Archive of Our Own

"Rose?"

"I'm coming." She falls into step behind Chris as he walks through to the training rooms. She eyes the 'subtle' guards filing toward the upper levels and barely resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"Remember how I said they want you training with people who aren't me and the rest of the squad?"

"It's not gonna be another asshole whose nose I have to break, is it?"

Instead of scolding her or even glancing over his shoulder, Chris…huffs a laugh? "I don't think so, but I doubt he'd hold it against you."

Curiosity piqued, she glances over his shoulder to see the man standing in the middle of the floor. He's got longer hair—not that it's hard to have hair longer than Chris, if she's being honest, but this guy has like, old boy band hair—and he's in the middle of checking something on a nearby table. He looks up when they walk in and his gaze slides too neatly to Rose before it's back up on Chris. Something almost like recognition pings in her head and she nearly frowns before catching herself.

"Rose, this is Leon. He's gonna be helping train you."

Most people don't want to shake the hand of a mold bioweapon, so she thinks she can be forgiven for the blink of surprise when Leon actually holds his hand out for her to shake. She can hear the way the agents on the upper levels reach for their guns when she reaches back so she keeps the handshake as brief as possible while still being considered 'polite,' whatever that means.

"Chris tells me you've been doing well with your basic weapons training," he says, "but I figured we'd warm up with hand to hand, does that sound fine?"

She nods. She shrugs off her dad's coat and puts in on the bench next to her water bottle. There's another ping in her head as she looks at the water bottle, but she pushes it away.

Chris takes a seat across the room as she and Leon stand about six feet away from each other. He's not as broad as Chris—again, not hard—but she has a feeling that's not gonna matter much in the next ten seconds.

"Ready?"

"Yea—"

Sure enough, she doesn't even get to finish her sentence—her one word— before he's moving.

She was right: Leon isn't necessarily as strong as Chris is, but he's fucking fast. She swears sometimes he teleports from one side to the other and she's only barely dodging half of his swings. She surprises herself with how long she manages to go without being hit, though. He clips her shoulder as she turns to avoid something else and it takes her more than a few seconds to kick herself into moving faster, please.

It is as annoying as it is with Chris when he's got her down on the mats and she's panting and he's not even out of breath, but she's more practiced at swallowing that one.

"Good," he says, and she can't help scowl slightly, which makes him laugh of all things. "C'mon, try again."

It's not at all like training with Chris—which again, she knows is the point. Chris is all 'do this thing over and over and if you make a mistake, correct it and try again until you get it right.' With Leon, it's more 'here's what fucked up this time, let's go again and it won't come up until three rounds later, did you pay attention?' Which isn't necessarily how Rose likes to learn, but she can't deny it's not working. He's trying to get her to trust her body more, which—good luck, Rose is a teenage girl with a shipyard's worth of trauma and insecurity. But at least she's not hitting the mat as often.

There's something else here too, though. Something that's making her do a little better than she should be. The pings in her head don't stop coming. She's able to tell which punch he's about to throw even when he's feinting. She starts being able to anticipate when he's going to do the freaky switch-sides thing even when she still can't see it. At one point, she parries one of his blows in a way she's never learned from Chris or anybody else and Leon's face twitches in surprise but only for a second.

Then, just when he pins one of her arms out of the way, her hand comes up without warning to strike his face and she—

Rose throws herself out of his grip, landing hard on her back.

Her arm tingles. Something in her gut tugs. She closes her eyes tightly and forces it back down.

When she opens her eyes again, Leon's crouched a little ways away, watching her with a frown. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Chris standing up. She can't hear any of the guns cocking, which means she managed to stop herself before she could actually do anything.

Small victories.

"Rose?" Leon's voice brings her back. "What happened?"

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize," he says, and wow, he doesn't…he doesn't even sound mad. Who is this guy? "What's going on?"

"Powers," she grunts, sitting up and checking that she's still got the ring hidden under her shirt, "stopped them. It's fine."

