Chapter Text
Faint traces of orange and red crept over the western sky. Soon, the sun would sink over the skeletal remains of Raccoon City. Leon Kennedy had never been so relieved to see another sunset. He looked down at the young woman he was supporting. She was battered, covered in scrapes, and her flaxen hair was matted in dried blood. Most of which was her own.
He’d been living with this kind of horror for years. He knew she had only just met it, and it showed—in the way she held herself, in the way pain still surprised her.
Leon knew what years of this did to a person. He wasn’t sure how Grace was going to make it out. She had saved him, but she had pushed herself to the limit. Dark circles framed her hazel eyes.
Leon was dreading the paperwork.
He opened the passenger door and helped her into his car. He limped to the driver side and rubbed his shoulder. The fatigue sat deep—familiar.
After putting the car in gear, he glanced down at the angry gash in Grace’s thigh. “We should get you to the hospit—”
“N-No. I’ve had my fill of fucking hospitals for the night,” Grace cut him off.
“Do you have supplies to suture that up?”
Grace glanced down at her wrapped leg. Leon had wrapped it so tight, it was numb. Grace chewed her lip and glanced out the window.
“My place it is then.” The wound was lateral and fresh blood was not seeping through the wrap, he knew she’d make it to his house.
On the way, Leon made the necessary calls to have Gideon’s mess cleaned up.
After he hung up on an irate FBI director, Leon glanced over to see Grace rubbing her arms for warmth. She flinched as he leaned closer to her. He continued and reached behind her seat to grab his jacket.
“Here. You’ve lost a good amount of blood.”
“Are you sure? This looks expensive.” The look on Leon’s face prompted her to stuff her arms through the sleeves. His jacket swallowed her frame, the sleeves hung past her hands. Leon turned back to the road, grip tightening on the wheel.
As the car heated up, Leon watched as Grace fought to stay awake. He knew the all-too-familiar feeling of an adrenaline crash.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”
He himself was jonesing for a vice—drink, a cigarette, anything to shut his brain off. Leon glanced again at the sleeping woman beside him—out cold. He shifted in his seat and focused his eyes on the road.
As the cities gave way to woods, Leon felt a relief to see his long driveway come into view. His rental house was really more like a glorified cabin. It wasn’t exactly an estate, but he was happy to fork over the money for the privacy that came with the location. No neighbors to see him trudge to his house covered in gore.
He pulled into the garage and tried to wake Grace. His voice was rough from barking orders to keep them alive. She burrowed farther into the jacket.
Leon sighed. He was able to walk a little easier over to her side of the car. He could already feel it working—whatever cocktail of virus exposures that kept him on his feet. Leon lifted her into his arms.
He maneuvered her to the couch and laid her down. He quickly got to work pulling out the massive first aid kit and flicking on the kitchen light. His rummaging woke Grace. She bolted upright.
“L-Leon?” She scanned the unfamiliar location, taking in the bare walls, simple furniture, and finally landing on him pushing a tub of protein powder out of the way.
“We should patch up your leg. Do you think you can walk over here? The kitchen has the best lighting.”
Grace shed the jacket, stood, and swayed on her feet. In a few strides, Leon bent down and lifted her into his arms. Grace gasped.
“Sorry.” Leon assumed he had jostled her injured leg. He carried her to the kitchen and placed her on the counter.
“What are you doing? I’m gonna get blood all over your counters.”
“It’ll be easier on my back when I fix you up.”
“Is this normal for you?” Her voice was quiet.
“It didn’t use to be. I need to cut your pants. Okay?”
A sharp laugh escaped her mouth. She glanced up to see Leon holding scissors, his face flushed.
“How polite of you to ask." Grace huffed while nodding for him to continue.
Leon glanced at the placement; he didn’t have to cut them completely off, but she was going to end up in a Daisy Duke situation.
He started cutting away the leg of her jeans and into the tightly wrapped bandages. He turned to scrub his hands. He could feel Grace staring at him. He took a breath and got to work.
He gloved up and proceeded to flush the wound. He noted that the angry slash looked significantly more shallow.
“You’re a quick healer. But you’ll still need the stitches,” Leon observed. He turned to change his gloves and open the prepackaged needle.
“You can do it?” She asked.
