Look on my posts, ye Mighty, and despair!

Author's Note: Hi all! Thank you for all the love on the last chapter - really means a lot to me. 🥰 In this one the plot is going to start to open up a bit, as we learn more about Jules and what might be hiding in her past, and also explore Leon a little bit more too.

Hope you enjoy! 💜 Taglist: @villain-in-the-dark @broken-minded-love @allidelphi @cherrybathbombsucker

Chapter Eleven: Daylight Discoveries

Jules woke first and stealthily slipped her way out of Leon’s unconscious embrace, so smoothly that he didn’t even stir.

It shocked her just how fast the cold air whipped around her without his body against hers - the chill only serving to remind her of the emptiness in her true reality. An unwelcome recollection that ushered in a sense of melancholy, which threatened to pull her back down to a place of darkness that she’d fought to avoid every minute of the day for the past two years.

Knowing where her head was going to drift to, and that the only way to stop herself spiralling into questioning every choice she’d made to get her there was to keep busy, she got to her feet.

Quietly she grabbed some clothes from her dresser and escaped to the solitude of the bathroom to gather herself, without the oddly soothing sound of Leon’s soft snores behind her, tempting her back into bed with him.

A temptation that only served to remind her of what had happened between them in the dark, and then again in the soft muted light of the pre-dawn. Recalling all too clearly how a simple kiss and embrace from when she’d returned to bed -after waking to go to the bathroom- had led to them making out again. An act which allowed the unabated passion between them to surface and consume them again.

Leading to his hand slipping between her thighs; stirring up barely settled arousal. Teasing her which only served to encourage her to tease him right back, and before she knew it he was inside her again. Her thighs locked tight around his waist. Slow and sloppy – sleepy sex ensued, where neither of them spoke a coherent word. Their mouths too busy kissing and moaning through another round of pleasure, that ended with another glorious climax for them both, before he fell back to sleep on top of her. Shifting at some point during sleep and unconsciously pulling her into his embrace, as if he was afraid to let too much space come between them – even while he slept.

It had been nothing short of pure bliss at the time, but in the cold light of day she was too afraid to consider exactly what it meant for them, and just how quickly their feelings were running out of their control.

Locking into her sense of professional restraint, she focused straight ahead on practical tasks rather than questions she was too afraid to answer.

She brushed her teeth and freshened up, before setting about gathering up the trail of towels and clothing. Doing her utmost to stay as quiet as a mouse and not think too hard for fear of recalling everything that had resulted from her decision to let her feelings and needs get the better of her.

Picking up his discarded tactical pants, she noted that there was a weight to them that implied a wallet lived in his pocket, and it stopped the momentum she’d built to steer herself clear of thinking too hard.

It was her plan to shove everything in the washing machine on a quick cycle, so he didn’t have to put his filthy clothes back on. A simple act that had no foreseeable downside, but standing there with his pants in her hand and the weight of his truth in them, she began to reconsider.

There was a fear in her that had been numbed by lust since the moment they’d brushed up against one another in the dark alleyway. A fear that now had her worried and wondering if she’d unknowingly let a wolf in.

Before she could talk herself out of it – she stuffed her hand into the full pocket and found a thin -black leather- wallet. Eyeing the bathroom door to be sure she wasn’t exposed, she quickly flipped it open to find a silver badge and DSO ID card on display in the clear plastic window.

Not quite feeling as relieved as she hoped she would, she softly knocked the badge against the edge of the bathroom counter, listening for the heavy metal clunk which confirmed the badge was real and not a cheap fake.

It should have been enough to confirm he was exactly who he’d said he was, but before she knew it her fingers were wandering. Digging further into the wallet’s folds, finding his driver’s license tucked behind the DSO credentials.

A soft scoff escaped her, as she pondered how ridiculously handsome he looked in both his ID photos. The Pennsylvania driver’s license had only been issued a few years before, capturing him much the same as she knew him, just clean shaven.

However, the government credentials had captured him a good decade earlier. His hair appeared darker, with layers most women would commit a violent crime for. A light dusting of stubble over his jaw, with none of the glittery greys she was familiar with. None of the deeper set lines either - the ones that told her he’d spent far too much time worrying, questioning, and scrutinising things in his life.

She guessed he’d always been devastatingly attractive, to the point he could have been on the cover of a glossy men’s editorial magazine, but it seemed bio-terror unfortunately had other plans for him.

Disappointed in herself for swooning so hard, she shooed away the girlish thoughts, and put her focus to the details. Making a mental note of his date of birth, and the address – a fancy sounding apartment building in Pittsburgh.

Without snooping too far, she could see in the rear pocket that there were a few bills of various denominations and a black credit card with decorative silver edges tucked into one of the slots.

It all tracked with what she knew about him, even the platinum credit card seemed to marry up with the designer watch that was waiting for him on the bathroom counter.

Her curious nature made her want to go further, pull everything out and see exactly what secrets he kept in his back pocket, but she put the breaks on herself before she could. Knowing she couldn’t stand to know if the wallet contained photos, or other sentimental reminders that people kept on them - fearing what she’d find.

Firmly, she told herself that confirming his identity would be enough and pushed the cards back in, closed the wallet and turned to place the wallet on the bathroom counter, but then her eyes caught on his phone, still sitting where he’d put it, just left of the sink.

