In Her Arms | Leon Kennedy/Anna the Huntress

2

It isn't so much the golden hour sunrise seeping through the grimy windowpane that wakes Leon from his sleep. Nor is it the soft humming of the woman walking through the kitchen. Rather, it's the tinge of copper blood in his mouth. It's the sharp ache of his exhausted muscles that seize up as an effect of sleep. It's the Raccoon City Police Department halls, lit only by the streetlights outside and his own flashlight prowling. The dead eyes of Marvin Branagh as his would-be coworker instead reaches his arms for Leon in a wild urge to kill. The tyrant's hard boots stomping down the halls while Leon runs for his life, knowing if he slips up for one second, he'll surely be its next victim. And, of course, death. So, so much death.

His heart pounds in his ears so loudly he's afraid he'll lose his hearing. It warns him of danger, reminds him of all the creatures that want him dead. It screams that he can't rest ever again, it's not safe. Not while those... things are out there. He's going to be found. Eaten. Killed. He's going to watch his colleagues die even before he could meet them. Claire's lifeless body, dull eyes. Sherry strung from the ceiling, blood and guts leaking from her.

Those images play over again in the back of his mind when his eyes dart open and he rises to his hands out of that dull fight or flight instinct, ready to do either at a moment's notice. He barely has time to completely process what's happening before a soft, gentle stream of Russian flows from his left. She's standing there beside the bed, concerned words echo throughout her mask-less expression.

He's back here. Right. There is no danger, no more running and fighting. Just this bed. And that lady. That thought alone allows him to release his breath, relaxing his aching muscles.

"I..." Leon starts to explain himself, but he quickly realizes it's no use. She doesn't understand an ounce of his language, nor does he understand hers. But what he does understand is her crawling into bed and pulling him close into her arms, attempting to stroke his damp hair. He understands the care, the concern. But it's not something he can accept without feeling guilt.

"I don't know you," Leon mumbles, pulling himself from her embrace, "Please, I need to go."

She doesn't understand, but he doesn't expect her to. She never understands. It's dead end after dead end, nothing can get through to her. He can't even figure out why she wants him here. Just to care for him? To kidnap him? Kill him? Or, is she lonely out here? There's no clear answer and Leon knows asking is useless when she can't even reply in a way he understands.

It feels hopeless, she's never gone. She sleeps with him at night so there's no chance for him to escape. She's here in the morning. She's here when he wakes up. When does she leave ?

Though, Leon has to admit. It isn't all bad. She feeds him. She tends to his wounds. She gives him clothes and a bed to sleep on. She does care. Or she seems to care. He just wishes she would let him leave. It just doesn't seem like an option at the moment.

"Голодный?"

Leon turns his eyes back toward her from the bedsheets, peeled intently as she retrieves a bowl from the table, another spoon in hand. Oatmeal. Leon's eyes flicker from the bowl to her eyes before he accepts the meal gratefully.

"Thank you." He whispers.

"Thank you," She repeats slowly in a thick accent. His eyebrows rise, wondering for a moment if she already knew that or if she's simply trying to learn. Either way, he appreciates the effort.

They eat again in complete silence and as the day progresses, Leon recognizes their routine. Eating goes by quickly, they're both starving. Then, she removes his sweater, checks his bandages. This time, she changes the bandages around his torso. He can't help but notice her calloused fingers brush over his muscled stomach for a moment too long. He allows it, though, something tells him he shouldn't. Then, to his surprise, she says something stern to him, pointing toward him, then the floor. Stay .