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winksasleeplesseye · 4 months

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reunio (six)

SUMMARY: While Leon and Ashley are off on their own adventure amongst the vast castle, Amara, Luis, and the reluctant Ada are off on their own journey within the castle walls. A hunt and a reunion ensues. But, the chaos isn't over yet.

WORD COUNT: 7k (no edits, we die like men)

WARNINGS: some item hunting, angst, flashbacks and conversations and violence

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1999

The wallpaper was a bit dated, gaudy for sure. All of it in its 70s glory. The floral green upholstered couches and almost painful salmon pink of the accents and decor made Amara’s eyes hurt.

Paired with the two suits currently occupying the couches. They looked just about excited as postmen at Christmas. Only here out of obligation to the young girl temporarily staying here. It’d been a tough first year, reestablishing normalcy to a girl who’d had less than a normal life proved to be far more difficult than expected. Another reason they’d called her here, beyond their allotted visits.

The older woman, Mrs. Hoffman, was sweet but one could tell she ran her home with a tad bit of an iron fist. If it wasn’t already clear, this woman was strict to Sherry.

Treating her as though what laid inside her could be fixed.

Stupid. Fucked up, really.

They’d become two of a kind. Amara knew what it was like to be uprooted quite often, never quite having stability to really put much stock into making friends, sure, she’d try but never quite knowing when they’d be off to the next place made it hard to keep in touch.

Sherry had been in limbo, both Amara and Claire argued that this much moving around didn’t do much for her.

Amara leaned against the doorframe, Sherry not yet made aware of her being there as she rummaged through a storage container of cassette tapes. Even from her sitting position on the floor, Amara could tell she’d hit a bit of a growth spurt in her absence.

The soft melody of an older song played in the cassette player as Sherry clicked it on. The Jackson Five.

Hmm, she was impressed that Sherry even knew them.

The song was Got to Be There. Huh, how fitting.

“Aren’t you a little young to be listening to such old songs?” Amara makes her presence known, the smile Sherry wore is enough to make her have one in return.

Pushing herself off the ground, she practically jumped into her arms. “Amara!”

“Sherbear! Careful now, my ribs are still bruised from the last hug you gave me,” she jested, ruffling her hair. “How’s Hoffman treating you?”

“Like a fucking dictator.” There’s a particular heavy emphasis on the curse word. It was definitely new to her.

“Hey, watch that language.”

“Sorry. It’s just—“

“Yeah, I know.”

They wanted her here to quell Sherry’s frustrations with going from place to place. One could say she was essentially in the system. Considering how this country operated, no one wanted to be there but Sherry had a strange predicament to start. The cards didn’t really line up in any of their favors.

Unfortunately, soon enough, she’d be under the care of Derek C. Simmons.

It was the last option the government had. Amara had fought tooth and nail with the decision but there wasn’t much leverage on her part. Couldn’t exactly go against her own deal, really.

That man in question had something about him that made her stomach turn. He was like Irons 2.0, a general creepy vibe radiated from him that she didn’t like. He seemed the last person qualified to truly care for Sherry.

“When am I gonna get to stay with you?” She has a puppy dog look in her eyes. “I’ve never been more bored in my life.”

“Sorry kiddo, but I still have no idea,” Amara answered honestly, shoving a hand into her pocket. She didn’t want to crush the girl’s hopes. Wait. She almost forgot. “Sheesh, Sherry, your keychain!”

“Where from this time?”

Sherry had developed a strange knack for collecting keychains much like a mother collecting mugs from her kids in their many travel adventures. Amara thought it sweet and just about the funnest thing to pick up on her missions, the others assigned with her would make fun that she’d take the time to stop into the most touristy places just for a “silly” keychain but to see Sherry’s eyes light up as she looked over the fun designs made it worth it.

“Italy, can’t you tell by the moped?” Amara pointed out the cartoon, an over-exaggerated man speeding away on his blue Vespa and the damn near kismet colors of brown cobblestone streets against a teal-blue skyline on it made it one of the more artistic keychains she’d picked out for the girl.

Sherry, a little too perceptive for her own good, seems to notice Amara’s overall demeanor underneath the smile she wore.

“I’m not staying here much longer, am I?”

“You know, in another life, I’d like to think you’d be a detective the way you pick up on so much,” Amara sighed with a sad smile, going down to eye level with the girl.