As if she was locked into some kind of autopilot mode, she simply couldn’t stop herself from reaching out and lifting it up. Freezing when she saw the white glow from the lockscreen cast a puddle of light on the counter it hovered above, as if the phone was inviting her to turn it over and look.

The detective in her wasn’t alone in wanting to check the notifications and snoop, every part of her was curious about him, her self-destructive side most of all. Left disappointed by her refusal to fully search his wallet, it now seemed to be longing to find out more about him.

To see if he had pictures of his wife, or his family -or Grace- in there. Maybe lovey-dovey texts, or even one just asking him to pick up milk on his way home, or something mundane that couples did, but she was too afraid to risk seeing such a thing.

Not because she was afraid to discover if he’d lied, because that would be easier. She could hate him for that and draw a clear line under everything that had happened. However, if it turned out he was telling her the whole truth, then her feelings for him would be allowed to become real - and she wasn’t sure she could deal with that.

Instead, her logical brain stepped in and told her that he probably had biometric security on the phone anyway, and that she’d be wasting her time to even try to open it.

Determined not to slip any further into treating him like a suspect -any more than she already had- she set the phone back down where it had been and quickly returned to gathering up their clothes and making a start on the tasks she’d set for herself.

Creeping around like a ghost in her own home; she loaded the washing machine and set it off with his clothes in. Making sure to close the laundry room door to avoid the sounds disturbing him. Trying her best not to let the growing sense of nervousness get the better of her as she quickly tidied up the first-aid kit in the bathroom and washed up the glasses they’d left in the kitchen.

The lingering smell of brandy tempted her into taking a shot, but she knew that was a dangerous game so early in the morning, and she started a pot of coffee instead. Although she knew she wasn’t going to drink a cup, hoping she might be able to sleep the day away once he was gone. Afraid of exactly where her feelings were going to take her to in his wake.

The tasks she’d plotted took far less time than she’d anticipated, and so she set about tidying up the living space. Cleaning up the clutter and remnants of her struggles that still remained on the coffee table from two nights earlier. Straightening the pillows and blankets on the couch, and dropping the empty pizza box by the kitchen trash-can to put out for recycling next time she stepped outside.

With little else left to do, she rearranged the papers on her cork-board, before snooping in the fridge and freezer for anything that might need tossing. Checking the dust on her wall of shelving at the far end of the living room, and standing to look out of the window for a few minutes. Watching as a few scabby looking pigeons picked over a piece of doughnut; that had been discarded by one of the workers from the warehouse across the street the day before.

Feeling restless and uneasy anticipating him waking at any moment, she considered rearranging the kitchen cabinets, and the furniture in the living room -anything to distract her from overthinking what might happen as soon as he surfaced- but despite her need for distraction and perpetual motion, she didn’t want to risk waking him prematurely.

The exhaustion in his eyes had been unmistakable, and had her surprised that he’d manage to do all he’d done with her without collapsing. He deserved a decent rest at least, she told herself. Refusing to acknowledge the fact she didn’t want him to wake up was two fold – the first that she didn’t want him to leave, and the second that she was afraid he’d be too eager to.

Once his clothes were clean, she swapped them into the dryer before heading into the living room to do her morning yoga routine – hoping that it at least might go some way to centering her.

Yet it was no use, her mind was too full of questions and uncertainty, so she finally settled for putting the radio on quietly, making a cold protein shake and hunkering down with her laptop at the kitchen table. It was easy to find plenty to keep her mind busy on the computer - checking the weather, the news, some social media sites, but she quickly grew restless again, and began doodling on a notepad as her mind escaped her control and wandered directly back to thoughts of Leon.

She couldn’t see her bedroom from where she was sitting, but the sight of him in her bed had branded itself on her mind’s eye. Her heart already unwittingly attached to the vision and longing to see it again – more often.

His broad back, rippled with muscles but marred with bruises, scrapes and scars. His ruggedly handsome face smushed into the pillow, mouth slightly open, hair obscuring one eye, with the faintest hint of rhythmic snoring, rumbling out from his chest like the perfectly soothing white noise. All the harsh lines melted away from around his eyes, making him look young and free from the darkness that she’d seen haunting him.

It was strange but she felt the most unexpected sense of peace to know she could give him an escape from it all, and a place to rest more than just his body. Her heart still hurt to think of all he must have been through on his return to Raccoon City.

Moreover, she got a sense from what he’d said in the bar that life hadn’t often been kind to him, and she empathised too deeply.

Fighting with all she had, she firmly told herself not to get her hopes up to expect anything more than she’d already received from him. Considering all she knew about him – his job and the ring he wore in particular, it seemed likely she’d never see him again.

It was too easy to remember his words, when he’d told her he hadn’t been intimate in a long time. It seemed true that he wasn’t having sex regularly, but at the same time she knew a man who fucked like that wasn’t looking to make it a regular thing – setting the bar too high to live up to. He was clearly making the most of the chance he had.

She didn’t want to allow herself to set her heart on something unattainable and stupidly complicated. It hadn’t escaped her consciousness for long to consider just how much of a risk she was to him in her current status. How much of a risk he could still be to her in return too, regardless of any feelings they had for each other.

Despite being rational and aware that anything between them would only turn out to be a tinderbox in a forest fire, her body shamelessly betrayed her. It was near impossible to ignore the fact her thighs were still tingling with the phantom feel of his torso between them, and how her core still buzzed from the pleasure he’d inflicted on her in the shower, then twice in her bed.

