Chapter Text
Grace didn’t know the date, time, or even where the hell she was, but she did know that Emily was going to be fine. And that’s all that mattered really. Oh, and that she was really, really fucking tired.
“You’re coming back with me.”
To Rhodes? No way. No way.
She must’ve made some kind of face that mirrored her thoughts because Leon made one of his own: raised brows and a slight down turn of his lips. Like her reaction to the thought of returning to the freaking Care Center was somehow weird, when—oh. He didn’t mean Rhodes. And he was talking.
“—good hands. You saved her life, now she needs to rest, and so do you. There’s nothing else you can do here, Grace.” It was said very kindly because, as Grace has learned, Leon was a kind man. Even if she hadn’t always thought so.
“But…” she could stand guard. Protect Emily like she should’ve the first time. Make sure to be there when she woke up, the way Grace’s mom wasn’t when—
“Do you trust me?”
It wasn’t a trick, Grace knew, but it was a hell of a question. I trust you. What could she say but yes?
She only nodded though, too tired to even form the word and carry the weight of it. Leon immediately looked relieved, he must’ve been really worried she’d put up a fight. Which Grace would’ve if she wasn’t just so tired.
“—you, but I’m ready for a nap.”
Shit, Grace had zoned out again. Leon was staring at her expectantly, but didn’t seem too concerned with her silence. He has to be even more tired than her, after all.
“Just a nap?” Grace finally replied, rather weakly. She’d be comatose right now, if she had the option. From Leon’s responding expression, he shared the sentiment.
Everything happened quite quickly after that. She followed Leon through a maze of brightly lit white halls not unlike a lost duckling, eyes only focused on the broad width of his shoulders.
Grace tried not to think about Emily’s still form, swallowed up by a hospital bed three times her size and bleach white linens. She did think about the steady beep of sinus rhythm and of Emily’s delicate, human features. Slightly flushed cheeks, fluttering eye lashes, lungs raising and lowering her chest, bringing oxygen in and carbon dioxide out. Emily was going to be fine. She was already fine. Emily would wake up in the morning whole, human, and healthy, and Grace would be there to see it. She would.
Grace didn’t really remember getting to or in the nondescript black sedan that appeared to be waiting for them, nor Leon sliding into the back seat next her. She didn’t remember the car pulling out of the hospital garage and into the night, trading concrete walls lit with LEDs for the empty highway. And that was that.
“Where are we going?” Her voice was unexpectedly hoarse when she finally found it somewhere over the Potomac, and she gratefully accepted a water bottle Leon pulled out of absolutely nowhere. It seemed to be a talent of his.
She and Leon had received treatment back at the hospital and choked down some bland food, but Grace still felt unmoored, untethered from reality. Maybe it was the painkillers. Maybe it was the upending of everything Grace thought she knew about herself and her mother.
The crackle of the cool plastic in her palm and the cold rush of water into her stomach slowly brought Grace’s systems—or at least her brain—back online. It helped to be sitting in complete quiet next to the one person she trusted more than anyone else on the planet. And wasn’t that a thought—a man she’d only met what, 36 hours before? Less?
She finished the last of the water to see Leon’s hand extended before her, an offer so quiet and clear she was sure he’d picked up on how she’d been drifting. He took the empty bottle without comment and returned it to whatever pocket dimension he had at his command.
Was it like this for him too? This feeling that nothing had to be real, if what they’d gone through had been? Or was it just Leon’s reality now, no distinguishing between There and Here, Then and Now? Was it always like this?
“My place is only another twenty minutes away. Normally it’d be an hour with traffic, but the DMV’s asleep at 2AM.” He sounded so calm. But then again, he’d sounded calm trapped in an underground lab facing certain death.
“Your place?”
“Yeah, my house. I figured I’d keep an eye on you.”
Grace felt her brows raise and lips twitch in a ghost of a smile. Him, keep an eye on her? He looked five minutes from passing out in his seat.
Leon saw her doubt and sighed wearily, “Or at least just be a room away, in case you need me.”
“Your partner doesn’t mind?”
Leon blinked in obvious surprise, so Grace glanced down meaningfully at the ring on his finger. He followed her gaze and smiled, “FBI Analyst, huh?”
I literally just looked at your hand, Grace refrained from replying. For some reason people didn’t appreciate it when she explained her thought process like that.
