μόρος

A pounding headache awakens you from your slumber, your wrists aching and throat dry. You felt as if you had slumbered for a hundred years, drifting awake like sleeping beauty. Except— you didn’t awaken in a castle, surrounded by overgrown vines and plants, but a dark moody basement that smelt of metallic iron.

Your vision takes a few seconds to fully adjust to the darkness, looking around in a quick panic. It felt familiar, this small room, but your panicked brain couldn’t comprehend anything. All you could think was how you had been kidnapped in your sleep, judging by all you know.

Your attempt to stand up quickly unravels as you realize your feet and hands are tied together, duct tape over your mouth as well. Your heart beat doesn’t slow down at all, only increases after realization all these negative factors. In the distance, a wooden board creaks, filling you with dread.

You can hear heavy footsteps walking down a staircase into this dark basement, and your body only stiffened more with each thud. You were terrified, counting down the seconds till your impending doom.

The sound of the footsteps stop right infront of you, but you can’t see because you’ve squeezed your eyes shut. You can feel their eyes on you, on your bound form. Was this how you were going to die? Kidnapped in your sleep, murdered by an unknown figure?

“Hey,” A voice huffs, kneeling down to pat your cheek a few times. Shocked, your eyes fly open at the contact, trying to scoot back just a little. The voice sounds almost familiar, the low raspier tone sounding like a man. It was a man, you realize, as you make eye contact with blue iris’s and a hardened gaze.

“I’m gonna untie you. Don’t try anything.” He says gruffly, reaching for your hands and feet. He unties you easily, ripping the rope and providing a small rub to the irritated skin underneath. As he does this all, you simply stare at him in perplexion, processing the sight infront of you.

He looked just like him, sounded just like him, had the same side part and blue eyes— but he couldn’t be him. Leon Kennedy was a fictional character from your favorite videogame franchise, not a real, breathing person, who happened to be crouching right before you, right?

“I’m Leon. What are you doing down here? Are you okay?” He lowers his voice, trying to be gentle as he peels the duct tape from your mouth.

Your stomach flips upside down as you stare at him blankly, lips parted. Your skin felt dry, your throat dry, your hands dry. The world was falling down on you. Leon Kennedy.

“Hey,” He blinks and nudges your shoulder, brows furrowing in concern. “I asked if you were okay. Did those psychos take you? Like Ashley?” He looks around the dingy basement, scanning for Ashley as well.

It was all starting to make sense. Leon Kennedy, in the brown jacket with beige sherpa inner lining. He only has the jacket for the first half hour of the game, meaning you were in the early part. He was still looking for Ashley. Oh god, were you really in Resident Evil right now?

“Where am I?” You finally make out, your voice small and croaky. His expression softens and he stands up, taking your hand to help you. “Spain. Basement of some crappy cabin in the woods.”

Woah, you’re like, ten minutes into the game. The very beginning. He hasn’t found Ashley yet, gotten infected, reunited with Ada or anything.

“You okay? Anything in pain?” He asks firmly. You shiver at his voice. You’ve replayed his games dozens of times, you’re used to the sound of his voice in your headphones, not right in front of you.

“Just a little sore from, uhm, being tied up.” You force out with a weak smile, finally looking at him fully. He was so much more attractive in real life, his features standing out. His eyes were so blue.

He stares at you silently before giving a small nod, turning away to scan the basement. His eyes drift to the blood stained walls to the exit, and then back to you.

“Those creeps are flooding upstairs, so I’m gonna have you stay close, got it? You drift apart from me and you’re dead.” The words leave him sternly. Being on the end of his stern commands has you tingling, especially when you're used to him on a screen. Is it weird if you think him talking like that is hot? You don’t think so. People are into worse.

As you open your mouth to respond, the sound of the door to the basement opening and much heavier footsteps interupt. Your heart stops as you remember that at this point of the game, a ganado bursts donwn the stairs and takes Leon by surprise. Without thinking, you grab Leon’s shoulder and shake him, moving behind him.

“They’re coming! Quick!” Your panicked voice makes him raise his guard once again, grabbing his gun and pointing it at the entrance. As the Ganado stumbles down the stairs and into frame, Leon doesn’t hesitate as he shoots. Two to the head takes it down. Your ears ring for a few second before your wrist is grabbed by his, your entire body tugged up the stairs and into the familiar cabin without any trouble.

You’d fangirl over the way he manhandles you without trouble if it weren’t for the terrifying Ganados stalking the halls. He holds his finger to your mouth, silencing your yelps immediately. You can feel your heart beating fast as how close he is, the determination on his face. He was so much better looking then the games.

“Follow me. Dont make a sound. Understand?”

You provide a flimsy nod, which he narrows his eyes at. “Words.”

You almost moan.

“I understand.” You croak out.

He gives you a skeptical look before pulling away, motioning for you to follow him. He sneaks behind several Ganados, using his trained combat skills to provide a quick slash to their throat from behind, causing them to fall back into his arms. He settles them gently on the floor, manhandling all their heavy bodies. It shouldn’t make your heart flutter, but it does. You were going to have to rethink your morals after this.