She could still feel his hands all over her, his lips too and the scratch of his stubble. His strong arms holding her, and his firm muscular body pressing against her tight enough to meld their skin together. His fingers -his mouth- every incredible touch cycling through her mind over and over like an action replay.

Yet even through all the pleasurable reminders, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d encouraged him too much, and led him to do something he wouldn’t ordinarily have done. Actions and choices that she feared he’d regret the second he opened his eyes.

She struggled on, trying to maintain a distraction from thoughts of him, until the dryer had served its purpose and let out a little jingle of completion that was muffled from behind the closed door.

Quickly she set to folding his clothes with military precision, then gathered his belongings and silently carried everything into her bedroom. Setting things out where he could easily find them while trying her best not to disturb him or linger too long.

Turning to leave she froze in place, unable to resist looking at him once more, still exactly as she’d left him an hour and a half earlier. Dead to the world and looking far too much like he belonged there in her bed.

Shaking thoughts of joining him again out of her head; she quickly swept herself out of the room. Questioning whatever had possessed her enough to speak to him in the first place, let alone spend hours talking with him, only to invite him back to her apartment on a whim.

What confused her even more was how compelled she felt to care for him, and why she couldn’t stop herself when she started getting him a drink and pain meds ready for him to wake up to.

She’d had her fair share of hook-ups across the years -more with women than men- but she’d never felt the urge to do so much for those that came before him.

There was an undeniable gravity about him that called to long forgotten parts of herself. An aura that seemed to make him impossible for her to resist, despite every internal safeguard she’d put in place to stop herself making potentially costly mistakes.

She guessed he’d unravelled her by the way he was dripping with effortless charisma and charm, which she found so magnetic. She’d only had a baby dose of his presence and she already felt like withdrawal would set in the moment he walked away, and she feared it.

Internally she chastised herself for letting her self-control slip far enough to let temptation get the better of her. She wasn’t someone who was reckless or easily swayed from whatever stance she took. She’d never been one to casually shut off her mind and act purely on instinct either, but one touch from him and that’s exactly what she had allowed to happen.

It was as if his hand on her wrist had somehow switched off all logical and analytical thought and practice - everything she was used to relying on for survival in the field and in life. Especially now she was trying to lay low, and avoid the need to ditch and run again.

It was incredibly stupid and dangerous to let herself fall into him, and it certainly was not how she usually conducted herself, but the thrill of the bar fight, the emotion of that day -and those which led up to it- had made her weak.

All that along with those eyes of his, the cheesy humour, the calm sense of power and strength he exuded. How she hadn’t realised how badly she needed to feel something more than pain, regret, and the lonely longing in her heart. All the things his hands and lips had made slip from her mind so easily.

Trying desperately to keep her head above the rising tide around her, she told herself to get real. Be pragmatic, and just enjoy what they’d had as a ‘one-and-done’. Believe that was all it could be, no matter how badly she wanted it to be more.

It was for the best. Right?

He was a government agent, after all. Someone who couldn’t get entangled with a ghost who was presumed dead by everyone who ever knew her real name. Hidden away in an improvised witness protection program that she’d built for herself. While she tried to figure out her options -how to get justice and regain her freedom- and if there was anyone left in the world that she could trust with the truth she held.

On top of everything else that was stacked against them, thoughts of his wife were constantly trying to scramble up her back and beat her about the head. ‘Cause he had to be married, right? There was no way a man like him hadn’t been snapped up decades ago.

Even though he’d told her he hadn’t been intimate with anyone in a long time, she knew that was no guarantee of a wife not being in the picture. Still, she wanted to believe he hadn’t lied to her about the ring, but his excuse for it was simply too silly to believe.

The sour taste of guilt began to tickle the back of her throat, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t regret what had happened between them. She hadn’t felt as much in one night ever before.

Hell, it had been two years since she’d felt much of anything at all, beyond the symptoms of grief and trauma, and there was no way to deny that she already longed for more time with him, even if it came at the cost to her conscience and safety.

Yet she knew it was for the best if she didn’t let her heart set itself on something that was potentially so detrimental. Telling herself not to encourage him -to let him go- and carry on as she had before they’d crossed paths.

Trust that it wasn’t a mistake that put her in danger, and compromised him. Put it all down to a nice experience, that didn’t have to get any more complicated than it already was.

It was the only way to guarantee another little piece of herself didn’t get snapped off and stamped into the dirt.

However, once she heard the familiar creak of her bed frame whisper out into the apartment, a sense of unease came over her and she began to fear what exactly would come next - just how well she could resist further temptation.

In Jules’ bedroom, Leon slowly surfaced from sleep with a soft grunt. Becoming aware bit by bit that he was lying on his front, with his face melted into the pillow that smelled of her. The bright morning light on the other-side of his eyelids, making it hard to want to peel them open as he noticed a familiar sense of pleasurable discomfort had made itself at home in his crotch.

Letting out a groan -tinged with a note of frustration- his first instinct was to grind into the mattress and then reach out blindly across the sheets to seek out Jules. Eager to see if she wanted a matinee performance.

But to his surprise the space beside him was empty.

An immediate sense of disquiet swept through him, and his sleepy eyes eased open fully to let the sunlight in. He rubbed his hand over his face to try and wake himself up a little, before glancing around -bleary eyed- to confirm he was in fact still in her bed, but alone.

Unsettled, he shifted onto his back and yawned before dragging his weary body up to sit propped up, with his back against the headboard. With his mind gradually rebooting to set him awash with recollections of what had occurred in the half-light hours before.

