Finding Arcadia: Chapter One
Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Original Female Character/Reader
Summary: Needing to decompress after the events of Requiem, and the lingering failures that still haunt him, Leon heads to a bar where he meets a enigmatic woman in her thirties, who provides the perfect remedy to his dark rumination, and threatens to be his undoing.
Set immediately after RE9/Requiem so - major spoilers!
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Survivor's Guilt, Suicidal Thoughts, Depression, Romance, Yearning, Friendship, Banter, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Awkward Flirting, Leon's Ring Explained, Appropriate Age Gap. Gen X/Millennial Relationship. Chapter: 1/?? {Next Chapter} Available on AO3.
Author's Note: So this idea came to me at stupid o'clock in the morning and wouldn't let me know peace until it was written. I feel Leon has always been self-less during the games/movies, and would give his own life to save someone elseās, but I did not get the impression that he had a wife waiting anxiously for him at home. So, Iām playing with the theory the ring has a deeper meaning and use than marriage, as the director's comments about the ring's meaning, to me, implied something deeper/more complicated than marriage too....all will become clear.
I find between all the games and movies, Leonās character can be written rather inconsistently at times, and weāve never really get to seen him āoff the clockā, so Iām working the canon into the vibes he gives me and hoping I land somewhere close to getting his character right for you all, and giving him some happiness, because Goddamn it he deserves some.
Oh....and the title is inspired by the Sleep Token song - Even In Arcadia.....which gives me massive Leon/RE9 vibes and inspired this fic. If you havenāt heard it, please give it a listen.
Enjoy!
āCome now, swing wide those gates, 'Cause I have paid my penance kindly well in time for judgement day. Somehow I knew my fate, Turns out the gods we thought were dying were just sharpening their blades
Have you been waiting long for me? ā -Even In Arcadia by Sleep Token Chapter One: Look Back on the Aftermath
St Judeās Medical Centre, Brightwater Creek, Ohio. Friday October 9th 2026 20:37.
āCall me in the mornin', when they say youāre fit for discharge.ā Leon insisted gently. āIāll come pick you both up, make sure you get home safe.ā
His words assured Grace while his eyes protectively watched over Emily. The little girl was currently sitting in the middle of a hospital bed, an IV in the back of her hand, half eaten sandwich on a plastic plate besides her while she played with a teddy bear. One that heād picked her up from the patient gift shop shortly after theyād arrived, hoping to bring her some comfort. Cartoons were playing quietly on the small TV, high in the far corner of the room, offering the little girl as much joy as hospital room could provide.
While Leon remained in the stained outfit heād been wearing for almost thirty-six hours, the girls had been given a change of clothes. Grace wore pale green scrubs and Emily colourful, but slightly oversized, pyjamas that one of the nurses had found for her. The whole medical team had become instantly enamoured with the white haired girl, touched by her story. Rallying around her to make her stay there as comfortable as possible.
āThank you, Leon.ā Grace smiled at him, relief so clear in her eyes. āFor everything.ā
āDonāt mention it. Just get some rest, alright? Weāll talk more tomorrow.ā
Exchanging warm smiles with her, he said his goodbyes and he peeled out of the side ward and into the quiet, glass sided, hospital corridor. The early fall darkness outside made it seem much later than it really was, which forced him to check his watch to confirm the time, as he considered his options for how best to spend the rest of the night.
The girls had been admitted for treatment and a full battery of precautionary tests, but heād declined care for himself. Knowing from experience heād be just fine without an IV being jabbed into his hand and people prodding at him under florescent lights.
He hated the clinical environment of hospitals at the best of times, too many bad memories that heād prefer to keep outrunning. Worst still, heād been given even more reason to dislike the setting in recent weeks, since the infection had reared its ugly head. He couldnāt stomach hanging around any longer than absolutely necessary, eager to finally put his most recent nightmare behind him and set his mind to the future instead.
Now the danger to Grace had been disarmed, he felt confident enough to step away, reassured by the presence of a local police officer, who was stationed outside the girlsā door. Just another precaution, of course. Unnecessary, but heād insisted on it, for his own peace of mind. They were miles from Raccoon City and Rhodes Hill, but he knew all too well that there was no such thing as being āovercautiousā when it came to his line of work.