His disbelief is palpable—but so is Chris's, and she couldn't really care less about it right now as long as guns aren't pointing at her—but he doesn't say anything else. He gets up and walks over to her, slowing when she tenses. His frown deepens and he slows, but he keeps coming until he's offering her a hand up. She eyes it warily.

"C'mon," he says, quieter this time, "it's okay."

When no sounds come as she reaches for his hand, she lets him help her up. They walk over to the bench and he tosses her the water bottle. To her relief, the taste of the water doesn't make her want to retch, but there's still something nudging at her like she should remember something. It has her frowning down at her water bottle until Leon bumps her shoulder.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

He doesn't need to say he doesn't believe her out loud, but he takes her word for it and they go back to the mats. The thing keeps getting louder and louder, though, and as much as she's grown to trust these sorts of things, she's not sure why this one is here right now and that's worrying enough on its own.

They keep sparring. She's pretty sure Leon's letting her win when she does, but it's not as obvious as when Chris lets her win so she'll take it. Every time they fight, the thing gets a little clearer, like an image moving through water. She starts to actually know what he's doing, moving before he moves, not enough to make a huge difference, but enough of one where she notices where he actually starts to try.

It unsettles her as much as it thrills her.

But then it happens again: she ducks down low to shove him back and the tug in her gut manifests before she can stop it. Her pause gives him enough time to kick her in the chest and send her sprawling.

"Why'd you stop?" He actually sounds a little out of breath now.

She doesn't respond.

"Rose?"

She stares up at the ceiling.

"Rose? Are you okay?"

"Rose?" That's Chris now too. She can hear him standing up. "Rose?"

"What happened?"

"What happened?"

Ethan looks up. There's another man standing in front of him, holding out his water bottle. He takes it with a weak thank-you and takes a swig. He knows what this has to look like, him crying on the floor in a dark and empty room, but he can't really summon anything up right now.

"Hey, let's get you to a bench, c'mon."

"Thank you," he rasps out as the man dips under one of his arms, "sorry."

"Don't be sorry, we've all been there."

"What, crying on the mats by yourself?"

The man chuckles. "On the mats, in the shower, on the bathroom floor. You name it, it's probably happened."

He sags into the bench, cradling his water bottle. His ring clinks against the metal and the sound echoes around and around his empty chest. The noise is almost enough to make him start crying again.

"What's going on," the man next to him asks again, quieter this time, "you okay?"

'Okay.' God, he's never going to be okay for the rest of his life, is he? He sighs, letting his head hang for a moment, before summoning up just enough of his courage to answer. "Just having a bad day, I think. Thank you for helping me. Sorry to be an inconvenience—do you need this room?"

The man shakes his head. "Came looking for Redfield, someone said he was in here."

Ah. Right. Of course. Ethan's shoulders sag again and he jerks his chin toward the door. "Just missed him, sorry."

But the man doesn't get up. Instead, he bumps his leg against Ethan's to remind him that he's holding his water bottle and yeah, probably lost too many fluids. He takes another swig.

"I'm Ethan," he says, probably unnecessarily, because everyone he's spoken to since getting here knows who he is, "Ethan Winters."

"Leon."

"Nice to meet you, Leon." He takes another drink. "As nice as it is of you to sit with me, I'm sure you've got better things to do than watch me mope."

"What, like go track down Redfield?" Ethan shrugs. "Nah. He can wait. I've missed my moping time enough recently."

"Misery loves company."

They sit there in the quiet for a while. Chris's words clatter around his head, as piercing as the sound of his ring. It's a familiar sting by now, at least it should be. Seems all he's been doing lately is laboring under misconceptions.

"What'd he do?"

"Hm?"

"Redfield." Leon nods his head toward the doors. "What'd he do?"

Ethan feels the tips of his ears start to burn and looks back down at the floor. "Punched me in the face."