“Yeah.” He didn’t look at her as he loaded the needle into the driver. Leon realized too late that he didn’t have any anesthetics to give her.
”Fresh out of lidocaine—,” Leon began.
Truthfully, he couldn’t remember the last time he used it when he was patching himself up.
”I can handle it,” Grace tilted her chin up at him.
As soon as the metal met her skin, Grace cried out. She clawed the counter and leaned back.
“Easy,” he said, steady and low. His forearm came down to anchor her uninjured leg. “Breathe. Don’t pull away.”
Grace grimaced, body trembling under the strain.
“Sorry,” Grace sucked through her teeth.
Leon briefly paused his work to adjust her position, his fingers steady above her knee. Grace flinched under the movement but stayed put, gripping the counter.
“You’re doing good,” he said, his voice softening. “Almost there.”
Grace exhaled sharply, teeth gritted. “I—I'm trying.”
“You’re stronger than you think,” Leon murmured, returning his focus to the wound. His fingers guided the needle with care, making sure to avoid suturing too tight to minimize scarring. He noted how her body responded—not just to the pain, but to the calm in his movements.
“Your body will dissolve these in no time.”
“I guess my blood’s the most useful thing about me.”
Leon tied the stitches off quickly, clipped the thread, and dressed the wound.
When he finally stepped back, he exhaled like he’d been holding it the entire time.
“In our line of work, you take any advantage you can get. We were both thrown into this. You made it out,” he said. “That’s what counts.”
Grace finally took in what he said.
“You were thrown into this? You looked like you were itching for a fight.” Leon’s hair obscured his eyes as he worked to set out more medical supplies, but he could feel her looking at him.
“I was a rookie cop when Raccoon City went under. Just wanted to make a difference. I didn’t choose this.”
“It must be shitty. But you are making a difference.”
Leon paused and noticed Grace rubbing the angry bruises around the base of her thumb. He turned to the freezer and pulled out a small bag of peas. She jumped as he applied it to her skin.
“I thought the revolver would be your best protection. I tried to find you—”
“You can’t always be a one-man army. I want to be more. I don’t want to rely…I want—” Grace’s voice trailed off.
“A teacher.”
“Yeah,” Grace huffed.
“Alright. Lesson one—trust your partner. If you don’t, you don’t survive. I need you to trust me, Grace.” He watched and waited for her answer before moving again.
“I—I do.”
“Good. Now the shirt. I’ll make it quick.”
“What?!”
“You have a chest wound. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Grace grumbled and attempted to pull the shirt over her head. The blood-soaked bandages had adhered to it. She cried out when it tugged on her flesh. Leon resorted to cutting it off.
Slowly cutting up the side, he revealed ugly bruises on her waist. Avoiding touching her bra, he was able to cut all the way to the collar. He left the shirt hanging on the other side. He then started cutting the bandage off.
As Leon worked on dressing her wound, he noticed her breathing was more rapid. His eyes flicked down once—then immediately redirected back to the wound.
“Hang on. I’m almost done.”
When he was satisfied with his work, he quickly dropped his hands.
“That’s it. You’re good to go.” Leon stepped back. “I’d advise against a full shower, but you can clean up in the bathroom sink.” He pointed toward a closed door.
Grace looked down at her leg. There were still angry marks where he aggressively wrapped her leg to choke the bleeding.
“Thanks. This whole night I felt like I was made of glass.”
Leon met her eyes briefly. “You’re not.”
He turned again to wash her blood off of him.
Leon chuckled. “I think I might be a few sizes bigger than you, but you can borrow some of my clothes.” He offered Grace a hand. His eyes followed her as she eased off the counter. He cleared his throat and went to fetch her some clean clothes.
He flipped the light on in his bedroom and pulled out a black T-shirt and a thick pair of socks. He rifled through his underwear drawer to find an old pair of boxers he liked to lounge in.
“T-Thanks, Leon.”
He stared down at her. She had been through hell and was still standing.
He stopped himself where he was. “Let me know if you need me.”
Grace seemed to linger and then hobbled to the bathroom and shut the door. Leon paused, waiting. His jaw clenched, pushing the vision of a steam-cloaked Grace from his mind.
When he didn’t hear any signs of struggle, Leon pulled out his cell phone to order a pizza. Then, he got to work cleaning up the kitchen.
