Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“We’re gonna die here!” Elliot’s screaming was not helping Grace’s increasing dread. The security shutter at their backs was showing no signs of opening, the light above it glowing bright red in the darkness, really amplifying the horror movie vibes they were living through.

Grace bites down on a sigh.

When she’d awoken three days ago, amongst the survivors sheltering at the Raccoon City Police Department, she’d been convinced it was just some fucked up nightmare she’d wake up from.

There was no possible way for her to be in Raccoon City in 1998 during one of the most devastating events in modern American history,

And yet.

Here she was fighting for her life alongside Officer Elliot Edwards, thwarted from safety by a fucking security shutter that had been open a few hours earlier when they came through to search the chief’s office for the puzzle solutions for the secret tunnel under the station.

Because everyone knows emergency tunnels in Police Stations are guarded by puzzles.

This place was basically a fairground funhouse. Grace was not amused.

It didn’t even make sense for a museum to have this shit!

Like, what sort of maniac constructs any sort of municipal building with puzzle locks, doors that only one special key can open and a two-floor library that would make Belle from Beauty and the Beast salivate.

“Oh my god, we’re gonna fucking die!”

“Elliot, stop screaming and start shooting!” Grace shouts, the muzzle of her gun flashing in the dark as she takes down another zombie. “Marvin’s not dead yet, he’ll get the shutter open!”

“What if he is?!”

“He’s not! Keep shooting!”

He wasn’t.

He couldn’t be.

Not yet.

Marvin was too stubborn to die while they still needed him.

Grace bites her lip, hands growing numb around the grip of her pistol, stepping back when one of the zombies makes a grab for her. Her back bumps against the shutter, and it rattles.

If only the damn thing would open.

Grace really, really didn’t want to die here.

Not if she could help it.

Not when she had the opportunity to see her mother again.

Not when she had the chance to save her life.

Not when…not when she could meet Leon so much earlier in life.

As if responding to her desperation, the shutter rattles again, this time, upwards. Light pouring out from under it. Grace’s heart leaps into her throat, for the first time seeing just how many zombies were in the hallway with them.

Elliot sees it too, head jerking around to look at the opening as the shitter stalls only a couple of feet off the ground. “Grace! Go!”

“What?!”

“Go first!” He grins at her, and Grace tries to ignore how tremulous it is, “No matter how good you are with a gun, you’re still a civilian. Go.”

Grace grits her teeth, squeezing off the rest of her clip before she holsters her pistol and spins around, dropping to her knees and shimmying quickly halfway under the shutter, where big hands grab her waist and pull her the rest of the way.

She thanks whoever it is breathlessly, turning to help pull Elliot from under, tensing when he starts screaming.

She knows he’s being torn in two, but they can’t leave him to be devoured.

With sickening, meaty sounds that turn Grace’s stomach, they pull half of Elliot’s body out from beneath the shutter, his guts spilling out.

Grace falls back onto her ass, choking on a sob and wondering why this was somehow so much worse than anything she’s seen in Rhode Hill.

“Christ…” The man who’d opened the shutter muttered, sounding as sick and agrieved as Grace felt, “Hey, are you okay?”

She wipes the tears from her cheeks, her brain registering that oh, he’s talking to her, not what’s left of Elliot, and looks up.

And stares.

For so long that Leon Scott Kennedy starts to look concerned.

Leon was standing in front of her.

A really fucking young Leon.

Hair shorter, more kempt, and way more boybandish.

Eyes still ridiculously blue.

But way, she didn’t know, shinier than the Leon she knew.

More innocent maybe?

Certainly less jaded and tired.

Either way, the difference was like night and day.

He kneels hand grasping her forearm, grounding her in the here and now, yanking her out of her shock.

Whatever god had a hand in her destiny had a fucked up sense of humour.

Or actually listened to her.

At least occasionally.

“Miss? You with me?”