Leon's quiet next to him, the kind of quiet he's gotten very used to lately where they're expecting him to say something else. But he's also gotten very good at keeping his fucking mouth shut. Sure enough, a few more seconds pass and Leon sighs, shifting to mirror Ethan's posture. "Yeah, that sounds like him."

"Is he always like this?"

"Like what, a huge prick?"

"Mm."

"He has his moments."

Because the Chris Ethan thought he knew isn't real. The one who's tough on him, sure, but he's also kind enough to help him up and keep a hand on his shoulder when he doesn't strictly need it. The one who laughs and jokes with him when they're setting up. The one who could actually be his friend, but that Chris isn't real. That Chris was—what, a trick? A ploy? A facade? Or maybe Ethan's as dumb as he's always been, since he thought his wife worked as a babysitter when she really worked for a bioterrorist organization.

Mia…he hasn't seen Mia in a few days. She told him she was just going to get another round of tests but he's not sure he believes her anymore.

What kind of person is he becoming, where he can't even trust his wife?

"Punch him back next time," Leon says, breaking him out of his spiral, "he probably deserves it."

A harsh laugh leaves him. "I'd love to, but apparently I can't do that."

"Why, 'cause he's your CO?"

"My what?"

"Commanding officer."

The words twist and land and something tugs in his gut. "Yeah, something like that."

"If you do it while you're sparring, he can't hold it against you." Ethan doesn't say anything else for a moment. Leon nudges him again. "Something else?"

"I'm not good enough."

The room goes quiet for a few long moments. Ethan expects Leon to mutter some excuse and get up, leaving him alone with his thoughts again, when instead the man stands in front of him and holds out a hand.

"What?"

"I said I'll teach you."

"I'm—"

"I can't be the only one around here willing to break Redfield's nose if he's being an asshole," Leon says with a smirk, "c'mon, Winters."

What the hell. He takes Leon's hand and lets him pull him up.

"You taught my dad."

Above her, Leon and Chris stutter to a halt. She sees them exchange a look as she sits up.

"I did," Leon says quietly, holding his hand out to her again. She takes it. "He was…a good man."

"You taught him out to break Chris's nose."

Chris splutters as Leon tips his head back and laughs. "That's right, I did."

"Why specifically my nose?"

"Because you deserve it, Redfield." It's said in a joking way but it quickly saps any remaining humor out of the room. Leon shifts, crossing his arms. "Is that why you stopped?"

The memory, now that it's clicked into her brain, makes more sense now. Dad was using his powers before he knew he had them—she can recognize the tug. But Dad's powers manifest differently than hers do, so it wasn't like they'd be obvious to someone who didn't know about them, including himself.

"Rose?"

"His were different than mine."

Leon frowns. "What?"

"Ethan's were different. When he used his, it wasn't—it's not like mine." Leon still looks confused. She looks at Chris, who looks the tiniest bit sheepish. "Did you not tell him?"

"Tell me what?" Leon turns to Chris, his voice sharpening. "Tell me what?"

"I did tell him," Chris says in an effort to placate them both, "I told him about Ethan's powers and yours—at least what we know about them."

What I've told you, she amends in her head. There are still things about that trip into the Megamycete that she's not going to tell Chris anytime soon.

"Figured it was standard protocol," she says instead, "for anyone who has to be in the room with the bioweapon."

Chris makes a low noise like she's hit him and Leon shifts.

"What?"

"You're not just some bioweapon, Rose," Chris says, quieter this time, "you know that."

She stares at him. Then she shoves Leon in the chest, hard enough to make him stagger backwards.

A gun on the upper level cocks right away.

Leon—who barely took more than a few steps backwards and isn't even hurt—hears it immediately, his head whipping around to stare in the direction of the sound. She can't see his face but his shoulders get really tense. Next to her, Chris takes a long breath and places a hand firmly on her shoulder. After a moment, they hear the sound of the gun being lowered and the agent stepping back into place. Leon turns around slowly and glares at Chris.