“When?”

Her head hangs low, she can’t say it…not directly anyway, not while seeing the sadness that would spring to the girl’s eyes.

“Next week. With Simmons.”

Amara inevitably looked on the bright side. Having someone as “important” as Simmons as her guardian guaranteed that no perceived threats could get close to the girl. The only threat that she could think of was Wesker (only second to the very government themselves). After the mansion incident and RC, Wesker’s body had never been recovered so that formed the only logical conclusion to come to that he still walked among the living.

“He gives me the creeps,” Sherry fiddled with a loose hem on her t-shirt, “a lot of creeps.”

“I won’t fight you on that, kiddo. But, he’s just about the safest option for you now and you know Claire and me fought hard on that choice.” Amara explained. “There’s a quote I heard once that went a bit like this…in any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.”

“This feels like the wrong thing.” Her voice is small.

“It’s better than nothing, right?” Amara noted. “Besides, it’s not like I’m going to just up and leave and never see you again. You’ll always have me, we are two of a kind after all.”

Present

Amara wandered through the grandiose halls of the castle, in search of an item—a blue Butterfly to be specific—to aid Luis in creating a new suppressant and at the same time pondered on the notion of getting Sherry a castle keychain.

This mission had her thinking a lot about the past few years considering she had not one, but two familiar faces from Raccoon. And if Leon was any indication, they’d been…difficult to say the least.

He was always pretty, but damn, he looked exhausted.

She never thought about her own struggles with sleep nor the other problems that arose too hard, barely breaching the surface. Just put them down as nights filled with distant voices on TV and ramen. The beauty of compartmentalization, she’d punch it down any chance she got. She rubbed her back gingerly, feeling a knot beneath her fingertips. A constant almost hunger sat in her stomach and it gnawed and bubbled like bile in her throat.

“Definitely need a hot bath after this.” Amara scaled the wall. Silently wishing she had Ada’s grappling gun.

Amara surveyed the room once she entered, gun at the ready, listening for any special guest that was too keen on choking her out.

Clear.

She lowered her gun, putting it back in her holster. “Thank fucking God.”

“Now, let’s see about a blue butterfly.”

The collection room sat below one of the castle battlement towers so it was pretty clear how little whoever ran this place cared less about preservation, should it have ever come under attack.

Her hands slid across the displays. The floor creaked under her weight with every cautious step. For a moment, it was as if she were at a museum, slowly gazing over different exhibits. Something about these items fascinated the curiosity deep down.

A letter stood out on the table next to an animal skull, almost too convenient if Amara had to guess.

Her eyes skim the letter—a diary entry now that she looks closer—and it reads:

Preparator’s Notes

The collection master is a tacky and lousy boss! He leaves all the dissections for me to do! Even if he does bother to come here, all he does is gawk at his three favorite specimens in a particular order before leaving.

There’s nothing special about them anyway! Why only look at those three specimens when we have that prized butterfly to admire?

A good researcher would know such things.

She now noticed the lock, images were the code to unlock it. Seriously? What was it with the damn puzzles?

She walked around the room about three times. By the third time, her vision blacked out momentarily and a pain struck inside her ribcage. It sent her to her knees. “Fuck sake, knock it off.” Amara almost wanted to punch herself in the chest but thought better of it. Was this what Leon and Ashley were going through too?

The more negative part of her thoughts drifted to the smallest possibility of them failing. Small, but ever present.

A puppet to a parasite. No control over her own body, her own thoughts. Controlled by some unknown figure.

A particular twist in her gut made her feel like any contents in her stomach could come up. She didn’t want to stomach that for either one of them. Or herself for that matter. They didn’t survive everything thrown their way so far to give up now.

Stand on your feet, girl. One of her trainers would say after a breathtaking blow would damn near make her keel over. Amara would wave a hand dismissively (tears threatening to spill from her eyes), thinking maybe just maybe she wasn’t cut out for it after all. But that was too easy.

“Amara? Hanging in there?” Luis’ voice from her radio shaked her out of her thoughts.

“Define that, and I’ll let you know,” She pathetically pushed herself to her feet. “How’s it coming with the ingredients?”

“Just need yours and we’re good. I’m all about taking it slow, but maybe hurry it up?”

“So I've saved the best for last?” Amara wiggled her eyebrows. “I’m honored.” She turned the lock a few times, the crudely drawn images on it denoted the animal skulls she had examined.