After several smooth stealth kills, he leads you up the stairs in the corner of the cabin, which led to a single door on the second level. If you remember clearly, this would be when he finds Ashley’s vague whereabouts. You stay behind him as he locks the door behind you two, his gaze flying to you.

“You alright?” His voice is raspy as he steps towards you, lifting your wrists to do a quick look-over.

“Yeah, I’m good. That was… Really cool. You like— killed them all so smoothly.” You choke out, looking up at him in complete adoration. He stares down at you flatly, blinking slowly.

“You thought the way I killed them was cool?” He repeats.

You nod confidently, a smile tugging at your lips, before immediately dropping when you realize how that sounded. You were making yourself look like a complete psychopath, but it wasn’t your fault he was the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

He hesitates to speak before glancing away, something else catching his attention quickly. You turn to watch as he walks towards the table, his hand flying to his ear to fiddle with his com’s. There on the table laid several photos and maps, the main one being a rough angle of Ashley tied up unconscious.

“Roost, this is condor one.” He goes silent for a few seconds before continuing. “The president’s daughter— Baby Eagle. It’s likely she’s in this village.” His eyes drift over all the intel on the table. “I found someone else as well.” His sudden topic switch makes you stiffen as he eyes you, his voice deepening suddenly. “Do a background check on her.”

“Full name?” He asks you, turning to face you with a flat expression. You hesitate, knowing that there was likely to no chance you even existed in this universe. And even if someone else had your name, their ID photo would make it obvious it wasn’t you. After standing there stupidly, you shrivel as he gives you a weird look. He opens his mouth to probably threaten you, before you blurt out your name. He stares for an extra few seconds before repeating it to the voice in his comms.

“Yeah, get back to me about her. I also need a location on a nearby lake. She may have been taken there.” He mutters, before continuing, “Hurry up. Something’s happened to the people here. My escorts are—“

He’s rudely interrupted by a loud bang on the other side of the door, seconds before an axe is shoved through the wood. Your face pales as the door quickly starts disappearing from the force of the axe. You turn to him with a panicked expression, watching as he quickly says goodbye to his comms before grabbing your wrist, making you squeak.

The door is shoved out of the way as several Ganados begin to flood the room. Instinctively, you hide behind him as he scoffs at the enemy. “I guess I’ll let myself out.” With that, he tightens his grip on your wrist and turns to you subtly, whispering a quick “Hold on tight.”

You don’t have any time to react as he dashes toward the window, using his body as a shield against the shattered glass. You both land outside the cabin, rolling around messily on the dirt. Twigs and little pebbles dig into your skin as you look up, feeling a headache form. You had hit the ground, but not too hard, thanks to the man who had somehow landed perfectly. The Ganado watches from the window where you both just burst from, before ducking its head and disappearing back into the cabin.

Leon grunts lowly before standing up, helping you as well. His grip on your arm stays before he lets go, turning towards the trail the leads into the forest behind you. The darkness of the night had lifted little by little, letting the rising sun shine a soft glow through the trees.

“Guess you’re stuck with me.” He chuckles dryly, motioning for you to follow him into the trail. You stumble behind him, rubbing dirt and debris off your arms and legs. You both fall into a steady pace down the trail, his pistol in his hand, not raised but alert in case of any lingering Ganados.

“There’s a lake we’re heading to, she might be held captive there.” He speaks up. You nod in response and he drifts his gaze towards you, something unknown flickering in his eyes.

“You wanna tell me why you were down there?”

The question is simple but it has your heart stop for a solid minute. You’re unsure on how you’re supposed answer this question without giving yourself away. He’s smart, he’s Leon god-damn Kennedy, he will definitively be able to tell you’re lying. And you’re a horrible liar. You could only imagine his response if you told him you were from another universe— he’d either assume you were delusional, or a liar. You didn’t know which one was worse.

But, gratefully, you knew enough lore of this game to make a good enough excuse you could only hope he’d believe: You’ve played this game too many times to fail now.

After a moment of thinking, you speak up before the silence grows awkward. And awkwardness would only make him grow suspicious.

“I was traveling. I’m on break from school— so I figured I would come here. It’s, uhm, really pretty. Right? Look at these sights.” You motion aggressively around you, scanning the muddy terrain with an anxious smile. You hoped he’d take pity on you and just play along, and not see through your shitty lie.

“In your pajamas?” His words sound almost mocking. This makes you realize that you are dressed in your pajamas, loose plaid pants in your favorite color, and an oversized sweatshirt. The universe decided to be kind enough and give you beat up converse on your feet. Thanks, you guess..?

“I got kidnapped in my sleep,” You smile. He huffs weakly before turning away, deciding to drop the conversation. You assumed he had enough of your bullshit. Luckily enough for both of you, a small village starts to come in the distance, separated from you by a large gate. He motions for you to stay behind him once again as he slowly pushes it open, the trail leading a few more feet into a run-down village, over-run by ganados.

“Stay close,” He whispers, kneeling behind a large rock to peek over, watching as the crazed villagers surrounded something on a pole. Someone. Your heart slowed as you looked closer, spotting the police officer tied on a large pole, on top of a fire. You hesitate, knowning his death is in-game canon, but you couldn’t just watch him die.

“Leon—“ You pat his shoulder rapidly, frowning. “You cant just let him die.”