Grace clears her throat, “Yeah, sorry. I’m okay.” She gives him a shaky smile trying not to let on that she knew him. How do you explain to someone that your a little weirded out by them because the version of them you know is almost thirty years older and a whole lot…gruffer? “Just…hard to get used to stuff like that.” Grace nods at Elliot.

Leon sighs, eyes darting to Elliot briefly, and she sees him swallow.

Older him had never looked so affected by the horrors they’d seen.

Too used to it.

“Just another day at the office.”

His experience had been bolstering though.

“Yeah.” He looks back at her, trying to smile, “Leon Kennedy.”

I know.

“I’m Grace.”

Chapter Text

Beneath Raccoon City, The ARK, 2026

The Nemesis that had once been Victor Gideon explodes in spectacular fashion, bits of blood and viscera spraying over the ELPIS platform; luckily, most of it misses Leon. He loved not getting bodily fluids in his mouth. Never one to waste an opportunity for some showmanship, Leon spins the Requiem before slipping it into his shoulder holster.

Nothing beats taking out a nemesis in terms of satisfaction.

Leon rolls his shoulders, still baffled by the lack of pain and stiffness. and he glances at the clear skin of his palm. No black blotches of slowly rotting skin. How did she know what ELPIS was?

Leon would have destroyed it without a second thought, but Grace…

Grace.

His head jerks up, and he looks around.

Where is she?

"Grace?"

His eyes dart around the platform, praying she's safe behind some of the debris.

Victor had stabbed her. She'd fallen, passed out, from a combination of exhaustion, pain and blood loss, no doubt, after administering the antiviral. Victor hadn't struck to kill, though.

She should be right where he'd left her.

Leon feels the panic building in his chest, heart hammering away, searching for any sign of her.

Goddammit.

She was just a kid.

Had her whole life ahead of her.

Whatever higher power was out there had proven to have a pretty fucked up sense of humour in Leon's experience. Why kill off the old bastard when you could kill off the kid?

Just like Leon, after surviving the Raccoon City Incident, 21 years old and carrying the weight of a city's worth of trauma and devastation on his shoulders.

That had been fun.

If Grace hadn't been there…

If Grace hadn't been there?

…What?

Grace had been born six years after the Raccoon City Incident… hadn't she?

But…Leon looks around again. Searching for anything. A puddle of blood. A strand of hair.

Nothing.

He remembers her injecting the antiviral, watching her through blurry eyes, fingers twitching when the antiviral starts to repair his body, revelling in the feel of her yanking his glove off his hand without any pain. Watches her face light up, genuinely happy for the first time since they met.

"Just…hard to get used to stuff like that." He can see her in his mind's eye, sitting with her back to one of the desks in the watchman's room on the east side of the RPD. Looking up at him from red-rimmed eyes, cheeks blotchy from the tears she'd cried for Officer Edward Elliot, swimming in an oversized RPD windbreaker, the knees of her black jeans wet with blood.

Leon furrows his brow, raking his hair away from his face, scalp sweaty, and his fingers getting caught in whatever was in his hair.

The woman in his memories couldn't have been Grace.

But she was undoubtedly Grace. Same fluffly platinum blonde hair, pretty green-grey irises, and pink lips that he never should have been looking at

But it begged the question: if she was Grace… how?

—

Raccoon City Police Department, Raccoon City, 1998

Leon tries not to stare.

Tries to keep his mind on the task at hand and not on the pretty girl walking beside him.

Grace was cute.

Like, really cute.

Cute in a way that would have had Leon flirting shamelessly if they hadn't been in a life-or-death situation.

Hell, he might still end up flirting.

You only live once, right?

She clutched the fuse they needed to get back through the security gate into the station's main hall in her hand, the overlong sleeves of the borrowed windbreaker she was wearing slipping over her knuckles again and again.

She was tough. Barely jumping when a zombie crashed through one of the windows in the office that they'd ransacked to find the fuse. Jaw tensing and raising her gun without seeming to think much about it, while Leon still struggled to see past the uniforms. Moving her flashlight around the room like she'd done this sort of thing a hundred times.