A satisfying click comes from it as it opens the display. A perfectly preserved blue butterfly. She weighs it between her fingertips, careful not to let it break. “This better work for all the trouble you gave me.”

There’s a silence from the comms but she can still hear the sounds in the background on Luis’ end. “Luis, I’ve got it. On my way.” She hangs up shortly after.

Amara is more than ready to get the hell out of here but another letter catches her eye.

Preparator’s Notes

The collection master has yet to examine this painting. Lousy boss that he is. After my thorough examination, I’ve decided to have the painting moved to the gallery in the hall with the three-headed statue for display.

I’m sure the castellan, or someone, will appreciate its rather unusual nature.

“Two birds, one stone.”

That had to be pure happenstance that the very last painting would be among the collection of the other rather stereotypical pieces that Amara expected on the walls. She racked her brain, retracing the steps it would take to get to the gallery quickly while also delivering the butterfly to Luis.

Her watch read 7:35 pm. Amara lifted her eyes to the sky and for the first time, she noticed how dark it truly was. Almost a whole day had passed?

Los Illuminados really had them on their toes for hours. And yet, here she was, fighting against the clock against a mind-controlling parasite to burn a painting. Shit, she needed to get her priorities straight.

After having traversed a few of the castle walls (narrowly avoiding encounters with the black robes), she noticed Luis as he carried a wooden box. Amara could only assume those were his tools.

Ada came up along the path not too long after her.

Amara handed Luis the butterfly, perfectly intact. Ada followed suit and handed him the ink and other items. “That should be everything.”

Luis dug in his pocket, a small tube of sorts held between his fingertips. The Amber. An almost heady, painful reaction came over both women in its presence. Amara could see black veins as they crawled up the exposed skin of her hands. Her vision turned damn near kaleidoscopic. Her reaction is instinctive. Clawing at the fabric of her sleeve as if she felt the parasite squirming in her veins.

The habit wasn’t wholly unfamiliar to her. As the G infection took hold of her six years ago, she remembered the spine-tingling pain and the way her nerves almost numbed to nothing. At random intervals she’d press a hand against her right arm to feel that her touch still registered against her skin. That she hadn't been overtaken by the virus.

“Shit…the parasite must be reacting to the Amber."

"So, that's the Amber? Not exactly what I expected," Amara spoke. It was small, a mere tiny piece of what seemed to be something broken off a larger block. The parasite was minuscule within the resin of yellowish-red tree bark. Like it had been naturally occurring for quite some time.

She had only learned a few things in her trek to get the Butterfly. The castle's history was in papers that laid haphazardly all over the various rooms of this place. They clearly had no problem with letting an outsider such as Amara learn their history. The Plagas had been here, naturally occurring within the village before the cult had come to deliver what they thought was...salvation to the villagers. Of course, then, it had no name, and the villagers searched for anything that would rid them of this "plague."

Amara couldn't exactly blame them. How easy it was to go along with this lulled state of prosperity.

But, it was false. A pyrrhic victory as they had given up their free will and their bodies to something truly grotesque.

"It's coming," Ada spoke softly, a hand against her temple.

An inhuman screech came from nearby. Amara's reaction isn't physical, so much as it is visual at the sight of...she can't even begin to describe it. Its face denoted that of a bug of sorts, gnarly claws extended out from underneath the robe it wore as it towered over all three of them.

She never looked away, careful not to blink for fear of this disgusting thing lunging at them. Doesn't even flinch as this thing gets closer. Her first thought isn't even fighting this thing, it's going after that painting while she still had the chance. Clearly, it's after Ada and she guessed the suppressant could wait. Her second thought was catching up with Leon, now that Luis had recreated it, maybe she could tell him something good.

With that in mind, experiencing a brief sense of deja vu, she ran toward the Grand Hall. "We'll meet up again soon!"

"Head towards the mines!" Luis shouted back as he helped Ada away from the creature.

The Grand Hall is just as Amara expected. Though, entirely too damn quiet for her liking. An elegant chandelier hung above her head, illuminating the hall with more than enough light. Marble statues lined the path and a plush velvet blue carpet leading to the staircase laid beneath her boots. Mud now stained the carpet and for a brief second, she felt bad that such quality was ruined by it. She would have loved to spend some more time wandering this place but she had to remind herself that she was here on a mission.