He tuts, narrowing his eyes at the brutal sight. “Can’t do much from back here. It’s too late. I can protect you, though. So don’t be stupid and get yourself trapped in their claws,” He nods his head towards them before turning back. Before you, one of the ganados throws a torch onto the man. He erupts in screams, flames swallowing his whole. Your heart aches at the sight, and you quickly turn around and cover your mouth, gulping down your bile.

“Leon..”

“It’s okay.” He hushes, crouching and patting your shoulder. “You’ll be okay. Stay here, okay? I’ll be back.” He makes a silent motion to his lips before disappearing down the corner, pulling out his knife. You watch worriedly, making small peeks into the village. He stealthily takes down the exterior ganados, slicing their throats from behind, setting them down and moving onto the next silently. His pure talent has you in awe.

It’s one thing watching him roundhouse kick and do stealthy take downs from a screen, another to see it all unfolding before your very eyes. If the scene wasn’t so bloody, you’d be flustered more, but the horror of the man being burned alive is burnt into your eye lids.

This game wasn’t as fun when you were in it.

You shriek as someone suddenly grabs you from behind, incoherent blabbering of a ganado filling your ears. You look around frantically, spotting Leon down the trail, currently taking down several of them with his gun.

“Leonnn!” You yell loudly, thrashing around in their grip. Luckily, Leon hears you, his head snapping in your direction. He curses under his breath as he see’s the position you’re in.

Without hesitating, he rushes over and shoots at the ganados’ leg. You yelp at how close the bullet brushed past you, your heart skipping several beats. You land on the floor as the ganado drops you, coughing violently.

Leon helps you up quickly, huffing. “You stay with me now.”

His hold on your wrist is tight as he drags you into the village, practically hauling you along with him. He enters a house and slams the door shut, grabbing a wooden plank to barricade the entrance from the intruding Ganados currently pawing at it from the other side.

“Hide somewhere.” He motions toward you aggressively. You nod quickly and look around, eyes landing on a table with a sheet laid over it, spilling over the sides. The wooden planks of the flooring is rough against your knees as you drop down, ducking underneath the fabric.

“I’ll be back for you,” Leon calls out before rushing upstairs. The front door bursts open seconds later, making you flinch and cower in fear as numerous heavy footsteps rush past the table you were underneath. You press your palm against your mouth, waiting out that stupid bell.

Eventually, the village quiets down, and the bell echoes throughout the town. It provides you with an eery sense of comfort. Underneath that table, you wait for Leon’s return.

With shaky movements, you slowly crawl out from the table, picking at your nails anxiously. The door opens and you yelp loudly, jumping back, only to relax at the sight of Leon staring at you.

“You good?” He asks, walking up to you and grabbing your wrists. He checks for any bite marks or injuries as you struggle to breath. He was so close, with those pretty blue eyes and soft lips and masculine smoky scent—

“Y-Yeah, I’m good. Are they gone?” You tilt your head ‘innocently’. He hums and nods, fixing your sleeves before pulling back. “Let’s find you a change of clothes before we continue.”

“What’s wrong with my current clothes?” You frown gently, looking down. You were actually quite comfortable.. But your pajamas were also now covered in dirt and some stray blood.

“Too loose. It can get caught on thighs, make noise with the wind. It’s a liability.”

“Oh. Okay.” You mumble. You follow behind him closely as he begins rummaging through several drawers, dust hitting the both of you in the face each time. You cough as he fans the particles away, before pulling out a bunch of folded clothing.

“I feel weird.. Wearing their clothing.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” He shrugs casually, pulling out two separate pieces for you. A light grey long sleeve sweatshirt, not too big. Next to it laid a pair of loose jeans, a dark wash design to them. You poke at the fabric.

“This is weirdly good quality.”

“Guess they liked to go shopping.” He remarks dryly. You glance at him oddly before taking the clothing into your hands. “I’ll go… change.” You motion awkwardly to the room down the hall.

He nods and looks away, polishing his new shotgun he found hanging around the house with a cloth. “If you need anything, just holler.”

You disappear into the room, and reappear a few minutes later in your new clothing, hair more tidy. You had found some hair tools in the room, which you took upon yourself to groom your beastly mane with. You needed to look good for him anyways— It’s Leon freaking Kennedy.

You both get back onto the trail, Leon filling you in on his intel from his comms, which you pretended you didn’t know was Hunnigan. You were now walking towards the windmill in the distance, which you remembered vaguely.

And just like you remembered, a large gate separates you from the windmill once again. After sneaking around the smaller village for about thirty minutes, you barely miss the brutal attack of your predators.

Your feet are starting to ache once you reach the farm. The sun is starting to set, and your body feels heavier. You wanted rest. Meanwhile, Leon’s in pristine condition, walking quickly. You catch up eventually.

After breaking the lock on the front door of a run down cabin, Leon leads you inside, handgun raised. A loud thud is heard every few seconds, resonating from within the corridors of the cabin you were inside. Your heartbeat races as you grow closer to the origin of the sound.

You peak your head into a room beside Leon, catching sight of a Ganado hammering a hatchet in the ground shut, his back turned to you. He seemed like he was in a trance, small grunts leaving him out of exhaustion. But he wouldn’t stop, as if he was hypnotized.