“I don’t wear it on missions anymore. I used to, but then…” a smile crept up on Leon’s face, and it wasn’t a nice one: “Do you know what degloving is?”
Degloving? Grace tried and failed miserably to suppress a reflexive gag because, yes, she knew what degloving was. She’d only ever seen photos, but…
Leon laughed at her predictable reaction, his expression losing some of its own disgust in favor of amusement.
“Everything you’ve been through now, and that still gets you? Anyway, Claire would be a hypocrite if she did, she brings home way more lost strays than I do.”
A lost stray? Is that what she was? Grace couldn’t deny it. But she had a name and a gender for Leon’s spouse now. Claire Kennedy, wife of DSO Agent Leon S. Kennedy. Takes in strays.
“She won’t be home anyway, she’ll be at work.”
Grace glanced at the dash—it was just a bit past 2AM, like Leon had said. Works unreasonably late hours, she added to her mental file. Though in this town it wasn’t unusual, even if it was unreasonable.
“Anytime I’m working, she’s not far behind, cleaning up the mess,” Leon joked, twisting the ring on his finger with his other hand. Grace wondered if it was a tic, or if he was just getting used to the feeling of wearing it again.
“She’s also DSO?”
“No, that’d be too small scale for her,” Leon flashed a grin with teeth: “Claire is the Director of Biowarfare Mitigation at Doctors Without Borders.”
“Oh. Oh, wow.” That sounded awful. Both of their jobs sounded absolutely terrible. Grace guessed it made sense that they were married, but shit, did they ever even see each other?
Claire Kennedy, Director of Biowarfare Mitigation at Doctors Without Borders, wife of DSO Agent Leon S. Kennedy. Takes in strays and works unreasonably late hours…
“—and she’s a better shot than me. I suddenly don’t seem so impressive, do I?”
…and is a better shot than her husband, apparently.
Grace laughed roughly, but genuinely, and Leon grinned. She wondered if he was the class clown as a kid, or if the humor was a coping mechanism he developed after the Raccoon City Incident.
“Where did you meet her?”
His amusement only grew: “You were just there.”
“Just there?” Walter Reed? Being a medical professional would make sense given her current position, and Leon was probably there often after missions… But he wouldn’t be so amused by being injured all the time, would he? Well, maybe.
“I saved her life, she saved mine. Didn’t bother keeping score after that, though.”
Leon saved her life? Why would he have saved her life at Walter Reed? Was there an outbreak there—no, that didn’t make any sense, why would—
“Shit, it’ll be thirty years soon, that’s crazy…”
They met thirty years ago, under circumstances that led to them saving each other’s lives? Somewhere she’d just been?
“Raccoon City? She’s also a Raccoon City survivor?” The exclamation came out a lot louder and a lot more surprised than Grace intended, but in her defense, what? Who the hell walked away from the Raccoon City Incident with a future spouse? Her mom certainly hadn’t—she’d been single Grace’s whole life.
“What? Oh, did you think I meant Walter Reed?” Leon laughed, as if there was anything funny about this, “Yeah, we met in RC. She’d coming looking for her brother—“
Grace frantically cut him off, horror rising in her like a fever: “Is she sick? Does she need, do we need to—“
“She’s fine, I promise,” the words came out of Leon in a rush, clearly surprised by the strength of Grace’s reaction. But Grace couldn’t help it, she’d seen what it did to Leon and knew his handler, Sherry, was suffering from it as well. To think, his wife as well…
“She’s only in the early stages,” Leon continued to reassure her, “Physical exertion makes it worse, so it really just accelerated in me. But yeah,” then a smile returned to his face, eyes brightening, “you saved her too.”
Grace sank back in her seat. God, she wasn’t sure she could survive anymore whiplash like that.
“Good. That’s—that’s good. Thank God.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Leon looked genuinely sorry, which made Grace feel a little ridiculous. They were talking about his wife after all, of course he’d have considered the urgency of her case. But Grace couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the way her brain worked—she had to chase down every last lead, make sense of the tangled web she’d fallen into.
“You never mentioned her. Your wife,” she blurted out, just digging her hole deeper. It was true—Leon hadn’t said a thing, even when Grace had been so certain it was the end, when the necrosis had spread so far…
Once again, she seemed to have stumped Leon, who looked at her with bafflement before replying: “I never stopped to mention my wife during my mission to stop bioterrorists from securing a mythical weapon?”