Still, her eyes follow along the opulent archways, ones also cast in stainless marble.

"If I were a gallery, where would I be?" Amara posed the question to herself. She pulled from her knowledge as a high school student, the history nerd inside her surely squealing at the chance to use what others deemed "useless" information.

Castle galleries were usually nestled toward the back, better to keep their intimacy and the state of exclusivity to the ones who lived there rather than outwardly make them known.

Plus, they offered their telling of the family's lineage and history beyond just the books. Not that Amara was particularly, fervently interested in learning about whoever ran this place now (she only learned by chance), considering the zealots followed the orders of their castellan and well, their castellan didn't like guests.

That was another thing she'd learned. Ramon Salazar ran the show around here and didn't seem pleasant, based on what she read.

A Spanish nobleman, descended from centuries of warriors, born to Diego and Catalina Salazar.

She hoped she wouldn’t have to meet him, but she also wondered if Leon and Ashley had encountered him. Salazar sounded like…what was it that the servant called him? A Pulgarcito.

Fuck being impolite and imposing on his castle. Like, seriously? He threw acid on the face of one of his servants. He clearly fits right in with Los Illuminados. Catalina had allowed their influence to take hold and take hold of her son and while Amara could certainly understand the need to protect their flesh and blood, a parasite would be the last thing she'd give a child to "protect" them. Honestly, getting the chance to rid him of one painting was doing him a favor.

The gallery is not as she expected. It's actually rather nice, at least the little shit had taste in art. Like she were one to talk, just about the only thing she ever owned art-wise was a knockoff Basquiat (before it was burned to a crisp in '98) but examining the paintings, she could still see the brushstrokes and dried paint laid upon the canvasses. The smell still hit her nose...huh, oil paint.

Most people couldn't stand the scent of paint but Amara found it quite fragrant, it made her miss her set-up at her new apartment. In the corner of her bedroom meeting the slanted windows to the floor, giving her a view of the city as she would let her paintbrush across canvases.

She certainly would be committing the room to memory. Its vibrant apple-red carpets, marble flooring, and gold-framed displays were worthy on their own to be painted. Of course, they needed to get out of here alive first before that would happen.

There it is.

The painting.

All its glory laid out before her. More of a macabre display than anything else and it all was mere inches from her fingertips.

Yet, a weird feeling wriggled up her neck.

This is way too easy.

Amara quickly scanned her surroundings at every angle, God forbid a spike or something dropped down on her head.

Her first steps when encountering one of the paintings on her missions were to document them. Preferably with a camera or something. Each one of the paintings needed to be documented, not only for top brass but for record purposes.

Amara’s eyes scanned the length of the frame. Shit.

She was beginning to wish she had actually kept the mini camera from her last mission.

How in the hell could she document this?

As if a lightbulb shone above her head, she frantically ripped open the pouch (just short of tearing it apart) on her leg. If she couldn’t take a photo, she could damn well draw the picture, right?

Well, a more rudimentary version, at least.

Kneeling to the ground, she places her notepad onto her thigh. A quick once over of the painting has her examining the more basic ideas of it as she began her outline.

There wasn’t exactly the luxury of time. After a few minutes, she raises the notepad to the light. Amara turns her lips down in a judgmental manner.

Crude but good enough.

Could be better.

Now, it was time to destroy the real thing.

She managed to get the painting off the wall but she hadn’t accounted for the fact that maybe, just maybe, there had been a weight mechanism to deter thieves. The hall becomes shrouded in darkness, a particularly loud thud comes from the entrance she came from.

“Shit!” She laughed humorlessly. “This is just delightful.”

And it only seemed to get more delightful as Amara heard the heavy footsteps and shifting, grating sound of what had to be steel or iron plates.

Just as she turned around, she only had a half second before she moved out of the way of the business end of a heavy sword. Sparks from where the sword hit the floor momentarily lit up the space. Part of her wanted to take a closer look at the knight that had just reanimated to attack her but the other part of her—and frankly, the more logical—pushed herself out of its way.

Her stomach turned, a tightness constricting around her ribs as the knight wobbled and stumbled towards her, sword dragging against the carpet.

Amara conferred with herself for a moment. Clearly the darkness was a trigger for it to come to life and attack so maybe light would be just the thing to stop it? It’s at this moment that she remembered she does have weapons at her disposal, namely a flash grenade she found lying around earlier.