Leon slowly stealths forward, crouching and quickly slicing the man’s throat. The ganado drops to the floor, the hammer hitting the wooden plane with a loud clank. You hesitantly step forward, awkwardly maneuvering around the body.

“Looks like we’re going down here.” Leon chuckles, bending over to pry the hatchet open easily. Your heart skips a beat at the solid example of strength, especially at the way his biceps tense at the movement.

You remember this portion of the game. If you recall correctly, Luis would be down there in the sack, ask for a cigarette, before an unfriendly neighbor would make their appearence. Your heart slows at the thought of what was lying ahead. You gulp deeply and disappear down the hatchet, climbing the ladder. Once your feet hit the floor, you look to see Leon following behind you.

He flicks his flashlight up, illuminating the dingy basement. He motions for you to stay behind him, and you quickly follow, feeling safest behind his back. He walks forward, his light slowly moving towards a moving body sack towards the back of the room. Your heart skips a beat at the sight, the subtle grunts escaping the trapped person inside. Luis.

“It’s a person.” You mumble stupidly, peering over his shoulder up at him. He glances back at you before turning back towards the sack, stepping forward and kneeling down. “Don’t get too close.” He orders you firmly. You step back.

He’s not the gentlest as he opens the sack, a mop of curly dark-brown hair coming into view. You let out a small yelp, jumping at the sight. It was Luis, breathing and shifting around in front of you. You felt like you were in shock.

He had tape over his mouth, which Leon ripped off him. You shrivel up at the harshness, wondering if any of Luis’s mustache hairs got stuck in the crossfire. Focus.

“That’s hurts, you know?” He glares up at Leon, who shakes his head and stares down at him back.

“Seems like you really wanted to talk.”

The sound of distant footsteps catch your attention as the two men continue in tense conversation. You turn over your shoulder, heart dropping as the ladder creaks. You see a large figure come into view, and your heart jumps out of your chest. This was getting way too scary.

“Leon?” You whimper, looking back frantically at the blonde haired man, who was currently untying Luis not-so-politely. Your plea catches Luis’s attention first, his dark eyes glancing to you with confusion before drifting behind you, terror filling his gaze.

“¡Joder! Not this guy!”

Luis’s panicked voice sense alarm throughout Leon’s body. He shoots up, spotting the approaching man behind you. He grabs you by your wrist and shoves you behind him, before raising his gun towards the man.

“Who are you?” He calls out, stepping back and pushing his finger near the trigger. “Stop right there!”

You let out a shriek as the large man grabs Leon by the neck, lifting his body like a paperweight. Horror fills you as Leon is thrown to the side, a loud thud echoing in the room as he passes out unconscious against the wall. The large man’s gaze slowly turns to you, who was frantically trying to untie Luis.

“Run, Hermosa—“

— — — — —

Chapter CW: Death, canon typical gore.

"Roost, Raven One here. I’m at the specified location. Come in.”

“...”

“Roost, this is Raven One. Over.”

“...”

“Roost? …Shit.”

The radio clicks when you turn it off, useless now that you’ve concluded there was truly no signal.

‘No wonder she couldn't reach him’, you think to yourself, readjusting your shoulder harness one more time before continuing to advance through the dark hallways of the underground facility. Some kind of abandoned military base from the time of God knows which war—your brain is too fried to try and figure it out.

It’s been a long day. Your cat woke you up way too early to feed him, you burned your toast for breakfast, missed your metro stop, and then proceeded to have the longest most tedious day of filing reports and answering emails. That was the life of a DSO agent outside of trauma-inducing missions: even more trauma in the form of clunky keyboards and multicolored paper clips.

But right before you were ready to call it a day and finally head home to enjoy some takeout and pass out on the couch, dear old Hunnigan came in with an emergency request—well, more like an order—telling you you need to join your favorite person in the world on his tedious mission after he’d gone MIA.

Leon S. Kennedy.

The one person you’re sure you’d sacrifice just about anything for just to keep around. Your DSO partner, your colleague, your mentor, your friend.

Hunnigan was breaking protocol—Leon wasn't gone for nearly long enough to deploy another agent to get him, and if he was, a team would be sent out rather than a lone person. But she had a hunch that things went to shit, and when Hunnigan has a hunch, you listen.

Especially when it’s about him. You don't take risks when it comes to him.

When you later arrived at the location of the last ping of his whereabouts, geared up with weapons you’re not cleared to take out, you were surprised to find two familiar faces who were coincidentally deployed to the same facility by a different group: the BSAA.

“Jill? Is that you?” you had asked confused when light caught the silhouette of Jill Valentine surrounded by still-warm bodies of fallen guards, blood staining her clothes. You would've been scared shitless if you didn't know and trust her already.

Jill’s eyes widened in surprise as she called out your name, “did Leon manage to call you?”

“No, but Hunnigan said he’s gone MIA and sent me to his last ping. I’m not exactly here on official terms… What are you doing here? What’s going on?”

“Well, look who joined the party,” a voice rang out behind Jill as Chris Redfield came in through a metal door.