She kept glancing at him, opening her mouth like she wanted to ask him a question, but snapping her lips closed just as quickly, as if thinking better of it.

Leon breaks the ice, "You and uh, Officer Edwards…what were you looking for?

Grace startles, spinning around to face him. She blinks a few times, stuttering a little when she responds, "W-we were looking for the puzzle solutions for the statutes that are holding the s-stupid keys for the tunnel under the station. L-lieutenant Branagh thought they might be in the police chief's office." She sighs, "This station has a really stupid layout. The only way to get to the chief's office was through that hallway, and when we went in, the security shutter closed behind us."

"Where's Lieutenant Branagh now?"

Grace bites her lip, and Leon's eyes dip to her mouth, "He should have been in the main hall; he had it set up like a command center."

"Nobody was there when I came through."

"That's…Marvin was hurt. He got attacked… hesitated to shoot another cop." Her eyes drop to the ground, "I hope he's okay."

Leon doesn't say anything. Assuring her that he was fine when Leon didn't know seemed inappropriate. A window shatters in one of the hallways, and Grace turns to glance over her shoulder. Eyes hardening with determination once more.

"Are there any other survivors in the station?" He asks instead, stepping over a body and holding out his hand for the fuse.

Grace shakes her head, their fingers brushing when she passes it to him. "I don't know. I don't think so."

Leon slots it into the fuse box, and the shutter starts to rise. He opens his mouth to apologize for asking, but gives him a soft look that says not to worry about it.

Damn tough.

The body Leon had stepped over chose that moment to jerk into movement, grabbing Leon's ankle and yanking hard. Leon falls on his ass, kicking the zombie in the face with his other foot. Grace curses, raises her pistol, and fires.

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

The zombie's head explodes, and Leon jerks his face aside, viscera barely missing him.

"Move it, you two! Get that shutter closed back up!"

Grace's face brightens for a brief, glorious moment, like the sun sneaking out from behind the clouds, and Leon gapes, for just a few seconds. Grace offers him her hand and helps him to his feet, as a few more zombies stumble out from the office. Groaning, shuffling and bumping into each other. It should have been comedic, but it manages to be terrifying. Leon pushes Grace ahead of him, and they duck under the still-rising shutter.

A zombie lunges and snags Grace by the leg. She yelps, falling forward, trying to jerk her leg out of its grasp. Leon grabs her arms and stops her from being pulled backward, and the man who had yelled for them to move puts one boot on the bottom ledge of the shutter and forces it down, having already pressed the button to close it. The added pressure from who must have been Lieutenant Marvin Branagh brought the shutter down hard, crushing the zombie's head.

This spatter is even worse than the other one, and Leon grimaces, still holding Grace in his arms, the blonde trying to catch her breath, head on Leon's shoulder.

Marvin clutches his wounded side, his complexion grey and pallid, looking down at the two of them. He stares at Leon for a long moment, "You're not Elliot Edward."

"No, sir. Leon Kennedy."

Marvin's eyebrows jump up, "The new rookie? Damn, kid, you shouldn't have come here."

Leon snorts softly, "Yeah, tell me about it."

"Elliot's dead?"

"Yeah." Leon doesn't elaborate, and Marvin doesn't ask him to.

"Fuck."

Chapter Text

Raccoon City Police Department, Raccoon City, September 29th, 1998

Grace pushes herself up with a blush, extracting herself from Leon's arms and avoiding his blue as fuck eyes, trying to ignore the butterflies that had started to flutter around her stomach at being so close to him. She's only as comfortable with him as she is, because he was like the golden retriever of the Leon S. Kennedy evolutionary line.

The version of him that existed in 2026 was the final evolution. The wolf. The loner. Standing atop the cliffside outcropping, howling at the moon. That version had made Grace feel so shy, so aware of her femininity and so painfully aware of the fact that he was hundreds of miles out of her league. She didn't doubt he was most likely married, that he had someone waiting for him at home.

She hadn't stopped herself from admiring him.

