Chapter Text
Leon
Leon’s got his hand on Grace’s arm. It’s meager comfort but he hopes that it’s enough to keep her afloat until... Until what? Their theoretical rescue? Sherry did say she was trying to dispatch a helicopter to exfiltrate. But then again, their whole little operation wasn’t technically sanctioned, either by the DSO or by the Pentagon spooks. They’re likely to get in trouble, and that’s if they manage to make it out.
The truth is that Leon’s so tired and these last twenty-four hours have been so fraught that he’s way past caring about what kind of bureaucratic hell awaits him. Now, the only thing that matters is Grace. Keeping Grace alive, keeping her morale high.
Oh, Grace. She’s so young and she’s so brave.
She reminds Leon of a younger version of himself, the rookie cop who was full of idealism – one who was good and hopeful, not yet chewed up by Umbrella and spat out crooked and sharp. When she told him she would do whatever she could to help him, he’d heard his own voice from 1998. What a case of whiplash.
In the pitch black, he’s got his free hand on Requiem’s handle. There shouldn’t be anything infected nearby on their collapsed platform, but Leon won’t be caught unaware. In training all those years ago, they drilled into him to never use one specific weapon as a crutch, but damn, if he hasn’t missed that gun for those few hours he gave it away. Still. He’s glad Grace was able to use it to protect herself.
Suddenly, there’s an ominous faraway clanking sound, wrenching him out of his musings. An overwhelming flood of bright light cuts through the darkness, hurting his eyes. Soldiers begin their descent along rope lines.
“Now what,” he mutters under his breath. He moves himself to be slightly in front of Grace, alert, but not yet sure what to think of the newcomers. In the very least, if they wanted them dead, bullets would have been flying by now.
As the soldiers take point, one man’s attention settles on Leon and Grace, crumpled against the floor.
“Leon S. Kennedy,” the man calls after a pause.
The Leon S. Kennedy in question readjusts his hand on the gun. Says warily: “Depends who’s asking.”
“Alpha. Do you read me, sir? Yeah, they’re safe. I got ‘em.”
The man isn’t armed and it has to be a conscious decision, to address a slightly trigger-happy senior DSO agent and a traumatized technical analyst. From up close, Leon can see the BSAA logo stitched on the apparel, recognizes the equipment because Chris wears the same. He’s struck by a breathtaking wave of relief.
The BSAA operator kneels right in front of them, another sign of appeasement, Leon supposes, putting himself at their height. “Mister Kennedy, I’ve got a message from Captain Redfield.”
Fucking Captain Redfield. It’s over.
Thank Jesus. Chris does love to swoop in at the eleventh hour and save a damsel. Or damsels, in this case. Leon’s very much one, presently. Leon exhales, takes his hand off his gun to scrub at his face.
“Says he’s held up on assignment, so he’s sorry about not being here himself,” the man continues. His head cocks to the side, and Leon knows he’s listening through his in-ear. “Uh. Also says to expect him late for breakfast tomorrow.”
It’s so… so dumb, and so low-stakes and such a ‘Chris’ thing to say it makes Leon burst out in laughter. He hopes Chris can hear it through the comms.
“You can tell him he better be there for brunch, then.”
He feels Grace peer at him from the side and sobers up when he remembers that she’s still injured pretty severely. She’s curled into his side, hand tight against the handle of her own gun, and right. She wouldn’t know that these are good guys.
“It’s okay Grace,” he reassures, laying a careful hand on her shoulder. “This is the BSAA. We can trust them. We’re getting out of here.”
“We are?” Grace grits her teeth.
Leon can smell her blood from where he’s kneeling. Nasty wound. But she’d be okay. He feels himself smile softly, taken over by relief again. “Yeah. We are.” And he believes it himself.
Chris’ man – “call me Shields, sir” – helps hoist him upright, because Leon realized once he dropped to sit next to Grace that he would not be standing back up on his own. Shields and his team secure harnesses on them both and Leon gets winched out of a hole in the crumbling ceiling.
Grace is admirable throughout. She listens to commands and keeps calm even though there’s a hole in her side, and even if she seems terrified of the sheer drop, she braves being airlifted out with some guts Leon can’t help but admire.