“Chris? I take it you two are on a mission? What happened to Leon? Where is he?” you fired up questions as you already started to feel worry settle in your veins.

“He was supposed to go after Adams—the one responsible for this clusterfuck of BOW hell—while we were supposed to take out the incubating tanks. But that was hours ago and he’s made no contact since. Signal seems to be jammed around here,” Chris replied grimly, all traces of humor gone from his tone.

“We couldn't get through to reach the lab yet with all the bullshit we’ve encountered in this place, but destroying those tanks is still the priority if we don't want things to get even worse,” Jill added with an almost apologetic tone before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, “hey… I’m sure he’s fine, he won't be taken down that easy. But since you're here to find him, just promise you won't do anything too reckless. And find us as soon as you can, I’m begging.”

Your jaw clenched in determination as you nodded, “I’ll meet you as soon as I’m able to locate him. You stay safe too.”

“Start with the west wing through that hallway. We haven't cleared that area yet and I’d guess that's where you’d find him,” Chris gestured to the corridor on your left, and that is all you needed to hear before you left them to go on your search.

You recall Chris's directions and Jill's reassurances as you keep the grip on your gun steady. Walking with quick, measured, steps you try to keep yourself from being detected by roaming guards. Lucky for you they are few and far between, probably thanks to the two agents giving them a hard time and keeping them busy.

You search through the west wing, going through door after door, and ,after subduing a standing guard near a set of double doors silently, you find what looks like prison cells.

Ah. Typical.

As you shine your flashlight through each cell, heart racing from adrenaline, you find yourself hoping—praying—that if you do find him here, he’s somehow still okay.

And the universe delivers, because when the LED’s beam reveals a familiar silhouette in the far end cell, you hear yourself let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him, all limbs attached, and breathing. Bound, gagged, and unconscious on the floor, but breathing.

You direct the light’s direction upwards to see the hinges more clearly and notice bulky rusted door pins. It’s a wonder he’s being kept in such an old place, it means all you have to do is jam away those pins and get the door to unhinge, you’ll just have to use some brutal force and hope no one’s nearby to hear it.

With your trusted knife and more than a little elbow grease, you manage to complete the task, but not without scraping your arm on the rusty door in the process. You’ll have to get a tetanus shot. Again.

The ruckus of the metal gate being pushed and prodded somehow did not wake Leon who’s still unconscious when you come to crouch beside him, removing the cloth gagging him. Your heart aches at the sight of the bruises on his cheeks, and even more so when you lift his eyelids to find pinpoint pupils, a sign of opioid sedation.

You don't waste anymore time. You take out the naloxone from the small medical pouch stripped to your hip, and you hastily bring it to his left nostril and press the plunger, releasing the mist into his airways. “Come on, Leon…” you plead.

A second later, his body jerks when he takes in a sharp gasp, eyes flying open as he’s jolted back into consciousness.

Gently grabbing his head to steady him, you speak softly to his confused state, “hey, hey, it’s me. You’re okay. I’m here.”

It takes him a minute before your words and his surroundings register, blinking rapidly as his breathing evens out.

“What the hell are you doing here, kid?” he asks in a gruff tone as he sits up with a grunt.

You sigh. Because of course that's the first thing he asks.

“I’m here to save your ass, you know, like the capable agent and colleague I am?” you huff before circling around him to cut off the restraints on his wrists.

“You’re not supposed to be here. Did Ingrid send you?”

“Yes, because you’ve been MIA for hours, and clearly she was right to send me. You were overdosing."

Leon tsks stubbornly, “Chris and Jill are here, they would've gotten me out eventually. You didn't have to come.”

You stand up with another huff after freeing him and cross your arms as you look down at him with an exasperated look, “you know a thank you would be nice.”

“It’s not that I’m not grateful, it's that I know you probably broke protocol to get here and put yourself in danger. But fine. Thanks, kiddo.”

You purse your lips and look away, feeling the familiar frustration rising whenever he insists on treating you like some kind of fragile, clueless child. You hate that he still sees you the same as he did nine years ago when you first met. You were sixteen, a powerless teenager—a kid—and he has continued treating you like one nearly a decade later.

Noticing your scowling expression, Leon softens his tone when he extends a hand with a warm smile, “help me up?”

Rolling your eyes, you take his gloved hand in yours and pull him up to a standing position. However, you both quickly realize that may have been too soon post overdose reversal when he stumbles into you and your back hits the wall with his weight pressing on your body.

“Shit… Are you okay?” you ask worried, trying to deliberately ignore the way your heart skips a beat at the proximity, your hands reflexively moving to his biceps to help support him.

Leon’s breath tickles your neck before he pulls back enough to look down at you, one hand on the wall, the other on your shoulder, “yeah, sorry, just need a minute.”

You’re unable to maintain eye contact, feeling like your heart might stop, or you might do something stupid like look down at his lips and lean in for a kiss—

Get it together.

Leon catches your fleeting gaze, a ghost of an amused smile on his face when he squeezes your shoulder, “I am okay,” he murmurs reassuringly.

“I know."

Your answer is curt, even if you do relax a little bit at his reassurance. You know why he is reassuring you. He thinks you're nervous because you're worried for him—which you are—but you're mostly nervous because you've been in love with him since the day he saved you.

