Enya, Be Serious

Nothing quite captured the anticipatory buzz that hummed beneath every conversation and sneaky note passed between desks behind teachers' backs at Raccoon City High quite like the upcoming multi-day field trip to New York City, AKA the best thing since sliced bread to a bunch of Midwest kids who'd only ever seen NYC in the movies.

You, in particular, had everything prepared from the jump, all permission and payment forms signed, sealed, and submitted at homeroom. The actual trip itself was less than a week away, and you were nowhere close to finished preparing — you'd bookmarked every place you'd been wanting to go on the school's published itinerary, and had consulted your mother's September issues of Vogue, Marie Claire, and Harper's Bazaar closely for outfit ideas from the likes of '10 Fashion Trends to Look Effortlessly Chic This Fall', or '5 Essentials in Every New Yorker's Closet'.

Especially when Leon, your ever-faithful best friend/partner-in-crime/secret crush since basically forever, had just asked you, completely offhandedly while grabbing your books for Mr. Wilkin's third period biology class from your locker, if you wanted to sit with him on the bus. Right in front of everyone.

Well, okay — just Claire and Rebecca, but same difference.

"So, uh —" Leon began, touching the back of his neck awkwardly, floppy blond hair hanging over those baby blues. "You found anyone to pair up with for the trip yet?"

You shook your head, grabbing your biology notebook. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw them eavesdropping on your conversation — something they never failed to do when you and Leon were talking.

"Well, Claire says she'll be pairing up with Rebecca..." "Maybe you'd like to pair up with me?"

You'd just about kept a cool head, and somehow managed to say yes like the normal, completely well-adjusted high school sophmore you were, despite the fact that your best friend whom you'd been in love with since middle school was currently asking you to sit with him on the bus. And the plane. And probably walking through the Met hand-in-hand, but only because you didn't want your partner to get lost.

"Y-yeah! Sounds... cool!" you stammered, nearly dropping the stack of books you'd been holding.

It was all worth it in the end, especially when that dazzling smile that never failed to make you melt made its way across Leon's sweet, perfect face. "Great! It's a deal, then."

From that point on, nothing could get you down for the rest of the day — not even when you had to spend biology class dissecting frogs that had been sitting in the school lab's formaldehyde jars for months, or when you and Leon had to go your separate ways for after-school extracurriculars (basketball for him, the student newsroom for you).

School trips were always the highlight of the semester, second only to maybe prom and homecoming. It was a true step up from the standard field trips to the Raccoon Police Department, Umbrella HQ, or the Raccoon City Zoo you'd had in middle school, the big leagues. Days spent exploring new horizons in the greatest city on Earth, all without parental supervision.

It was about to be the best four days of your life.

The school gym felt much larger than it usually did during pep rallies, with its empty stands and the basketball court occupied only by the school team — predictably named the Raccoons (you sometimes wondered if that was why none of the other neighbouring high school teams took you seriously) — running drills under the supervision of Coach Branagh.

Sneakers squeaked against the waxed floors of the gym, the ball bouncing as each of the tall, lanky players dribbled it across the court, leaping several feet into the air as they launched it into the net. All the while, Coach Branagh's whislte shrilled through the gymnasium, punctuating every drill to the letter.

Leon, who had been the youngest player on the team since he joined during freshman year, was the sharpest and fastest of the bunch, and even you, who didn't normally have an affinity for sports, couldn't help but be mesmerised at the sight of him in his sweat-soaked basketball uniform, weaving and darting about the court, evading even the senior players as he netted another goal.

A sharp shrill of Coach Branagh's whistle marked the end of the drill, and the players gathered at the sides, chugging water and talking smack. Leon glanced up at the stands, and you waved sheepishly as he immediately became subject to a lot of teasing by his fellow teammates.

"Alright, team — pack it up," Coach Branagh's resolute voice rang out over the empty gymnasium. "I'll see y'all same time Friday."

Leon made his way over to the stands, his blond hair damp with sweat, fanning his collar as he climbed up to where you were sitting.

"Hey," he greeted, panting slightly from the exertion. "I'd sit with you, but uh — I probably don't smell great."

"Makes two of us," you replied, shuffling your bag onto your lap. "Had to replace the ink cartridges today at the newsroom. I don't think I smell very good either."

To prove your point, you held up your black-tipped fingers, and he let out a gentle laugh. "Ms. Ashcroft put you to work?"

"You don't say," you huffed. "Can't wait to go to New York and not think about anything school-related for a while."

"You and me both," Leon nodded, looking up at the skylight, where beams of evening light were carving crisp shadows across the court before holding out a hand. "Come on, let's go."

The air was cooler in the evenings now as September waned, the leaves on the oak and maple trees that dotted Raccoon City High's grounds turning a vibrant orange bathed in golden light with the turning of the seasons. It seemed like only yesterday you and Leon had arrived together, fresh-faced and nervous in the face of navigating new hierarchies, new schedules, and new locker combinations.

And yet, against all odds, you'd both lived to see another year of high school.

***

The next day, you were facing off against the inquistive eyes of Claire and Rebecca as you sat down for lunch after fourth period. Unfortunately, while you'd had identical schedules all through freshman year, the timetable gods had inflicted you and Leon with separate lunch periods on Wednesdays, which meant you only got to see him during your last period, which was homeroom.

"— I mean, New York in the fall?" Claire gushed. "This is a god-sent opportunity to get it together and confess!"

Rebecca jabbed her fork in your directions. "I've got it all planned out — I checked all our schedules, and none of us have any extracurriculars this afternoon, so... what say you we go to Raccoon Mall and do some shopping?"

You breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank god. And here I was thinking I was gonna have to dig through my mom's closet."

"Your mom's got some really good Coach, though," Rebecca replied, shoving a forkful of lettuce into her mouth. "Maybe you can ask to borrow some for the trip. I'll bet it'll go great with the outfits."

"As if," you scoffed. "No way she's letting me take her very expensive bags to a whole 'nother city." sighing mournfully, you added. "Not to mention I've got to leave room in my suitcase for all the shopping I have to do there."

Claire let out a loud groan that drew looks from the neighbouring tables. "Ugh, don't remind me. I've been saving my allowance for weeks, but New York's supposed to stupidly expensive, isn't it?"

You hummed, recalling the calculations you'd made in the back of your math notebook. "Well, the school's covering travel, airfare, food, accomodations, and tickets to all the major attractions and museums marked on the itinerary. Our allowance is for 'personal use'."

"I was just thinking," Rebecca remarked, poking at the stale tater tots on her plate. "How in the heck is the school affording this? I mean, I heard from Chris and Jill back when they were sophmores, the furthest they got was Nebraska. Nebraska! I don't even know if there's anything in Nebraska."

You snorted. "Because it's Umbrella affording it. They basically own the whole city. My dad told me all about their latest donation to the Raccoon City education initiative, and look —" you produced a copy of the itinerary, and circled in red sharpie on each day of the trip was, lo and behold, something Umbrella-related.

"Sneaky," shuddered Claire.

Calling your mother at work to let her know of your plans with Claire and Rebecca after school, you'd joined the girls for a quick jaunt through Raccoon Mall, another building emblamatic of the city's tendency to name everything after... well, raccoons.

Come to think about it, you probably hadn't seen as many raccoons as the city's name would suggest. If anything, New York probably had more raccoons than Raccoon City ever did.

As it turned out, you weren't the only band of teenagers in Raccoon City who had the same plans. As you entered the main atrium of the mall, it became apparent that it was fashion heaven for every sixteen-year-old girl in town.

There were the usual stores your mother stopped at every back-to-school season, like JC Penney and Sears, but also some of the trendy stores that you kept eyeing, but never quite got the courage to go into.

One customary, 'Look, Claire — it's you!' joke in the direction of a Claire's later, it was officially time to get serious.

"You guys think this makes me look like a tourist?" Claire asked as she examined a black velvet choker in the mirror.

Rebecca rubbed her chin, squinting at Claire's reflection in the mirror, while you mentally rifled through all the fashion advice you'd absorbed over the past week.

"I mean, chokers are pretty in. And New York's, like, the fashion capital, so..."

That was enough to convince her, and the choker was readily purchased. "Alright, roger that."

With two pairs of earrings for Rebecca and a heart-shaped pendant on a black satin ribbon for you purchased, the three of you moved on, hitting up Express and Contempo Casuals in an attempt to recreate what you'd seen on Vogue. Of course, a mall in the middle of the Midwest couldn't quite capture the glamour of high-fashion spreads, but with your friends in the mix, all of a sudden you went from sleek, minimalist tailoring to... red motorcycle jackets.

"Claire, you've got like ten of these," Rebecca sighed, exasperated.

"Yeah, but this one's for New York," she argued, pointing to the marroon faux leather jacket. "It's darker. More sophisticated."

You left them to bicker between themselves, stepping into the change room with an armful of clothes, trying them on in succession and stepping out for your friends' appraisal.

Both their jaws fell to the floor at the sight of you in a crushed velvet dress in deep plum, paired with the platform boots you were already wearing at school.

"Oh. My. God!" Rebecca squealed.

Claire nodded approvingly. "Leon is not gonna know what hit him."

***

The next few days went by in a blur, spent either packing in a frenzy or hanging out with all your best friends, despite knowing full well you'd also be hanging out with them pretty much at all times once you got to New York, as well as checking and double-checking your bookings until your mother had to physically drag you out of your room for dinner.

You were yawning profusely at 5:30 a.m., having been unable to sleep a wink despite your insistence on going to bed early. Your father, the only other member of your household who could manage being up at that hour, drove you to school, where even through the gloom of the streetlights, you could see the looming school buses ahead, the exhaust from their engines warming the chilly air.

"Goodbye, sweetheart — stay safe out there! Stick close with your friends, and if anything happens, call us, okay? You remember our phone numbers? Your teacher's phone number?"

"I know, I know! Bye, dad!"

You waved, carry-on in hand as you got out of the car, wrapped in your mother's plum peacoat, a thick wool scarf, and black tights with the brown knee-high boots your aunt gave to you last Christmas, topped off with a black headband — the outfit you'd meticulously picked out the night before.

New York City, here you come.

Well — first you had to find your partner. Getting in line with all the other sophmores, you scanned the rows of students chatting and mingling with their friends, trying to spot Leon in the crowd. You'd just about roped Claire and Rebecca in to help you out when a familiar set of footsteps pounded in behind the three of you.

Never had your name sounded so mellifluous coming out of his lips, and despite the grogginess on his face, the way his eyes lit up at the sight of you could singlehandedly warm you from the inside even in the dead of winter. Even in just a simple windbreaker, shirt, and jeans with beat-up white sneakers and a backpack slung over his shoulders, he was still quite possibly the most perfect boy you'd ever seen.

"There you are!" he panted, before glancing at his watch. "I just barely made it."

"You've got time," you reassured. "The bus leaves at 6:00."

You looked over at the senior's row, where Chris and Jill were lined up by their own bus. "The seniors are already boarding? No fair."

"Well, Mr. Burton's in charge of the seniors," Rebecca explained. "Meanwhile, we've got..." she frowned, looking over at the three of you. "... who do we got?"

Leon sighed exasperatedly. "Mr. Ryman, apparently. He's cool and all, but not exactly known for being punctual. Oh, right —"

He fell into step next to you, and you swore you could feel the warmth radiating from his leather jacket. "By the way, have you guys figured out who you're rooming with? Apparently boys and girls can't mix."

Claire slung an arm over your shoulder with a playful wink. "Don't worry, Kennedy. She's with me."

Rebecca smiled good-naturedly. "I'm with this girl from my calc class. Ingrid Hunnigan."

"And you, Leon?" you asked. "Who are you rooming with?"

"Oh, I'm rooming with —" Leon paused. "you guys remember Ark? Ark Thompson?"

The three of you stared blankly at him for a moment, before the vague image of a brown-haired guy with close-cropped hair in a basketball uniform surfaced in your mind. "Oh, your teammate? Yeah... sort of."

"Yeah, him," Leon grinned good-naturedly.

At last, it was your turn to board the bus, which really only got you to the closest airport in the neighbouring city of Elbridge, where you'd then board a flight to New York City. Your group was one of the first to go on the bus, which meant first dibs on the good seats.

Claire and Rebecca had immediately found a seat on the right side of the bus, with the former by the window and the latter already putting on her Walkman for the journey ahead. You and Leon followed suit, finding a seat right in front.

"You want the window seat?" he asked.

"Oh, thanks," you said, bashfully sinking down onto the plush cushions, breathing in the scent of the bus's citrus air freshener.

"No problem," was his simple reply as he took a seat beside you.

As everyone from your class filed in, you leaned over, whispering. "Should we get one of those disposable cameras at the airport?"

Leon nodded. "If we can't find one in Elbridge, we can always try in New York."

It was at this moment your two nosy friends, who'd been eavesdropping as always, decided to chime in.

"Ooh, planning on making lots of memories?" Claire teased.

"That sounds like a great idea, actually," Rebecca added. "Maybe we should get one ourselves."

Your conversation was cut short, however, as Mr. Ryman cleared his throat and started on housekeeping. Pretty standard — stay together, don't lose sight of your partner, no switching partners, no snacks on the bus (to the dismay of every student aboard), curfews, and, last but not least —

"No. Fraternising. With. The. Opposite. Gender," he announced, taking care to enunciate each word with a pointed look at all the couples on the bus — the worst offenders being none other than Bruce McGivern and his girlfriend Fong Ling, who immediately sprang apart from their canoodling at his glare.

Leon shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Well, no chance of that happening to us, right? I mean — we're, uh..."

"Friends...?" you suggested, even as you felt a knife through your heart just at the word.

Maybe you were imagining it, but Leon looked a little crestfallen at the label. "Yeah, friends."

Behind you, you could almost hear Claire and Rebecca muffling their wails of lament.

Making your way down a hallway lit only by flourescent light panels on the ground, you and Leon hastened over to a set of heavy automatic doors, which Ada's Level 1 wristband took care of. As you headed in, you took in the sterile finishings, the brilliant red against stark white of Umbrella's logo by the reception desk.

"Welcome to NEST. Enjoy your visit."

It was identical to the reception desk you'd walked past just the morning of the 23rd, seemingly a lifetime ago. That thought only made you grip your weapon tighter. Leon, ever-observant, immediately clocked the tension in your shoulders.

"Something wrong?"

"I... was here." rushing to clarify, you added. "Not here, here, but — I was at the Umbrella sales offices this morning. That's what the reception looked like."

He frowned. "What for? Do you... work there?"

You shook your head furiously. "God, no, nothing like that. The ad agency I work for sent me there to pitch ideas for a campaign. That's it, really."

Leon didn't seem quite so convinced, however. "So... you've got nothing to do with them?"

You shook your head again. "No. They've used my agency a few times, but that's really it. Promise."

He seemed satisfied with that, and his hand squeezed yours comfortingly, which had blood rushing to your cheeks. "Alright. I believe you."

Of course, your objective of finding the G-Virus couldn't stop for a moment between the both of you, and so the search resumed, with Leon heading behind the reception desk.

"OK... I wonder where the G-Virus is?"

After scrounging some supplies from the security room, your search eventually led you through an unassuming door down a very ominous dark corridor, with only the light of your flashlights to illuminate the way.

"The G-Virus," you began hesitantly. "Is that... what you and Ada came down here for?"

