Ichor And Steel

Epilogue; Hello again, Rosie

ʜᴏᴘᴇ ɪɴ ʜᴇʟʟ, ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴘɪꜱᴛᴏʟ ꜰɪʀᴇ

Rosemary Winters disburdened the flowers from Ethan Winters' grave, but an unsureness convinced her otherwise, trapping her within a loop, placing, picking up, and repeat.

Was this the right thing to do even if dad isn't really dead?

"Your choice," Chris said behind his cigarette, poised coolly against the grey willow-tree crying soft petals onto her parents' graves. Their forgiveness was still within a sullen reach, not yet there but not at square-one. She expressed this then by acknowledging his words with a smile and treaded the slippery slope to the car, but Chris told her to wait. "There's someone I'd like you to meet...again."

"Again?" She asked, her voice quieter than the slick rain becoming heavier, and the stench of petrichor thickened.

"I heard he brings you a gift," he smirked, smothering his light beneath the heel of his big boots, forever the military man. Something coy as Rose had never seen before bought pink and red heat to his skin and he nodded behind Rose. Approaching from an illegally parked car came a man with a horrible limp but one that had come far with healing and maybe soon they wouldn't need their silver cane, stabbing into mud and rubble. Chris brushed past Rose to assist with a tenderly touch, the two men bickering quietly and quickly simmering into giggling shudders.

"Hello again, Rosie," this man of just blonde hair spoke, confident in his familiarity with the teenager. He was broad but his body retained a particular thinness and voice aged differently from his stubble ridden jaw; however, his gentle eyes prevailed all, Rose once picturing them as something fierce and hard, like Chris's. Speaking of Chris's, his went round and mushy, so sickeningly affectionate beside this stranger Rose oddly knew.

"Was it you?" She vaguely inquired before hearing her abstractness. "All those years ago, I mean?"

Akin to how Heisenberg and Ethan glanced to each other, these foolish, struck idiots leered into their faces and the new man promised, "and for a few more to come."

Chris scoffed before wrestling a parcel humorously from the man's hand and allowed Rose to unwrap it. Emerged from the thick rustle of paper packaging was a boxy cap, black and firm like the ones military friends of Chris wore. She touched her fingers in a long trace from brim to the soft top and fitted it on her head, smiling out a gentle thank you.

"Heard you lost it in one of your chases," the man enlightened, flexing a sort of insight of Rose which intrigued her about his identity. "Chris told me you wanted to join the police and thought you can't get in without one of these hats."

She bit her lower lip, blushing and nodded. "Yeah...um...but Chris—"

The man laughed loudly over her words, deeming whatever Chris said is just an excuse to protect her. "You can protect yourself, you've defiantly proven that," he agreed with her internal sense, nudging Chris. "After all, you seemed to handle my gun pretty well out there. However, I think I have a few tips for you, kid."

Rose stifled her excitement and gave a respectful gesture, like a low salute as this man deserved. He flicked his head to the car and cheekily asked Chris, "need a ride, Redfield?"

"Shut up," he gruffed, elbowing him aside. He stalked ahead, blinding them to a beaming, bright smile, and this stranger offered Rose a hand as he had done when she was merely five but now in the more mature sense.

"Don't think I ever told you my name," he pursed his lips, "Leon—"

"Kennedy," Rose finished before shyly adding, "I know, big fan."

Leon Kennedy, verging on his greyer years but still well-prepared to face what encroached, ruffled her hair and patted her forward, descending the graveyard toward the dark storm clouds shrouded upon a crowded horizon.

A/N: the wonderful artist who made this art (https://www.deviantart.com/yegihch26/art/So-you-missed-me-huh-leon-s-kennedy-528124481)