He recalled first falling asleep to her head on his shoulder, and holding her hand in place on his chest - over his heart. Where her thumb lazily stroked a gentle rhythm that matched the beating.

Something so simple had felt oddly magical and he’d drifted off quicker than he had in years, with a satisfied smile and a head empty of shadows.

It had been freeing to detach from the rational side of himself, and set down the baggage that damn near broke his back. To finally stop trying to hold up his defences that kept him safe and take a calculated risk instead.

Lying there in her bed it felt like he’d made the right choice, even if it meant he’d betrayed the vow he’d made to himself to not give into the kind of temptation she’d presented.

He could rationalise his choice now, because whatever had been developing between them didn’t feel anything like the casual encounters he’d had before. Their connection was in its infancy, but there was an undeniable spark between them that promised to become an inferno, and he couldn’t find it in himself to dismiss that. Even though the self-preserving side of him said he was playing a dangerous game with her heart, and his own.

It hadn’t escaped him just how odd it felt to be in an unfamiliar bed, with no hint of regret or guilt - which was his usual default after following a new face home with a belly full of alcohol. He wasn’t certain of what that meant for him, but the refreshed feeling that dominated him insisted he take it as a positive.

There in that moment he only felt contentment and satisfaction still lingering within him, and showing no sign of relenting to let more familiar -negative- emotions in.

As he basked in the warmth of the fall sun filtering in through the voile curtains, he felt as if he could almost laugh to think of how close he’d come to never seeing the sun again, only a matter of hours earlier.

It was crazy to consider how he’d gone from such chaos and pain to finding such pleasure and peace. He guessed he should have been used to such a dichotomy, since his life often had moments that switched so fast they gave him whiplash. Meeting Jules -and all that followed- was just one more example of it.

Feeling so strangely content, he cast his mind back to consider how the night had played out and what had happened between them. The awkward introduction and conversation at the bar, to laughing and teasing each other like they’d known each other for decades. The chaos of the bar fight, the moment he almost broke in the alleyway. The tenderness she’d shown him by inviting him into her home and treating his wounds.

Then all the attention she’d lavished on him as they’d showered together. The incredible intimate -passion laced- feelings that flowed through every second and touch they shared.

It almost felt like a dream.

He smiled to himself, as he also recalled the point where she returned to bed from the bathroom after a few hours rest. How her bedroom was bathed in the muted light of encroaching dawn. Feeling familiar tingles resurface at the hazy memory of how he’d welcomed her back to bed with his warm arms and a soft kiss, that had only led them back to building more pleasure that was different to what came before. No less intense, yet softer somehow - delicate.

His body began to hum with arousal at merely the memory; making him wish she was still beside him to take advantage of the perfectly good erection that was threatening beneath the covers

Images dancing across his vision as he recalled holding her so close, with his face buried in her neck. Her softly whimpering his name into his ear, as she came around him for a second time. His own lips smiling with pleasure, as she encouraged him to his own climax with nothing but moans and her nails scraping up and down his back and neck, as her walls contracted around in him waves of pleasure he was proud to have caused.

He’d fallen asleep with her legs still wrapped around him, taken under by the afterglow, his head on her shoulder as she stroked his back and played with his hair, soothing his soul again - in a way he could barely believe he was worthy of feeling.

His only disappointment was to know in the harsher light of the late morning - she was missing.

Despite trying, he couldn’t remember her leaving the bed a second time, which allowed him no frame of reference for just how long she’d been gone. He’d been so tired after their sleepy sex, he feared he may have slept through a bomb dropping.

Worrying for a moment he considered that perhaps he was sitting there feeling like king of the world, while she was the one who regretted what had occurred between them.

His stomach rolled at the very notion. An uncomfortable feeling that he couldn’t quite name settling into his gut.

Brushing his hair back out of his face, he sat up a little straighter and pushed himself back against the headboard, trying to switch his analytical mind back on. Conducting a visual assessment of her bedroom, eager to search for clues to explain her absence. Hoping for a hint about where her mindset might be before they came face-to-face again.

First he spotted all his clothes folded neatly on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, while his tactical gear, watch and cellphone waited on the chair near her dresser.

He then noted she’d put him a bottle of Tylenol and Ibuprofen on her nightstand, besides a tall glass of ice water. The cold glass had begun to sweat heavily, giving him an idea of how long it may have been there. Based on the ambient temperature of the room, he guessed at least an hour.

Despite the disappointment of her not sticking around, the sight of all she’d done for him while he’d slept, made his chest swell with warmth. They barely even knew each other, yet she was already taking care of him better than anyone else he could remember.

Since he’d lost his family and had been thrust into the foster care system, he’d always taken on a caring, protective role. Looking out for the younger kids, helping anyone around him who was struggling, without asking for anything in return.

He’d been the same way through high school too and then as his adult life played out he found himself training for an official role as protector in the police academy. His huge capacity for empathy driving him to care more about the welfare of others, than he did his own.

Few across his life’s journey considered taking time to care for him in return. Not that he often gave anyone the opportunity to, or expected it. He’d learned to be self-sufficient, a lone wolf of sorts, and he’d never felt too worthy of compassion or tenderness. Especially after the events of nineteen-ninety-eight. Feeling as if he deserved no kindness due to his failings in saving those he had sworn to protect.