Leon nodded, casting a light along the grey-and-white walls of the facility. After the filth, blood, and muck you'd waded through, the clean sterility of NEST seemed far more unsettling than any monster you'd encountered tonight.

"Ada told me this was all Annette Birkin's doing," he explained. "She's the one responsible for creating the G-Virus."

"And the outbreak?" you probed further. "Was that also the G-Virus?"

You could just barely make out the frown on his face in the scant light of the flashlights. "Err... she said Umbrella was responsible."

It didn't take long until you came across a wall splattered with blood. You only wish you were more shocked at the sight that greeted you in what appeared to be some kind of worker's break room, now crawling with zombies in lab coats.

"Our menu is designed for your nutritional needs based on our latest biological research," said a cool, robotic female voice over the intercoms as Leon started blasting zombie heads with his shotgun.

"Well, sure is awkward the place's crawling with flesh-eating zombies now," you quipped half-heartedly, wincing as a zombie's head was reduced into a pile of goop with the shotgun Claire loaned you.

"Please enjoy our tasty selection of healthy foods."

Leon huffed softly. "You got that right. Bet they never expected this sort of thing to happen."

With the last zombie head popped, he began scouring the room once again, like all the other rooms before, picking up a few more supplies, including a heavy cannister he somehow managed to fit into his inventory.

"Err... what's that for?"

"Fuel," he answered. "for the flamethrower."

You nodded, your eyes landing on the flamethrower the two of you had casually picked up on the way to rescue Ada — now happily strapped to his back.

"After you, officer."

That got a small chuckle out of him. "Haven't been much of one tonight, have I? I'll bet no other rookie's had nearly this bad of a first day."

Leaving the cafeteria, Leon spotted a ladder at the end of the hallway. Injured arm be damned, he began scaling it, and you couldn't help but sneak a peek at his well-defined arms and backside through the material of his uniform trousers before snapping yourself out of it and following suit.

He helpfully held out an arm to help you up, and you found yourselves standing in the middle of a massive air vent, lined with steel pipes and long, aluminum tubes. Reaching a grate at the end, he leapt down into the space below, gesturing for you to follow.

You, marginally less athletic and also far less willing to risk your joints, peered down the hole. "Is there really no ladder?"

Leon got his bearings, landing into a crouch and easing himself back up. He held out his arms. "It's okay. I've got you."

"But your arm —"

Leon glanced down at his bandaged shoulder, shaking his head. "I'll be fine. I just need to get you down safely."

You weren't fully convinced, but neither of you had to luxury to stall, with more zombies lurking beyond this room, and Ada still waiting back on the tram. Hesitantly, you sank into a crouch over the hole, dangling your legs through the ceiling before letting yourself drop, straight into his outstretched arms like a knight in... soiled police uniform.

Jeez, snap out of it already.

It seemed you'd landed right in the middle of the facility's kitchen. Seemed breakfast was on the menu when the zombie outbreak occured, judging by the now-cold pancakes and scrambled eggs on the griddle. Leon, ever-mission oriented, wasted no time gathering up all the ammo, gunpowder, and even the odd hand grenade he could find (who keeps munitions in the kitchen?).

Just your luck, you encountered a zombie in tactical uniform standing right outside the exit, but a few shots to the head took care of that.

Hanging a right down the blood-spattered hallway, you managed to find one of those card reader chips inside someplace called the 'NAP ROOM'.

"Wish I had a 'Nap Room' at my work," you muttered, looking around at the desolate, empty space, containing only a sofa and a desk, and a very conspicuous zombie arm clamped in the shutters with something in its hand.

Leon reached out to take it, and you managed to get a better look at the thing through the glow of his flashlight, a small blue chip with two bars in the middle, one short, one long. "Isn't that...?"

He nodded, switching out the chips on Ada's wristband. "This... might come in handy."

Poking around further, the two of you found yet another strange object — this one something that looked like an air pump fixed to the top of a fire hydrant wheel connected by a tube. You'd never seen anything like it, but Leon, unfazed, somehow knew to affix to his personal flamethrower, like this was something he did on the regular.

"Come on, let's head back," he gestured towards the door, right in the direction of where you both had come from. "Stay behind me."

"Don't need to tell me twice," you replied, immediately assuming a position right at his back, keeping an eye out for any zombies that you'd somehow missed during the initial onslaught.

Retracing your steps through the dark hallways, you had to squint as Leon opened the door back to the flourescent lights of the reception area. Of course, neither of you seemed to be alone, if the robotic female voice requesting for someone named Dr. Li to go to the East Area was any indication.

Morbidly, you wondered if Dr. Li happened to be any of the lab coat zombies from the cafeteria earlier.

With the level 2 chip inserted into Ada's wristband, the both of you headed for a door with a glowing blue panel labelled 'MAIN SHAFT'. Not that you were in a hurry to find out what that entailed.

The main shaft, as it were, turned out to be a massive gaping maw at the centre of the facility with a ledge between you and a long drop into the abyss below. If Leon felt any type of way about it, he was certainly doing his damndest not to let it show.

Of course, right by the corner of the railing, there was a dead body in tactical gear, slumped against it in a pool of blood. You just hoped it wouldn't come back to life. Leon, ever the fearless rookie, immediately approached the thing, recovering another one of those recorders.

The tape played, and soon you had a good idea of just where the G-Virus was located.

"G-Virus is in the West Area," Leon breathed as the recording stopped. "Got it."

You weren't sure if you were supposed to feel any sense of jubliation at that information. More than anything, you just wanted to go home and pretend this was just one long, overly convoluted nightmare.

And maybe Leon could be there as well, as just an adorable rookie cop doing nothing more dangerous than stopping the odd robbery or helping old ladies cross the street. You could dream.

Not for long, however, as with a quiet beep from the wristband, a long walkway extended over the giant abyss across what looked like a giant glass cylinder. Leon beckoned you over, and you followed, gun still in your hand, its weight feeling more at home now. You didn't want to think of the implications for that.

Strangely, you did not board the glass cylinder, running around it to another one of those scanning machines, where the wristband once again came in handy.

"Come on," Leon murmured, stowing the wristband away in his hip pouch. "Stay close to me."

"Like you need to tell me twice," you muttered back, glad it was dark enough he couldn't see the heat rushing to your cheeks.

Sure enough, another bridge opened across to another ominous looking set of sliding doors. You wondered how anyone managed to get to work on time with a commute this convoluted, assuming they didn't just fall into the abyss instead.

Making your way across the bridge, you hoped the G-Virus made itself easy to locate. Although, considering the nonsense you'd already seen, that was about as unlikely as asking Leon on a date while you were still covered in dried sewer muck.

Behind the sliding door, you were met with an absolute mess on the inside. Collapsed ceiling panels, debris swirling in a funnel of air being expelled from a ventilation pipe.

"What the hell do you think happened in here?" you asked no one in particular.

Leon looked over at the mess, his brows furrowing in way you should definitely not be finding adorable during a time like this. "Dunno. Can't be anything good, though. Come on."

You didn't spare any more commentary on the dilapidated state of the entryway, following Leon through the before you labelled 'LOBBY'. Funny, you'd think a lobby would the at the very front of the facility. As always, the door slid open without much resistance.

It was dark as hell in the lobby.

Save for the one lit area behind the reception desk, the rest of the room was shrouded in pitch-black. You'd never been one to be scared of the dark, especially at your grown age, but you'd be lying if some of the darker corners of the room weren't making your hairs prickle up.

However, none of that compared even in the slightest to the next room.

Right as you walked in, there was another dead body. Thankfully, it was wedged against a glass panel and probably wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, and holding a Level 3 access chip, glowing purple through the vines it was enveloped in. Unfortunately, it also meant you'd have to navigate through whatever fresh hell Umbrella had cooked up to get him there.

Leon stopped before the glass, grimacing. "Jesus... what happened here?"

It was a true testament to Leon's training, considering the borderline supernatural stamina the man had for fighting all the horrors you'd encountered throughout the night and then some. You, on the other hand, were being powered by sheer will and those little herbal sachets Leon mixed up with the random potted plants he keeps collecting all over the place. Were those even legal? You certainly weren't about to question anything under these abnormal circumstances.

A side door opened, the usually smooth sliding mechanism jamming from the unholy number of green vines choking the entrance. Leon cleared a few with his knife, flamethrower in hand as he weaved through the thicket. All of a sudden, even the shotgun Claire had given you seemed like a children's toy.

The entire lab had turned into an overgrown jungle, pretty much. Masses of green vines blanketed what used to be neat, orderly cabinets and empty shelves.

You also found out in record time why that flamethrower was very, very important.

In no time at all, you'd encountered what was possibly the hundredth fucked-up thing tonight — a cluster of vines twisted into the shambling, bipedal form of a human. Plant zombies. Surely, you'd seen it all.

Your scream ripped through the air as flames erupted from Leon's flamethrower, torching the plant zombie until it ceased its struggling. With the thing reduced to a pile of char on the floor, he turned back.

"You okay?"

Too overwhelmed to form human words, you simply gave him a thumbs-up. Through the darkness of the overgrown, mutated jungle the two of you were standing in, you thought a relieved look crossed his face.

"That's good."

Reaching for your arm, he brought you closer to his side, until you could feel the warmth of his body (and the flamethrower) through your clothes. "I won't let anything happen to you, okay? You trust me, right?"

Somehow, you managed to get your voice working again. "Y-yeah. I do."

His hand found yours again, giving it a quick squeeze before returning to mission-mode, gripping the flamethrower like a prized posession — which, under these circumstances, may very well be.

No more plant zombies were seen as you entered what looked like a control room, with another door marked 'GREENHOUSE'. You suspected that was where your vegetative greeter might've have emerged out of. Leon did his usual scope of the place, collecting munitions and even peeking into the greenhouse before deciding a large screen displaying a map of the facility was more worthy of his attention.

Below it was a keypad panel. Instead of numbers or letters, however, it was a series of strange-looking symbols. Above you, lock symbols glowed red over the drug testing lab.

"You know how to crack it?"

Leon cracked his knuckles, standing before the keypad. "I think so."

Typing in a few codes, the screen lit up, the red locks changing to green. Over by the glass window overlooking the greenhouse, a small blinking light caught your attention, attatched to some sort of strange, box-shaped device with a small opening in front. Out of curiosity, you pushed a random button.

"Dispensing solution now."

The voice echoed through the entire control room, and a small cartridge emerged out of what you now realised was a specialised dispenser. You grabbed it, tilting it to test its weight. Empty.

Leon made his way over, peering at the cartridge. "Maybe we're supposed to put something in it. C'mon."

Tucking it into your own hip pouch, the two of you descended into the greenhouse. Somehow, you got the feeling you wouldn't be coming away with cute succulents to take home and raise with Leon.

If you thought the initial lab you'd walked into looked like an overgrown jungle, the greenhouse was practically a jungle walk, dark vines curled around the handlebars and grilles over your heads, weaving themselves into a cage above your heads. There were thankfully no plant zombies jumping out of the woodwork, something you didn't want to chance in the cramped corridor leading to the drug testing lab.

In the farthest corner of the room, you spotted some kind of lab equipment — three tubes of mysterious green liquid in a white box with three buttons — red, green, and blue. Most importantly, there was a slot for the cartridge you retrieved from the control room.

"Leon, over here."

Leon, who'd just finished his munitions sweep of the place (you'd long since stopped questioning the weird places he kept finding spare ammo and gunpowder in), made his way over, watching as you slotted the cartridge in.

"Manual mode activated. Adjust amount of solution to match cartridge capacity."

You fiddled uncertainly with the buttons, which you soon discovered were for switching the tubes around and adjusting the levels of green liquid. Once the liquid touched the red light, a yellow indicator appeared, beeping softly above the cartridge slot as it was emptied. The cartridge was ejected, and you pulled it out, staring at the green liquid inside, which looked practically radioactive.

"Well, that's something. No chance this is the G-Virus, right?"

Leon scoffed. "No way. They wouldn't make it this easy."

Heading back out into the greenhouse, you barely made it two minutes along the jungle walkway when you caught one of those plant zombies in your line of vision. Leon's flamethrower made quick work of it, but it was still a gristly sight — a tangled mass of vines writhing over the floor as it was burned black.

You let out yet an undignified yelp as another one dropped out of seemingly nowhere, and Leon immediately changed targets, a steady plume of flames washing over the plant zombie. You'd never thought about what roasted plant smelled like, but whether it was because of Umbrella's experiments or the species of plant they were spliced with, you were strangely reminded of burning rubber.

Walking past the charred remains of the plant zombies, you found yourselves climbing down a long ladder, and a door leading down yet another dark, blood spattered hallway, and rooms that looked as if a hurricane had been through them. Several more zombies playing dead on the ground were dispatched by Leon's gun, and you got in on the action yourself, blasting a few zombie faces to smithereens when they got too close to the business end of your shotgun.

At the beginning of the night, you couldn't even bear to so much as look at the gore. Now, seeing buckshot tear through muscle, splinter bone, and pulverise flesh barely registered.

Is this what it meant to be a survivor?

You didn't spare much time dwelling on that thought. A cry of alarm from Leon alerted you to something skittering across the floor, just a few feet ahead. Your blood ran cold.

God, not these things again.

Blind, skinless, climbing on all fours over walls and ceilings to get the jump on anybody who wasn't paying attention to their surroundings. A note you'd found in the RPD called them 'lickers', and it wasn't difficult to see why. Their long tongues were practically a deadly assault weapon all on their own.

However, Leon was experienced in dealing with these freaks by now, unloading round after round into the licker until it slumped to the ground, motionless.

The both of you contined along, down another hallway and up several flights of stairs, until you got to the low-temp testing room, scavenging supplies, and mowing down the occasional zombie along the way.

"Welcome back, Dr. Li. You have [5] new messages."

You were really starting to wonder who the hell this Dr. Li was. Sure seemed like an important figure. Although, wasn't the person Ada mentioned named Annette — something? Claire also mentioned Sherry's mother being named Annette as well.

And her father — you shuddered, recalling the grotesquery of sinews, teeth and bone, decked with far too many yellowish eyeballs. Things had been quiet so far, or at least as quiet as a zombie infested lab owned by an evil pharmaceutical corporation could be, but no blue man, no eyeball monster.

Somehow, that only unsettled you further.

Leon, however, was casually checking Dr. Li's email. The intial messages weren't much to write home about, mostly complaints about a shitty boss and said shitty boss making everyone's day more shit as a result. You almost had to snort at the mundanity of it all — remove the Umbrella association, and those emails could easily have been from your own inbox.

What was somewhat less mundane, however, was the sudden turn things took from petty office politics to killer plants and death. One message had stopped you in your tracks, however.

Sender: Rick Mendoza Subject: (None) Do you remember Suzie, the cheerleader? What a great gal. We were both into her. Of course, she wasn't into nerds... I still have to give you back those comics and games I borrowed. But you might have to wait a while.

You scanned every line of that email, feeling your chest tightening up. In the end, these scientists were only human. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes at the thought, and you felt Leon's hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, it's okay."

You hastily dabbed the corners of your eyes with a sleeve. "No, it's really stupid —"

"It's not," he said firmly. "These people were complicit in a lot of horrible things, but they were victims of Umbrella, too."