It’s all too familiar, and he’s violently projected back two decades prior, watching another small blond girl show incredible gumption and courage. He remembers watching Ashley Graham like a hawk on that navy carrier once they’d been fished out of the sea, wired and tired and high on adrenaline, and the feeling is the same twenty years later.
He finds himself watching Grace out of the corner of his eye as he gives a short statement to the head BSAA operator on the ground. Sherry’s working on the DSO end to figure out next steps for both organizations, feeding him info to relay. He’s familiar with the shift from action and life-or-death situations where spontaneity is needed to the sudden slow crawl of bureaucracy, where cooler heads prevail. Once upon a time, it had annoyed a younger, greener Leon. Now, it’s part and parcel of the job and surprisingly enough, he’s good at it, writing reports, briefing and debriefing, strategizing.
He’s dismissed with a respectful nod and a “nice to finally meet you, sir,” the operation now firmly within BSAA hands, as far as Leon’s concerned. Suits him fine enough. He can’t wait to have Raccoon City back in his rearview.
Which makes him think: He needs to grab his Porsche on his way out. He paid too much money and got way too much teasing from Chris (and Claire and Sherry) about his driving and his choice of car to leave it behind. Hopefully it won’t have been webbed up by any ginormous mutant spider. But who knows, in this god-forsaken city.
“Well. That’s that, then Sherry,” he returns to his comms, flexing his hands idly. “I’ll be damned. Can’t believe that antiviral actually worked. I feel better than I have in ages.” When his brain stops being in survival mode, he’ll have a thought or two about the life-saving, amazing discovery that Elpis is. For now, though, he’s buzzing, and too dizzy to really consider the implication of an antiviral that has the potential to cure infections.
He tells Sherry that he hasn’t felt better in ages, and it’s only half a lie. It’s frankly insane just how much lighter he feels. The T-Virus was progressive, creeping, slowly making him sicker and sicker. It’s not until now that it’s finally gone that Leon realizes just how much it was weighing him down. It’s a sick sensation of déja-vu. He felt the exact same in Spain, back when they zapped the plaga that had been settling against his spine into dust.
His joints don’t hurt as much, and he feels some of his long-forgotten strength return when he clenches his fist. It’s a miracle, plain and simple, to go from having to grip Requiem for dear life with both hands to finally be able to fire it one-handed without support.
But the relief is somewhat undercut from the absolute beating Leon’s suffered the last day or so. He feels sore, raw, and disgusting. Everything is smarting and bruising, and he’s taken so many med injectors in the last twenty-four hours that he must be close to developing a resistance to the medicine.
And call Leon a glutton for punishment, but he welcomes the pain like an old friend. This sort of discomfort post-battle is familiar and almost comforting. This he knows how to handle.
Still. Even though he feels like hot garbage and probably smells like it too, he’s too relieved about being healed – and about the prospect of Sherry being cleared, and fuck. Claire, too – that he feels happiness bubble in his throat and feels himself laughing.
Sherry sounds relieved. “Thank God. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I’ve got a dose with your name on it.” And one for Claire, too. He made sure to grab them from the BSAA retrieval team, with only minor pushback. He waved his credentials around and essentially told them they could speak with his supervisor if they had concerns about it. And good luck with that! His handler was notoriously difficult to reach. Leon would know. “You’ll be back in action in no time.”
“Thank you, Leon.”
He doesn’t have the words to tell her that there is nothing he wouldn’t do for her. That there’s no need to thank him.
“You’ll have to thank Grace. She’s the one who figured out the password and cured me.”
“I’ll have to give her a bouquet when I meet her.”
“We’ll have to organise a dinner or something, to celebrate. You and Grace and me. Maybe Chris, if he can manage to get us a reservation somewhere nice. Assuming there’s no loose ends with the Connections in the near future for me to tie.”
“Yes, assuming. But if there are any, trust me. I will get the organization to send someone else.” She says it with such steel that Leon believes her. One thing about Sherry Birkin is that she’s dogged and she never bites more than she can chew. Whatever she sets her teeth into she knows she can rip out. She gets it from Claire.
“Thank you, Sherry.”
“Anytime. Where is your husband, anyways,” Sherry teases, edge gone.