She quickly enacts her idea–her only idea–to toss a flash grenade near it just as it raises the sword once more to swipe at her. The room is covered in the brightness white light, briefly fucking with Amara’s vision. A disconcerting little scream (screech?) sounded off from the knight and when her eyes readjust, she finds the armor in pieces on the floor and viscera around it.

Moving closer to it, she stands over it and for some reason all that comes to mind for her to say is: “You are no knight in shining armor.”

Amara realized how stupid it sounded only afterwards in the silence, but decided not to chastise herself.

Some of Leon’s tendencies to quip had left an imprint on her brain.

With an eye roll, she stepped away from the armor and focused on the bars locking her in. In proper Indiana Jones fashion, she swiftly replaced the weight of the painting with a seemingly heavy chalice that had escaped its display during the knight’s melee. The bars lift from the entrance.

“Now,” she moved towards the sword, taking it in her hands, “time to actually destroy this painting.”

Needing no preamble, Amara plunges the sword into the canvas. Dragging the sharp sword through the image with no rhyme or reason. The artist inside her cried a little at ruining of such a nice canvas but it was for the greater good. After the painting is practically shredded, Amara can faintly hear the sound of gunshots resonating within the halls. The only answer that made sense shouted in her head. Leon and Ashley.

Dropping the sword, she propelled herself in that direction.

Amara followed the noise to find more of the castle goons were on Leon and Ashley like bees to honey. One had Leon in their clutches, choking him out while another attempted to grab at Ashley. Within moments, Amara dispatched both with efficiency.

Both drop with unceremonius thuds but that sends Leon and Ashley’s attention towards her. She can’t help but smile.

“You know, if you needed the assist…I would’ve come sooner.”

“Amara!” Ashley couldn’t fight a smile as she stepped over the bodies to meet them halfway. Leon sat on the ground, still recovering his breath. “Need a hand?”

“Thanks.” Leon took hold of her outstretched hand, pulling him up to stand once again. “Where have you been? Where’s Luis?”

She looked back towards the way she came briefly. Luis could handle Ada’s infection. Hers seemed more urgent.

“It’s a long story, really long. He said he’d meet us in the ballroom.”

Amara really didn’t want to divulge everything from start to finish in the time they’d been apart. Better to be given grief later by Leon.

“What about you two? Anything interesting?”

The pair share a look. She can only imagine what that meant. She raised her eyebrows briefly before throwing her hands up in defeat, “I’m better off not knowing. Anyways, what the hell are you two doing now?”

“Well, we’ve been trying to get a-head of the game,” Leon picks up what seems to be a golden lion statue head, his voice is deadpan, but it’s clear he’s attempting to lighten the mood.

Amara looks at Ashley, “Has he subjected you to this this whole time?”

She chuckled a tad, “Get this. He paid me a compliment not too long ago.”

“Consider me shocked, I thought Leon the Grouch over here had a heart of stone.”

It doesn’t escape Amara’s notice that a corner of Leon’s mouth slightly quirked up. But just as quick as it had come, it was gone. “If you two are done, I’d like to get a move on.”

She waved a hand at him. “Oh, don’t get your holster in a twist.”

They trailed behind Leon as he made his way back towards what seemed to be a three headed statue. Sans the one he currently held in his hands. The mechanism quietly slots into place at the final piece being attached but something about it seemed particularly off. Things couldn’t be that easy this evening.

She doesn’t hesitate to voice that. “Well…that seemed way too easy. A bit…disconcerting actually.”

As if right on cue, Ashley pointed and yelled out, “Leon! Amara! The stairs!”

Both of them follow where she pointed, finding more of those stupid zealots coming after them. Everything after that happened so quick, it almost gave her whiplash.

Her heart pounded against her chest and reverberated in her ears, though she wasn’t sure if it was sheer terror or adrenaline kicking in. A healthy mix of both, probably.

But, if there was one thing she learned in all her training, she had to do the hard things scared out of her mind.

Leon swiftly aimed his gun at them, ready to take them all on as Ashley stood closer to the pillars to give herself proper distance.

Amara followed suit with the former. Better two guns than one.

But just as quick, she heard a click from a switch and a familiar thud. A gilded cage surrounded both her and Leon. Leaving Ashley vulnerable. They were trapped.