Once you'd gotten your blubbering over with, he extended a hand. "Come on. Let's go put an end to this."

Of course, you couldn't have possibly anticipated in your heart of hearts you'd be walking into a refrigerator, if Leon's smart little quip was anything to go by.

"Brrr! Who left the freezer open?"

"You, Leon," you snorted.

He looked back, grinning for what felt like the first time tonight. "Yeah, sure did, huh?"

You pointed to a glass tank with a console in the middle of the room, filled with about a dozen chambers about the size of the cartridge you were carrying in your hip pouch. "Over there."

Producing the cartridge of green liquid you collected, you stuck it into the slot next to the console's screen. A message flashed across in green, blocky letters: STANDING BY...

With the cartridge fully loaded, a robotic arm grabbed it by the top, slotting it into one of the cooling chambers with a mechanical whirr.

"Cooling sequence in progress... Cooling complete."

The glass of the cartridge felt like ice against your skin as you extracted it out of the chamber it emerged from, and you and Leon exchanged knowing looks. You had an idea exactly where to use this.

Fuelling up on munitions and flamethrower fuel in the server room of all places (they just kept getting weirder and weirder), the two of you set off once again for the greenhouse, armed to the teeth. You'd almost be glad to see some green in this place, if not for what was lurking in it.

Time for Plant Zombies: Round 2.

While you didn't manage to snag your own personal flamethrower on the way back, you did manage to at least slow down the things enough with grenades and your shotgun enough for Leon to finish them off with a proper fire-roasting.

By the time you got back to the greenhouse's control room, you knew what to do. The cartridge went in, and the two of you watched as the herbicide rained down on the entire greenhouse, withering everything into shrivelled brown mulch. From some distance away, you thought you heard a clang, like something had fallen onto the grilles.

"That did the trick," Leon remarked, picking up his weapons again.

As the two of you headed back into the greenhouse, the robot voice returned to spoil the fun, like an irate headmistress as Leon collected the spoils of this entire excursion: the level 3 access chip.

"Warning: you have dispersed a dangerous solution without authorization. Your actions have been logged and you may be subject to disciplinary measures."

Yeah well, good luck trying that when the entire facility's dead. Dodging another plant zombie getting its stretches in the corner, you and Leon hustled back to the lobby, down dark hallways choked with vines, and over to a small station where you were, once again, staring down at somebody's inbox. It was one long thing this time, from someone named William Birkin.

Birkin. Where had you heard the name before?

The contents were much more... interesting than just petty workplace complaints this time. Something about spies in NEST — not quite your problem, but the second part of the email was by far more concerning.

'G' — by now, you were certain that could only refer to the G-Virus.

After a brief stop at the lobby for some rest, you headed back out to the bridge connecting the East Area to the central port, all the way back to the level 3 access panel that got you on this wild goose chase to begin with.

As the bridge to the West Area extended over to the platform the both of you were standing on, you heard Leon murmur, "Hopefully the G sample's up here."

For both your sakes, you hoped so too.

Doubling back for supplies, you eventually found an answer to the fate of Dr. Li — scribbling delusions of grandeur as his colleagues were gunned down around him, the black-haired zombie you found the note with unceremoniously dispatched by Leon's shotgun.

Rest in peace, Dr. Li, you thought as you headed back towards the main shaft, passing by a pink level 4 panel that immediately flashed ACCESS DENIED across its screen as you two passed. That was probably going to be important later.

Making your way across the bridge to the building marked 'WEST AREA' you had a feelings things were only about to get rougher from here.

***

As soon as Leon got the lights back on with the signal modulator, you could finally take stock of your surroundings.

Where the East Area contained some semblance of hospitality, however cold, sterile, and corporate, the West Area was all bare-bones clinical efficiency, the walls of the first office you walked into plastered with notes in indecipherable handwriting, looking out into a room that would've looked like a dentist's office if not for the strange contraption above it, like mechanical arms with needles at the end.

Leon had gotten a tape recording off another dead body in tactical gear, this one for a video. Your eyes remained glued to the screen as you watched the grainy bodycam footage, dated 22nd of September, 1998.

It was glitchy, possibly from its carrier getting shot, but you could see the distinct figure of a man in a white lab coat getting something out of a freezer, a test tube. The audio immediately confirmed your speculations.

"Dr. Birkin, you'll come with us quietly."

With a creeping dread, you realised this was the same audio Leon found off that initial dead body by the main shaft. The man in the lab coat, then, had to be William Birkin.

Birkin, holding a large black briefcase to his chest, appeared to be reaching for something in his coat. "You think I didn't know you were coming? This is my life's work! I'm not handing over anything!"

"We have our orders, Dr. Birkin. I'll ask you one more time..."

In response, Birkin's hand emerged out of his coat, allowing you to catch the silhouette of a gun. The squad immediately opened fire, spraying red into the air.

The order to hold their fire came too late. One of them went to check Birkin's pulse, while another, presumably the leader of the whole operation in a black gas mask and helmet, got in the frame.

"What the fuck were you thinking? Our orders were to bring him in alive!"

Another soldier (?) spoke into an intercom, updating some kind of central command. "We're in, sir, but we had a snafu. Target resisted, so we had to take him out."

"... Roger that. Just the samples, then. Let's move!"

The video ended, ejecting the tape from the player as you and Leon were left to ruminate on. "So those were G samples?"

You frowned. "Seems like it. But if they've been taken away, how are we supposed to —"

"Maybe there's still some left. Ada wouldn't risk her life to come down here otherwise," Leon reasoned.

Going through Birkin's emails painted an ominous picture. Cut funding, suspension, Birkin selling the virus to some shady company, and someone named Richard Kessler asking for 'data', another email reprimanding Birkin for breach of contract.

"What a mess," you muttered.

Leon shut off the computer, pistol in hand. "Well, seems like we're on the right track, at least."

Entering the lab proper, you noted the crooked shape of the doorway, bent and crumpled as if something had forced its way through. Something large. You were reminded for a moment of the hulking blue humanoid creature in its black trenchcoat, pulling iron grills apart like they were nothing.

Somehow, that felt like a lifetime ago. You wondered how Claire was doing, if Sherry was safe, if Ada was still at the tram where you left her, waiting.

It was all procedure by this point — stepping through a decontamination tunnel in your soiled clothes, feeling the blast of sterile air leading out onto yet another walkway over the yawning abyss, through another door that slid seamlessly open with a beep of the wristband.

Further in, you'd stumbled across research notes — you struggled to get through the scientific jargon, but the account of a test subject taking their own life during an experiment had a chill going down your spine at how offhanded it had been, left in parenthesis as if the loss of a life was a mere footnote. Yet another document described how the virus was implanted into two subjects who had a close relationship. You didn't even want to know.

"Sick bastards," Leon seethed. You couldn't agree more.

Heading further in, you recognised this place as where Birkin got gunned down by the firing squad. Leon reached for a vial in one of the slots, staring at it in his open palm.

"Huh. That was easy..."

Somehow, after everything, after fighting your way through the city's sewers, battling through all of Umbrella's monstrous creations, going through all that trouble just to infiltrate NEST, the G-Virus was just sitting there, mere feet away from where the scientist who'd created it had gone to such lengths to keep it out of even his own employer's hands?

Yeah, it was too easy.

"Alright, now back to Ada."

"Leon —" you started. "You really trust her?"

He tucked the vial into his pouch, looking back at you, mildly perturbed. "Should we not? She's done nothing but help us so far."

Something about the earnestness in his eyes, the way they were so wide and blue and luminous even in this lifeless place made you stop short, just slightly.

"I... don't know. Some things don't add up. The G-Virus, Ada's mission... Leon, do you really know what she wants it for? Did she ever tell you?"

His jaw clenched, avoiding your gaze. Already, you could tell a seed had been planted. "She's doing this to stop Annette. To bring down Umbrella."

"If that was the case, half the stuff we've been looking at would be evidence enough to prove their crimes. I asked her why she needed the G-Virus specifically. She never actually answered me."

"Well, maybe she's just trying to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands," Leon justified weakly.

You bit your tongue, knowing you had to choose your next words carefully. "I'm just saying, maybe... we shouldn't be taking everything she says at face value. I'm serious, Leon."

He reached over, squeezing your shoulder. "Well, when we make it back, we can talk to her. Set things straight."

You nodded uneasily, your footsteps mere paces behind his as you made your way back out of the lab.

"Unauthorized removal of a [Level 4] virus detected. Facility lockdown initiated. Self-destruct sequence will begin once lockdown is complete."

"Uh, Leon —" you warned.

"Don't worry about that right now," he reassured. "Let's get back to Ada first. I won't let anything happen to you, okay?"

Retracing your steps back out over the bridge, you'd just about made it to the other side when the ceiling split open, a large misshapen mass of muscle and sinew, with tiny human legs and an engorged right shoulder topped with a bulging yellow eyeball. On closer inspection, the thing appeared to have two heads — one skull-like and much too small for its body, the other a man's face, contorted in agony over where a normal human's heart would be.

Of course it wouldn't actually be that easy.

Leon raised his gun. "You again."

You raised your own firearm as well, before noticing a blonde woman in a white lab coat limping over.

"Move! He's mine. This has to end."

Holding up what looked like a small pistol, she fired it. Instead of bullets, a spurt of acid landed on the monster's exposed flesh, melting it and eliciting a groan of agony.

Leon looked over at the lady, gun still raised. "What the hell's going on?"

You didn't lower your own gun either. "Who are you?"

Instead of answering either of your questions, the lady instead limped towards the monster, raising her acid gun again. "Sorry, William. You left me no choice."

Another blast of acid hit the monster, and it finally slumped to the ground, seemingly dead. Keeping you close behind, Leon approached its smouldering body, gun aiming for its head in case it came back to life. Once he was certain it wasn't, he knelt by the body. You, on the other hand, preferred to stand.

"You called this thing 'William'. Why?"

You hadn't given it much thought between the monster falling from the ceiling and the lady with her acid gun, but looking down at the body and thinking back to all the emails and documents you'd read previously... no, that can't be right. It sounded like something out of a cheap B-horror movie.

The woman, on the other hand, was still staring ahead at the monster's body, shaking her head as if she was in a trance. "It shouldn't have been like this..."

She gritted her teeth, fists clenched. "It's Umbrella's fault, this whole mess."

"You're Umbrella, too," Leon pointed out. "You're telling me you weren't involved in this?"

"Yes..." she replied. "But we never meant for this to happen!"

A bit too little, too late for that, lady. But you kept your mouth shut. You certainly didn't want to risk her aiming that acid gun at you next. Leon got up, assuming authorative police officer mode — a very attractive mode of his, you might add (stop.) — standing before the woman with a determined look upon his face.

"Then tell me everything — right from the start."

The woman, who turned out to be the Annette Birkin Leon and Ada had been after, had watched as William Birkin, her husband inject himself with the G-Virus after being gunned down.

Leon's expression was grim. "So you made this monster?"

Annette Birkin rushed to cover her tracks. "We made the G-Virus, but we never intended this to —"

"You can spin it any way you want," Leon said matter-of-factly. "You're still responsible."

Meanwhile, the yellow eyeball on the mutated William Birkin's arm was rotating, just behind him. You tugged on Leon's sleeve. "Uh, guys —"

Before either of you could react, however, the monster's claws had grabbed Annette by her midsection, and all you could do was watch as she struggled hopelessly in its grasp before getting thrown bodily against a wall.

As if that couldn't make matters worse, the monster sprouted three new arms, each tipped with long talons. Immediately, it took a swipe at you and Leon, and you scrambled to get away before you got turned into mincemeat.

"The hell?"

Another set of talons came down, crumpling metal like paper where he used to be. "Shit!"

"Leon, watch out!" you shouted, a few feet from the entrance where you came from. Like that needed saying.

"Stay back! It's too dangerous!" he yelled back before turning to the monster. "

Annette, whose spine had miraculously remained intact despite getting thrown against a metal wall, managed to struggle to her feet, pressing a button. Emergency lights flooded the room with a red glow, and the platform began to sink.

"What're you doing?" Leon called out to Annette.

"We can't let him get away!"

Sparing a second to weigh his options, Leon vaulted the railing, landing on the platform below to face of against the G-Virus monster. AKA William Birkin. AKA — fucking hell, it was all making your head hurt.

You didn't relish the idea of Leon facing that thing alone, but the chances you'd just be dead weight against that monster were higher than you'd like to admit. Zombies were one thing, but this was a different beast entirely.

You raised your weapon half-heartedly, but with how fast the G-mutant was moving, you couldn't risk hitting Leon. Turning to look at Annette still slumped over the console, the only thing you could do was wait. And hope.

Leon dodged, weaved, and rolled out of the range of the monster's strikes, firing with deadly accuracy at the yellow eyeballs protruding out of various parts of its body, including a particularly gross-looking cluster out of its back. The flamethrower, which hadn't been completely burned out on the plant zombies, also came in clutch.

Of course, not without the caveat that the monster was still pretty strong, deadly, and aggressive on top of being on fire, which immediately caused problems when it promptly started setting everything else on fire. Leon, despite his best efforts, was still toting around a bunch of heavy weaponry, and had been launched across the room a few times already by the monster's powerful swipes.

"Come on, Leon —" you muttered, unsure how that was supposed to help.

Leon, however, persisted in using that flamethrower to its full potential, even as the monster was in the midst of prying off pieces of wall to use as a rudimentary shield. However, it seemed to be working, despite him nearly getting flattened into a Leon-pancake by swinging pieces of infrastructure.

At the end, it paid off, the monster crumpling to the ground a scorched, smoking mass, it's eyeballs oozing foul yellow pus as it keeled over.

Your knees almost gave out in relief as Leon hitched a ride on the service lift back up to the higher platform where you and Annette were. There was no time to have a heartfelt reunion, however. Bloodied and slumped against a wall holding her midsection, she was practically at death's door. Leon sprang into action, kneeling by her side.

"Jesus, that looks bad."

Annette's breath came out in short bursts, her face contorted in agony. "Feels worse, believe me."

"Look, about what you said, I don't know how much I believe it, but I'm willing to —"

She suddenly grabbed him by the arm. "Just tell me you'll destroy that G sample."

Leon shook his head. "No, it's evidence. It's going to the FBI."

You stiffened at that. In the heat of the battle and running into Annette, you'd nearly forgotten. Hell, you weren't even sure you believed it coming out of Leon's mouth anymore.

Evidently, Annette didn't believe it either. Coughing weakly, she stared up at him, her voice dripping with derision. "You trust that bitch?"

Leon glanced over at you, then back at Annette. "What's that supposed to mean?"

You knew, but somehow, Annette saying it would be the final nail in that coffin. "She's not FBI, she's a mercenary. She's gonna sell it — the G-Virus..." she winced. "... is gonna go to the highest bidder."

Leon stood back up, staring disbelievingly down at her. "That's bullshit."

You stood up as well, placing a hand on Leon's shoulder. Annette gasped, and you saw the wound properly for the first time — a dark, gaping hole in her side, soaking her shirt with blood as she eased herself on her side.

"I hope — you're right," she gritted out through her teeth. "But if the G-Virus... gets into the wrong hands..."

She didn't get to finish her sentence, her head lolling on the floor as she lay, motionless. Somehow, you weren't even fazed. You and Leon lingered for but a moment, but time was of the essence.