He was stupidly sexy. Real life sexy. Not the curated sexy of Hollywood or the internet.

His younger self wasn't too bad either.

Grace offers him a hand off the ground, and he takes it with a small smile. "Thanks," she says, and he blinks at her.

His eyelashes are beautiful.

Leon doesn't let go of her hand, fingers squeezing hers lightly, "Wasn't gonna let you get dragged into the darkness."

Not in this life, not in another one. Grace's heart speeds up, and she looks away, embarrassed.

Leon notices a dimple appearing in his cheek when his smile broadens, but he thankfully doesn't say anything.

Probably only because Marvin clears his throat with a raised eyebrow and asks Grace, "You and Elliot find anything?"

Leon had absolutely been about to tease her.

She narrows her eyes at him for half a second, and he ducks his head, covering his mouth with one hand to hide his grin. She sighs, fighting down her ridiculous inclination to gush internally about how cute and boyish he was, before grabbing a small leather book from one of her back pockets, holding it up for them both to see. "We figured out all three statue solutions and locations."

Marvin nods, slumping sideways to lean against the wall with a groan. Grace swallows, biting down on a protest when she sees blood swell out from between his fingers, still clenched tightly over his wound. The bandages were doing nothing to stop the bleeding.

Brad Vicars, the former STARS pilot turned mindless zombie, had bitten off a huge chunk of flesh, damaging not just Marvin's skin but also the intestine underneath.

Marvin knew he wasn't making it out of there, so did Grace.

"The statues with the keys?"

They both look at Leon, and Grace pulls a face, still annoyed at the entire prospect, "Yeah."

"And the keys go where?"

Grace nods towards the back of the main hall, where the towering figure of the Goddess statue could be seen, unmistakable in her glory. "She's got three slots in her base."

Leon must be getting used to the stupidity, because he nods, stepping past Grace to offer Marvin his shoulder as the Lieutenant starts up the ramp towards the Goddess statue. It's where he'd set up shop with a radio and a laptop, using the benches to rest whenever he could. Grace trails behind them, swallowing when she notices the trail of blood Marvin's leaving.

What happens when Marvin dies? He'll turn into a zombie, without a doubt.

Grace had never seen someone she'd gotten to know turn before being sent back in time. And she now fully understands why so many people die during this outbreak. Watching the people you know and love and respect die and come back to life as horrific versions of themselves, it was damn easy to get caught off guard.

Nobody's ready for a member of their family to try to bite out their throats. Nobody's got the defence for that.

Marvin was stubborn, though it had been nearly half a day since Brad had bitten him.

Anyone else would have let death take them by now.

Marvin wouldn't stop fighting until he couldn't anymore.

"You two are going to find those damn keys, and you're gonna get the fuck out of here," Marvin tells them, groaning when Leon lowers him onto one of the benches. He gestures with one blood-covered hand to one of the fabric partitions they'd set up days earlier when there had been groups of survivors crowding the station, "Found some Kevlar armour, wear it. Kennedy, there's a uniform in there; you may as well get out of your street clothes. You're still a cop, even if the world is falling apart around us."

Leon stands a little straighter, "Yes, sir."

It's cute.

He's cute.

The golden retriever energy radiates off of him.

Marvin nods once, firmly. "I'm not getting out of here." He pulls his hand away from his injured side, and Leon winces, seeing for the first time just how bad it was. He was being thrown into the thick of things, and it answered some questions Grace had about his older self's nonchalance about fighting zombies. It had never been simple experience.

Experience gained through jumping from the frying pan directly into the flames below made a lot of sense.

Nothing can really phase after nearly thirty years of that.

"But you two? You two are gonna get out of here, and you're gonna live. You hear me?" He looks between her and Leon, holding their gazes until each of them nods their understanding, though Leon looks like he wants to protest.

Grace gets it.

But even if they could get Marvin out of there…there were no hospitals to get him to. Raccoon City was literally burning down around them, and neither of these men knew just how bad the spread of the outbreak was.

There would be almost nothing left of the population when this thing was over.

