Together: A Dark Romance Duet || Leon Kennedy x Female Reader

Chapter 6: Leon

I want to believe I have everything under control—but the truth is, anything could happen at any moment. That's why I have to be more prepared. I cannot allow another fuck-up. It was enough for me to be drugged and taken hostage on this mission, even if I could escape. I've been through worse shit. But if anything were to happen to her, not only would I fail my mission, it'd be another lost life on my hands.

It can't happen again. I won't allow another person to die.

We decide to rest in the living room on the first level. She did not want to spend another minute in the master bedroom where the local attacked her—another person infected.

I sit on the velvet sofa with my elbows on my knees, staying alert and getting up every few minutes to monitor the surrounding area through the windows. She sits on the floor, warming herself in front of the fireplace I lit for her, a small sacrifice that needed to be made considering our rain-drenched state.

In the kitchen, I could find some canned food for her, which she picked at and ate little of. The sinks produced running water, but I'm not sure I can trust the tap, so we will have to go without water for a while longer. Though, if we can make it to our extraction point soon, we won't have to worry about that any longer.

I watch her by the fire, her back to me, arms wrapped around her knees as she stares into the flames, not saying a word since the incident. Her damp hair drapes down her back over my leather jacket, her silhouette unmoving.

I open my mouth to speak, making sure not to startle as I break the silence. "Can you tell me a little about yourself?"

It takes a moment for her to react; she turns her head slowly, meeting my stare. The firelight against her skin gives her an amber glow. Then, she angles the rest of her body towards me, sinking further into my jacket as she rests her back against a chair.

"I'm not very interesting."

I scoff. "I'm sure there's something I don't know yet," I say.

"Yet?"

"Well, I did read your report." I go on when she raises an eyebrow, "Only daughter of the United States President—twenty years old, born in Massachusetts and attending university overseas in France to obtain her doctorate. Anything I'm missing?" I say.

"That's pretty much everything. Besides the dead mother, it seems like you really did your research." She teases and fingers my jacket sleeve, toying with the fabric.

"A doctor, huh?" I say.

She continues to avoid my eyes. "Yeah, I know, not very original. A special agent is much more exciting. But I guess we're both helping people, so we have something in common."

I huff a hollow laugh at her vague answer.

Though before I can ask anything further, she says, "What about you? I'm in the dark about my rescuer. We've known each other for several hours and I still don't even know your last name."

She meets my gaze. "Kennedy." Something like interest sparks in her eyes. "I'm a special forces agent for the US government, on a mission to find and rescue the president's daughter. What more is there to say?"

But she rolls her eyes. And in a sarcastic tone, she says, "I guess you've covered it all." After a beat of silence, she continues. "How old are you, Leon Kennedy?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Hmm, much older than I thought. I guess you look good for your age," she teases.

"Uh...thanks. Anything else you need to know?" I say, hoping we can move on from this conversation I started. She doesn't say anything for a moment, those young eyes focused on my jacket sleeve as her thoughts seem to whirr.

"Tell me about what happened after Raccoon City." The words come out with no emotion.

The request makes my stomach feel suddenly full of lead, and I swallow before saying, "What do you want to know?"

She shifts uncomfortably, reading my hesitation. "Anything. Everything, honestly. But you don't have to share if you don't want to."

The ghost of something—guilt, maybe—passes over her features. She clears her throat. "I only read what was in the media. My dad kept all the details from me. I remember hearing him talk highly of an agent Kennedy, though. You must've done something good to draw his attention."

I shake my head, knowing that's not the truth. If I'd done something good, thousands of people wouldn't be dead. I wouldn't have had to kill innocents infected by that virus.

I clear my throat, keep my eyes focused on my interlaced gloved hands as I collect my thoughts. "September 30th, 1998. It's a day I'll never forget. The cop inside me died that day. And that night, Raccoon City was wiped out thanks to the bioweapons created by Umbrella. Somehow, I made it out. But too many others...weren't so lucky." Unwelcome memories surface, and I try to shove them away.

She remains quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the wind raging outside.

"I was asked later to join a top-secret government program. Not that I had a choice. The training—the punishing missions nearly killed me. But at least they kept my mind off everything."
I meet her gaze from across the intimate space and find her face contorted in worry, pity, and something else I can't quite place. "I'm so sorry."

I don't expect anyone to empathize with me. No one has gone through what I've been through. She was just a girl, then, a child. And I was—I was the same age she is now. For her to be put in this situation now—the abduction, the cult, these infected people—I can see myself reflected in her eyes. Terrified, as I'd once been. But trying so hard to make it, though.

I tear my gaze away from hers, looking out the window like it held my past. I suppose, in a way, it did. "If I could just forget what happened that night, the pain—even for a second."

"And yet, you're here. Rescuing me, risking your life where the same thing is happening all over again," she says. "I can't imagine how this feels for you. To relive it all."

We're both quiet as we take it in. The truth is, I've conditioned myself not to feel, not to take it in. The only way I will get through this again is to remain focused on the mission: keep her safe and get her home. Stay numb to all feelings and emotions until then.

I take in a breath and let it go slowly. "This time, it can be different. It has to."

"It will be," she says quietly, rising to stand on steady feet. "I know you're rescuing me, but we can work together. My father never wanted me to learn how to fight or use a gun because he never pictured me in that situation—that was what my body guards were for, he'd say. But once I left home, I promised myself I'd learn how to stop depending on people. I might not be as highly skilled as a special agent, but I can take care of myself. You've given me hope. I know we can make it out of this."

Something about her words, the effort, the gleam in her eyes—she's telling the truth.

"I—" I try to put my appreciation in words when I'm cut off by reckless pounding on the front door.