You found your way back to the decontamination tunnel again when Leon stopped in his tracks. You abruptly stopped as well, staring at the R.P.D initials on his bulletproof vest.

"You believe her? Annette?"

You stood behind him, checking the bullet chamber of your handgun, feeling its solid weight in your grip. "No more than I believe Ada, I guess."

He turned around, and you reluctantly dragged your gaze up to his face. Swimming in those blue eyes were a cacophony of emotions — denial, desperation, and an underlying spark of anger you didn't want to touch.

"I can trust you, right?"

You forced yourself to maintain eye contact. "Yeah, Leon. You can."

His expression softened, just a fraction. "OK. Now, let's get outta here."

***

Exiting the decontamination chute, the worst news anyone could possibly hear while stuck deep underground in a top-secret facility filled with monsters blared through the PA system.

"Attention: Self-destruct sequence initiated."

"Well, isn't that just the cherry on top of this messed-up cake," you muttered, trying to keep pace with Leon as his boots thundered against the floors.

"Use the central elevator to evacuate immediately to the bottom-level train platform."

At least it was nice enough to leave you guys an escape route. As you ran down the last hallway out onto the main shaft, you could see the red of Ada's dress on the platform, holding up some kind of gadget to override the elevator's access panel. Right on time.

Instead of the urgency one would expect in this sort of situation, he was walking leisurely over, paying no mind to the crumbling debris around him, your hand firmly in his even as every nerve in your body was screaming to get to the elevator.

"I was just thinking about you."

"That makes two of us," Ada replied, limping her way over. "I was getting worried."

The ground was shaking beneath you, but Leon's grip on your hand remained firm as he walked across the bridge. "Y'know, we all make a good team. But I gotta ask you something."

Ada ambled her way over on her good leg. "The way's clear. Please, tell me you have it."

"Oh, we got it." Leon replied, somehow calm and nonchalant despite the place falling apart around him. It was almost too unfairly hot — nope, you did not just think that.

She held out a hand. "Let me verify the G sample and we'll get the hell out of here."

"Here?" you asked. "You don't want to wait till we're all on the surface?"

Ada's eyes flickered over to you in annoyance. "Look, there's no time, just —"

"Before we do that..." Leon started. "I ran into Annette. She claims you're not FBI."

"And you're awfully fixated on one tiny sample when there's a whole treasure trove of evidence in this place," you added. "You're not really here to investigate Umbrella's crimes, are you?"

You weren't exactly sure what you expected. Denial, maybe even doubling down on the sample. Something you'd seen manipulators do every so often when their jig was up. Ada's lips curved into a wry smile.

"Oh, Leon..."

You nearly staggered back at the sight of her pistol. You'd only been held at gunpoint once tonight, but suffice to say you weren't keen on repeating that experience.

"Why couldn't you just hand over the sample?"

Leon simply returned Ada's gesture by letting go of your hand and drawing his own gun.

"Because I realized, as much as I wanted to trust you, I didn't."

You drew your gun as well, trying to hide how badly your arms were shaking. "And I never trusted you at all."

Ada shook her head, her expression calm despite having two guns aimed right at her. "I really hoped it wouldn't end up like this."

"So that's all this was," Leon said. "We were just pawns to you?"

She huffed, rolling her eyes like she was just breaking up with a whiny boyfriend. "Look, I'm just doing my job," she sent a snide look in your direction again. "And you just had to ask so many questions."

"Thanks," you replied sarcastically. "just doing my job."

"And I'm doing mine, so drop that damn gun!" Leon commanded. "I'm taking you in."

With what authority he had to arrest a mercenary in the middle of a crumbling underground facility when RPD itself was in shambles miles above, you weren't sure. Ada wasn't buying it, either, stepping forward, gun in hand.

"Hand over the sample, Leon. I don't wanna hurt you."

Just then, half the bridge crumbled, and you were starting to think it'd be a better idea to just hash this out when everyone was safely out of this self-destructing facility, but noooo. They had to play out this stupid soap opera when the ground you were standing on was about as sturdy as wet clay. Morons.

As if an entire piece of infrastructure crumbling was just a minor inconvenience, Leon shifted in place, lowering his gun and standing point-blank at Ada's, the muzzle pointed square at his chest. He was wearing a bulletproof vest, of course, but it was the principle of the thing.

"Then you shoot me. But I don't think you can."

Well, maybe not you, you thought. But somehow you had a feeling Ada wouldn't have as many qualms about shooting you.

Precious minutes were wasted as Ada stood there, perhaps contemplating whether she could shoot you instead. Mercifully, she lowered her gun, only for blood to spurt out of her right shoulder.

You whipped your head back, and felt your jaw drop. Leaning against the entryway was a miraculously alive Annette Birkin, who'd somehow survived getting gored in the side and thrown against a wall enough to drag herself back to the main shaft and shoot a gun at Ada.

Just what the hell were these people made of???

Of course, the rest of the bridge just had to fully collapse right that moment, leaving you, Leon, and Ada clinging for dear life on whatever remained of the bridge. To make matters worse, the G sample fell out of Leon's pocket, bounced on the bridge, then fell into the abyss. Your eyes followed it down, watching it get swallowed by the darkness along with all the other falling debris.

You'd just barely managed to find your footing, grabbing onto Leon's good shoulder to haul him back up, if not for Ada dangling from his hand.

"Leon..."

"Hold on, I think I can..." he cursed as the bridge crumbled even further under all your weights. "Argh, shit!"

He looked imploringly in your direction, and despite jealousy threatening to rear its ugly head, you nodded, clambering uneasily over whatever bridge was left to extend your hand on Ada's other side. Sure, she was a mercenary, but you weren't a monster. Besides, there would be plenty of opportunities to turn her in once all three of you made it to the surface. Not like she could run very far with a leg injury.

She made no move to grab your hand, however, which was really kind of hurtful. Just because you were a bit petty those few times — okay, maybe since the minute you met, but this was life and death here.

Ada, for her part, looked resigned to her fate. "Forget it."

"Shut up," Leon sobbed, which definitely didn't make you jealous whatsoever. "I've got you!"

"It's not worth it," she said.

That, however, only made Leon more distraught, to the point where you were feeling it as well, even as you yourself were right on the edge of pitching off this bridge.

You'd never been particularly scared of heights or darkness, but — one look at the chasm below made you gulp. Heavily.

"Don't do this," he pleaded, but her hand was already slipping from his.

Ada looked back up at the two of you, her eyes shining with some of unspeakable emotion. "Take care of yourselves, you two."

With that, she fell, deep into the dust and debris and glowing blue lights of NEST punctuated by Leon's heartwrenching "NO!"

"Leon," you implored weakly, grabbing his shoulder. "Come on. We can't stay."

The two of you clambered onto the last intact piece of the bridge, right by the central elevator. You went ahead, Leon trailing behind, trying to muster up a brave face as you stopped to check on him every few paces.

"Keep going. I'm right behind you."

Somehow, you weren't entirely convinced.

Getting into the elevator, you didn't so much as breathe a sigh of relief until its doors hissed shut. Silence hung in the air as it descended, the chamber lit up by a red glow from the flames blazing through the facility.

When the doors slid open, you reached for Leon's hand, relieved to feel his calloused, gloved hand in yours as you ran for the train, surrounding by flashing screens and blaring warning alarms. It was almost romantic.

Just out of the corner of your eye, you caught a screen glitching. Leon, who'd also noticed, stopped in his tracks.

"Who's that?"

The both of you got in front of the screen, the static cleared, revealing a familiar face.

"Claire!" you both exclaimed at the same time, then exchanged looks.

Her face appeared, and from the looks of her dirt-streaked shoulders she'd been through quite the ordeal herself. "You guys are down here, too?"

"Yeah," Leon answered. "But the whole place is coming down. Listen to me. You need to get out, fast!"

Claire leaned away from the screen, looking at something neither of you could see. "Yeah, there's a way out. We can make it — where are you now?"

You looked around. "Some kind of emergency room. We're on our way."

Whether it was because the facility was crumbling elsewhere or just the fact of being underground, her feed was cutting out constantly. Leon leaned against the console, eyes glued to the monitor as if he could reach her through the screen.

"Claire? You still there?"

"Leon? Hey, Leon — you guys are breaking up."

"Forget about me, just get out of here!"

The feed cut out one final time, and he stood back up. "Dammit!"

You patted his shoulder. "Come on. We're not gonna make it dilly-dallying around here."

"You're right," he agreed, holding out his hand. "Let's go."

As if you needed further prompting to hurry the fuck up, the PA system announced: "Nine minutes until detonation."

Jeez, trigger-happy much?

You and Leon made double time, running out the exit and onto a series of platforms, down a service elevator, through a few more plant-zombie infested tunnels you kept back with bullets, climbing down yet another ladder. Freedom was so close.

Until blue man showed up to ruin the party, bursting through the ceilings and in hot pursuit of your smelly asses.

"What the fuck! You're supposed to be dead!" you shrieked at the advancing humanoid stomping towards you both.

Leon shared the same sentiments, albeit worded slightly more politely. "Uh, is this a fucking joke?"

Either way, time to play good ol' 'ring-around-the-rosie' with this bitch. You circled a railing, gunning for the exit, Leon hot on your heels as the two officially arrived in hell.

Well, close enough. It was on fire, the metal walls and doors burning red-hot from the flames currently swallowing the room. The smoke stung your eyes and filled your lungs, and you held up a sleeve to block it out, coughing as you turned into a corridor that was, thankfully, not on fire.

"Eight minutes until detonation."

You'd think there'd be more convenient ways to escape a disintegrating underground facility, but apparently the architects who designed this place didn't seem to think so, as you were plunged into yet another blazing backroom, the heat almost unbearable through your cardigan.

Unfortunately, before you could reach the exit, an explosion went off, blocking the way forward. As if the situation wasn't dire enough, blue man had caught up, grabbing Leon by the throat and raising him up to the grilles, another blast shook him from its grasp, and Leon toppled to the ground.

You rushed to his side, eyeing the creature uneasily, but before you could contemplate whether to raise your shotgun at it, two gas tanks exploded, collapsing the grille you and Leon were standing on and pitching you onto the level below.

"Gah!" Leon gasped as he landed on his side, curling up in pain.

You'd fared slighly better, having managed to break your fall with your knees and elbows, crawling over to him. "Leon, come on, get up —"

More gas tanks exploded, blasting blue man from all directions until another grille collapsed, landing several inches from where he was. You grabbed him by his good arm, hauling him up and making sure nothing was broken.

"Gotta keep going...!"

"Yeah, you don't say!" you retorted as the both of you promptly hauled ass out of there, running out onto another platform where you snagged a joint plug to slot into the circuit. Leon pulled the lever, and you felt relief wash over you as the indicator turned green.

Of course, the universe wasn't letting up on either of you just yet.

Right on cue, emerging out of the flames was blue man in all his glory, his trenchcoat completely tattered, showcasing every sinew and bulging muscle that could put even Arnold Schwarzenegger himself to shame.

Leon stared up at the creature in horror. "Oh, shit..."

You, on the other hand, managed to articulate your concerns somewhat more eloquently. "Really, bitch? Again?"

Right before a collapsing beam promptly knocked you both off your feet, and blue man, still on fire, landing squarely right on your platform.

"Alright, come on!" Leon dared, while you grabbed your shotgun like an irate grandpa yelling at kids to get off his lawn.

"GET THE FUCK — OFF OUR BACKS — ASSHOLE!"

You were pretty miffed Claire didn't leave you with a machine gun instead. That would've really driven the point home.

The battle begun, with both you and Leon aiming for the pulsing red thing in its chest like an exposed heart, while trying to keep your distance from it, which was far easier said than done on such a small platform. Still, it was two against one, and Umbrella's monsters had quite an obvious design flaw.

Tossing a flashbang at the creature, you heard Leon go, "What is it with this thing?"

"Wouldn't I love to know!" you shouted back, unloading another round into blue man's chest, narrowly avoiding a swipe from its outsized talons.

Between the both of you, Leon's flamethrower, and a convenient grenade launcher sliding from the rafters, you managed to dispatch blue man at last. You could've wept for joy upon hearing the words "You have reached the bottom level" if it didn't mean embarassing yourself in front of Leon.

With the grenade launcher in hand, you mowed through any remaining zombies effortlessly, making it through the last stretch onto the arriving train, dodging falling pieces of the building and even more explosions as you ran.

"Dammit, this thing's not stopping?" you panted as your legs struggled to keep up.

Leon, without so much as a warning, scooped you up, running to an opening and tossing you in like a sack of potatoes before hoisting himself up beside you.

At last, you could both breathe, as NEST disintegrated behind you with yet another massive explosion. You'd made it out just in time.

You both slumped against the wall, far too exhausted to even celebrate.

"You know," you heaved. "I really only did yoga before this."

Leon laughed, a gentle sound that rang out over the train rattling over the tracks. "Really? Could've fooled me. You held your own."

"I've got you to thank," you replied, feeling warm in the face all of a sudden. "I don't think I would've made it out of here without you and Claire."

He reached for your hand, squeezing it in his. "I promised, didn't I?"

You spotted the faint purple glow of Ada's wristband, and your face fell. Leon pulled it out of his pocket, examining it with a bittersweet look in his eyes.

"I still can't believe I never saw it," he murmured, before turning back to you, his eyes filled with that earnestness you'd become so fond of. "How'd you know, anyway? That she wasn't... trustworthy."

You sighed, letting your head fall back against the wall. "Well, I am in advertising. Guess I know a thing or two about manipulation."

"Maybe you can teach me," he said, before clearing his throat awkwardly. "To spot manipulation, I mean."

"Sure," you replied, the atmosphere suddenly getting a little awkward as you both became rather aware of the elephant in the room.

"So..." Leon began, fiddling with the bracelet awkwardly. You almost wanted to snatch it out of his hand and kiss him senseless, if not for the fact that you both were still a) covered in sewage and b) stink to high heaven.

"So..." you supplied, waiting for him to spit it out.

"Maybe once we get out, we can — get coffee...? See a movie...?"

You blinked, not quite believing your ears. You'd been so busy trying not to die, you hadn't exactly given tomorrow much thought, let alone seeing Leon again outside of the zombie apocalypse.

Wait, did he just say he wanted to see you outside of the zombie apocalypse? Coffee, movies — surely, that was indicative of wanting to see someone beyond the zombie apocalypse.

Immediately, your brain scrambled to formulate a response. "Uh, y-yeah, yeah, totally! Err — wait, maybe when we get back to the surface we can... exchange contact info?"

You couldn't quite see it in the dark or the layer of grime over his face, but you could've sworn his cheeks were pink too. "Yeah, sure."

He stared back down at the bracelet, a sad smile on his face. "I can't believe I actually miss her."

You remained silent. There were a million things you could say, but none of them seemed remotely appropriate for the moment. Although, you did allow yourself a moment of triumph as Leon let the bracelet fall away onto the tracks.

He got to his feet, holding out a hand to you, which you gladly took, walking among the seats to another set of doors, which slid open to reveal Claire and Sherry, just one car away from yours.

"Claire!"

"Hey, guys!" she beamed. "It's so good to see you both."

Leon spread his arms out. "Told you we'd make it, didn't I?"

"You did," you replied, your hand still in his.

Leon looked over at Sherry, sitting over to the side. "Who's this?"