There isn't a day that passes by when you don't remember it. That afternoon, when you came home from high school, expecting to find your depressed dad lounging on the couch with a drink like he always did, everything changed when you instead heard groaning noises coming from the upper floor.

You had walked up the stairs with careful footsteps, calling out to your father with a shaky voice and your mind running a thousand miles a minute trying to figure out what the noise was. Nothing would have prepared you to find his standing corpse in the corner.

Unbeknownst to you, your father had turned into a cannibalistic monster after he didn't take the medication that kept his transformation at bay for the previous six years. Since he kept you in the dark about his military work and what he’d endured in Penamstan, you had no idea you’d ever come home to this one day.

It happened so fast, but you remember every second. One moment he was standing there, all gurgling noises and rotting flesh, and the next he lunged after you as soon as you called out a weak ‘dad?’

You never ran as fast as you did that day, your untrained legs carrying you through the house and back down the stairs, tripping on the last step with a thud but quickly scrambling back up for the front door and yanking it open.

He had been right on your tail, way too fast for something that’s supposed to be dead. You recall how your life flashed before your eyes—literally—when he grabbed the back of your hoodie as you got out on the front porch, pulling you for what you could have only guessed would be a generous bite to your neck.

That’s when a bullet whizzed past your head and hit him right between the eyes, sending your zombified father sprawling on the floor—actually dead this time.

And then, you looked up and your eyes met his.

Leon.

It was spring 2006, Leon was investigating the ex Mad Dogs unit members after deducing Jason was about to execute a bioterrorist attack. He thought questioning them would give him more information about Jason and his infection with a possibly mutated T-Virus.

Leon had quickly come to find out all the men of the defunct unit were dead by suicide, except for Jason and your father. So when he came to your home that day to talk to the latter, he came prepared to deal with the worst.

Unfortunately, his intuition proved to be right when just as he parked his car by the driveway and stepped out, a screaming girl came running out into the front yard with an infected closing in her.

Leon’s limbs moved on pure muscle memory when he withdrew his gun and shot the zombie right in the head, and then watched with a tense jaw as its blood splattered on the pavement, brains spilling on the floor.

That was the first time he felt grateful to having lost his parents as a kid. Because as harrowing as hearing the gunshots of the men that took their lives that night through the thin walls of his bedroom was, he’d still prefer that to having them turn into zombies who try to eat him, and then watch as they get put down like rabid dogs.

When you had fallen to your knees in sheer shock and horror, Leon did not hesitate to crouch by your side to tell you ‘you’re gonna be okay’. He couldn't help offering some kind of reassurance, even if he was aware of how hollow the words sounded to a girl who’d just lost her father in the most gruesome of ways possible.

But you believed him as you met his ice blues, his eyes so full of care you had no choice but to cling to his every word, and continued to do so ever since.

Another squeeze to your shoulder brings you back to the present moment, still leaning on the wall with him leaning on you.

“Don’t tell me I’m too heavy for you,” he quirks an eyebrow with a playful smile.

“Damn right, you’re too freaking heavy,” you respond in a grumble, poking his side—still not meeting his eyes.

“That means I need to train your ass some more, then. We can't have you slacking off, rookie,” he flicks your forehead with the hand that was on the wall.

You immediately scoff and shove him—carefully—off you, “I’m not a rookie anymore!”

Leon chuckles, swaying lightly before he finally regains a steady balance on his feet, “you’ll always be a rookie to me.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that clear enough,” you grumble under your breath before handing him a spare handgun, “come on, grandpa, we need to find Jill and Chris.”

“Grandpa?” Leon scoffs in mock offense as he takes the weapon, reloading it with a nonchalant precision that only comes with fifteen or so odd years of experience.

“Well, you insist on still calling me ‘kid,’ so, I shall retaliate. Just so you can feel how annoying it gets.”

“Yeah, except I’m not a grandpa. You, on the other hand, are a kid,” he smirks—way too smug—and then proceeds to walk past you, gun held firmly as he prepares to lead the way.

He always leads the way.

You never thought you'd feel like this, but after everything that's happened these last twenty-four hours, all you wanted to do was escape that damn voice.

It's why you had fled the planets atmosphere in the first place. Speeding off to curl up in your hiding place next to the sun as soon as things had died down.

It was the one place you knew you could avoid Mark— or at least, your Mark.

It was the one place you could escape the sound of his voice spitting words he'd never say.

"You look exactly the same... You're as beautiful as the day I lost you."

He whispers your name like a prayer, and it sends a violent wave of nausea rolling through your stomach.

Just yesterday it would have brought you an embarrassing amount of glee to hear his voice calling out to you in such a tone.

The teasing lilt and deep, raspy pitch would normally send a wave of comfort over your tensed figure, instantly quelling your fear... Mark always did have the innate ability to shatter your defenses. Even with something as simple and small as a laugh.

"Please. I'm not here to hurt you. I'd never hurt you, I just... I needed to see you again. It's the only reason I came here."

His voice trembles, pitch heightened as he begs, "Please let me see you."

Your body trembles as you feel his presence drawing closer. Whether it was with fear, rage or exhaustion, you don't know. Maybe a sick combination of all three...