"That better not be for my benefit."

"Leon—"

"They're here all the time," Rose interrupts, "even when it's just him."

Leon doesn't stop glaring at Chris.

"It's gotten better. They used to be down here with us. Now at least they're up there."

"It's the best I could do," Chris says quietly, his hand still firm on Rose's shoulder, "and the rounds aren't live."

Rose turns to look at him. "They're not?"

She feels more than sees Leon getting more upset and something flickers across Chris's face before he's shaking his head. "They're not live rounds, Rose. I promise."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Leon mutters, stalking back toward them, giving Chris the we're going to fight about this later look, before visibly trying to soften toward Rose—which she doesn't really get, but she'll take it. "You're stopping yourself because you don't want to use your powers on me, right?"

"Yeah."

"Can you recognize when they're about to come out?" She nods. "What's making them come out right now?"

She hesitates. Telling Leon about her Dad's powers is one thing, but telling him about the whole Dad-still-kind-of-being-with-her-accessing-his-memory thing is another. "It feels like it's acting instead of me, not because of me."

He gives her a look like he knows she's not giving him the actual answer, but to her surprise, he lets it go. "Being able to recognize it is good. The next step's gonna be not letting it make you give up in a fight."

"Okay."

"You ready?" he asks as Chris goes back across the room.

She doesn't answer, she just goes for it. She catches a glimpse of Leon grinning before they're back in the fight.

"What," Leon growls as soon as his office door closes behind them, "the absolute fuck, Chris?"

Chris sighs, letting his shoulders drop and collapsing into his chair. Leon starts pacing up and down in front of the desk. He can't bring himself to look up.

" Twelve armed agents? With guns she didn't know weren't live? Every fucking time?" He grabs onto another chair and Chris half expects him to throw it. "No fucking wonder she thinks she's nothing more than a bioweapon, what the fuck were you thinking?"

"BSAA's using bioweapons now."

Leon stops. "What?"

Chris swallows with difficulty. "Back in Romania. BSAA was there. The soldiers they sent in—they weren't people, Leon. They sent in bioweapons."

A pause. "Does Jill—"

"I don't know," he grits out, "I don't know. All I know is that BSAA isn't what we made it to be, not anymore. Something's going on over there and I won't let them get Rose. Not after what I've seen. Not now that I know what they're capable of."

Another pause. When he risks a glance up, Leon's get his head bowed, still breathing heavily. After a long moment, he sighs and slumps into the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She's just a kid, Chris."

"I know."

"You don't point twelve guns at a kid."

"If I can't walk the thin line BSAA has about Rose staying here, with us, then they take her and do God knows what with her. Believe me, I fought like hell to get them out of there. I barely got them to agree to move up and stop using actual bullets." He rubs his temples. "I'm doing the best that I can."

The thing is, he's pretty sure Leon knows that. He's just as pissed as Chris is that they can't do anything better. Still, he should've known that seeing Rose in a place like that would be…uniquely aggravating.

"She's a good kid," Leon says eventually, his voice more than a little hoarse, "she's a damn good kid."

"Yeah, she is."

"She doing field work yet?" He shakes his head. "Is that because you don't think she's ready for it, or 'cause you don't want them knowing she's mission ready?"

He lets a rueful smile come to his face. "Bit of both."

"She asked yet?"

"No."

"Huh."

"I'm surprised too." He sits back. "Thought she'd be raring to get out and do something, but…she's not telling me something."

Leon snorts. "She's a teenager, Chris, there's probably a lot she's not telling you."

"It's related to this." He slides his gaze over to him. "She almost told you what it was this morning."

"Jealous, Redfield?"

Is he jealous of the fact that Rose has known Leon all of a few hours and almost told him something Chris has known she's been hiding for a few months now? Yeah, probably. But he's been around the block with the whole how-fast-you-trust-Leon-S-Kennedy thing more times than he can count.