“Run! Now!” Leon swiftly commanded through the bars to Ashley in a tone that Amara hadn’t heard from him before. (Though, to be fair, she’d never seen him in a mission setting until now).

They briefly shared a glance before turning their attention to the threat.

Two of their zealot friends had somehow joined them within the golden enclosure.

She leapt out of the way of a scythe, just barely scraping at her ankles.

Through the bars, a flaming arrow scraped against her arm. Trying not to wince, she unloaded a few rounds into the zealot with her good arm. She slid between their legs. A quick slash of a boot knife, then a disgusting spurt of red at the zealot’s ankles.

She had to be sure.

It was a shame the higher ups couldn’t see what a pair these two were. Both worked with an efficiency and a finesse even within the barrier of the enclosure.

The zealot laid at her feet, guaranteed they would not get back up. Blood seeped onto the marble floor beneath.

There was almost a deafening silence except the lock of flames emanating from torches nearby. Amara could only breathe a sigh of relief.

But, that didn’t stop her from being brought back to reality. Her arm.

Damn arrows. Amara checked the sleeve of her sweater, that fiery arrow cut through it straight to her skin. Blood sat at the surface of a fresh cut and stung more than the countless other scrapes she’d acquired over the years.

She examined the surroundings more clearly. An array of the black-robed zealots lay haphazardly around the space of the cage.

Only she and Leon remained standing.

Now Ashley had to fend for herself, something that Amara hated to think about. She briefly put herself in the girl’s shoes. Thinking about how scary this whole ordeal was without the necessary tools and training that the two of them had.

She gingerly rubbed a thumb over the wound, smearing the blood onto the inside of her sweater. It’d heal.

Just like every other wound. Part of her “experimentation” before they loosened her leash noted the G virus had granted an almost protective ability over certain types of wounds. This was one of them.

But, with the added intruder swimming in her organs, it was almost as if this ability were halted. The pain stayed and the cut still bled.

“You alright?” Leon asked, immediately taking gentle hold of her elbow to examine her. Amara found herself doing the same—something she’d been doing a lot since reuniting with the pair. Besides the mussed hair, dirt, and other grime, Leon looked just about as unscathed as when he’d first arrived. Except for the wound on his hand, she didn’t see it but one could ascertain from the blood on the grip of his gun.

“I’ll live. Just a scratch. Now, let me see your hand,” Amara held out her own. Leon scrunched his eyes in confusion. “What?”

“I’m no gun aficionado, but guns don’t make your hand bleed through a glove, Leon.” She gestured once more, “Now, hand please.”

He hesitantly placed his hand in her palm. She took her time to remove his glove, the cut through it more obvious when looked at directly. Sheesh, how’d he do that?

“Do I want to know what you did?” She asked, half joking and half serious as she met his eyes.

He scoffed, “Will it make you feel better if I tell you?”

“Hmm, maybe.”

“Ashley tried to stab me.” He stated, as if he were describing the most mundane thing like the weather or something.

“She what?”

“It’s not what you think…something…or someone took over her,” Leon looked as though he was still trying to piece it together. “I, at least, had—ah—the sense to stop her—shit—before she took an eye out.” Leon hissed as Amara rubbed alcohol along the cuts.

“All it cost you was some flesh.” Amara looked away briefly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there… to help.”

“I’m a big boy, I can fight my own battles.”

“You don’t have to fight them alone, you know? I don’t want you to,” She admitted. “Being alone, it’s not a nice feeling-”

“Amara—“

“And you won’t ever be alone. Not when you have me. Okay?”

Leon pulls away the second she finishes cleaning the wound, and a heavy sigh leaves him.

“It’s not that simple,” he spoke faintly.

“Why not?” She asked just as quietly, ready to lay it all out considering they weren’t leaving the cage anytime soon. “Why can’t it be?”

“Is this really the time for this?” Leon is cold, cutting in his tone. It’s obvious to Amara that he’s trying to deflect. The more direct, the more indirect people became, she realized.

“I don’t know, I haven’t seen you in—what? Six years? Now is as good a time as any,” She barked, she could feel herself running hot with anger. “I guess the message has been pretty clear and I was too stupid to see it.”

Leon pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes more than likely annoyed to even have the conversation especially right now.

“I stayed away for a reason, Amara, and not for whatever reason you think I have.”