He had just tipped the delivery guy when he turned to see Grace emerge from the bathroom. Leon paused. She was clean, but he noticed how his shirt hung to her knees, the collar threatened to slope down her shoulder. His socks were folded down several times on her ankles.
“Uh. You hungry?”
She smiled. “I’m starving.”
Leon set the pizza on the coffee table and brought out a bottle of whiskey. He poured two fingers each and downed his. He needed something to dull his nerves after the night’s chaos. Grace gingerly sat on the small couch and sipped her whiskey. Their legs would certainly touch if he sat beside her. He sat on the floor in front of the couch instead.
“You don’t have to sit down there,” Grace said as she chewed her lip.
“I’m a bull in a China shop. I don’t want to undo my handiwork.” Leon glanced over at her leg. The neat stitches were a stark contrast against her pale skin.
They ate in silence.
Leon leaned back against the couch with a heavy sigh. His arms resting on his knees. He was about to get up for a shower when he felt a warm hand trace the side of his neck.
He stilled. Lately it seemed like any time something touched him, it was trying to kill him.
“You mentioned the worst of it was on your back?” Grace inquired.
Leon leaned forward to pour more whiskey. He settled back to drink when he felt Grace’s hand return, her fingers tugged at his collar, inspecting. Leon exhaled slowly. He reached behind him, quickly grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling it off.
He heard Grace’s breath catch. Leon didn’t look back, he took another drink. Maybe her blood wasn’t going to be enough to save him.
“Is it bad?” His voice was rough.
“N-no. It’s almost gone.”
Leon relaxed a bit. “Great. I can resume my modeling career.”
Her hand came back. Leon shivered when Grace’s fingers found a knot in his shoulder and gently pressed it out. His reaction didn’t go unnoticed. Her fingers traced his shoulder to the hollow nestled by his clavicle.
Tilting his head back, his breath hitched.
When her hand edged lower, Leon’s eyes snapped open to reveal Grace with a deep flush and her fingers trembling. His body reacted before he could stop it. Tension pulled tight and low.
Leon stood abruptly—before instinct could turn into a mistake. He wanted a gentle touch. But this wasn’t the kind of want that ended cleanly.
“I’m going to get a shower. Make yourself at home.”
Leon picked his blood-stained shirt off the floor, downed the rest of his whiskey, and almost sprinted to the bathroom.
With a door between them, Leon pulled the rest of his clothes off to assess the damage. It seemed that while Grace’s blood cured him, it thankfully didn’t negate his rapid healing. His eyes fell to a scrape on his lower ribs, he could see the skin knitting itself back together. He turned to glance at his shoulders, purposely avoiding something heavy. He wasn’t sure what had warranted Grace’s reaction. His skin had returned to normal.
Leon let the water run hotter than he meant to at first. Stepping under the spray, he leaned against the tile, steam gathered around him. The isolation was a problem. It gave his body room to catch up to what his head had been avoiding—traitorous glances down, her body against his, her fingers pressed into his skin. The tension ratcheted even tighter in his body.
His bloodstained knuckles whitened as his right hand slipped low on the shower wall.
“Christ,” he muttered, jaw locking as he became painfully aware of himself—of what his body was doing without permission.
His hand slid off the shower wall. For a brief moment, he didn’t fight it.
With a stifled groan, he twisted the shower dial hard in the other direction. Ice-cold water shocked the air from his lungs, enough to sever the moment. Leon straightened. The tension had been tampered, not satisfied.
Not now. Not with her. Not yet. He shook his head to clear that thought.
Washing almost procedurally, he watched the blood run clear. He stayed under the water longer than necessary, the frigid spray bit hard enough to keep everything where it belonged.
Stepping out of the shower, Leon noted the unfamiliar fabric on the counter. Averting his eyes, he realized he forgot to bring a change of clothes with him.
“Damn it.” Leon carded his fingers through his wet hair and peeked out the door. Grace was fast asleep on the small couch, an old black and white film was playing softly on the TV.
Leon wrapped a towel around his waist and quietly slipped into his room, grateful she was finally getting some rest after the night they’d had.
He shrugged on a pair of sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. He rubbed the towel through his hair and fell back on his bed. His eyes grew heavy, but he didn’t feel right making Grace sleep on the couch.