"She'll tell you," Leon says, softer now, "when she's ready."

He wishes he could believe that with the confidence that Leon seems to have about it, but he's pretty sure he's burned most of his bridges with the Winters family when it comes to them not keeping secrets from him.

Something's wrong.

Ethan can't put his finger on it, but there's a tug in his gut that he's learned to trust since that night in Louisiana, and right now, it's screaming that something is wrong.

It started that morning. He woke up next to Mia—at least he thought he did, until he rolled over and felt the cold, empty space of the bed next to him. The cold shocked him the rest of the way awake, for a moment falling back into those three years where he thought Mia was dead. He bolted upright, looking around, only to see Mia standing in the door.

"Ethan? What's wrong?"

"You were gone," he managed, "you…you weren't here."

She smiled, came across the room to kiss him. "I'm right here. I just went to the bathroom."

The kiss felt wrong. He couldn't remember the last time they'd kissed. Was that wrong in and of itself? Between the fights and the late nights taking care of Rose, they hadn't…when was the last time they'd kissed?

"I think you're still waking up," Mia laughed, "meet me downstairs, okay? I'll make breakfast."

"What about Rose?"

"Oh, I took care of her already."

That was also weird. He'd never accuse Mia of being anything but a caring mother, but she'd been hesitant to do any more than the simplest of tasks when Rose needed something. Not that Ethan begrudged the chance to take care of his daughter, but still. Mia, willingly taking care of Rose without even waking him up?

It carried on throughout the day. Never something big enough to make him outright suspicious, but…little things here and there. Things she'd say, things she'd do, even the fact that she was more openly affectionate toward Rose. Ethan's gut kept telling him that something wasn't right, but he'd been accused of being paranoid by more than one doctor, so he didn't say anything.

Then Mia read that creepy story.

Ethan doesn't give a shit if it's a local tale. He doesn't give a shit if the woman in the store recommended it. He doesn't give a shit if Mia thinks it's a good idea to get Rose used to the local culture when she still can't understand more than a handful of words. That story is fucked up, creepy as all hell, and something that Mia would not have just decided to read to their infant daughter with the amount of fondness and affection that she did.

What made it worse was that Rose didn't fucking move for all of it. Rose is normally a little bundle of fidgety energy, always trying to grab onto his jacket or his fingers or his hair. But the whole time Mia was holding her, reading that story, she didn't move at all.

He tries to be cool about it. He tries not to visibly relax when Mia places Rose in his arms when all he wants to do is run upstairs and barricade himself in Rose's room, wrap her up in her blanket with her little stuffed monkey and hold her until the world makes sense again. But instead, he swallows and starts walking slowly upstairs, shushing his baby girl when she starts to cry.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Rosie. Daddy won't let those monsters get you." He lifts her up and kisses her pudgy little cheek. "I'll protect you, I promise."

Rose settles, not opening her eyes, but batting his chin with her little hand. He smiles, kissing her fingertips as he walks into her room. He turns on her mobile and the soft music fills the room. Glancing behind him, he closes the door as quietly as he can and takes out his phone.

He opens his texts to Chris and sends one off.

>Me: I think something's wrong with Mia.

He waits. Normally Chris texts him back right away unless he's out on patrol, but this time, there's nothing. Not even one of the automated responses.

>Me: Chris, I don't know what's going on, but I think something's wrong. Please text me back.

Still nothing. His grip accidentally tightens on Rose and she mumbles in protest. He whispers an apology and holds her tight to his chest. Having his daughter tucked safely against him does some good to calm his racing heart, but not enough.

>Me: I just want my family to be safe.

"Ethan? Everything okay?"

He almost drops his phone and bites back a curse. "Yeah, just putting Rose down."

"Hurry up, dinner's almost done."

Glancing one more time at his still-silent phone, he kisses Rose's forehead and carefully puts her down. He looks down at his daughter, so small and pink in her little crib, and cups his hand around her soft cheek.

