanging from it. "You know, when I was a kid I always wanted a canopy bed like this. Never got one, though. I think Mom was afraid I'd break my head on the top. I used to jump on the bed."

Behind her, Leon laughed. "If you jump, I won't tell."

"Maybe later," Ashley said as she pulled off her boots; her feet were aching, and all she wanted was to sit down. She hopped up on the mattress, then scooted round to lean against the headboard.

Across the room, Leon was running water in the sink. He had removed his shirt, and Ashley winced at the sight of the fresh bruises across his back and shoulders, doubtless from the times he'd been knocked flat by that Rasputin look-alike with the glass eye. Even in the soft candlelight, she could see more scars traced across his skin. Most of them were pale, though one along his ribs was still an angry pink.

As she watched Leon disinfect a scratch on his arm, her mind echoed with something one of the cult priests had said about how she had been gifted a holy body. Though Ashley hadn't understood at the time, now she did. It wasn't holiness these zealots offered, but darkness and perversion. Yet when she looked at Leon, she knew this was what a holy body looked like: scraped and bleeding and scarred for someone else's sake. His sacrifice was written on his skin, and dear God, he was beautiful for it.

When Leon turned around, the candlelight flared golden off his hair like the halo from one of the religious icons shoved out of sight into the closet where she'd been locked in the church. Ashley smiled to herself, wondering if anyone else's patron saint had ever wielded hand grenades and a pump-action shotgun.

The light shifted, and Leon was tired and human again. "I think we can stay here for a few hours," he said, draping his wet shirt on the arm of a chair in front of the fire. "You should lie down and sleep for a bit."

"What about you?"

"I'll take my turn next." He propped himself against the wall, facing the door.

"No, you should go first," Ashley said, drawing her knees up under her chin. "If you're going to protect me, you have to take care of yourself. I'm not the one who has to dodge scythes. Besides, I don't think I can sleep right now." She'd had too much excitement in the last hour, between stitching his head and kissing him.

Leon opened his mouth to protest, but then seemed to think better of it. He sat down on the other side of the bed, checked the magazine of his pistol, and programmed his watch.

"If you hear anything at all, wake me up, okay?" he said.

"I will."

He lay back on top of the blankets beside her. Ashley shifted so that her knees were nudging his shoulder, and Leon looked up at her. His smile was almost shy, but it didn't hide anything. "I like you, Baby Eagle."

She hummed, happy. "I like you, too, Leon."

He patted her knee and closed his eyes. In a few minutes, he was asleep.

Author's note:

I know I've protested on other fics that I see Leon and Ashley's relationship as (mostly) platonic during the game but . . . I ran out of self-control.

I'm pretty sure Leon Kennedy is the patron saint of kicking ass and corny one-liners.

Ever since I played the original game years ago, I've always thought of the Méndez boss fight as "that part of the game when you fight mutant sea monkey Rasputin." So I had to have Ashley reference that.