Leon stood and went to her. With the small hands tucked under her chin, he noted how peaceful she looked asleep. He longed for that same stillness.
With a gentle lift, Grace was back into his arms. As he turned to carry her to his bed, she burrowed close to his chest, her body felt soft against his torso. A mumble and a sigh passed through her lips. Leon’s stomach clenched.
Leon pulled the comforter back and gently laid Grace down. Leon tugged the blanket up, his fingers accidentally brushed the nape of her neck, lingering for just long enough for him to notice—and stop. As he pulled away, he felt the tiny shiver that ran down her spine.
“Goodnight, Grace.”
Leon laid on the couch and realized Grace hadn’t asked him to take her home. With his feet dangling off the opposite armrest, he fell asleep to Casablanca and his revolver within reach. If anything came through that door tonight, it wouldn’t touch her.
A piercing cry jolted Leon awake. His neck was stiff as he lunged for his weapon. His eyes darted around the room; the glow of the TV revealed nothing out of the ordinary. He listened. It sounded like Grace was fighting off an attacker.
With gun in hand, he sprinted to his bedroom to find Grace thrashing in his bed. Sweat clung to her face as she gripped his sheets. Her injured leg was free and revealed his boxers rolled at the hem; his shirt rode up on her stomach. His eyes darted back to her face.
Another violent thrash followed by an anguished cry.
Leon sighed and set his gun on the nightstand. He approached Grace and grasped her shoulder. Her eyes flew open in a panic as her hands instinctively reached out to push him away.
“Grace! You’re dreaming,” Leon sat, trying to calm her down.
Instead of pushing away, Grace surged forward and slotted herself against him. Her small hands grasped his shoulders, and her head tucked under his chin.
Leon tensed.
Her breath was hot and uneven against his bare skin, fingers clutching at him like she was trying to cling to a raft. He held still, letting her anchor herself.
“I—I couldn’t get him off me. He—,” Grace shook her head against Leon, his stubble catching in her hair.
Leon’s hand hovered, then came down between her shoulder blades. For a brief moment, he pulled her closer—instinct, not thought. He corrected immediately, loosening his hold and keeping his palm flat against her back.
“Nightmares happen,” Leon said quietly. “You just have to find a way to be scarier than what’s in them.” As Leon spoke, he could smell the scents of him—his clothes and soap on her. He breathed deeply.
He forced himself to stay still as she leaned into him.
“Breathe with me. It’s okay.” Leon kept his hand steady on her back. “You’re safe.”
Their breaths slowly matched, shallow at first, then deeper, each inhale and exhale echoing the other. He noticed the warmth of her body against his. He swallowed and shifted his hips away from her.
Finally, she pulled away, her face flushed. Her hair was mussed and his shirt collar slipped low on her shoulder. Leon felt an ache in his chest but focused on keeping her grounded.
“How—where am I?”
“The couch is a little cramped. I figured you’d sleep better in here.” Leon’s voice was thick.
“No. You should—,” she started.
“Go back to sleep.” Leon stood.
Grace huffed and pulled the heavy blanket back up.
He started to leave but heard a faint request.
“Will you stay for a while?”
There it was. Leon pinched his nose. The words were barely above a whisper, yet they hung in the air between them. This was how mistakes started—quietly, with good intentions.
Leon paused. He was considering sitting on the floor again. He didn’t know what she wanted, and he didn’t know how to ask.
“Please.” Grace patted the top of the comforter.
He went to the other side of the bed and sat down, close enough to ache, but not close enough to cross the line. He felt a pull, but she was still too new to this world for Leon to be anything but careful. He wanted her to heal beside someone she trusted.
Leon stirred at the slight movement beside him. Blinking, he didn’t realize he had fallen asleep beside her, half sitting up. He looked down to find the throw blanket from the couch draped over him. Through the night, he had slumped closer to her. He looked up to see Grace watching him, one hand tucked under her cheek, her other hand above the blanket—resting beside his. She didn’t pull away.
“You stayed.”
“Yeah.” Leon’s voice sounded low to his ears.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
For the first time in years, nightmares had not plagued his sleep.
Leon had worked to soften her crash. But with a quiet acceptance, he realized he needed the same.
He knew there would be more to come.