"I love you, Rose. So very much."

He leaves the door open when he goes downstairs and doesn't even have time to think about it before Chris is putting round after round in his wife and the butt of a gun knocks him unconscious.

"He tried to tell me something was wrong," Chris says, the way he did when Leon had taken him out for drinks after the nightmare that Romania turned into.

"You responded," Leon says back, like he had last time.

"But I didn't tell him anything."

"What were you supposed to do, stop in the middle of the mission and give him the entire download?"

"Maybe."

"While Miranda was still there, alive, and could've killed all of you and taken Rose?" Chris shrugs helplessly. Leon kicks him under the desk. "You and I both know that's not a good road to walk down sober, and probably not drunk either."

He sighs, burying his face in his hands. He hears Leon mutter something along the lines of Golden Boy with no liquor in his office before there's a clatter of a chair being set down next to his and a hand on his shoulder.

"Rose is still here," Leon says with more kindness than he deserves right now, "she's the priority now."

"Yeah."

"Do you really think that if something was bothering her that much—or if something was that wrong, she wouldn't tell you?"

He scrubs his face and rakes a hand through his hair. "No."

"There you go, then."

"She deserves better than this. She deserves to have her father here. She deserves the chance to live a normal life."

Leon's quiet for a long moment. The hand on Chris's shoulder flexes and he reaches out to put his on Leon's too. Leon leans into it slightly. It hasn't been so long since they sat like this in a very different place, talking about a different teenager and a different choice that changed their lives forever.

"How are they?"

"Good, last time I heard," Leon says quietly, "Sherry's planning a drive to Boston soon, I think."

"You should go see them."

"Don't know if I'll be able to."

"Leon—"

"When's the last time you saw Claire?"

That shuts Chris up right away. Leon doesn't hold it over him, leaning a little bit closer. He lets his eyes fall closed for a moment, his head hanging. Rose deserves better than this. Than all of this. Than him. But right now, he's kind of all Rose has got, and he's sure that sits in her chest sometimes the way it's sitting in his right now.

"I'm glad you had the chance to meet him," he mumbles, "before."

"Me too. He seemed like a good man."

"The best." He huffs a laugh. "Still can't believe you taught him how to break my nose."

"You were a real piece of shit that day, Redfield," but it's gentle enough not to bruise, "figured it was time to even the score a little bit."

He nudges him.

"Wasn't expecting you to admit it to his daughter, though. You're playing with fire there."

Chris frowns, looking up. "I didn't tell her."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I never told her Ethan broke my nose. And I definitely didn't tell her that you were the one that taught him how. No one else knows that happened."

Leon sits up. "Then how the hell did she find out?"

"Why didn't you fucking tell me right away?"

Chris whips around and grabs him by the arm. He grits his teeth against the pain. "Because I knew you would want to be involved! And this job is hard enough without civilians getting in the way."

He throws Ethan's arm away like it's an annoying branch caught on his coat and turns around.

Ethan sees red.

He grabs Chris's shoulder again, ignoring the man's shout, and his hand whips out and strikes him hard in the face. There's the sharp sound of something breaking and Chris reels back, hand going to the blood streaming from his broken nose.

"'Getting in the way?' 'Getting in the way,' Chris? I am the fucking way! This entire bullshit is because of my family. My wife, my daughter. You want me to stay out of your business, guess what, you bastard, I am your fucking business!" He shoves Chris and he hits the wall hard enough to rattle the pipes. "I became your fucking business when you showed up in Louisiana after I'd spent the entire night trying to save my wife alone. I became your fucking business when you locked us up in those rooms and tested every inch of our bodies until you decided not to make test subjects of us anymore. I'm your fucking business since you had us relocate to the middle of fucking nowhere except it's next to a village of monsters that stole my daughter!"

Chris just stares at him, blood pouring down his face. Ethan storms up to him and stabs a finger into his chest.