Claire brought her forward, the little girl smiling politely up at him. Somehow, you imagined that pretty face of his put children at ease. "This? This is Sherry."

Just as Leon nodded his acknowledgement, the train car shook. And just when you thought that was the last of it. Nope. Claire and Leon, who were far more resolute than you, were immediately on alert.

"What was that?"

"I don't know."

Claire held up a hand. "You two stay here with Sherry. I'll go check it out."

Not long after, you were hearing the sound of gunfire and Claire cursing up a storm. You and Leon exchanged glances, taking up arms again. Hey, what's one more horror for a night already full of 'em, right? Sherry got off her seat, padding after you as you prepared to charge through the door, guns blazing.

"I'm coming with you guys!"

Leon knelt by her side. "It could be dangerous. We wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"But... I'm scared. I don't wanna be alone."

You knelt on her other side. "If you come with us, you have to promise to do as we say, and stay out of danger. Understood?"

Sherry nodded, her nose scrunched in determination.

Right as you got to the last car, you were floored by the sight before you. You couldn't even begin to describe it, the way its flesh parted in the center to reveal a familiar yellowed eyeball like the world's most cursed flower, edged with way too much teeth in all the places where there shouldn't be any.

A tentacle swiped out, knocking Claire off her feet and throwing the car off-balance. Out of a nearby window, you could see the metal exteriors trailing sparks against the tunnel.

Leon, ever the man of action, sprang towards the panel between the cars. "Claire!" he turned to you, urgency in his eyes. "We gotta lose that car!"

You wasted no time helping him open up the panel, exposing the hook. A few good stomps later, the cars were coming loose. Claire, for her part, got her bearings right in time to grab a stick and stab the creature's big yellow eyeball, gushing foul pus as she drove it deeper in.

"You like that? Goodbye, fucker."

She yanked it back out, and the monster let out a blood curdling scream as Leon reached for Claire's hand, pulling her back into your car just in the nick of time to watch it hurtle, along with the abandoned car, into a sea of flames.

***

It had been less than 24 hours since your ordeal, but it must've been days since you'd seen real sunlight. Days of confinement in hotel rooms, then in the RPD had you squinting uncomfortably as you walked, hand-in-hand, with Leon, flanked by Claire and Sherry on your left side.

Sherry's eyes fell onto your linked hands. "So... are you guys, like, together?"

Immediately, you and Leon were sputtering. "We, uh —"

"Well, we actually just met... last night?" Leon offered unhelpfully.

"Sure was one helluva of a first date," you remarked, half-jokingly.

Thankfully, Sherry's attention was soon directed to an approaching truck. "Look, he might be able to give us a ride."

Claire stopped before front of you and Leon, her brows furrowing in concern. "What if it's not just the city?"

Leon glanced over at the truck, shepherding Sherry over to Claire's side. "Get Sherry outta here."

All attempts to hitchhike failed, however, as the trucker instantly flipped the bird at you out the window, driving off and leaving everyone in the dust.

"Well... he was friendly."

"Wouldn't exactly call it that," you muttered as Claire and Sherry rejoined you.

Claire watched the truck disappear into the horizon. "So... is it over?"

Leon's gaze was determined, his hand firmly gripping yours as he stepped forward. "I don't know. But if it's not, we'll stop it. Whatever it takes."

"Yeah, you're damn right we will!"

"Uh, are we really walking all the way to next town, though?" you pointed out.

"Long as we stick together, we'll be fine," Leon reassured, extending his other hand to Sherry. "Come on."

"That... still doesn't answer my question."

"Hey, you guys can adopt me!" Sherry piped up, somehow in great spirits despite everything. You supposed that was a good thing.

Claire chuckled. "Adopt you?"

"We can get a puppy!"

"A... puppy."

"And a parrot!"

"Parrot? Great..."

"Hey," you grinned at Claire. "You saved her. She's your responsibility now."

Sherry, on the other hand, was still happily going on about her dream pets. "I always wanted pets, but my mom says they're too messy. Oh, and it would be fun to learn piano. Do you guys play any instruments?"

"Not unless... the recorder in elementary school counts?" you laughed, relieved to finally be heading home at last.

Your eyes fluttered open in the light, only vaguely aware of the body beside you, his strong, sinewed arms wound firmly around your waist as you steadily came to. Leon's face was still where it had been the night before, tucked into the crook of your neck, soft strands of blond hair brushing against your skin.

For a second, you weren't quite sure if you were dreaming, especially once last night's conversation started drifting back to you in bits and pieces — coming back to his apartment, talking about Spain, Ada, and then...

Spending the weekend with him.

And you, the lovelorn fool you were, had agreed with minimal resistance. With conditions, of course, but it was certainly concerning behaviour for someone who'd been strung along by the same man for six years and counting. The same man, by the way, who'd all but barred the rest of your dating prospects while stubbornly refusing to commit.

You loved him, you knew that much. And despite his infuriatingly altruistic, if misguided reasons for not telling you as much as he should've, you knew you meant something to him, if the look on his face when you brought up ending the relationship was any indication. Whatever relationship you had, anyway.

It hung over you, like the stark clarity that followed the morning after a chaotic night filled with terrible decisions. Leon's breathing remained calm, steady. You were still in his shirt, for crying out loud.

Somehow managing to extract yourself out of his grip, you made for his barely-used kitchen. Coffee might clear your head a bit.

You had a pretty nice brew going at Leon's coffee machine when you felt a pair of arms circle your waist again, the weight of Leon's head flopping gently over your shoulder.

"Awake already, baby? Why didn't you call me?"

You let out a quiet huff. "Since when were you this clingy?"

"Mmphf," was the only reply you got as he mushed his face against the side of your neck. "I've always been clingy. Haven't you noticed?"

"Not really. You're not usually around long enough for me to," you held up an extra mug. "Coffee?"

He took it, all the while grumbling something about it 'not being up to him', taking a few disgruntled sips as you prepared your own mug. The rich aroma of the coffee woke you up, while Leon watched you from across the kitchen counter.

"I thought we were supposed to be boyfriend and girlfriend for this?"

You looked up, mildly surprised at the uncharacteristic petulance in his voice as he stared glumly into his coffee. It would be comical, if not for the six years of unresolved emotional baggage he was directly responsible for.

"Well," you said, your voice coming out a little tart. "Your girlfriend's still upset with you."

He winced, finally catching on. As it turned out, six years of unresolved emotional baggage couldn't be overwritten in just a single night.

"Yeah. I see that."

You finished your mug, rinsing it in the sink. "I want to go home."

He looked up, and you saw panic, disappointment, and resignation flash across his eyes at once. For the first time this morning, you decided to relent.

"To change, Leon. Unless you want me walking around in your shirt in public."

"Wouldn't be the worst thing on earth," he mumbled, taking another sip of coffee.

Despite yourself, a smile crept onto your face, although you wasted no time hiding it behind your mug. After a quick freshening up and changing back into your clothes from the night before — which thankfully weren't smelling too rank — you allowed Leon to lead you down to his car, opening the door to his passenger seat.

You'd gone over this routine so many times you'd lost count, but then he did something completely unprecedented. He bent down, his lips brushing your forehead and sending your heart rate into the stratosphere. As if he knew, he flashed you one of his rare smiles, bright and radiant as the morning sun, before gently closing the door.

You spent the entirety of the drive back to your place buried in the collar of your coat, steam practically radiating off your skin and not helped by the way Leon kept glancing over at you at traffic stops, the sincerity in his beautiful blue eyes nearly sending you into a coma right there, surrounded by the scent of his leather seats.

"Err..." you started, hazarding a peek over at him. "That brown leather jacket you had — where'd it go?"

A small smirk lifted the corner of his lips. "Lost it in Spain. You miss it?"

"Maybe?"

His smirk grew. "More than you miss me?"

"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to," you grumbled.

The light turned green, and the engine rumbled to life as he switched gears, flicking on the left signal in preparation to turn into your neighbourhood. You were already stewing in mortification. That jacket had always been a particular favourite of yours, and you relished whenever Leon let you borrow it, wrapping yourself up in its soft fleece lining and breathing in the years of wear and history.

The fact it was a rather stylish jacket certainly didn't hurt, either.

His expression softened, his hand reaching over to pat your leg. "I can buy another one. Now that... you're my girlfriend, you can borrow it as often as you want."

"It's not the same," you murmured, fingering a loose thread on your coat. "you've worn it before."

"Oh, I see what this is," he chortled, turning into your street and parking before your apartment building.

He followed you upstairs, along a familiar route from the polished marble floors of the lobby towards the elevators. It was one the both of you had, as always, traced countless times, but never during the day, which was unprecedented.

There were a lot of unprecedented things happening as of late.

Your keys landed in the fruit bowl by your entryway with a melodic clink, your shoes slipping off and placed carefully into their designated cubicle on your shoe rack. Leon shrugged off his jacket, keeping it in the crook of his arm as he followed you inside.

"We should go out today, don't you think?" he asked, almost too casually. "Y'know, like boyfriends and girlfriends do."

You immediately padded towards your bedroom, trying not to give away how easily he had your heart doing backflips in your chest. "Uh, sure. Where... do we go?"

Leon settled on the couch, leather jacket across his lap, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. "... Maybe the aquarium?"

You nodded slowly. "Sure."

Before he could formulate a response, your bedroom door shut.

***

Steady. Do not let this man sway you with his stupid handsome face with the floppy boyband hair and pretty blue eyes. Your palms came down over your cheeks, willing yourself to snap out of boyfriendland.

Leon S. Kennedy himself was right outside in your living room, oblivious to the storm currently brewing in your heart. You felt like you were leaving someone's dog unattended on your couch. Any longer, and he might start chewing on the furniture. Maybe.

You started unbuttoning your blouse, unzipping your skirt, discarding them almost mindlessly on the floor as you made your way over to your closet, rifling through the racks of clothing feverishly.

Just what the hell were you even supposed to wear for an aquarium date of all things?

Most of your and Leon's 'dates' had been in restaurants, after dark, and your clothes were mostly an afterthought because they wound up on the floor anyway. But a date, during the daytime, where your clothes presumably remained on the whole time — you didn't even know where to begin.

A knock on your bedroom door startled you out of your spiral, and you hastily grabbed a slip, pulling it over your head and over your body.

"Can I come in?"

"Uh, yeah," you replied, scrambling to pick up your discarded clothes. "It's open."

Your door creaked open, revealing Leon, still in his black T-shirt and jeans. Suddenly, you felt exceptionally exposed in just your thin slip, groping backwards for a coverup, a cardigan, anything.

"Are you... okay?"

You turned back towards your closet, suddenly finding the clothes in there rather fascinating as you tried not to skin about Leon's gaze prickling on your bare skin as you resumed rifling through the racks.

"I — uh," you stammered, words failing you in this moment. "I was trying to figure out what to wear. For our... date."

To your chagrin, the word 'date' came out small, embarrassed. You lifted your head, only to be met with another one of his smiles. Like it came as second nature, his arm slipped around your waist, leading you to the bed.

"Doesn't have to be right now. We haven't even had breakfast yet."

He flopped down, over your mattress, and you bit back a protest over his outside clothes on your bed, knowing damn well you'd allowed much worse to happen right where the two of you were currently lying. Just the thought of what your sheets looked like under a blacklight could have you cringing into the next century.

But right now, tucked into Leon's chest, his heartbeat beneath your cheek and his adoring gaze directed plainly at you through those long blond lashes, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" he cooed into your ear, fully enveloping you in his warmth. "You'll look good whatever you wear."

"Stop," you protested, but there was no real heart in it.

Leon nuzzled closer, his hands palming over the fabric of your slip. "I'm not the only guy who notices, y'know."

Whatever retort you had died in your throat at the slightly mournful tone his voice took. It was true you weren't a slouch in the looks department — if anything, it was probably one of the reasons you'd managed to catch Leon's attention in the first place.

His fingers awkwardly tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "You don't even need to do anything. You could literally just sit there and I'd falling all over myself trying to get your attention."

"Funny," you muttered, feeling your chest tighten, ever so slightly. "I could almost say the same for you."

His hands cupped your cheeks. "I mean it. I'm not screwing around. I want this to work. I want to be with you. Be good to you."

Every. Goddamn. Time. Leon Kennedy always had a way of making your heart melt with those big strong arms and pretty blues. You sat back up.

"Fine. Now shoo, I need to actually put on some clothes."

Leon looked back a little too longingly for your liking as you unceremoniously shoved him towards the door. "Wait, maybe I can help —"

"Like hell I'm changing in front of you," you rebutted, shutting the bedroom door in his face once again.

Why were you putting so much thought into it, anyway? It was still early in the morning. Leon was right — you hadn't even breakfast yet. Groaning quietly under your breath, you wriggled into a lounge set, resigning yourself to dealing with your new boyfriend waiting outside.

Boyfriend. You weren't quite sure if you would ever be used to calling him that.

Leon was right in the living room where you left him, perusing the pile of magazines you left on your coffee table — at the moment, it was a dog-eared copy of The Atlantic. However, at the click of the door's latch, his head shot up from the pages.

"Hey. Erm... you hungry? We can head out."

Right at that moment, both your stomachs decided to start making noise simultaneously. Leon looked down at his torso, still exceptionally toned through the fabric of his shirt, and grinned up at you sheepishly.

You pointed to the kitchen. "I have food in the fridge."

A quick meal of leftover bagels, grilled tomatoes, scrambled eggs and that pack of hot dogs you'd been stashing in the freezer for the better part of a month later, the two of you were at a loss. Breakfast had been eaten mostly in silence, except when Leon asked for second helpings, and once you had the dishwasher going there wasn't much to keep you busy until your supposed 'aquarium date'.

You glanced over at your bedroom again, and Leon's gaze followed.

"Well, I suppose I could look up when the aquarium opens," you suggested, getting up from the dining table.

At the sight of the crestfallen look in his eyes, you grabbed him by the wrists, pulling him up and leading him to your bedroom to sit before your personal computer, booting it up and typing a few keywords into the search bar.

Aquarium Aquarium near me

Leon grunted noncomittally at the images that kept getting pulled up of blue tunnels and glass walls teeming with ocean life. Opening hours were from 9am to 5pm. Currently, it was about 10:30 a.m.

"I mean, it's not half-bad," he mused, turning to look at you. "You like aquariums?"

You smiled. "Love them."

Ushering him out of the room again, you redirected your focus to the task at hand: pick an outfit for an aquarium date. Easy enough. It was a casual date, no fancy candlelit dinners or drinks involved. Maybe a pair of jeans? Between late nights at work and late nights... everywhere else, you'd long forgotten the last time you actually went out during the day.

Eventually, you settled for a practical jeans-and-a-nice-top outfit, paired with sneakers and your trusty coat for the evening chill. Leon was ready from the jump, shrugging on his leather jacket and grabbing his keys.

It wasn't too long a drive to the aquarium, nearly twenty-five minutes or so. The place was crowded — hardly surprising considering it was the weekend — families with children, teenagers chaperoned by parents, couples, tourists from out of state, all lining up for tickets. Leon got in line for two adult tickets, waving you off when you tried to make up the difference.

"Nah, it's fine," he said, slipping an arm around your waist. "It's a date. The guy should pay."

"What are we, the 19th century?" you muttered, but did not object too hard. Consider it compensation for the past six years, you supposed.