Well, when you put it like that, Grace thought, but said instead, for some stupid reason: “You were dying.”
“Grace, if I said my wife’s name every time I nearly died then—“
“No, that’s not what I—if you had died, what would I have told her?”
Their quick exchange came to an abrupt and unceremonious halt. Leon looked taken aback and Grace was suddenly very, very, very embarrassed. She tried to become one with the seat beneath her. Sure she’d dug her hole as deep as it could go, but apparently not deep enough to hide in. Grace had no right to…
“You’re upset because I didn’t pass on a dying message to you to give to my wife?” Leon said each word slowly, as if checking to see if she had a concussion or, maybe, had lost her mind.
Grace’s face grew hotter and hotter and she instinctively raised her hands defensively, opening her mouth to say something, anything, but—
“No—I’m not, I’m not making fun of you, Grace,” the words were almost earnest, his sincerity almost making him sound younger, somehow, “I’m just surprised. That’s… that’s very sweet of you.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, or what to feel beyond relieved, especially as Leon redirected his attention out the window bedside him. After a moment that may as well have been minutes, he cleared his throat, turned back to face her, and spoke again.
“I write a letter before every mission,” Leon said with a smile, “It’s been a long time since I’ve left anything unsaid.”
Grace’s eyes felt hot, her throat tight. She thought of a woman she’d never met, curled over a letter with her husband’s last words, alone in their house that he’d never, ever return to… and how painfully, bitterly, close they’d come to that world. Leon had almost died, in that place. He would’ve, if…
“My mom told me that I was her hope, before she died. If she hadn’t… Elpis…”
Grace couldn’t get the words out, but Leon made a noise of understanding just the same. He settled back into his seat, making her realize how he’d been sitting on the edge of it almost the whole ride. Still waiting for a fight or eager to get home?
“I had… well it’d be generous to call him a friend, but calling him an enemy would be a lie,” the words were said with a smile, but Grace felt like it’d be something else, if it wasn’t her he was saying them to.
“He had some pretty important dying words too…” Leon looked away from her then, and back out the window. Whatever he said next, Grace knew it would be something vulnerable, given his choice to avoid eye contact. She braced herself, as if this whole conversation wasn’t her fault to start with—
“Maybe… maybe I’ve always been afraid of not having something important enough to say when I died.”
What?
“I mean, what if my final words were really stupid?”
Again, what?
“Like I tried to say something cool and memorable, but instead… it just came out super lame. I have been warned that it happens, sometimes. Even to me. Hard to believe, I know.”
Grace very much could, but that really wasn’t the point here. Was he fucking with her?
“Don’t you think that’d be worse than not saying anything at all?” Leon asked gravely, and followed it up with an expectant look. What was she supposed to say to that?
She gaped at him and said not a single word. Having lame dying words? Seriously? Grace thought about what her final moments would be like maybe every five, or two or three, minutes over the past 36 hours, but never had she been worried they’d be lame. Shameful? Sure, humiliating maybe—letting down her mom, Emily, Leon even—but lame? Lame to who?
Grace’s stunned silence didn’t seem to bother him, as he decided to just continue on: “But honestly, I think I just knew I wasn’t going to die. As soon as you found me, I knew it. So thanks for saving me from having to worry about that.”
Grace couldn’t keep up with this man. He was running circles around her and he had to be twice her age. She did the only thing she could, and caved: “How did you know?”
“Well, I guess you could say you gave me hope,” Leon said with a smile, as if the words didn’t make Grace feel like throwing up, even if it wasn’t necessarily in a bad way. Something tremulous was growing inside her and she was terrified it’d break free from her ribcage and swallow her whole, from the inside out. She felt like crying, actually.
“Agent Kennedy?”
Oh. There really was someone else in the car with them—of course there was, someone was driving it—
“Yeah?”
“We’re here.”
—and they really were going somewhere. This wasn’t just a space and time between—
“Quickest commute I’ve ever had,” was Leon’s hearty praise, followed by a side comment directed at Grace—“time really flies when you’re swapping trauma, huh?”—and then, back again to the driver, “Thanks for the lift!”
Oh my god, did this man ever stop? Was his humor ever depleted?
“No problem, sir. Rest up.”
Rest! Resting his eyes! On his death bed, Leon had—
Grace stumbled out of the car after Leon, tripping over air, her own feet, and her tangle of thoughts laid out like trip wire. God, she was so fucking tired.