He gave a nod to the officer as he moved on to seek out the elevators, with his body healed his shoulders felt lifted, the burden of illness and survival that heād carried for weeks was gone, leaving him so much lighter. He covered the corridor with easy, long, strong strides, taking him past a nurses station, where suddenly his phone began chirping in his pocket, demanding his attention.
It was the first time heād looked at it since all the action had stopped, and he wasnāt surprised to find the screen protector was cracked from impact damage but luckily the phone still worked fine. Not recognising the number made him reluctant to answer; and a crease formed in his brow as he considered who it might be.
News of his escapades would have reached DSO high command by now, and there was a good chance higher-ups were already fully on the warpath that led directly to him.
Even with his years of experience, expertise as a field agent and being instrumental in creating the DSO to begin with, he still wasnāt afforded many favours and had to continually answer to those above him.
It didnāt matter that everyone knew his name, and called on him every time the shit really hit the fan, knowing he was their best hope of containment and resolution. In government departments no one was immune to being forced to follow their overzealous practices and protocols, unnecessary red-tape and paperwork that he couldnāt stand. Not to mention the Goddamned performance reviews, and disciplinary processes he was all too familiar with. The best he could hope for would be bypassing the post-mission quarantine period, which his seniority often afforded.
He was half expecting the call to be from a superior, chewing him out about going rogue and dragging Sherry along with him. The job was often thankless, and the bullshit bureaucracy of it all had often led him to toy with the idea of going it alone, taking his team and setting up independently somehow, but he never quite got the push or the resources he needed to do it.
It was also near impossible for him to escape the choke-hold the controlling powers above had him in. Keeping him locked into his role and at their beck and call, with a fat paycheck at the end of every month, by way of compensation for all the hell they kept putting him through.
Regardless of who was calling him then, heād be lined up for a dressing down on Monday morning anyway, and knowing he could at least hang up while he was miles out of their reach - with his location turned off- he decided to answer.
āAgent Kennedy?ā a male voice spoke on the other end. āYour car is waiting outside the main entrance.ā
A SWAT team had gone back into the outskirts of Raccoon City to ensure it was sealed up tight again, and heād requested they recover his Porsche during the process. That in turn left him free escort Grace and Emily to the hospital with the help of the Hound Wolf Squad.
He was conscious of the fact heād wind up with an extra grilling over the cost of manpower for retrieving and returning his ride, but he couldnāt leave the damn thing out there to rot. He loved that car. Yet he considered the thought of going back in to get it himself -alone- as a dumb, and unnecessarily dangerous idea.
āOn my way down now.ā he gave, hanging up and quickening his step to catch the elevator that was about to leave. Jumping in just as the doors started to close on the other passengers.
As the metal box descended to the ground floor, he pondered his next move. He didnāt want to be far from the hospital,Ā just in case, and he didnāt feel in the least bit tired, despite having not slept in so long.
He guessed either the fact heād passed out cold, or the dose of Elpis heād taken, had rebooted his system into a second wind, which gave him a range of options for how to spend the remainder of one of the strangest days of his life.
He contemplated making the near two hour drive back home to an empty apartment, but it seemed like a waste of time. Heād have to return first thing for the girls anyway, and being completely alone was never a good thing for him, in the aftermath of so much chaos.
There was a sense of bittersweet relief to know he had a good excuse to stay away from his place for a little longer. As truth be told, since heād moved to Pittsburg to help head up an elite team, at the DSOās newly built central command campus, he was at war with the place he laid his head at night. The apartment felt simultaneously too big and too small all at once. It simply became a place to crash and keep his things but little more than that.
When his team came over for beers and pizza, it felt great to see life within the four walls and be a part of something like a family, but when they left and he was alone again it just didnāt feel right. Though he wasnāt really sure any place ever would, or ever really had, but then heād come to learn over the years that home wasnāt always a place, sometimes it was people.
The last time heād been to his apartment was over a day and a half earlier, when heād been in a really dark spot. His infection was worsening, as was Sherryās, as more bodies were turning up and even after weeks searching for answers, he still hadnāt a clue on how to fix anything. Bringing an old familiar sense of helplessness that had pushed him so close to the edge before.