He couldn’t imagine why Jules seemed compelled to show him so much care, since he’d given her nothing to justify it. The majority of his relationships were purely transactional, and it felt strange that she would treat him so well with no promise of anything in return, but whatever her reason for doing so, he loved that she’d taken the time to bother.

Smiling faintly to himself, he thought of how easy it would be to get used to the warm feeling in his chest, and the sense that he was perhaps -for once- finally wanted more than he was needed.

Dejected, in his realisation that it was time to get out of the comfortable bed and go see how things lay with her, he gave an involuntary yawn and kicked off the covers.

Subconsciously keeping his fingers crossed, that the clues she’d left meant she held him in good enough regard to perhaps consider pursuing something beyond one night. Even though he knew it was foolish to set his hopes so high.

He shifted himself to sit on the edge of the bed and picked up a bottle of painkillers. This time, not because he was hungover -after years of using alcohol as a support crutch, it took a lot for that- but for all the years of abuse his back had taken. The events of the previous day were trying to show themselves on top of the historic and familiar aches he usually woke with.

Knowing his dosage, he took two pills from each bottle and necked them with the ice cold water. The sensation of which chased away the last of the sleepiness lingering inside.

Feeling more awake, he took a chance to again ponder the things she’d done for him, and tried to analyse her absence properly. It didn’t seem likely that she’d woken repentant, since her actions had made him feel even more welcome in her home than he had when he first walked in.

Neither of them had been drunk; of that much he was fairly certain. They both knew what they were doing in the bathroom when he’d propositioned her too.

It was a conscious decision to give in to their desire for one another, and a choice that had made him feel so good he couldn’t regret it, even though he knew he probably should.

Despite that feeling, he was still eager to see her and curiosity tuned his ears into the sounds of the apartment. Quickly noting that he could hear faint music coming from the other side of the half open bedroom door. Indicating she was going about her morning, and he wanted nothing more than to join her.

Eager, he stood from the bed and stretched. Rolling his shoulders and neck, hearing a few creaks and cracks, before scratching himself in a couple of places and padding naked into the bathroom.

Straight away he noticed that there were fresh towels waiting on the chair for him, and he felt the familiar flutter inside him again to feel so tended to.

Not wanting to over analyse what it indicated -knowing he’d twist himself up in knots before he got a chance to find out directly from her- he told himself to just be content in feeling as cared for as he did.

He set about taking care of the essentials, before heading to the bathroom mirror to focus his attention on trying to tame his hair. Falling asleep with it wet always resulted in him battling to subdue it, and that morning was no different.

Frowning as he combed it through with his fingers, trying to turn some of the kinked strands in the right direction before wetting his hands and smoothing them over his mane – attempting to minimise the fluffiness, but he quickly admitted defeat. Knowing as the day went on it would calm down somewhere along the line, and fall into a more acceptable state anyway.

Next, he used some dental floss and took a shot from her bottle of mouthwash, swilling it around his mouth thoughtfully. Thinking of how oddly nice it was to be able to do all he was doing.

It wasn’t so long ago that the ‘morning after’ would have seen him kicked out unceremoniously -possibly half dressed- and hungover.

If not that, he’d at least have been scrambling for a way to remain respectful while finding a viable excuse to escape as quickly as he could, and usually without sharing his phone number. Yet now he found himself hoping for any chance that would let him remain where he was for as long as possible.

He splashed some cold water on his face, and wiped the sleep from his eyes. Exhaling deeply, as a sense of disappointment tried to settle over him as he realised his time there was likely running out, regardless of what regard Jules held him in, or how badly he wanted to stay put.

Something inside him could already hear reality calling him back -like a whisper on a breeze- but at that moment he didn’t want to listen.

All he really wanted to do was seek her out, and do everything they’d done the night before all over again, and more still. Yet he wasn’t sure if she’d want to go there with him again, now that the harsh daylight would reveal the difficult mess of a man he really was.

After drying his face on a towel, he focused on his reflection in the mirror, considering for a moment that he seemed to look different. Younger, and lighter too. He told himself it was just the effects of a couple of orgasms and a decent night’s sleep -maybe even Elpis was to blame- but deep down he knew it was simply something about her and the life she’d breathed into him.

Folding the towel onto the counter, he suddenly caught sight of the ring on his finger for the first time since they’d kissed, and a strange feeling came over him. Conscious of the weight of the metal suddenly.

He considered swapping it to its usual place on his middle finger, or taking it off all together, but he didn’t want to make it an issue.

If luck was on his side he’d have the chance to properly explain it to her, and prove to himself that he hadn’t just abandoned the resolve he’d stuck to for so long - that something more than just lust and the weight of his demons had pushed him into her arms.

Trying not to self-sabotage the great feeling that was lingering inside him; he took one last attempt at fixing his hair and padded back into her bedroom. Moving straight to where his freshly laundered clothes waited for him.

His boxers sat at the top of the pile and he pulled them on without much thought, before grabbing his watch off the chair where it sat besides his phone. Fixing it to his wrist then instinctively checking the time – only to inadvertently strike himself with panic.

“Fuck!” he spat - surprised to see it was fast approaching midday.

It was easy to assume sleeping so late was the result of finally giving into his exhaustion, but he also knew the release and comfort she’d given him was largely responsible for his ability to stay unconscious.

He rarely had trouble falling asleep, since he was regularly sleep deprived and had learned to drop off in the strangest of places on missions over the years. However, staying unconscious had always been another story. He was sure he hadn’t slept so deeply -without the aid of a life-threatening amount of alcohol- since long before he first set foot in Raccoon City.