“Tell me.”

“Because you deserve normal. A normal life. Normal everything.” The frustration is clear in his voice, but his voice remains at the same level.

“And you don’t?”

“Has anything since Raccoon shown that I do?” Leon gestures briefly.

“Leon, I don’t know if you’re aware but…shit’s been fucked up for me too since then. Doesn’t make the both of us any less deserving of something good.”

“I can’t take that risk. I need you to be safe.”

“From what? The world? The government? I’ve never needed protecting, Leon. I’ve needed yo—“

You. That’s what she was going to say: that after everything, she had no one to turn to. To tell about everything and that would understand and he was the one person, her person… and he wasn’t there. It devastated her in a way she couldn’t fathom. But none of that came out, because his mouth was suddenly covering hers.

Was it a way to get her to shut up or to distract her from the topic, or both?

Amara panicked at first, muscles stiffened, standing frozen, but his hand was on her cheek, the other wrapped gently around her neck, and she was suddenly kissing him back.

Her arms fervently wrapped around his shoulders, crushing her front against his. Her hands thread through his hair, messing up its carefully styled appearance, making it a bit more disheveled, but it wasn’t enough.

She wanted to dishevel all of him.

Realizing they both needed to breathe at some point, Leon pulled away first, looking down at her. The thumb on her cheek traveled to her lower lip, tracing it.

“Don’t you realize?” Leon whispered, and she watched his lips, “The reason I need to protect you so badly is because I’m in love with you?”

Her breath hitched at those words. Amara hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear them.

“I’ll be damned if I let myself be another part of your suffering. You don’t deserve that,” He repeated himself as if he were trying to convince himself more than her.

“And what do I deserve?”

“Better than me.”

“I think I can decide that for myself,” she spoke. “Leon, you’re worried about the risk, but what about the guarantees?”

“Amara-“

“Leon! Amara!” Ashley’s voice echoed from higher up. It quickly separates the two as they both search for where it came from.

Amara cracked a smile, her first in what felt like hours, though it was brief.

From her vantage point, the voice seems to come from a gated door at the nearest balcony. “Ashley? Are you okay?”

“…Yeah, hang tight, I’ll get you guys out of there!”

The sound of her boots gets farther and farther away but Amara can’t help but feel a weight lifted.

They both nod their head in understanding despite her not being able to see it. She had to give her some credit, she’s a smart cookie. She moves towards the statue, deciding to sit down for once.

“Sit with me?” Amara asked him innocently. He couldn’t do anything but oblige.

Were it any other place, not surrounded by corpses, he’d think it romantic to sit under a statue. Huh, maybe this is their romantic?

Her words made the gears turn in his head. When he sat next to her, she laid her head on his shoulder. Leon cherished any sort of contact she’d give him, god knows the last time he’d known a gentle touch.

He’d spent a lot of time alone, by choice. Having anything even remotely close to a “close” relationship with anyone was a risk. It’s probably why he’d gotten such a reputation around the office according to Hunnigan. Leon never really cared for the gossip or the attention he got.

He never really divulged anyone in his love life prior to Raccoon and after. At least, he tried to. Hunnigan certainly pestered him enough. He’d only let himself slip up once in mentioning Amara (not by name, of course).

She certainly teased him enough about it before this mission, but it was easy to tell that she worried about him. Leon would constantly wave her off, wave her off, wave her off until she gave up.

But now, Amara offered a new perspective. One he never thought to consider.

He always thought about the risks of it all and became quite familiar. What if he died on his next mission or even this one? Never got to see Amara again, something he couldn’t exactly face head-on. What about the guarantees? What if he could prove himself wrong? Do this kind of work and have someone to come home to?

Leon knew it was too soon to retire now as a government agent (not that they’d let him), but he’d imagined it—well, he didn’t imagine beyond a certain point these days. Just getting to the next day with a pulse was good enough. But a part of him—deep down—had yearned for that silly white-picket-fence life when he was more idealistic, more bushy-tailed, more the bright-eyed rookie he’d left behind in Raccoon City. Buried under the remains of a forgotten city.

He could see that now as if Amara had unlocked it from the deepest recesses of his mind. The guarantee of someone to confide in, someone happy to be with him, happy to come home with him.

“Get out of your head,” Amara nudged him with her elbow. “Is this a bad time to ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Are you…seeing anyone? You know, it’s been…six years.”