Even though heād slayed many of the demons that tormented him that day, he wasnāt ready to go back to the space where heād spent many recent nights at his lowest. Afraid that again the success heād achieved would be overshadowed by lingering grief that always managed to find him after a mission, no matter how triumphant it had been.
No, it was better he stayed close by for Grace and Emily anyway. Helping to take care of them would at least be a wonderful distraction from the inevitable minefield of a debrief he anticipated, and the lengthy report heād have to compile to explain his actions too.
Making his way out of the elevator and through the hospital foyer, he evaluated his given location and what the unfamiliar place had to offer. Heād ridden into town in the back of Chrisās teamās SUV, and being a passenger for a change gave him the opportunity to scope everything out in better detail.
He easily recalled a sign for a motel a few miles back, that would be as good a place as any to take a shower, patch himself up, and get some rest. Watching trash TV or a movie heād seen five times already until he could no longer keep his eyes open, but first he needed to eat. To beat the craving he had for a thick, greasy, double cheeseburger. The kind you only found at cruddy roadside diners, or dive-bars with questionable hygiene practices.
āSelf careā at its finest, he told himself. In spite of the fact Sherry and the rest of his team would always be in his ear about it whenever he tried to order a terrible post-op snack in their presence. Cholesterol and trans fats, cheat days, eating clean, andĀ blah blah blah!Ā It felt like as soon as he hit forty-five, thatās all he heard, despite the fact his blood work was never anything less than perfect, he still worked out a least four times a week, and did all he could to avoid having to spend too much time sitting at a desk.
Yeah, that kind of guilty indulgence and a few beers, would really hit the spot. Maybe half a bottle of whiskey too. He hoped all together it would chase the last of his energy away and see him off to oblivion, where he could finally reach a dreamless sleep. Block the aches that still lingered from his most recent ordeal and the years of seemingly endless physical abuse heād taken.
With his stomach grumbling, he swept out of the double glass doors of the small hospital building and jogged down the steps to the asphalt. Spotting his car straight away, parked in the short term bay out front, flanked by a combat ready soldier with a SWAT van idling nearby.
The officer noticed Leon and nodded. Showing him the keys before he tossed them to him. Leon snatched them out of the air effortlessly, and gave his thanks before stuffing them in his pants pocket. Realising as he did that he was still armed, Requiem close at his ribs, hatchet at his back along with other tactical essentials.
It made sense now why all the hospital staff kept giving him odd looks. It felt as natural as breathing to keep his weapons close, but he couldnāt deny he did look rather menacing carrying them around outside of a nightmare scenario.
It was safe to assume rocking up to a diner with a mini arsenal strapped to him was a bad idea, so he popped the trunk and detached all his weapons and most of his accessories. Keeping his tactical belt and split-rig strapped to him, just in case he needed to jump back into action and arm up at a momentās notice.
He wasnāt yet convinced all the chaos was over. Then again, he never really was.
No matter how clean cut a mission concluded, it took days for him to regulate his nervous system afterwards. There was always something that lingered at the back of his mind, whispering that his nightmare was never truly going to end. Nearly thirty years of fighting a seemingly infinite amount of wars told him storms would come and pass, but many often had more than one eye.
Securing his weapons in the hidden safe beneath the trunk floor, he locked the car up tight and he inhaled deeply as he glanced over his surroundings. Brightwater Creek, Ohio was an average mid-west America small town. Nothing remarkable about it that he could see.
Mostly populated by hospital staff and city workers who wanted to minimise their commute, while still keeping their distance from their offices back in Elbridge. Despite itās banality it appeared like the perfect place to drop off radar a while.
Across the street from the hospital car park was a generic strip mall, most of the windows were dark now, having long closed up for the night. The best the place had to offer was a chain sandwich shop and two overpriced coffee joints. Nothing that appealed to him in any moment, especially that one.
He was about to consider typing āfoodā into his phone, and letting the internet do all the leg work when he noticed a neon sign in the distance, almost out of his visual range but glowing in the night like a beacon of salvation.
