"Scary fairytales", Ashley/Leon
Title: Scary fairytales
Author: Renna, renna_esprit
Fandom: Resident Evil
Rating: PG
Pairing: one-sided Ashley/Leon
Disclaimer: not mine
Word count: about 800
Thanks to Sydon for beta.
…
When he says “get some rest” he always means “get some sleep”. He means “sit, lean towards the wall or tree, close your eyes and go to sleep”. And he really thinks I can do that - forget about things I saw recently, do not shake from each movement nearby, do not notice blood on my clothes and dirt on my skin. He thinks I can just close my eyes and go to sleep - like he can.
He isn’t a military guy. He looks like a military guy, yes; he looks like some kind of commandos, but he isn’t one of them. For one there’s emptiness where ordinary military guys have amor patriae and fidelity. I’m pretty sure he had never said any oath, and I’m not sure he could. There’s something strange in him - as if he had seen too many things and he couldn’t keep his faith.
He’s not broken, no; life couldn’t have done that to him, but he has some kind of scratches in his personality. And there’s something behind that scratches that scares me.
…
He says “get some rest” and wait for me to close my eyes and go to sleep. Or even try to do that. Yet all I can do now is look about and not relaxing at all. I don’t feel safe here.
That could affect him, I guess, but he seems like he doesn’t care.
In this moment I decide he doesn’t believe in anything.
…
“Tell me something.” I ask.
When I was a child and scared of the darkness, my mom used to read me fairytales. Now darkness surrounds me and it’s deep, sticky and dreadful, it isn’t that darkness you can dispel by telling some fairytale. I’m not even sure that darkness can be dispelled at all.
And I’m not sure Leon knows any fairytales.
“Tell you what, exactly?” He asks in return, and I shrug my shoulders as an answer. It doesn’t matter. I just want to hear his voice, hear a normal, English language without any accent and to feel like I’m home now, across the sea.
There are dark circles under his eyes and bristle covers his face; and I know, he searched for me not for one day, finding me here couldn’t have been that easy. Bristle on his chin is dark and his hair is lighter. He doesn’t look about as restlessly as I do, but I know - all his unconcern is a sham, needed to calm me down. Or even try to do that.
“Tell me how you decided to became an agent.”
…
I asked for no particular reason. I just asked. And I expect him to give me an ordinary, simple answer, a cliché; but he shrugs his shoulders.
“You risk your own life for-”
I break off, because I notice his look.
“Whatever.” He says, but no answer is needed now. I already knew it, understood for just one look. That look has people who have nothing to lose and nothing to live for. They just fill the emptiness in their lives with some kind of crazy work.
Yes, he says “everything will be ok”, but I don’t believe him, because he doesn’t need everything to be ok.
He grins.
“Do you remember your first day at work?” I should be nodding, probably, but I’m just staring at him, surprised, and he adds a bit annoyed, “Have you ever worked?”
“In a cafeteria,” I say, “for one day.”
Yes, college cafeteria. I worked there for one day only, because I wasn’t ready to work.
They used to say “spoiled girl” about me.
He sniffs.
“Yeah, me too. For one day in the diner. As a main dish.”
There the scary fairytale begins.
…
No, he didn’t tell me any details. He told me almost nothing, I found out it all by myself, later, when I searched closed archives and asked survivors. And back then I didn’t know a thing about neither Raccoon city nor policeman Leon Scott Kennedy.
Although, I was hearing his scary fairytale and slowly calming down. It was strange, I guess, but I really was calming down.
…
I understand one thing about him - he really doesn’t care if he’ll make it out of here alive. He’s lived for a borrowed time for a while now, and he should’ve died a million times already and every time he’s survived a new nightmare, he gave Death a piece of himself. Death tears out a part of him and leaves a bloody wound and an emptiness where flesh was.
That’s why I think he’s strange.
And I want to fill this emptiness in his soul, I want to heal his old wounds, but I’m just looking at him and I can’t say a word.