The entrance was already impressive, a massive tunnel filled with fish, sea turtles, and stingrays swimming above your heads, emerging out from behind sandy rocks. Further in, the room was bathed in ethereal blue light refracting over the smooth floors as you wandered past towering columns of glowing jellyfish and large tanks brimming with tropical fish and vibrant corals.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" you remarked, watching several clownfish swim in and out of the tentacles of a sea anemone.

"Yeah," Leon murmured. "sure is."

You looked up at him, noticing his eyes were nowhere near the coral reef, or even any of the other tanks, but on you instead, a dreamy, faraway look in their endless blue expanse.

Suddenly, you weren't thinking about the aquarium anymore, your heart rate skyrocketing again. This time, however, you managed to get your bearings.

"I meant the coral, Leon."

He cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact. "Sure. That's... pretty too."

Hand-in-hand, the two of you headed deeper into the aquarium, arriving at the freshwater section, where a massive arapaima and sturgeons dwarfed even Leon himself.

"Well," he quipped, eyes firmly trained on the giant fish. "guess I need to start stepping up my gym routine."

Despite yourself, you snorted. Leon grinned over at you, much too proud of his terrible one-liner. Even at the reptile tanks, he was still gloating.

"C'mon, admit it — you thought it was a little funny."

You shot him a deadpan look, turning your focus back on the axolotls floating about in their tank, darting amongst the water weeds in their miniature habitat. Leon joined you, eyeing the little guys with their beady black eyes, round heads, and feathery gills.

One of them swam up to your finger, following it as you trailed over the glass tank, softly giggling.

Leon read the placard by the tank. "Apparently these guys can regenerate lost limbs."

"Can they?" you looked back at the axolotl, now drifting away to rejoin its friends. "Huh."

The rest of the aquarium was vast, and you took your time traversing it, passing four-walled enclosures of larger sharks and manta rays, fluffy sea otters floating on their backs, sleek seals gliding gracefully through the water, and dipping your hands into cold seawater at the touch pool.

By the time you exited the aquarium's gift shop, it was well past lunch. Grabbing a couple of quick sandwiches and coffee at the café, the two of you headed out to the riverfront to catch some fresh air.

"Y'know," Leon began, chewing on his cold turkey sandwich. "I dream about this sometimes."

You looked up, mid-chewing your own sandwich. "... Going to the aquarium?"

He chuckled. "I mean, kinda. But I meant, like, going out on the weekend," he punctuated his next sentence with a playful nudge. "Sitting on the riverfront with my girlfriend talking about nothing important."

You set down your sandwich, staring out over at the sparkling waters and lush green scenery of the riverfront, watching several families with babies in strollers, grandparents being helped along by their children and grandchildren. You leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder.

"You could've, Leon. All you had to do was ask."

He took another bite of his sandwich, a guilty look in his eye. "Yeah."

The days were getting shorter with October coming to a close, and before long, you were watching the sun set on the pier. With neither of you in the mood for dining out, you'd proposed going grocery shopping for dinner, something Leon had acquiesced to without much resistance.

Of all the things you'd done today — going out during the day, spending the last couple of hours or so wandering around some giant aquarium, now this. Never in the past six years would you have imagined going something as mundane as grocery shopping with Leon S. Kennedy like a pair of newlyweds, and yet... here you were, watching him trying to decide between two jars of pickles like he was evaluating which gun to bring with him on an assignment.

You shot him a deadpan look. "Neither."

Obediently, he set them both back on the shelves, carefully arranging them. The sight was almost too comical — this broad-shouldered government agent who also looked like he walked right out of an Abercrombie spread stacking groceries like a minimum-wage worker.

You'd decided right off the bat on something quick and easy, a dish you could practically make with your eyes closed — some form of a pan-seared chicken breast and roasted bell peppers. If it was good enough for a weeknight, it was good enough for the weekend.

As soon as your groceries hit the counter, you were dispatching him off to vegetable washing duty — a simple enough task, while you heated up your stainless steel pan in preparation for the chicken.

Dinner was plated within fifteen minutes, each plate getting a serving of chicken and roasted bell pepper. Once again, Leon devoured just about everything on his plate, including seconds and had helped load everything up into your dishwasher after.

Night had fallen, the autumn air crisp on your balcony as the two of you watched the glimmering city skyline.

"Are you..." Leon murmured, his hand finding its way to yours, encasing it in calloused warmth. "Still upset with me?"

"Hmm... what are going to do if I am?" your voice took on a teasing lilt, and you felt his hand clench in yours.

"You're messing with me," he protested, leaning for a quick kiss. "I'll bring breakfast tomorrow, first thing in the morning."

"Oh?" you giggled. "You don't want to stay the night?"

He shot you a wry grin. "I would if I had anything to wear. Unless —" he leaned in, waggling his eyebrows. "You want me to sleep naked?"

You gave him a playful shove. "Hell no. Not in the mood tonight."

"Ah," he fell back with mock despair. "so you are still upset."

"Maybe I should've kept some of your clothes from last time," you mused, fiddling with a loose thread on your sweatpants.

"That what you were supposed to do," Leon grumbled. "but then you kept returning everything."

You rolled your eyes. "Right, right."

With a lot of reluctance, Leon finally agreed to leave your apartment around midnight. He'd been glued to your side, as always, eyes firmly trained on your silhouette as you grabbed your keys.

"Leon? One more thing."

He didn't even have time to react when your lips met his, soft and plush and cool from the breeze and the minty lip balm you always liked to use. He melted into you, a spark of electricity running through his veins when he heard a soft sigh escape your mouth. He wanted to deepen the kiss, slip his tongue in there and coax out more of those sweet little noises, feel your warm body beneath his —

You broke the kiss, realising it just tasted vaguely like the roasted bell peppers and chicken you'd had for dinner. At the sight of Leon's flushed face, pupils so dilated there was barely any blue left in his eyes, you couldn't help but burst into giggles, pecking him on the cheek.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" you looked back coyly, knowing full well Leon's attention was nowhere near your face the way your hips swayed as you walked. He wasn't the only one capable of hypnotising people with their looks, after all.

Leon's eyes, predictably, snapped back up to your face, managing a small, half-hearted wave as he watched you head back up to your apartment unit, sticking his hands back into the pockets of his leather jacket as soon as you were out of sight.

"I wonder if Mrs. Kennedy knows..."

"Look, if a man ever buys a fancy new car like that, it can only mean two things: he's taken up with a younger woman, or is planning to."

"No self-respecting man his age should be dressing like some playboy. It's embarrassing, frankly."

Not even ten minutes into the HOA meeting you'd reluctantly dragged yourself to, the prissy housewives had started talking shit as soon as you left the room. Now, standing right outside the door to the townhall they now occupied, you wondered if subjecting yourself further to this farce was of any use.

Suppose even working for the federal government for nearly three decades with the President's best agent for a husband still wasn't enough to garner respect among these people. You'd been sceptical when Leon had proposed moving to the suburbs of D.C. shortly after your wedding in 2004, and this had been one of the reasons why.

You grew up a city girl, in a modest apartment looming over the pavement, where you could people watch out your window while your parents made dinner in the small, narrow kitchen, its cluttered cabinets crammed with cans upon cans of everything from sardines to tomatoes and corned beef.

Your childhood bedroom had been little more than a nook, with barely enough space for a bed and a desk for studying, your mom's standing mirror propped up on a pile of your math textbooks the cloest you ever got to a vanity, and a bathroom you shared with your whole family across the hall.

You used to be able to walk everywhere — the shops, the parks, the cafés. Now, despite living in a three-bedroom, five-bathroom house with your own walk-in closet, a quick trip to the nearby supermarket for groceries required a five-minute drive in Leon's brand-new Porsche.

Right. That Porsche.

You'd chalked it up to one of those mid-life purchases. His pockets were well-lined from all that hazard pay — might as well put it to good use. If the government wouldn't let him go on the vacations he deserved, he may very well blow his six-figure paycheck on some souped-up luxury car.

You just didn't think it'd invite so much attention.

The both of you had never been the sort to socialise with your neighbours — the prospect of living in the same neighbourhood as government agents certainly wouldn't endear you to them, considering your husband's fashion sense was already this offensive.

As you strode back into the room, however, all went quiet, and the townhall leader, a portly older gentleman with thinning white hair in a grey sweater worn over a blue checkered shirt, cleared his throat pointedly.

"Well, nice of you to rejoin us, Mrs. Kennedy. Would you mind explaining to us why your husband... doesn't appear to be in attendance?"

Drat. Leon just happened to be filing paperwork for follow-up investigations on the ruins of ARK, as well as initiatives to distribute Elpis nationwide in hopes of mass-manufacturing the Progenitor cure.

You'd be there too, except the HOA representative that stopped by the other day had delivered a thinly-veiled threat about 'penalties' if neither of you showed your faces at the meeting.

"Err... he's at work," you answered, trying to sound even just a tiny bit sheepish. "Couldn't get any time off, unfortunately."

Murmurs sprung up among the crowd, and you could've sworn several new rumours about Leon having a younger mistress out of town were birthed that instant.

Why, oh why, did you ever let him convince you to move to the goddamn suburbs?

Leon had arrived home early, offering to cook dinner for a change. While you'd never had much reason to question your husband's fidelity, the neighbourhood women's gossip had been following you around all day like an irritating cloud of gnats even as you tried to busy yourself with mundane chores around the house.

Another thing about living in a house — there were always so. Many. Damn. Spots. To clean.

"Honey?" you singsonged, leaning dramatically against the doorway clad in the feather-trimmed black peignoir he'd gotten for your 15th wedding anniversary like a poor man's Elizabeth Taylor. "Are you... cheating on me?"

Your husband, mid-tasting his stew, sputtered violently. "Wha — babe, where'd you even get that idea? And what's with the robe?"

You huffed, sauntering over the the bubbling pot, getting a whiff of the fragrant herbs and deep, rich broth. Leon watched you a little apprehensively, especially as you rounded on him.

"This is all your fault, darling —" you continued in your phony Transatlantic drawl, running your fingers along his arm. "Always rolling around in that Porsche with your leather jacket, tight shirts, and —" you paused to squeeze one of his bulging biceps. "Massive biceps. Oh, whatever will the neighbours think?"

In all fairness, the rumours weren't totally unfounded — Leon had been attractive more or less his whole life, and being married certainly hadn't diminished that. He'd bulked up too, and somehow retained a full head of hair despite age catching up. You'd seen younger interns eyeing him up at the DSO offices, and no shortage of twenty-something college girls throwing themselves at him in bars despite the silver wedding ring on his finger.

He turned off the gas, leaving the pot to cool on the stove. You felt your husband's arms around you, large, calloused hands gliding across your waist over the silky fabric of your robe. Electricity trailed under your skin as you caught the glimmer of desire in his blue eyes, his fingertips drifting lower, lower.

His deep, gravelly voice rumbled in your ear. "Now, why would I even have an affair when I've got my gorgeous wife, hmm?"

You let out a soft giggle as he kissed the corner of your mouth, scratchy stubble tickling your cheek as a warm palm swept over the curve of your ass, giving it a firm squeeze.

Then, he released you, heading back to the stove and sheathing on a pair of mittens as you stared indignantly at his broad, muscled back, just barely concealed under the black T-shirt he was wearing. Noticing your gaze, he simply threw a cheeky grin in your direction.

"Now get out of that thing and eat dinner like a normal person, willya?"

Still in the mood for theatrics, you playfully loosened the sash holding the peignoir together. "Oh, Mr. Kennedy, be careful what you wish for ~"

He chuckled, setting the pot on a placemat. "Suit yourself, babe, but I wouldn't want stew getting on that very expensive robe of yours."

You clammed up instantly, scurrying off to the bedroom to exchange your robe for a more sensible lounge set, rejoining Leon at the dinner table after, where he was already doling out portions of steaming hot stew into both your bowls.

"Followed your mom's recipe," he grunted, dipping a spoon into his bowl. "Probably turned out okay."

You grabbed your own bowl, blowing gently on the soup before taking a sip, humming contentedly. "Mmm, you've improved."

Leon let out a soft chuckle of satisfaction. "That's good to hear." he peered closer at you, a small furrow of concern between his eyebrows. "Hey, babe? You sure you're okay? Those HOA people can be pretty vicious."

You patted his arm reassuringly. "Oh, I'll be fine. They can't be much worse than the bioterrorists and corrupt politicians, I'm sure."

"Oh, right," he mentioned. "You remember Grace, right? She's been wanting to meet you properly for a while."

"Mmm, exactly what we want Cynthia across the street to see — a petite young blonde with her kid sauntering up our driveway. The gossip mill will be having a field day." you mused.

"Hey, Emily already calls me Grandpa Leon," he huffed. "Betcha she'll be callin' you Grandma if you don't watch out."

"Now now, darling —" your terrible Transatlantic accent returned. "Does this look like anybody's grandma to you?"

Leon let out a snort. "Babe, I love you, but for the love of God do not come out in that feather robe when Grace visits — you'll scare the poor girl."

You feigned a crestfallen expression. "Aww, but I wanted to go, 'Leon Scott Kennedy, how dare you! I want a divorce this instant'!"

He was shaking with laughter now. "Babe, are you trying to feed the rumours?"

You sighed mournfully. "Well, this old lady needs some way to keep herself entertained in this dull place, no?"

"You're impossible."

"That's rich coming from you," you retorted, spearing a perfectly tender potato on your fork. "You better hope nobody ever turns a blacklight on this place, or they'll be in for a nasty shock."

He waved you off dismissively. "C'mon, it ain't that bad."

"Anyway," you continued. "When's Grace coming to visit?"

"This weekend," he answered, then shot you a deadpan look. "I'll be picking her and Emily up from the airport. Don't get any stupid ideas."

"Who, me?" you waggled your eyebrows. "Never."

***

Respectfully, you did refrain from dramatically solioquying about divorce in the driveway as Leon's Porsche pulled in. You'd spoken to Grace Ashcroft a few times over the phone and the occasional video call, but this would be the first time you'd be seeing her in person.

Of course, there was that slightly crazed shopping spree you'd dragged Leon out to pick some gifts for both Grace and Emily on a random Friday night. You didn't know the first thing about being a hostess, really. Most people who showed up in your home were either government personnel or maintenance men — neither of which you were keen on staying longer than needed.

Leon emerged out of the car, along with Grace, who went to open the door for Emily, dressed in a pair of cute denim overalls and a colourful sweater, silvery blonde hair falling in soft waves to her shoulders. You'd knew by now the girl was meant to be a clone of her adoptive mother, but the resemblance was still uncanny.

Perhaps it was rude, but you couldn't help but wonder what parent-teacher meetings were like with these two.

You'd hastened down to help your husband out, and Grace's face lit up at the sight of you, while Emily peeked out shyly from behind her legs. "Mrs. Kennedy! It's nice to finally meet you in person."

You huffed fondly. "Grace, I keep telling you you don't have to call me Mrs. Kennedy."

"Ah, right," the younger woman backtracked. "Force of habit, sorry."

A small voice piped up from below. "Are you... Grandpa Leon's wife?"

You stooped slightly to get on her level, smiling warmly. She really was rather adorable. "Yes, I am."

"Grandma?"

Grace sputtered, throwing an apologetic look in your direction. "Emily!"