He squinted to read āJoeās Bar and Grillā flickering from a red bulb that was fighting for its life, but āgood foodā beneath it remained constantly lit in green, like it was offering reassurance. āGood enough!ā he told himself, set course and pursued his burger on foot.
Thirty minutes later he was tucked at the furthest end of the bar in a typical local watering hole. Heād chosen the best vantage point in the room, to monitor the entry and exit points, just as he always did purely on instinct.
A plate with only a few remaining fries and a smudge of ketchup left behind laid out in front of him on the counter, as the satisfied sensation of a stomach full of the worst kind of calories comforted him.
Subtly he glanced around him, assessing the place a little more now his appetite had been satiated. It was like one of a hundred bars heād lost himself in over the years. Classic wood panelling with eclectic photos and sports memorabilia on the walls, an undeniably familiar setting. Groups of friends and couples filtering in and out, some clearly kicking off their weekend festivities, while others seemed to be working hard to drink away their week of woes.
Grateful for the calm and familiarity, he chased the final bite of food with the last of his beer and gestured to the bartender to hit him again. The aches and pains from years of taking hits were really starting to set in how heād stopped fighting for his life and let his guard down a bit. That in turn allowed the overdose of cortisol which had been constantly flooding his bloodstream to disperse to healthier levels.
As he began working on his second beer, he made a mental note to find an all night pharmacy and pick up some painkillers before he checked in at the motel. His relaxed body was slowly shutting down his hyper-defences, steadily restoring his equilibrium to a more default state, but with that the aches and pain came.
Still, he was comfortable there. Ever conscious of the ebb and flow of his unfamiliar surroundings, but calmer and more at ease ā as much as a man with his history could be anyway.
The peace heād now found allowed him to consider the events that happened in the last twenty-four hours, and that which had led him to be sitting there alone in that moment.
Going back to Raccoon City had been another living nightmare, but he couldnāt deny it was cathartic too. It had given him the opportunity to put to rest many ghosts from the night that changed the course of his whole life.
He'd finally been able to really make a difference this time, back where it all began too. He'd saved a younger -female- version of himself, although she'd technically saved him, and it felt like he'd finally come full circle, with Umbrella buried once and for all, and the cure for all their wrongs in hand, as the cherry on top of the cake, but a deeper part of him still ached with regret.
Heād accepted long ago that heād forever be haunted by how he couldnāt save the people he was supposed to protect in 1998, and the countless others who had lost their lives in the chaotic years that followed.
Survivorās guilt.
A cross to bear. The proverbial wound that never truly healed.
Yet with time it had evolved from a savage sting to a nagging ache. The hurt of it all softened to the point where it wasn't quite so torturous to live with day to day, but still retained the capacity to flare up and punish him in his lowest moments, when his defences were down.
He knew it wouldnāt be too long before his sense of guilt found a new part of him to haunt. He was already frustrated and regretful in wishing he could have found Grace, Rhodes Hill, ARK and Elpis sooner, aware of how many people may have been saved if only he had.
Considering how many more might die while they worked to analyse the data and reproduce the antiviral that would offer hope and protection for so many people, and reset the balance a little more in humanities favour.
It felt strange for him to be considering how the world might change again, now the dangers from viral outbreaks could be rendered null and void, but he was painfully aware that nothing would be straightforward, in his world. There would be plenty of battles yet to fight, once the bio-terrorists learned their weapons were becoming obsolete.
With Chrisās team having harvested Victorās laptop and other research papers it was only a matter of time until a lab they trusted would be able to replicate the antiviral and find a way to get it to where, and who, needed it as quickly as possible.
And yet, knowing a real shot at salvation was close at hand felt so bittersweet. The cure to the progenitor virus itself had been there for so long, buried beneath the ruined city, just waiting for the right people to find it and end the reign of terror it held for almost thirty years. Meanwhile, around the world so many lives had been lost to infections and mutations, and the violence that came along with it all. He knew it would be impossible to stop beating himself up about not finding it sooner, even though he accepted there was no possible way he could have.