That fact seemed to make it even harder to accept having to leave, and the thought of returning to the real world again almost made his stomach turn, but his sense of duty cut through and reminded him of the promises he’d made to Grace, and the professional responsibilities that were awaiting him.

Troubled by how the day was getting away from him, he snatched up his phone and scanned the screen. Stepping back to perch on the corner of her bed as he reluctantly caught up with the land of the living.

As he feared, he had a few missed calls from the DSO, which matched the number of new voicemails. Another call from an unknown number, and an hour old text from Grace saying she hoped he was okay and got some sleep.

Her message also advised him that a social worker had been around asking questions and was actively delaying their discharge, despite Grace using her FBI credentials to try and field awkward questions and dodge hospital protocols.

According to her, the woman was ‘making some calls’ and would be back at midday. His eyes rolled on an exhale – he should have known something like that would be going on in his absence.

A powerful wave of disappointment hit him right in the chest to realise sleeping so deep and so late had robbed him of time with Jules, and only left him the best part of twenty minutes to get dressed, say goodbye to her, and find his way back to the hospital.

It wasn’t near enough time, but he had to be there for Grace and Emily above indulging himself.

He text back quickly -apologising for the delayed response- promising he’d be with them to sort it all out as soon as possible, and then set about putting his clothes on.

As he shook out his pants he caught the subtle scent of her towels coming from the fabric, quickly noting they looked as good as new too. It appeared that she’d washed and dried everything for him while he slept in. A realisation that made his chest pulse with warmth and the oddest sense of comfort that weighted his bones and made it even harder to consider walking back to his reality.

Feeling the weight of moral obligation push down on his shoulders, he tried his best to convince himself to lock back into his professional focus, and he set about pulling on his tactical pants quickly.

Zipping them up and noting just how good it felt to feel the clean fabric against his skin, and know he was leaving the residue of Raccoon City behind him. Even though he knew he was forever marked by more than just the dirt of the place.

Better still, he liked the fact he’d leave with a fragrant reminder of her that would linger for the rest of the day –longer maybe– just as he hoped the warmth in his heart would.

Telling himself to focus on the present, he picked up the pace. Eager to get to her and spend what little time he had left in her company.

He grabbed his socks next; attempting to put them on without sitting down. Hoping to save a few seconds. A choice that saw him hopping hopelessly from one foot to the other, as he struggled with his aim. A costly mistake coming as he missed the target completely with his second foot – a misstep that sent him stumbling forward.

The quick couple of steps he took to stop himself falling on his face, almost sent him crashing onto the bed instead, as his naked little toe caught on something long and flat sticking out from beneath the wooden base. Hidden partially by how the comforter had been draped, but and clearly lying in wait to trip him.

“Shit!”

Admitting defeat, he dropped down onto the bed to put his second sock on quickly, before leaning over and pulling up the cover to see what exactly he’d caught his foot on. Only planning to push whatever it was back under, but he wasn’t expecting to find what his eyes fell upon.

Catching sight of a black canvas strap, his curiosity piqued and he slid off the bed to crouch down on one knee. Instead of pushing the item back under, he pulled it out into the light to get a better look.

It was a large duffle bag, unzipped, with the flap half-folded back to reveal it was stuffed with thick bands of cash. His brow immediately furrowed -curiosity getting the worst of him- as a cold sense of worry crept up his back, encouraging him to peel the flap up further to see more of the bag’s contents.

His eyes first found a forty-five Colt revolver, a black SIG Sauer M17 handgun -likely her service weapon- and some boxes of ammunition. There was also a change of clothes rolled up neatly, a baseball cap and shades. A burner phone, a multi-tool, flashlight, combat knife, and even a motorcycle license plate for the state of Missouri.

It was a bail-out bag.

And a good one at that. It seemed to contain everything she needed to vanish in the blink of an eye.

Feeling the hairs prickle on the back of his neck with a familiar sense of unease, he reached further into the sack of curiosities, and moved some things around to see more. Instantly finding two photo IDs loose inside – both driver’s licenses.

They were good, but at least one of them had to be fake, although he couldn’t be certain which one - or if it was in fact both.

It was her face in the two different pictures but her hair styles were changed. One image had her with a short black bob, straight as a pin and black framed glasses sitting on her nose, while the other photo showed her with a long, wavy, light dark blonde that looked natural but he felt it was likely to be a wig.

The names and dates of birth on each were both different, and he made a mental note of all the information, just in case. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to help himself running them through all the databases he had access to once he was back at the office on Monday.

He sighed heavily, realising how bad things looked for her and how it was becoming increasingly apparent that she was on the run.

Taking a moment to question how on earth he should handle the situation, he tucked the ID’s into an internal pocket, noticing as he did so that there were a few photographs loose in the body of the bag too. That immediately took his interest and distracted his practical and analytical mind for deciding what action to take.

The first shot was of a small military unit, in what appeared to be any given jungle in the world. He spotted her instantly -despite the shaggy Mohawk she was sporting- her pretty blue eyes gave her away.

She was younger, early twenties at his best guess. Despite her being tall and athletic, she seemed dwarfed by the assortment of tough looking men around her. All in operational camouflage, donned with combat gear, and heavily armed. Clearly ready for action but pulling silly faces and flexing comically. He quickly flipped the photo over and saw ‘Spartans - Alpha Team. Colombia. 12.07.13’ had been written on the back in black marker.