The cool night air woke her up a bit, shivering slightly at the breeze that made its way through the quiet neighborhood. The scrubs she’d been given at the hospital did little to protect her. Shit, she really missed her jacket.
Coming to her senses, Grace quickly scanned her surroundings—she missed much of the neighborhood during the drive, but it was nice. Really nice. A classic red brick colonial suburb, but with a range of styles, generous plots, and hundreds of oaks that made the neighborhood’s tax bracket clear. You wouldn’t find a cookie cutter new build or McMansion anywhere near here.
Certainly not the house in front of her, which even reminded her a little bit of the Back Bay—dark red brick, dense ivy, and a slate roof. It even had black and grey accents on the shutters and trim.
“You have a beautiful house,” Grace said the words before she even thought to, too busy thinking how she’d never be able to afford a house, much less one like this.
“Thanks. We only moved out of the city recently,” was Leon’s response, spoken over the sound of the car pulling away and down the street. Grace watched the backlights glow in the dark, then fade out into the trees. She looked back to Leon, who seemed to also be taking a moment to appreciate his own home. Or just grounding himself in this moment, in his return. He was here, he was alive, he was safe. They both were.
“Yeah?” It was more a noise of interest than a word. She took the house and its property in carefully, curious for another piece of the Leon S. Kennedy puzzle she’d found herself trying to solve, if just for the sake of distraction. Set back from the street, two car garage with something sleek parked in the driveway… and were those hedges along the front walkway? And rose bushes?
“Yeah in… shit,” Leon trailed off, sounding and looking like he was in mild distress, “Does a decade still count as recently?”
Grace just shook her head, lips twitching into a smile, and followed him up the long brick path to the house. She took another glance at the driveway and—
“Is that… a Porsche?” Wait, why was Grace even asking? That was definitely a Porsche.
“Huh. That was quick. Didn’t realize I’d get valet service in RC.”
You’ve got to be kidding me, she doesn’t say, but boy does she think it. You drove a fucking Porsche into Raccon City? Who the hell was this guy, really?
Grace managed the much more polite, if still disbelieving: “That’s yours? You drive a Porsche?”
“What? I don’t look like I drive a Porsche to you?”
“Aren’t you a government employee?” Grace says, like me, she doesn’t.
“I get danger pay.”
Shit—was she going to get danger pay for everything she just went through? How much was it again? Thirty-five percent…
Grace looked at the house, then looked back at Leon. Back at the house again. They were what, thirty minutes outside the city, no traffic? No, that was from Bethesda, they’re probably only twenty from downtown. The house had to be at least two million. Maybe two and a half, she couldn’t tell the full size of the property. His wife was a Director at a global NGO, she was probably making under 200 thousand—and he had to be GS15 max, so—
A painful groan cut off her calculations and nearly made her reach for a gun she didn’t even have anymore. Am I just going to be like this from now on? It was just Leon, a harried but human, grinning Leon.
“Please stop, my brain hurts from just watching you. I stole it.”
“You stole it?!” It wasn’t a shout, but it was close, and Leon looked at her like it was the funniest thing she’d ever said or done. Which, maybe yelling at 2AM in the suburbs about a Porsche was the funniest thing she’d done, at least in a while. She didn’t get out much.
“Confiscated it?” Leon tried, distinctly unconfident, “Not like the previous owner was going to use it anymore.”
Grace had an idea of what must have happened to said previous owner, but decided adamantly against asking.
“Did you kill him?” Hadn’t she just decided against asking? Her brain was supposed to be back online, damn it! It was just that this man… he was so…
“Not for the car,” Leon replied, clearly trying to look offended, but failing miserably, “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I really wasn’t.” She couldn’t figure him out, this man who felt so familiar and strange all at once. He was just so… well, she’d just never met anyone like him. Just what kind of woman married him? Well, considering her job… she had to be just as crazy, Grace realized with something akin to horror.
Leon just laughed at her and made his way to the front door, reaching his free hand into one of his pockets, probably to get his keys—but before he could, the door opened.
Golden light spilled out around the silhouette of a woman. In shadow, all Grace could see was the curve of a smile and an outstretched hand.
“Claire?” And there it was again, that earnestness in his voice. Like just the sight of his wife had taken the weight of the world off Leon, if just for that moment.