“No idea,” It’s just like Chris to mount a heroic rescue and then ghost him at the last minute. “I’m sure I’ll run into him at some point.” At home, most likely. Question isn’t so much how and where as much as when. Who knows what situation the BSAA’s sent him to. Who knows how long it’ll take.
Sherry chuckles. “Got a helicopter with your name on it. Well. Technically it has the BSAA’s name on it, but we’re borrowing it.”
“And Grace?”
“Orders from on high. Take her with you. Medical wants to do some checks on both of you before you’re released. You know how it is.”
“Hmm,” Leon groans.
“I know you don’t like it.”
“Hmm.”
“But,” Sherry placates, “the medical team really wants to make sure she hasn’t caught anything. And they’ll definitely want to make sure the T-Virus is completely gone.”
Leon sighs. “I know. I’ll talk to her. Take it easy until I can get you that antiviral, yeah?”
“I promise not to get into too much trouble.”
“See you soon, Sherry.”
“Bye Leon.”
Grace is holding on to a cup of tea for dear life. It’s pretty warm out but she has a blanket around her shoulders, and he recognizes markers of shock well enough at that point; he’s been there himself so many times.
“It’s over then,” he says.
“Yeah,” Grace says absentmindedly, thumbs rubbing against the rim of her paper cup. “Elpis really was our last hope.”
“Well, let’s pray Umbrella hasn’t left us any more nasty surprises.” He highly doubts it’s the last time he has to deal with them. Umbrella’s been a persistent pain in his ass for more than half of his life and isn’t that a sobering thought. Fuck. He’s getting old.
“I wish we could have saved Emily.”
Ah. Brave Grace, kind and soft and shiny new. Leon can’t help but smile wearily. Just like looking at a younger version of himself. There wasn’t much good that came out of Raccoon City. Nobody miraculously left alive after the nuke. But now there’s a chance. With Elpis in hand, there’s no saying what kind of good they could do. And the kid…
He strides forward and presses his fingers against her wrist. Her pulse is butterfly fast. “Grace. I didn’t hit of her vitals. She could still be alive.”
It’s not strictly true. He aimed pretty indiscriminately. But the BOWs at the Care Centre were tough and regenerated unexpectedly. The Girl healed from having her head blown open. He’s confident Emily would be back on her feet. And now with Elpis, there’s a chance she could be cured.
There’s hope.
Grace peers up at him. “What are you saying?”
“Maybe we can save her.” And looking within, finds himself hopeful too. It’s been a while since he’s felt that way. “Alright. You ready to roll? You’re coming with me.”
“Uh, I probably need to report back. My boss –”
“Already knows. Or he’ll know soon. You were in contact with biohazardous materials, so you fall under the custody of the Division of Security Operations’ science and medical team until you’re cleared,” Leon recites. He’s said this a thousand times, to reassure a thousand civilian victims. “Don’t worry. My information operative will let the FBI know that we’ve got you in for testing and quarantine.”
“And the tests…” Grace whispers, looking a bit green about the gills. Can’t blame her, when she also had to deal with Victor Gideon – that creep.
“Hey,” Leon pats at her good shoulder, softens his voice to something soothing. “The tests are painless and routine. There’s a short 12h quarantine, and we’ve got a protocol in place if they find anything wrong. Which they most likely won’t.”
“Okay,” she croaks.
“And I’ll be right there with you. They’ll want to poke me, too. So, you don’t have to worry.”
Grace gives him a brittle smile, and he squeezes her good shoulder one last time.
“Come on, kid. Let’s get you patched up and cleared. You need some rest, and I, uh,” he grimaces, makes a show of sniffing at his own shirt. He does smell pretty rank. It’s what he gets for fainting in garbage goo like a ragdoll, he guesses. “I need a shower or two.”
This time Grace snorts, and she folds the shock blanket neatly behind her. “I fell into a pool of blood, if you can believe. I think it’s in my ears.”
“That’s disgusting,” Leon deadpans.
“Yeah,” she huffs a breathy laugh. “Somehow it’s not even in the top ten worst things that’ve happened to me today.”
She’s a strong girl. She’s going to be okay. Leon flexes his hands again, slips his gloves off, and finally puts his ring back onto his unmarked, uninfected finger, where it belongs.