You burst into hearty laughter, patting Emily's fluffy little head. "Sure, sweetheart. Call me anything you want."

"All good out there?" Leon's voice called from the entryway, bags in tow, and Grace took the opportunity to redirect Emily, shepherding her inside like a mother hen while you followed behind.

Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you saw Cynthia-across-the-street draw her curtains.

Once the girls had settled in, you set about making plans to bring them both out to the local park for some fresh air later in the afternoon. October was in full swing, the streets scattered with brilliant orange leaves from the oak and maple trees lining them.

Fresh air, and fresh gossip, if the neighbours' reactions at the HOA meeting were anything to go by.

When you arrived at your quaint little local park, Emily was a force of boundless energy, zooming all over the place while Grace haplessly tried to keep up.

Noticing the furtive look on your face as you were unpacking, Leon chuckled. "Worried about the neighbours, sweetheart?"

You huffed — he always knew you so well. "I'm not bothered by the gossip, but I wouldn't want Grace and Emily getting dragged into it."

His hand found its way at your waist, drawing you closer to his warmth. "C'mon, after everything they've been through? They can handle some busybodies." his hand fell to his side, grabbing your own. "Now, enough worrying and let's just have a nice ol' picnic at the park, yeah?"

You couldn't help the smile making it's way across your face. "Of course, darling."

The rest of the weekend flew by, with as packed an itinerary you could manage in whatever remained of Sunday before the girls would leave. You went with Leon to the airport this time, determined to cherish every remaining second for all it was worth.

Farewells were exchanged, and Grace had to practically peel Emily off both of you before they missed their flight.

"Bye Grandpa Leon, bye Grandma! I'll miss you!"

As you pulled back into the driveway, Leon wiggled his eyebrows mischeivously. "Y'know, now that we've got the house back to ourselves, we can do the horizontal mambo wherever we want."

"Leon, it's been two days."

"Two days without makin' the beast with two backs," he grinned.

You groaned. "Christ."

"Hey, the best way to defeat the rumours is to demonstrate exactly how obsessed I am with my wife, amirite?"

"Mmm hmm. Defeating the rumours. Sure."

He inclined his head towards the backseat. "I mean, since we're here —"

"We are not having sex in the car like a pair of horned-up teenagers," you deadpanned. "Besides, how the hell would we even fit back there?"

He shrugged, turning off the ignition. "Oh, that's easy — I'll just lean up against the window and you can ride on top —"

You were already making a swift, unceremonious exit at that. Your husband, undeterred, kept up the running commentary, offering increasingly detailed logistics on car sex and more awful metaphors for doing the deed until you were absolutely certain the entire street was going to hear.

***

"So, Mrs. Kennedy..."

Cynthia-across-the-street had siddled up to you at the HOA's Thanksgiving potluck after Leon had left to get more refreshments, trying and failing miserably to keep her expression neutral.

"I hear your husband's had some... vistors from out of town lately. A blonde woman and a little girl. What do you think that could be about?"

If only to remain in your neighbour's good graces, you decided to play along — but not without adding your little twist. "Oh, her? She's a friend of Leon's from work. They actually met on his latest assignment — helped her out of a few tight spots. Real lifesaver, that."

Technically, none of it was false. You'd happened to leave out all the top-secret, classified bits, like your husband nearly dying, how Grace literally saved his life with the cure, and subsequently yours and every other Raccoon City survivor for miles around when it was properly synthesised and distributed across the country.

Of course, Cynthia didn't need to know any of that.

Not long after the potluck, Leon became the subject of a fresh new wave of rumours — that he had a secret family with some young blonde woman from out of town, and the audacity to parade them before his poor, unsuspecting wife. Your husband, normally so good-humoured, hadn't been very amused, even as you were doubled over the kitchen counter, tears streaming down your face.

Elpis had gotten to you in the nick of time.

Despite his clearance and being informed of the cure, those damn doctors had been content to hem and haw away about 'testing' and 'verifying' the dosage he'd brought while you lay in your hospital bed just a few paces away, slipping further and further from him with each second they stalled for.

It had taken a lot of self-restraint not to draw his Requiem on the whole lot and injecting you with the cure himself.

Especially after Sherry, who'd been providing updates on your condition concurrently with mission details, had painted a chilling picture of just how close he'd cut it.

Dying in the line of battle was one thing, but if he'd failed to save you then with the cure in his own hands, it would haunt him for the rest of eternity — or possibly be the reason to end it all.

His eyes fell to his palms, the sight of them absent the black brusing that had plagued him for the past few months almost surreal. Idly twisting the silver ring on his finger, he couldn't be quite sure if all of this hadn't just been one long, convoluted dream.

"Her vitals are stable, Mr. Kennedy. We'll continue monitoring her for now, but she should be conscious soon."

It had been a few hours since that masked doctor had told him that. For a moment, panic surged — what if he'd been too late? What if they'd run out of time? What if you were too far gone and Elpis didn't manage to work?

No, he shook his head. Not a chance in hell. He'd seen with his own two eyes the black marks rapidly fading from your skin, the monitors at your bedside beeping with renewed vigor.

You were alive. You were cured. You had to be.

He'd been brought to a quiet room at the furthest end of the hall by an exhausted-looking nurse, who'd gladly retreated to give you both some privacy.

You looked a wreck — strung up to an assortment of machines, IV drips, and munching on a pathetic meal of boiled oats, juice, and a wilted salad, hair completely mussed up from the lack of your usual maintenance.

You had also never looked more beautiful.

You managed a feeble wave at the sight of your husband, caked head-to-toe in blood and grime, as he always was after a harrowing mission.

"Leon," you croaked as he approached your bedside, blue eyes misting over as he settled into a nearby chair. "You need a shower."

Despite himself, Leon snorted, dabbing at the corner of his eye. "Damn, I save you from near-death and this is how you thank me?"

You cracked a small smile, gulping down a spoonful of oatmeal. "Thank you. For saving me."

He cleared his throat, attempting to reclaim some semblance of dignity even as tears threatened to spill out. "I — uh, yeah. It was nothing. Just... doin' my job."

"It was not nothing," you interjected. "I heard you nearly pulled your gun on the doctors."

"They deserved it," he grunted peevishly, sneaking a cube of your fruit. "Kept going on about some 'testing' bullshit while you were dying back there. The hell was I supposed to do?"

You put an arm around his broad shoulders, giving him a few soothing pats. "My hero."

"C'mon," he protested. "You're giving me too much credit, there."

He looked over at your spoon scraping up the last of your oatmeal. "Err... is that actually good?"

"No," you replied, the end of your plastic spoon sticking out of your mouth. "But you try being in a coma and having everything drip-fed into your veins for two weeks."

Leon shifted in his seat. "Doctors say anything about discharging you yet?"

You leaned back on your pillows, dropping the spoon back into its container. "Probably tomorrow or the day after. They've been checking for muscle atrophy and cognitive fuctions, things like that."

He leaned forward, attention rapt. "And?"

You exhaled softly, reaching for his hand. "So far, so good. They're actually quite surprised I've made as speedy of a recovery as I have. Looks like Elpis might be magic after all."

"You're telling me," Leon huffed. "I feel better than I have in years."

A playful lilt crept into your voice. "Hmm — maybe you can show me when we get back?"

Leon gasped, feigning a scandalised look. "Right after a coma? Jesus, woman."

The visit was cut short by the arrival of a doctor, who'd gone over the standard proceedings of coma recovery — dietary reccomendations, side effects, the works.

"Maybe we could go to Greece, eh?" he'd nudged you gently as the doctor left. "Get some sun and that good Mediterranean food."

You hummed. "I was thinking about Iceland, actually. Hot springs and a stint at the spa sound lovely after this mess."

He pressed a quick kiss to your temple. "Anything you want, sweetheart."

Later, in preparation for your discharge, he'd prowled all over your shared master bedroom and bathroom, scouring every cabinet and corner of your vanity for everything you might need. It wasn't as if the hospital had been paying much attention to skincare whilst you were out, and after all that you'd been through for the past few months, it was the least he could do.

Well, save for one minor caveat.

His eyes roved over the bottles of serums, creams, essences, and toners, completely at a loss. Toiletries had been easy, and so was your fancy sunscreen and lip balm you never left the house without, but the rest was a bit of a head-scratcher.

In the end, he wound up sussing out which products got the most use based on the state of the packaging, crossing his fingers that he'd gotten them right.

Picking out clothes, on the other hand, was a breeze. He knew your tendency for picking easy pullover dresses whenever you had to change in a public restroom, a habit he'd noticed over years of marriage. Pulling out one of your (and his) favourites — a soft black number that fit your body like a glove, along with underwear and a pair of comfortable slippers, he was all set.

The next morning, he was back at the hospital. You were out of bed now, which was a good sign, and all your tests had returned with hopeful results. Muscle fuction was had been slightly impeded ("No shit, I haven't worked out in two weeks," you'd muttered, disgruntled) but things were more or less fully functioning in the cognitive department — no memory gaps, disorientation, or the like.

"You've been rather lucky, Mrs. Kennedy," a solemn-looking doctor remarked as he reviewed your chart. "It seems the Elpis antiviral has managed to reduce or completely eliminate most of the side effects of your coma on top of reversing the damage from your latent T-Virus infection. Still, I'd recommend you don't over-exert yourself at home."

The doctor glanced down at the chart once more. "With that being said, though — here don't seem to be any other issues. I'll send for the discharge paperwork by noon, and if there's nothing else —" the file closed with a snap. "You're free to go, Mrs. Kennedy."

You laid your head on Leon's broad, hulking shoulder as the doctor bowed out. "Mmm, best news I've heard all week."

"It's the only good news you've heard all week," muttered Leon. "Until we go through your health insurance claims."

"Ooh, don't remind me," you shuddered, before your eyes landed on the duffle bag at his feet. "Is that my stuff?"

He bent down, grabbing the handle of the bag and setting it gently in your lap, giving its body a quick pat. "Yep. Got everything you could possibly need and then some."

You unzipped the bag, pulling out your familiar bottles of facewash, toner, serum, essence, moisturiser, a brush, and your trusty SPF, along with your lip balm and basic toiletries. Beneath all of that, folded up into a square, was your go-to dress for whenever you and Leon were headed out somewhere nice but not too stuffy, along with a pair of your comfiest slippers.

A smile bloomed across your face at the assortment of items. "You really thought of everything, didn't you?"

He peered into the bag, face screwed up in contemplation as he glanced between it and you. "Not everything. Couldn't fit in all your hair stuff."

You dug out a bottle of your usual shampoo, impressed. "Thanks, anyway. You've been a big help."

He scoffed. "What did I say? It's nothing."

You patted him on the shoulder, mildly exasperated. "Alright, big guy. Go sit in the corner while I get myself all spruced up, huh?"

All you got in return was a grunt, but Leon complied regardless as you took whatever you needed into the bathroom. Inevitably, being in coma did leave you smelling a little funky, with any semblance of basic hygiene coming down to sponge baths and wipedowns, and you certainly did not want to dwell on the implications of... other bodily funtions during that time.

The bathroom adjoining your hospital room was clean, if a little bare bones for your taste. However, it would have to do. Little by little, as the soapy suds of your lavender-scented bodywash slid off your skin and your fingers raked foamy shampoo through your hair, you started to feel like yourself again.

You caught a brief glimpse of your body in the fogged-up mirror, the lines of your ribcage prominent under your skin — you'd been informed of it by the attending physican sometime after awakening, but it was still jarring to see how much weight you'd dropped just within two weeks.

As the fabric of your dress cascaded over your figure, you were at least glad Leon didn't have to see it.

The rest was just making up for all the morning and nightly routines you'd missed — brushing all the plaque buildup from your teeth, dumping every serum and moisturising toner on your skin to revive it from the gulag of hospital air-conditioning, combing out all the tangles in your hair.

By the time you walked out of that bathroom, you were a new woman. Almost.

Leon, who'd been on his phone in the meantime, looked up as you shut the door behind you. "Ready?"

His eyes briefly flickered to your waist, brows creasing in the middle ever so slightly, but it vanished as soon as it appeared. Gathering up all your things, you signed your discharge paperwork, leaning on him for support as he guided you to the basement parking lot where his Porsche was waiting.

"Getting the VIP treatment over here," you joked as he placed the duffel in the backseat, then returned to the passenger side to fasten your seatbelt for you. "The Porsche really sells it, too."

Leon snorted, sidled into the driver's side. "Glad to know you've got your priorities straight."

"Honestly, I'm more shocked this thing made it back in one piece." you replied, patting the dash.

The engine revved as Leon turned the keys in the ignition. "Oh, ye of little faith."

Placing a hand against your leather seat, he backed out of the parking spot, doing a neat three-point-turn towards the exit. You rolled your eyes, doing your damndest to keep the unimpressed look on your face as his eyes met yours with that insufferably smug grin of his that, nonetheless, still made you melt after all these years.

He doesn't even need to announce his presence as he enters — his footfalls muffled against the carpet, the scent of aftershave clinging to the lapels of that navy blue suit he always wore around the office, the soft grunt as he leaned over your desk, the way even air molecules seemed to bend around him as he entered a room.

"So, when do you get off work?"

You looked up from your computer monitor, meeting the piercing blue eyes of a man who'd only become ever more of an enigma the longer you knew him. Leon S. Kennedy, or as he's known around these parts, Agent Kennedy.

Your eyes briefly flicker over to the bottom corner of your monitor, where it's nearing 7:30 p.m. Your official working hours were technically 9:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m., but in practice the earliest you'd usually leave work was closer to 8:00 p.m., once the evening traffic had cleared out some.

"Probably around 8:00," you replied, glancing back up. "Why?"

You hadn't seen him much this past week, which was usual post-mission, especially after one that involving highly-classified operations outside of the US. You didn't think much of it. You didn't.

With the click of a mouse, you placed your cursor against a blank document and began to type, keenly aware of Leon's looming presence.

"Wanna get dinner?"

You looked up again, fingers poised over your keyboard before answering. "Sure."

He tapped the top of the desk — a gesture that betrayed murkier intentions that would never fly if HR ever got a whiff of them. For a moment, you imagined his hands — large and covered in worn callouses from years of training and handling weaponry, doing the same to your hips. By comparision, your hands were unscarred, pristine. Hell, you could even afford a nice manicure every so often for special occasions.

As he walked off, there was only one course to take as soon as you accepted his invitation to dinner, as was every other time. He'd drive, possibly to your usual Italian or some fast casual joint, depending on the mood, and not long after the only conversation that mattered was whether your next stop would be his apartment or yours. The outcome would be the same regadless.

There was little reason to believe tonight would be any different, and yet, some small, deficient part of you, possibly puppeted by a regressive craving for male validation, continued to entertain his advances.

He was a rather attractive man, after all, with rugged good looks and a tall, lean physique that drew the eyes of men and women alike. It certainly didn't help that he was still as insufferably lovable as the day you'd met him, despite the broody demeanour he'd acquired after joining USSTRATCOM. Add his natural gentlemanly chivalry without the annoying posturing, and he was practically a unicorn among men.

So, what? You were letting this guy string you along just because he was hot, funny, and didn't treat you like shit? You had to get better standards, stat.

You exhaled, immediately redirecting your focus onto the work at hand. However, try as you might to focus on the report you were supposed to be writing, your thoughts continued to wander.