He felt strangely blessed to have seen a glimpse of her past in such a way, his curiosity about her stepping up another level, as he flipped to the next photo.

Again his eyes found her straight away. Her dark curls in a short pixie cut this time and wearing casual, summer civilian clothing, just the same as the other six people in the picture.

A couple of the male faces matched up with those in the previous group, just a little older, but the other two men pictured weren’t familiar and neither was the other woman. She was attractive, with a wavy blonde bob, and appeared to be a fair few years older than Jules.

One of the unfamiliar men was straddling a tattooist couch, and the others were gathered around him. All flashing various parts of their bodies where their matching tattoos had been freshly etched.

Leon’s detail orientated eye caught that the signs in the background were in a foreign language. He couldn’t be certain but it looked like Tagalog, putting the photo as being taken somewhere in the Manila region – where he’d spent some time during his early military training.

He flipped it over and read the note on the back ‘The Junkyard Dogs Feb 2018.’ It gave no clear clues about what exactly she and her unit did, but he was oddly fascinated to see proof of who she was before she’d crossed his path.

He considered the inscription for a moment, and looked back on the one good glimpse he’d got of her under-bicep tattoo, which had appeared to show a stylized dog in a shield. The pieces began to slot together, as he knew that junkyard dogs were known to be protective and aggressive, stopping at nothing to chase down anyone who dared act up and threaten the security of their domain. It seemed likely to be more of a nickname than an official military unit title though, and it had him burning with curiosity.

Pairing it with what she’d said about becoming an agent for the military’s criminal investigation division -where she was likely to have chased down criminals within the armed forces for all kinds of heinous misdeeds- it seemed perhaps the five other faces in the photo were the specialist unit she’d been drafted into. Those who she’d lost two years prior.

It was clear her teams had meant a lot to her, which was something he’d lacked in his own career until recent years. He’d always been a one man army, for a significant part of his work. Mostly by choice, for not wanting any more losses on his conscience.

He’d been reluctant to agree to heading up the DSO taskforce he was now a part of. Having his misgivings about closely bonding with other agents, and having to face putting them into harm's way, but over the three and a bit years he’d been at it, he couldn’t deny he’d grown to like it.

Having easily accessible support, and people to bounce ideas off, who offered new perspectives and theories. The banter and inside jokes that had spawned between them all meant a lot to him too. He even enjoyed the way they teased him about his various habits and quirks. They’d become somewhat of a misfit family, and for as much as it scared him to hold them all dear, he now wasn’t so sure he could do the job day-to-day without them.

Eager to avoid getting sentimental, and keen to see more about her, Leon bought the penultimate picture in the collection forward. Scanning it quickly to see it was of a woman in her mid-twenties - at his best guess. Wearing a summer dress, with long strawberry blonde curls cascading over her shoulders. Eyes so similar to the ones he’d become familiar with, just a greener hue than Jules’ own.

The woman was sitting on a picnic blanket, hugging a little girl -with a mop of dark curls and the same bright eyes- from behind. She was dessed in a pair of blue cycling shorts and a faded purple t-shirt with a nineties Ninja Turtles logo on. It appeared to be a little too big for her, possibly a hand-me-down, he guessed.

The image captured was a cute, candid moment that emanated maternal love and sent Leon’s mind instantly drifting back to a similar photo he’d managed to salvage of his own mother. One he pretended to forget existed, that he had kept in a safety deposit box at a bank in Washington DC for a couple of decades, where he knew it couldn’t get lost in the chaos of his life.

Feeling long buried emotions beginning to push at the lid of the box he’d locked them in, he quickly flipped to the next photo. Which showed an older, raven haired and bearded man front and center, with two young girls and a slightly older boy. All standing proudly besides a classic cherry red Mustang.

Jules was the eldest of the two girls pictured, early or pre-teens he’d guessed. Her black hair straightened within an inch of its life and pulled into a ponytail with two streaks bleached blonde and pulled free to frame her face. A hairstyle that he recalled teens sporting in the early years of the new millennium.

She was wearing a slim fit Linkin Park t-shirt, with a long sleeve one underneath that had black and purple horizontal stripes all up the arms. Baggy jeans that had an outrageously large studded belt and silver chains hanging from one of the loops. The piles of bracelets on her wrists, a few rings too, with dark makeup around her eyes and a moody look on her face that made him scoff softly in amusement. She looked ridiculous -especially by modern standards- but she fit a subculture of that era perfectly which clicked with all he’d learned about her at the bar.

In the man’s arms was a much younger girl, maybe four or five. Thick curly red hair tied into pigtails, wearing a brightly coloured dress. She surely had to be Jules’ little sister. The older teenage boy held a resemblance to her too, he had the same hair colour as Jules and the man he assumed to be her father. Gelled neatly into spikes, which along with his football shirt gave the impression he probably did well at highschool sports.

It was hard not to wonder where they all might be at that moment, but something in his intuition told him perhaps that photo was all she had left of them too.

He wasn’t sure if it was just the investigator in him, or the blossoming feelings he’d already developed for her, but his curiosity about who she really was and what her real story could be had tripled over the minutes that had passed. Only to deepen further when he went to return the photos and noticed it seemed that the duffle bag had a false bottom.

‘Don’t do it, Kennedy!’ he told himself, eyes flicking to the door to ensure she wasn’t watching.