As he sipped his beer, he felt himself slowly sinking into a familiar ādoom-loopā that was scarily comforting in its familiarity, and the way it would lock itself around him like a comfortless hug.
Allowing his mind to wander back in time to the stressful and fruitless weeks that had led him to find Grace that night before. A familiar ache of regret pushing down on his shoulders and curling around his chest, as he reflected.
Heād tried so hard to get answers to what was now known as Raccoon City Syndrome as quickly as possible, but they had been fumbling in the dark with the first victim, and the second a few weeks later had offered no more clarity.
Even now he couldnāt shake the frustration he felt knowing that after nearly three decades, the damned place could still be ruining the lives of survivors. How, after everything the government and their scientists had witnessed and learned over the years, could they not confirm if it was a strain of the progenitor viruses to blame, or offer any kind of treatment beyond symptom management.
The powers-that-be had danced around impotently, offering no explanations, solutions or hope. Allowing more people to die while they scratched their heads and stonewalled him and his team, as they fought for answers.
Not knowing what had caused the infection had terrified him the most. An invisible enemy was impossible to fight, and that had chilled him more than any of the monsters heād battled over the years.
He was ashamed to admit that the loss of control and feeling of helplessness had caused him to spiral again into a whirlwind of depression and alcoholism, that heād battled hard to resist in recent years. A dark spiral inside him that spun and twisted into knots with his unbreakable will to survive and save others - the one thing that kept him fighting on.
A visceral memory skittered through him as he drank. An echo of the night heād first noticed a tiny black line in the palm of his hand. At first he thought it was a pen mark, and heād tried to rub it away, but the soreness he felt instantly told him exactly what it was.
A tiny dark vine sitting there like a bitter visual reminder of all the darkness inside him that nibbled away at his soul. A physical manifestation of his guilt and regret, burned into his hand like a brand and slowly spreading like rot.
At the first sign of infection, he had rushed to the DSO labs, submitting himself to blood tests and scans of every kind, hoping to do something,Ā anything, to get the answers they needed and help find a way to stop the disease before others died.
Yet the early stage of his infection offered no more clarity, and only served to fill him with a fury that burned white hot, and one he didnāt know where to direct. Knowing he was living with a time-bomb turned him colder as the weeks passed too, as the fresh infections and bodies began to mount.
The helplessness of it all had threatened to consume him, and oftentimes he wished to let it. So many nights he had sat in his apartment, deep in a bottle of hard liquor, staring at his hand, almost willing the infection to spread. Begging it to make him suffer a while before it put him out of his misery; to punish him for failing more people. Yet it just languished, as if it were deliberately put there to torture his broken soul.
Facing his own mortality in a different way saw the familiar, hopeless desire to end it all himself had returned to him too. A dark desire heād been outrunning for so many years; a need to take back control over his existence. It was almost too hard to fight the urge to finally admit defeat, and let the horrors that followed him through the ruins of his dreams, at last claim their prize.
Sitting there in the safety of the populated bar, it was scarily easy to recall how close he came to doing it one lonely night. A chill settled in his stomach as he relieved it all in his head.
The night heād put a gun in his mouth, intent on ending it, not for the first time ever but the first time in a while. Willing himself to just pull the trigger. Knowing how easily all the pain in his heart and distress in soul could be gone if he could let go of the hope he held onto so tightly.
The only thing that stopped him reaching the point of no return that night had been a panicked phone call from Sherry, announcing it had got to her too. It was in her hand as well.
Even against the ambient noise of the bar, he could almost hear the sound of the gun, dropped in shock, clattering to the floor. Images replayed in his head of the frantic drive to be at her side, rushing her to the lab to demand they did something more than theyād already tried with him, but still nothing gave. No help was coming for them, just as it failed to that fateful night twenty-eight years earlier.
A nightmare becoming reality in real time, all over again. Maturing a sense of fear, worsening his guilt and regrets, with every millimetre the black vines took of him.
With his and Sherryās life on the line and cases escalating, a sense of urgency and duty took over his desire to let go of the fight. Before he knew it he was back chasing every breadcrumb trail they could come up with; finding a solution was the only thing that kept him from giving into the temptation of final oblivion.