"I don't know what the fuck you and your team think you've been doing here, but it sure as hell hasn't been helping me save Rose. Look around you, Chris. Three of the four lords are dead, no thanks to you. I don't give a shit about whether or not you think I'm a civilian or not good enough or whatever shit you wanna try and throw at me next. I am going to save my daughter. You can either help me or get the fuck out of my way!"

He's panting by the time he's done. There's a tug in his gut that's itching for him to keep going, to tear this entire fucking factory part until he gets his daughter back, safe and sound. Chris is still staring at him with a broken nose.

He makes himself take a deep breath. He looks around for the gun Chris tossed away and picks it up. He looks for a way back up through this nightmare of a factory when he feels a hand on his arm. Chris holds up his other hand when he whips around to glare at him, letting go.

"Alright, Ethan," he says quietly, "alright. I'll tell you."

"So, wait," Rose mumbles, underneath the cover of the music playing in her room, her eyes on the wall of fairy lights, "he shot Mom in front of you—or what you thought was Mom—and then took me and didn't explain anything?"

Dad doesn't respond, but she feels the vague confirmation floating and huffs.

"That's seriously bullshit. I'm glad you fucking broke his nose."

Still nothing. She frowns, rolling over to see if Dad's writing on the ground by the bed instead, but there's no glowing words there either. She gets out of bed and turns off the lights and the music, lying back down and staring up at the ceiling.

Dad hasn't talked to her in a while. She's felt him, sure, but not…not any words. He's been silent and she's starting to worry a little bit. It feels like he's pulling away, like she's losing him. It shouldn't scare her, her dad's dead, has been dead, and she lived for the first 16 years of her life believing she'd never get the chance to talk to him, ever, and even after the Megamycete, she'd thought that was all she'd get. She should be happy, she knows, that she had even the slightest chance to talk to him, to be with him, to have even another moment where she knew he was there—and he's still here, she can feel him, she knows he's there the way she knows she's breathing and that there's mold buzzing underneath her fingertips, but he's not—he's not—

He's not here.

The sudden spring of tears to her eyes has her gasping and scrubbing the sleeve of his coat over her face before the camera can tell what's going on. She turns over just in case, burying her nose in the pillow he usually writes on to muffle her sniffles. She reaches for the ring under her shirt and holds it tight. She'll always have this, this and her coat, his coat, their coat, the coat that she won't get rid of, not ever. It's not like she'll grow out of it. It was made to fit a grown man, even if she starts growing like a weed, she won't get too big for it. It's hers, she's keeping it, and they can't take it from her.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, soothing the growing tug in her gut. No one's trying to take her coat away, no one's trying to take her dad away. She's safe. Everything's okay. She's okay.

The tug doesn't settle.

She frowns, sitting up. She puts a hand to her stomach. Her eyes widen. Her breath catches.

She can feel something.

It's moving beneath her skin.

Like it's alive.

She scrambles for her phone and sends a text to Chris.

Chris's phone buzzes. He reaches for it, squinting at the screen. He bolts upright, dislodging Leon with an unceremonious jerk.

"Fuck, a little warning next time," he grumbles, "what?"

"Rose says something's wrong."

Leon sobers immediately, not even an 'I told you so.' "You should—"

The phone on his desk rings. He stares at it like it's radioactive. So does Leon. He swallows heavily, glancing at Rose's text before holding his cell tightly to his chest, a wordless promise to be there as soon as he can. He picks up the phone.

"Redfield."

"Chris?" Leon asks when he sees the blood drain from his face. "Chris, what's going on?"

"I'll be right there. Do not leave without me."

"Chris, what the hell's going on?"

Chris just reaches behind him and grabs Leon's wrist, dragging him as he races for the garage.

It's dark.

It's cold.

It's quiet.

Dirt shifts.

Bugs crawl.

Wind whistles through dead trees.

A branch cracks and falls with a scattering of crows.

Closer, closer, closer, almost at the surface.

The ground breaks.

And he breathes.