He knew he’d already snooped too much and going any further was an even bigger breach of the fragile trust they’d built, but he had to know what she was hiding, in case it was a clue about what exactly she was running from.

Tucking the photos into the pocket behind the fake IDs, he immediately set his nimble hands to pushing the bags contents to one side, allowing him just enough flexibility to peel up the loose corner of the thick black plastic panel beneath.

His eyes swept over his find – revealing the telltale piece of dirty red cloth was wrapped around something almost triangular looking, which was tucked in deep in the corner of the bag, pinned down by the contents above.

The easiest hidden item to access was a small transparent cosmetic case with a purple zipper and some make-up smudges inside. An ordinary sight for any woman’s belongings, but it was juxtaposed harshly by its contents that Leon instantly recognised - a rugged military issue encrypted external hard drive.

He felt frustration tighten in his shoulders, knowing he would be unable to determine what was on it without a laptop and a good few minutes alone.

Hungry for clues, he turned his attention to the red fabric parcel instead, quickly sweeping his eyes to the door again -to check Jules wasn’t about to bust in- before he cautiously lifted the bundle out into the better light.

The fabric was concealing something hard and as soon as he felt the weight in his hand, he knew exactly what it was.

He peeled it open with a rapidly building sense of unease, and his heart sank to see a plastic ziplock bag containing another weapon - a gun. Another service issue SIG, but this one was covered in blood.

A dozen questions rushed into his head like a flash flood.

Was it her blood? Was it the blood of someone she’d hurt? Of someone who had tried to hurt her? Why was she keeping it in a baggie? Was it evidence? Proof of some hideous crime? Perhaps the reason why she was running? Did it prove her innocence, or her guilt?

Whatever the case, when he paired it up with what he knew and what he felt, it seemed that the weapon wasn’t there as a result of any act conducted in the line of official duties.

Feeling a dark cloud of worry looming over his head, he adjusted the plastic a little to see the gun’s serial number etched into the side of the receiver, and committed it to memory. He had a friend in the DSO weapons and ballistics unit, who could likely run it through the system and find who it belonged to, without raising any alarms. Yet that could only be done once he got back to campus, and the heat from the fallout had died down.

Until then, he’d have to live with the knowledge that military law meant she would likely be considered a deserter – a military fugitive. Who was clearly not as safe as she seemed. It was also quickly becoming apparent it was less and less likely that she’d told him her real name - just as he’d feared.

A subconscious part of him had danced around using her name out loud all night. Like he feared saying it would change their dynamic, or push her away somehow. He guessed it was an internal fail safe of sorts. Something his instincts had crafted to prevent things breaking down before they got a chance to start up.

Over the years he’d been trained to read people, it was a skill that investigators honed for their survival and the success rate of their cases. There was zero doubt that she was mysterious and hiding something right from the start, but there was no part of him that could believe she was a bad person. Even though it looked like she was neck deep in some shady shit.

He felt confident enough that he was a good judge of character though. At least enough to sense when someone was in trouble, or when they were the trouble, and she certainly seemed like the former, with it being all too easy to recall the pain and fear he'd seen in her eyes.

Feeling a myriad of emotions bubbling up within him, he sighed heavily. Trying to ignore the toxic mix of anxiety laden with sadness and tinged with guilt, for snooping so shamelessly, and not liking what he’d found.

Eager to see her again, and try to compare what he now knew with what he felt about her, he quickly tucked everything back into the bag neatly, and went to zip it closed. Hesitating when he noticed the main zipper had a keychain attached - a small plastic figure of Smurfette.

Frowning to himself he considered it, turning it over in his hand. It seemed a little weathered; she’d clearly had it a while. It was an odd thing to put on a bag full of cash and illegal items, but he thought it was safe to say it had some sentimental value that she didn’t want to lose in the event of her world collapsing.

He hated that he didn’t have enough time to stick around and ask more questions to try and figure her out. To ascertain exactly what was going on and how he could help, but he couldn’t leave the girls waiting when he’d promised them he’d return and escort them home. Especially while a social worker was lurking and potentially threatening Emily’s future besides Grace.

With a half-hearted sigh, he stuffed the bag back under the bed and stood up. Resigning himself to having to fight the urge to research her in any way he could while they were apart. Knowing his heavy hand could trip an alarm somewhere in a database and put her in avoidable danger.

Being painfully aware that he didn’t have the time needed to delicately dig into her past, and find out what had happened or why she had such items hidden under her bed, brought a familiar sense of disquiet into his heart. While the innate need within him to help people inflated, filling him with purpose and determination.

Like the many times he'd face similar conundrums before, he knew he wouldn’t be able to rest until he’d figured it all out and helped resolve the risk to her safety. He told himself there and then as he stood beside her bed, that he had to find a way to get back to her - and quickly.

Even if she wasn’t receptive to it, he wanted to reassure her that he cared and that he’d help her in any way he could - even if she’d done something terrible. As it troubled him to consider what might happen to her without help, or at least a safe place to turn should her past catch up to her.

Of course, he knew it was risky to get involved with whatever mess she was in, but he was no stranger to mysterious women, with questionable behaviours and chequered pasts. Facing being torn away from seeking answers from her only served to cement the fact that nothing for him could be ever simple or untainted in some way. That everything he ever wanted for himself came with monumental challenges that spun out of control and rarely resolved to any sense of clarity or closure, no matter how much he strived to obtain it.

“Story of my life.” he sighed.