Emboldened by a sense of purpose, that helped him cope with knowing the infection was rooting ever deeper with every minute they repeatedly failed to find deliverance.
His overwhelming desire to protect others was all that kept him going. Through all the stressful weeks before, enduring the worsening searing pain in his stomach and back that had reached its crescendo that night. Ā A burning desire to make up for his failures and make things right never faltered, fuelling him like an old steam engine.
Even though as he sat there, knowing so much had been resolved that night, he still couldnāt let himself enjoy knowing the nightmare was over.
The magic liquid was being rushed to Sherry via helicopter, escorted by two members of the Hound Wolf Squad. While the remaining dose theyād salvaged from the ARK wreckage, and the data held at Rhodes Hill would be kept safely by them until it was decided who could actually be trusted with it.
He should have taken solace in knowing his actions had made the future somewhat brighter for so many people. He should have been content just knowing heād saved Grace, rescued Emily and healed Sherry all in one fell swoop, but it just wasnāt enough to soothe all the painful sores on his soul.
The biggest part of him doubted anything ever would be. There were just too many layers of guilt and regret for any kind of salve to seep through.
It felt wrong that the sense of fear and burning sting of infection that had lingered beneath his flesh for weeks was gone, while there were so many people dead and suffering still.
The pin had been put back in the grenade and he was free, healthy again, but he couldnāt help thinking of how it felt so unfair. He had a new lease of life, that on reflection he wasnāt even sure he actually wanted. He felt that heād written himself off long ago, and was only really living to find salvation for others.
Living day to day, never planning too far ahead, knowing how fragile a tomorrow was for a man in his role. Now there appeared to be a future to hold on for, he didnāt quite know what to do - the concept felt so alien.
With a heavy, lamenting sigh he sat up a little straighter in the bar stool, and firmly told himself to get a grip. Heād made a resolve to stop wallowing some years earlier. Telling himself to look through the failures and focus on the wins instead.
Grace was safe and free from the shadows at her back. Emily was saved and completely healthy, her whole life ahead of her. Sherry had a chance to breathe again and enjoy the life sheād managed to build to its fullest, and whatever would come of Elpis, he was determined to fight with all he had to ensure it was only used for good.
He lent forward into the bar, resting one elbow on the counter and rubbing his temple, as he willed himself to focus on the win. His mind starting to wander again to consider just how his life might change if Elpis was successful in wiping out the viral threats to humanity.
Without a constant call to arms and a sense of purpose to protect those that couldnāt protect themselves, he feared where his life and mind would go. He needed something to keep driving him forward, a reason to get out of bed every day when sometimes all he wanted to do was wave a white flag and finally surrender.
On another sip of beer, he pondered if uncertainty for the future was why his heart still hurt so badly. Why did success and deliverance did not immediately shine a light inside him to hold back the darkness?
Hell, he should have been on top of the world, but instead -with no real distractions around him- he felt himself sinking deeper beneath the surface of darkened water again. A toxic cocktail of regret, frustration and growing uncertainty threatening to drag him under.
His heart heavy, and the bottle of beer cradled in his hands, he began to use his thumbnail to scratch away at the paper label. Ā A mindless action that used up the restless energy that still lingered, just as it always did after a battle. The scraping motion formed a rhythm to set the growing collage of painful images in his mind too.
God, he hated how the noise in his head would grow so loud when all the gunfire and chaos had stopped. Echoes of the weeks behind like a muffled drum beat from a passing car outside in the night. Lingering regrets from the past moving over and making way for fears for the future, that waltzed in like they had just signed a contract on the space in his head.
A montage of flashbacks and intrusive thoughts washing over the dams heād fought to build and maintain over so many years. Horror visions swelling back through him like the tide, as the whispering ghosts on his shoulders muttered darkness into his ears. Trying to shut it all out, lock in to the professional methods he relied on to survive his own emotions. Focusing in on picking more of the bottleās label off. Scratching away at the paper, almost frantically, as if the comfort and distraction he needed in that moment might be hidden somewhere beneath it.
That was until a female voice sliced through his dark rumination, like a hot knife through butter.
āThatās a sign of sexual frustration, yāknow?āĀ Ā
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