“I just kissed you and said I’m in love with you, is that not answer enough?”

“Maybe? People kiss people all the time—“

Leon sighed. “No, I’m not. You?”

“Don’t laugh. But no.” A strange giddiness came over him at this information. But still, he found it insane that that was even the case. Her? Of all people?

“No? I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“Why? Look at you, any man would be insane to not kiss the ground that your feet walk on.”

“Huh, then would that make you insane?”

Damn. She had him there.

“That’s debatable.” Her laugh is brief, it’s nice. Leon wished he could bottle it up.

“Fucked up circumstances aside, this is good.”

“Yeah.” His reply is terse.

“How have you been?” Leon stares straight ahead, genuinely thinking about the question. But something inside wants to retract, dial it back in fear of revealing too much. Vulnerability isn’t exactly his strong suit. Too much of his life had become classified information.

Awful. Terrible. Like nothing seems right.

“I’m alive, usually counts for something,” he quipped.

“It does, so working directly under Graham, huh? How’d you manage that?”

“Well, they asked me and I couldn’t exactly say no.”

Amara nodded in understanding. She knew too well but he couldn’t fault her for asking. More curiosity nagged at him for what she had been doing for six years. He knew that she’d become a top agent but not exactly how that came to be. Training, a few covert ops, and Operation Javier all came to mind for himself.

He shuddered to think what they’d had her doing. What about the past six years was fucked up for her?

“So, uh…what about you?”

She looked away. “I’m sure you’ve read the file.”

He noticed her blinking rapidly as if she were trying to clear something from her vision.

“A file only says so much.” Leon ran a hand across her forehead, still checking that she was okay. “Jesus, you’re burning up.”

“Damn parasite.” She cursed, leaning into his touch. “Your hands are still cold.”

That alone made Leon become more alert, and back into focus mode. She felt unnaturally, uncomfortably warm. He abruptly stood up, carefully pulling Amara up with him so that could better assess her. Holding her face between his palms, he scanned every inch of it even as her brow furrowed in obvious confusion.

“Everything okay?”

“I hope so.”

That's when he noticed a brief twitch and almost jerk, he had to catch her before she all but collapsed to the floor. He recognized it, the parasite had to be working hard to take Amara down. He hated to call it a shield, but considering the G virus, she still looked just as sorry as the rest of them but it had to be fighting just as hard to keep her at "optimal" performance. Like a machine.

She dug a hand into his bicep, eyes scrunched close while her other hand pressed against her temple. She’d been having the visions too, seeing and hearing that hooded figure in her head. Trying to lure her in with his almost sinister, charming words.

Leon could only wonder what he’d been filling her head with. Whatever it was, it was bullshit.

Amara seemed as though she had come up for air, the vision had passed. “Give me a fucking break.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Leon sighed, turning his head in the direction of where Ashley had called out to them. He really hoped that she was alright. For now, he basked in the closeness with Amara, curling his fingers around hers briefly.

Something about it was strange…foreign almost.

Physical touch didn’t exactly fit into his busy schedule. Which in hindsight is incredibly…sad (something that Hunnigan doesn’t fail to remind him of).

“Leon?” Amara softly spoke.

“Hm?”

She snickers a bit to herself, “I may have fibbed a bit earlier.”

He furrows his brows, turning his attention from watching the outer perimeters of the cage to her. “About?”

“Dating someone.”

Leon’s response is swift. “Don’t tell me anything.”

Amara jokingly scoffed. “Seriously? Why? Think you’ll get jealous?”

“I won’t bullshit you and say I wouldn’t…because I would, insanely.” And it’s the truth. Leon always thought honesty is the best policy but that doesn’t stop the slight heat creeping up his neck in embarrassment.

“Well, rest assured, it’s much like the antiques in this castle. Ancient history.”

“How thoughtful of you to tell me,” Leon deadpanned. Much like with their resident Spanish heartthrob, Leon couldn’t exactly stomach the thought of anyone else wrapped up in Amara’s arms. Besides, right now, they needed to get out of this cage.

“Now, can you focus?”

“Hey, you’re the boss here,” Amara put her hands up in surrender with a knowing smirk.

Just then, Leon could faintly hear footsteps from above. Of course, neither he nor Amara were aware their momentary reprieve was coming to an end.

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