Shutting off the computer, you decided the report could wait. Leon had returned, his leather jacket slung over one arm, duffel bag in the other. You sighed, slipping on your heels and grabbing your coat off the back of your chair where it was hanging, the click of your heels far too loud against an empty office.

As if on cue, his hand had made its way to the small of your back, and you were enveloped in the scent of leather.

"Italian good for you tonight?" he murmured, opening the passenger side door of his car for you.

You hummed your approval, slipping inside, your weight dipping into the leather seat beneath you as you smoothed out your clothes. Placing your work bag carefully on your lap as the door closed, you watched Leon make his way over to the driver's side, tossing the duffel into the back.

Already, the path before you began to unfold, like gold silken thread, weaving into your glittering tapestry of delusion, and you allowed yourself to spin a foolish little fantasy. Somewhere, in these precious few hours, between the food and wine and streams of conversation that flowed with ease, you'd be a couple. A real couple.

That thread snaps the moment he reaches over to shut the passenger door.

***

The Italian restaurant is cosy, warmly lit with amber light from old-fashioned lamps hanging from the ceiling. Checkered tablecloths. Worn cardboard menus with faded pictures and dog-eared edges. Leon pulled out your chair, as usual, and sank into his own across you.

Under any other circumstances, it would've been romantic.

A waiter arrived. Orders made briskly without much fuss. You picked your usuals, but too soon you're left with little more than the tension rising between you, punctuated only by restaurant chatter and two glasses of water being set down before you.

Leon, never one to read the room, cleared his throat. "Been a while, huh? I sure missed this."

You took a steady sip of water, steeling yourself for what was about to come out of your mouth. "Leon... what am I to you, anyway?"

The words tumble out broken, clumsy, and you immediately feel embarassment creeping up your legs, plastering itself against the walls of your stomach, rising into your chest. Your fingers clench around the glass, as if you can stop it showing on your face.

You felt like some insecure teenager, asking her crush the 'what are we' question.

Leon's brows furrowed in that infuriatingly perfect way of his. "Sweetheart, what do you mean?"

You bristled, a little more irritation that you would've liked lacing your voice at the nickname. A nickname, mind, that he only called you outside of work. "Don't — don't say it like that — like I mean something to you."

For a moment, you thought a flicker of what looked like guilt in his eyes. Perhaps if you wanted to delude yourself further, it could be interpreted as longing. Anything that meant Leon — stoic, brooding, insufferably, irresistably attractive Leon who held you like precious treasure and stole your breath with his kisses, who had you weeping his name underneath the sheets and doted on you in the bath right after — actually felt something for you.

His hand, resting over the tablecloth, inched ever so slightly closer to yours, and as always, you let him have his way. Your heartbeat thrummed in your chest, a quiet euphoria shooting through your veins as his fingers laced between yours.

"Hey," his soft voice had your eyes darting back up to meet his, and once again, you feel yourself getting drawn into his orbit, deeper and deeper into those enigmatic blue pools. You felt the warmth of his hand, every rough callus of his palm as he squeezed your hand gently.

"You mean a lot to me, you know that, right?"

With a lot of difficulty, you tore your gaze away from his. "Yeah, right. I'm not even your girlfriend."

He frowned again, an expression that somehow added to his attractiveness rather than detract from it. "Hey, talk to me."

Your eyes came to rest on his face again, jaw clenched. That guilty look, you confirmed with grim satisfaction, had returned to his eyes, and your had slipped out of his. For a split second, you thought you saw him grasp at the air where your hand used to be, but it soon returned to its resting posture. Just in time, too, as your orders had arrived — aglio e olio for you, penne alla vodka for Leon.

"Well," you muttered, picking up your fork. "Bon appetit."

"Right," he huffed, taking a long swig of his old fashioned as he watched you twirl pasta around your fork.

The glass landed with a soft thud against the tablecloth, punctuated by a deep sigh. "I don't — I don't mean to do this, y'know. I like you. I really do. Always have."

You swallowed your mouthful, dabbing carefully at your lips with a napkin. The way Leon was suddenly very interested in your mouth doesn't escape your notice, either.

"Then what —" you stabbed at your plate in frustration, eliciting a slight wince from him. "What's stopping you?"

"Sweetheart," he reached for you again, his thumb gliding over your wrist. "it's not that I don't want to. Relationships are... complicated in my line of work."

"Oh, is it ever?" you scoffed, taking a sip of your white wine.

His thumb began tracing absentminded circles over the inside of your wrist. "I'm not the guy you met back in '98. Not anymore."

Your grip loosened on the fork you'd been holding, feeling a deep melancholy wash over you instead. Suddenly, the rich warmth of the restaurant, the plate of pasta, the wine — it all seemed to lose its saturation.

"I know."

Your voice comes out small, resigned. Leon's face falls, and you're both left to steep in the remnants of your conversation, utensils scraping uneasily over porcelain plates. After about three excrutiating minutes in, you break the ice.

"I saw your mission report from Spain. You saw her again, didn't you?"

It's almost imperceptible, but you see his shoulders stiffen. His face, on the other hand, remains set in the stoic, brooding expression you see him wear more often than not now.

"Ada? Yeah."

You just about kept your expression nonchalant as you took another sip of wine. If Leon had noticed the way your fingers twitched around the stem of the glass, he didn't let on.

You'd seen a few grainy photographs of the woman in red who seemed to haunt the edges of your relationship, if one could even call it that. You could barely get Leon to divulge much about Raccoon City as is, but you'd have an easier time convincing him to give you classified state secrets than talk about Ada Wong.

Perhaps you'd always been the jealous type, but something about the way she lingered at the fringes of his mission reports, the way she seemed to leave traces of their encounters, not in the form of hair strands or perfume on his clothes, but in his expressions, the way he'd cry out for her in his sleep after a heavy night of drinking.

She was utterly beyond your typical conception of a romantic rival. You'd never even seen the woman in person, for crying out loud.

Moreover, it wasn't as if the man was yours, either.

You'd tried to turn it around a few times, go on the dates your friends set you up with. Hell, you'd even felt a rush of schadenfreude at the sight of Leon's eyes darkening at the mention of you seeing other guys.

And yet, no matter how you tried, you always wound up at his side. In the morning, you'd be back right where you started.

It was his apartment tonight, and Leon continued to be as perfectly attentive as he'd ever been — hand on your lower back, leaning over to help you with your seatbelt. Classical conditioning had the air feeling charged now, and even as you looked out at the darkness just outside your window, you could still feel his gaze warming your skin.

For a small, frivolous moment, you relished picking a rather racy lingerie set getting dressed for work today, but it was quickly crushed by what lay ahead.

It was a choreographed routine by now — Leon's keys jangling as they slid into the bowl by the entryway of his apartment, his lips, warm and surprisingly well-moisturised from the shea butter lip balm you reccomended on a whim — were on yours in almost an instant.

You let him lead you, waltzing across his living room. His jacket came off, his tie loosened. Only when his fingers reached for the buttons of your blouse, you broke the kiss, feeling the room settle into painful clarity all around you.

Nothing had changed about Leon's apartment, not really. Same grey couch, same scuffed-up coffee table and beat-up television you'd never seen him turn on, not once. Through the fabric of his dress shirt, his heartbeat thudded beneath your palm. Those blue eyes searched your face, pink lips parted in sweet, gentle confusion that for a split second, you saw the wide-eyed rookie you'd fallen for all those years ago.

"Sweetheart...?" his thumb traced circles around your hip, brows crinkled in concern. "Something wrong?"

You shook your head, easing yourself off him. "Yeah, um..."

Your throat felt like it was closing up all of a sudden. You sank back onto the couch cushions, your pumps discarded on the floor, hands fidgeting in your lap. "Leon, I can't..." you sucked in a shaky breath, trying to force the words past that lump forming in your throat. "I can't keep doing this to myself."

Eyes now swimming with hot tears, you lamented for a second the effort you'd put in just this morning — your eyes, your brows, your lips — only for the mask to finally crack before the one person you'd never want it to.

Leon's strong arms wrapped protectively around you, a hand stroking your hair. "Hey — it's OK, we don't have to do anything tonight if you don't want to."

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he gestured towards the bathroom. "Maybe you can, uh, shower."

Numbly, you got up from the couch, making your way down the hallway to his closet. Grabbing what you needed and a towel, you scampered to the bathroom, trying not to think about the man draped over the couch right outside.

Back in the living room, the emptiness of the room was pressing in around him. Leon could hear the rush of water as the shower turned on, registered each tick of the clock mounted on the slate grey walls he hadn't bothered doing anything with since he moved into the place — what, three years ago?

Already, he was feeling your abscence. The apartment always felt much too big, too drab, too empty, just a space he temporarily inhabited before his next assignment.

But the minute you walked in, all of a sudden it was home. His mind would be filled with images of waking up beside you in the mornings, making coffee. Coming home to you.

The way he kept inviting you over, it was odd you didn't already have your own stash of clothes at his place.

As much as he liked you in his clothes, you never did seem to feel completely at ease in them. Each time you were over, they'd be returned to him folded up neatly into a paper bag smelling of fresh detergent. Each time, wanted to tell you — keep them, I've got plenty at home.

They look better on you, anyway.

Sighing, he got up from the couch, undoing his tie and the buttons of his shirt, shedding it and his suit trousers in favour of a navy blue T-shirt and grey sweatpants. The shower had turned off, leaving just the pitter-patter of water droplets.

You emerged out of the bathroom, work clothes bundled in your arms, and Leon felt his pulse quicken at the peek of lace between the stiff wools and cottons before they were unceremoniously shoved into your work bag.

He cleared his throat again, trying to shake the image from his brain. "Ahem, uh — you want anything, babe? Water?"

You looked back at him, shaking your head. "I'm alright."

Silence hung over the both of you as you settled back on the couch, reflections fuzzy in the dark screen of his TV. Tentatively, he snaked an arm around your shoulders, pulling your body flush against his.

"After Spain —" he gritted his teeth as your expectant eyes landed on him, trying to sift through his jumbled mind for the right words.

God, where to begin? Rescuing Ashley, losing Luis, running into Ada after all these years — and then there was you. You, who, unbeknownst to him, had become the most important woman in his life — not that he ever had the courage to admit it.

Still, he forged ahead. "— Seeing her after all this time brought some things into perspective."

You stiffened. There was no confusion between either of you about who 'her' referred to.

"As much as she cares, or at least seems to," he mused, his hand drifting down to your lower back, drawing soothing circles through the fabric of your shirt. "I know there won't be a moment where I don't question her motives, or if there's some deeper agenda in place. At any moment, if it helped her towards her goals, she'd use anything at her disposal, including me."

He chuckled wryly. "With her, it's like I'm always chasing closure that'll never arrive. Sounds a bit familiar, doesn't it?"

You fixed him with a withering glare. "Well, good to know all it took was a run-in with your ex to figure it out."

He threw his hands up in surrender. "Alright, I deserved that. Look, the point is — I thought it over, and I've realised something."

Your eyebrows were raised nearly to your hairline. "Really? Do enlighten me, O wise one."

Leon shot you a deadpan look, unamused. "Oh, har har. Get over here, you —"

He yanked you back into his arms, eliciting a surprised squeal from you as you found yourself laying on top of him, your noses barely inches from each other.

"Jesus, sweetheart," he murmured breathlessly. "I can't believe I'm only asking you this now."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," you protested, your patience fraying the longer he stalled.

"... Spend the weekend with me."

You blinked, not quite believing your ears. "Huh?"

This was a first. Your heart was pounding against your ribcage now. As tempting as the offer, doubt still simmered in your heart. Over dinner, being in a relationship was too 'complicated', but now he'd all but done a complete 180. Up till now, you'd never gone beyond sleeping over at his place.

You sat up, stradling his waist. "Leon, where's this even coming from? Earlier you said —"

He grabbed your hips, flipping you over so that you were under him, caged by those muscled arms of his, blue eyes boring into yours. "I know what I said, sweetheart. I thought it was better you didn't get involved, that you'd be safer this way. I am also a fucking idiot."

Leon gently propped himself on his elbows, shifting his weight so you didn't get squished.

"All this time, I thought I was doing you a favour, protecting you —" he confessed, bitterness tinging his voice. "I knew on some level you wanted more, needed more from me, but..."

He trailed off, letting out a self-deprecating chuckle. "I'm sorry. It isn't fair. To either of us. If..." he swallowed heavily. "If you meant what you said earlier, that you don't want to be with me anymore, it's..."

His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed again, the words coming out strangled. "It's okay. I won't blame you."

"Leon..." you murmured, carding your fingers through his hair. "I'm glad you told me."

The man in question, now draped over you like the world's heaviest, most muscular blanket, let out a soft grunt, but did not protest. You chuckled softly, savouring his warmth, his blond hair soft and silky between your fingers.

"I just want to say, I could spend the weekend with you, but it'd have to be under some... specific conditions."

Leon huffed, but relented easily. "Alrighty. Lemme at 'em."

"Well..." you contemplated. "We could call this a test run. See how we do being an actual couple."

He frowned. "What, like calling you my... girlfriend?"

That word sounded almost foreign coming out of his mouth, but it sent a warm, tingling feeling through your spine. "Yeah. Like calling me your girlfriend, and calling you my boyfriend."

"Okay. Deal."

"Just like that?"

He shrugged, seemingly more relaxed now that it didn't seem like you were going to leave him. "I've seen scarier shit."

"And yet you wouldn't commit for six years."

"Hush, that was before," he shot you a sly grin. "I'm a new man now."

You huffed, still mildly sceptical. "Right, we'll see about that."

"Aww, baby —" he cooed playfully, twirling a strand of your hair between his fingers. "Haven't you any faith in me?"

***

One week later...

Like clockwork, Leon S. Kennedy appeared before you near the end of the work day. Your tasks were finished, reports turned in, meetings scheduled — all was right with the world.

For the cherry on top, STRATCOM's top agent was sauntering over to your cubicle, drawing stares of intrigue from all over the office, but his eyes were laser-focused only on one person: you.

You looked up to see your favourite Agent Kennedy leaning over your cubicle, just as he had many times before.

"Wanna get dinner? Heard this new place opened up — some kinda Asian-fusion thing — you'd be into that, right?"

Your mouse clicked on the 'send' button for an email you'd spent the past 15 minutes drafting up — the last one for the day. Stretching languidly in your chair, you nodded.

"I'd love to."

As soon as the both of you were safely off HR's radar, his hand found its way to your lower back.

"Y'know, I just so happened to get quite a bit of time off after all the trouble I went through, saving the President's daughter," he drawled, voice dripping with faux-nonchalance. "Thought I'd spend all of it with my girl, no big deal."

Used to his antics by now, you played along. "Ooh — she must be a real lucky lady."

Leon feigned offense. "C'mon, babe — you know I'm the lucky one in this scenario." he pulled back, blue eyes brimming with pure adoration like you'd hung the moon. "Move in with me?"

Just the sight of him like that was enough to make your heart melt, but you couldn't resist one last jab. "One weekend and you're all domesticated already, Kennedy?"

Still, the earnestness in his expression, the way his hands held yours so tenderly even after all the horrors and violence they'd seen, you eventually caved.

"Well, when you make an offer like that —" you smiled faintly, lacing your fingers between his, making your way over to his car. "How could I possibly say no?"