"I'm not that person..."

It was the only thing you could think to say in the moment, and your enhanced hearing allows you to hear the stutter in his breath all too clearly...

Along with his heartbeat, which was beating almost as fast as yours.

"I know."

His voice is small, defeated. As you finally turn to face him, body coiled and tensed for a fight, you find yourself freezing at the sight– because this Mark was different.

His face was stronger, more defined. All chisled cheeks and sharp jawline, no trace of the leftover baby fat you loved to squish when he was being too cocky.

Prominent eyebags and traces of a five o-clock shadow age him significantly. Although, taking into account the scars that littered his face and hands and the pure size of him, it was safe to assume he was a bit older.

As your gazes finally meet, you find yourself hesitating at the amount of pain and fondness his eyes held.

That hesitation lasted for only a moment, because as soon as your brain processed the full image of this Mark, you froze.

There are quite a few reasons you feel as though you should be afraid of him, but none of them were what set you off.

It wasn't the suit, which was, to your horror, the classic Viltrumite uniform that you had seen on the previous visits from the race.

It wasn't the length of his hair, which was only slightly shorter than your Marks' was and added to the aura of stern maturity he carried.

It wasn't even the broad expanse of his shoulders, that easily beat your Mark's in comparison, that caused you to freeze in such fear.

It was because of how much he looked like his father.

From the slope of his shoulders to the cinch of his waist, even down to the swell of his thighs, this Mark was undeniably his fathers son.

You'd never thought that Mark had looked like Nolan as much as everyone said he did, but seeing what could be– what is, this other Mark... One who is far from the slender, goofy, childhood best friend of yours that can't build huge muscles if his life depended on it...

Suddenly made you grateful that Debbie's genes had put up such a fight.

Because even as you see Nolan in the mass of his muscles, and the stance that takes up as much space as possible while simultaneously exuding danger and strength– You can still see the remnants of his humanity in the shape of his eyes and curve of his lips. In the slope of his nose and the brown of his iris, you see traces of one of the greatest women you've ever known.

Which is the only reason you haven't moved to attack.

Because this Mark was different. Not just from your Mark, but from all the other Mark's who you had fought (and killed) throughout the past few hours.

Whereas those Marks were all varying in size and stature, their eyes had all held the same sinister glint.

They all shared the same sick inclination to violence and pride, never hesitating to attack first, with a stupid, egoistic whip and strength that rivaled your own.

He didn't.

Despite his size, his posture was carefully submissive, hands splayed open before your eyes in a show of innocence and vulnerability.

His eyes were gentle and tired, rather than obsessive and manic as the others had been.

Still, despite his seemingly unviolent nature, you don't know why you never attacked him.

Maybe it was the desperate hope to find another Mark that was good, or at least, not as bad as all the others.

Maybe it was the overwhelming exhaustion that had numbed your mind since you were first forced to kill a version of your best friend.

Or maybe it was because he somehow knew where to find you, when even your Mark had no idea about your solar absorption, that led you to where you are now.

Sat next to him in a cozy little crater on the moon, overlooking earth as he recalls your alternate life.

"We grew up together. Inseparable since the moment Nolan brought you home from the GDA after your little ship landed in the middle of New York." You note the peculiar use of Nolan's name, nodding along with his words as you reflect on your past with your own Mark.

"I used to be so jealous of you growing up. Unlike me, you had your powers since birth. Nolan always told me that it didn't matter how long you had your powers because when I got mine, I'd be stronger anways." He scoffed, "Fucker was always trying to pit us against each other..."

You tilted your head at that, confused by the notion, "He... never did that here." Your voice was hesitant, unsure if sharing the fact would comfort or further upset him.

Based on the way he smiled at the sound of your voice, you assume he wasn't too concerned with your actual words.

"That.. Makes me so happy to hear, actually." He laughs, breathless and without much humor, "I imagine we– You have a much better relationship with him then..." He trails off, glancing questioningly your way.

You pause, "With Nolan? Or..."

He huffs, leaning more into his elbows that are crossed over his bent knees as he responds, "Both, I suppose..." He gazes out at the expanse of space longingly, "I've thought about it a lot... What it could've been like if he never made us hate each other."

His grin falters, "But that didn't happen. Well, it did, just– not fast enough..." He stutters, and you watch nervously as his fists clench.

"We were at each other's throats our entire lives, and it only got worse when I finally got my powers– I think I was thirteen?" His body remains tense as he continues, "I used to see you as competition. Nolan always paid more attention to you. He took you with him on patrol, he trained you, he.... He made me feel like you were in the way of our relationship as father and son."

He scowls, "I felt like I had to fight for Nolans attention whenever you were around, and it made me hate you because you seemed to take it for granted. You were never enthusiastic about spending time with him, you even seemed to avoid it, and it pissed me off to see you taking advantage of it when I had to beg for crumbs of his approval." He grit his teeth, shuffling ridgedly and you instinctively lean further away at his agitation.

His head snaps your way, and your heart lurches in your throat, wide eyes meeting his as he softens under your flighty stare.

"That's exactly what he planned..." He trails off, head turning away as his body slumps, agitation fizziling out at the sight of your fear. "He wanted me to hate you, so that I would eventually have the will to... eliminate you when the time came to conquer earth. He-He knew that you were the only thing that could pose a threat to our takeover." You both winced at the wording.