…
end.
…
Author: Renna, renna_esprit
Fandom: Resident Evil
Rating: PG
Pairing: one-sided Ashley/Leon
Disclaimer: not mine
Word count: about 800
Thanks to Sydon for beta.
…
When he says “get some rest” he always means “get some sleep”. He means “sit, lean towards the wall or tree, close your eyes and go to sleep”. And he really thinks I can do that - forget about things I saw recently, do not shake from each movement nearby, do not notice blood on my clothes and dirt on my skin. He thinks I can just close my eyes and go to sleep - like he can.
He isn’t a military guy. He looks like a military guy, yes; he looks like some kind of commandos, but he isn’t one of them. For one there’s emptiness where ordinary military guys have amor patriae and fidelity. I’m pretty sure he had never said any oath, and I’m not sure he could. There’s something strange in him - as if he had seen too many things and he couldn’t keep his faith.
He’s not broken, no; life couldn’t have done that to him, but he has some kind of scratches in his personality. And there’s something behind that scratches that scares me.
…
He says “get some rest” and wait for me to close my eyes and go to sleep. Or even try to do that. Yet all I can do now is look about and not relaxing at all. I don’t feel safe here.
That could affect him, I guess, but he seems like he doesn’t care.
In this moment I decide he doesn’t believe in anything.
…
“Tell me something.” I ask.
When I was a child and scared of the darkness, my mom used to read me fairytales. Now darkness surrounds me and it’s deep, sticky and dreadful, it isn’t that darkness you can dispel by telling some fairytale. I’m not even sure that darkness can be dispelled at all.
And I’m not sure Leon knows any fairytales.
“Tell you what, exactly?” He asks in return, and I shrug my shoulders as an answer. It doesn’t matter. I just want to hear his voice, hear a normal, English language without any accent and to feel like I’m home now, across the sea.
There are dark circles under his eyes and bristle covers his face; and I know, he searched for me not for one day, finding me here couldn’t have been that easy. Bristle on his chin is dark and his hair is lighter. He doesn’t look about as restlessly as I do, but I know - all his unconcern is a sham, needed to calm me down. Or even try to do that.
“Tell me how you decided to became an agent.”
…
I asked for no particular reason. I just asked. And I expect him to give me an ordinary, simple answer, a cliché; but he shrugs his shoulders.
“You risk your own life for-”
I break off, because I notice his look.
“Whatever.” He says, but no answer is needed now. I already knew it, understood for just one look. That look has people who have nothing to lose and nothing to live for. They just fill the emptiness in their lives with some kind of crazy work.
Yes, he says “everything will be ok”, but I don’t believe him, because he doesn’t need everything to be ok.
He grins.
“Do you remember your first day at work?” I should be nodding, probably, but I’m just staring at him, surprised, and he adds a bit annoyed, “Have you ever worked?”
“In a cafeteria,” I say, “for one day.”
Yes, college cafeteria. I worked there for one day only, because I wasn’t ready to work.
They used to say “spoiled girl” about me.
He sniffs.
“Yeah, me too. For one day in the diner. As a main dish.”
There the scary fairytale begins.
…
No, he didn’t tell me any details. He told me almost nothing, I found out it all by myself, later, when I searched closed archives and asked survivors. And back then I didn’t know a thing about neither Raccoon city nor policeman Leon Scott Kennedy.
Although, I was hearing his scary fairytale and slowly calming down. It was strange, I guess, but I really was calming down.
…
I understand one thing about him - he really doesn’t care if he’ll make it out of here alive. He’s lived for a borrowed time for a while now, and he should’ve died a million times already and every time he’s survived a new nightmare, he gave Death a piece of himself. Death tears out a part of him and leaves a bloody wound and an emptiness where flesh was.
That’s why I think he’s strange.
And I want to fill this emptiness in his soul, I want to heal his old wounds, but I’m just looking at him and I can’t say a word.
…
end.
…