"It wasn't until junior prom that I actually opened my eyes..." He laughed sadly.

"Mom made us go together, seeing as neither of us were very popular and tried to use that as an excuse not to go..." He smiled with a wistful sigh, "I'm glad she did. It... ended up being the best night of my life." Your heart clentched at the sight of his crooked smile. His eyes were glazed and reflected the light of the stars in a way that had your breath hitching all too familiarly.

He laughs again, eyes crinkling with affection, "I still remember how awkward you looked in your cute little outfit." His voice took on a teasing lilt as he glanced at you, "Standing at the top of the stairs all grumpy because mom wanted a picture..." He leaned back to lean on his hands with a laugh, "I remember standing there like an idiot. Gaping like a fish because, all of a sudden, you were more than the annoying kid who took my dad from me... You were just... A normal teenager... Who also happened to be the prettiest person I'd ever seen." Your cheeks flushed, and despite knowing he's not actually talking about you... you couldn't help but let yourself indulge in the compliment that your Mark had never even come close to speaking.

"You know, I beat myself up the entire car ride to the school. It was so awkward and it made me realize that despite my dad's interference... You never hated me."

Your eyes are wide and curious as you listen. His voice held so much fondness for this other version of you, it was shocking to imagine him ever hating her.

"I felt like the worst person alive when I realized that despite how awful I was to you, you never held it against me. Guess it's because you knew that I didn't know who my dad actually was..." his voice trailed off, and you could sense the rising anger simmering in his eyes.

"Who knew all it took for you guys to get along was teenage hormones and the dougie..."

Your absentminded comment snaps him out of his haze, drawing his attention as a bewildered stare graces his features.

"I mean, a sixteen year rivalry ended in one night! Must've been some prom..." You smile as you finally get a laugh out of him, quietly reveling in the sound.

"Yeah. It sure was." He smirks, eyes twinkling with a familiar mischief, "You can dance a mean cupid shuffle."

You burst into laughter, tossing your head back with a grin, "Tell me, does you having two left feet translate to every universe?"

He grins back, "Well, yeah– but you said it was cute!"

Your laughter rings in the quiet expanse of space, heard only thanks to the superior senses of your respective alien biologies.

In your humorous fit, you fail to realize how close you began to lean towards Mark until the warmth of his bicep met your own.

Your laughs dwindle at his sudden silence, head tilting to eye him as you grow concerned.

You were met with a gentle, fond smile that set your heart ablaze. His eyes were soft, cheeks pink and dimpled as he stared at you reverently.

You stayed quiet, allowing yourself the moment to soak in his undivided adoration, silently preening under his gaze.

It wasn't until he reached a hand up to brush against your cheek that you snapped out of your stupor. Hesitantly pulling away as you reprimand yourself for getting swept away.

After all, this isn't your Mark.

This isn't your best friend (and nothing more).

Your Mark would never willingly speak so adoringly of you.

Your Mark would never caress you so softly, as if you were something to be worshipped.

Your Mark just didn't love you like you loved him.

It was cruel and unfair to lean into the embrace of this Mark and take advantage of his feelings because at the end of the day, you are not the you he fell in love with.

Your thoughts drive you to break the silence with a sharp sigh, pointedly ignoring his hurt stare as he slowly lowers his hand back to his side.

"Why are you here, Mark?"

He stares at you with a furrowed brow, "I told you, I wanted to see–"

"No, I mean–" You take a breath, gesturing to the earth before you half-heartedly, "Why did you come here with them, if you don't want to conquer our world like they do?"

He takes longer to answer you this time, and you began to worry about his answer.

"It was the only way to see you again." His voice is shaky, the warmth from your previous conversation gone as he glares out at the planet. "Angstrom promised that if I helped him get revenge, he'd let me see you– have you." He pauses, and you tense at the implication of his words.

He sighs, wincing at your jumpiness as he rushes to reassure you, "I'm not here to be the bad guy. I don't want to conquer this earth, I could care less about this Mark! I just– I needed to see you alive. T-To know that you're happy and healthy here... and to make sure it stays that way." His last words are spoken so softly they were almost whispered, and you hesitate to believe them for the sole reason you think you might have hallucinated them.

Nonetheless, you stay silent at the revelation, allowing yourself the time to properly digest your entire encounter thus far.

Your head is far more clouded than when you originally came up here after Mark had disappeared with Eve. After your heart could no longer take killing him again and again...

You don't know what you're supposed to do anymore...

You want to cry, but you can't because you know the Mark next to you will want to comfort you, and the worst part is that you'd allow it.

You want to go back down and pummel every varient you come across just to let out the frustration you feel, but you won't. Not after discovering the possibility that they're not all bad.

So what can you do? What should you do?

What will you do?

What you always do–

"Well, you said you weren't here to be the bad guy, right?"

You slowly rise from your seated position, looming over Mark with a steeled gaze.

Despite your seriousness, you can't help the quirk of your lips at the intense way he nods his head. You shoulders stiffen as you turn back towards earth resolutely, sparing him one last glance before taking off.

"Prove it."