On October 1st, the US government would launch a thermobaric missile strike on the city. The "Sterilization Strategy." In a couple of years, every middle school history curriculum would be teaching America's youth about it and the Raccoon City Destruction Incident for decades to come.

She and Leon, and whoever else had survived this long, needed to be out of the city by then.

Grace places a hand on Leon's arm, "W-we understand."

"Good," Marvin settles into the bench, face slack with exhaustion.

Grace nudges Leon past the partition, patting his arm, shaking her head when he opens his mouth to protest, voice barely above a whisper, "Don't argue, just get changed.

"But—"

Grace glances over her shoulder. Marvin's eyes have fallen closed, slumping sideways, his chest rising and falling in quick, laboured breaths. "Marvin's hanging on as long as he can, but he'll hit his limit before long. And when he does…well, d-don't hesitate."

She sees Leon swallow, and some part of her wants to cradle him close and protect him from the horrors he's going to have to witness. But there was no way to shield him from the trauma. And, well, his experiences here and now would shape him for the rest of his life, for good or for bad.

Leon turns away from her and shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it aside, reaching his arms behind his head to pull his shirt off. Grace blinks, stares and turns red. He was lean with youth, but fit and strong. Skin smooth, tanned and unscarred, bruises blossoming on his lower back, disappearing under his waistband.

Leon catches her staring and smirks, "See something you like?" The blatant flirt makes her squeak, and she ducks out of the makeshift room. Leon had succeeded in breaking the tension and softening the mood, at least a little. He would never lose this habit of cracking jokes and flirting in dangerous situations.

Grace presses her hands to her cheeks.

Now really wasn't the time to be thirsty for a cute guy.

Grace bites her lip, stifling her groan.

Chapter Text

Raccoon City Police Department, Raccoon City, September 29th, 1998

A helicopter made an on-fire crash landing into the side of the building, setting off the fire alarms and activating the sprinklers in the east wing. The sprinklers had been designed to go off by section rather than all at once.

This was a good thing, Grace thought, as a flaming zombie shambled down the hall towards them. The cascade of water from the sprinklers put out the zombie, reducing its danger factor by at least five.

It was soggy and still smouldering, but at least now it wasn’t also on fire when it tried to grab Leon.

His reactions were getting faster, no longer freezing up whenever a zombie jerked towards them like a marionette manipulated by strings held by a puppeteer, even when the zombie wore a uniform.

Not unlike the one he was now filling out very nicely with his broad shoulders and cute butt.

Grace shook her head, pulling her eyes away from his hips and scolding herself for getting distracted.

“Hallway’s totally blocked,” Leon tells her, retreating toward her from where he had poked his head around the last corner, mouth flattening into an annoyed line.

Grace sighs, nodding, “A-and on fire. Until the sprinklers can get it out, we’re not gonna be able to go that way.” She glances around and points at a door leading outside, “There, maybe?”

Leon moves forward without hesitation, testing the handle, finding it unlocked. He grins at her, “Worth a try.”

The helicopter’s tail rotor is still spinning slowly when they step out onto the fire escape, and Grace lifts her hand to shield her eyes from the rain, squinting into the darkness as Leon lifts his flashlight at the helicopter. He’s unbothered by the deluge, swiping his hair away from his face when water drips down his face.

“Hey! Leon!”

They both jump, and Grace leans over the railing to see a girl who couldn’t have been much younger than them smacking the links of a security fence to catch their attention over the still ringing alarm. She was soaked to the bone, her dark ponytail heavy and limp against the red leather of her jacket.

Leon’s obviously relieved to see her, “Claire!”

A friend of his? Grace doesn’t know, just follows him down the stairs, their footsteps echoing hollowly on the metal. Claire beams at Leon, “Damn, am I glad to see you. I didn’t think I’d make it here in one piece.”

Through the gate, Leon asks, “Much trouble?”

Claire’s grin softens into a smile, “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Grace softens as she listens to them talk. She didn’t get the impression they knew each other well. There was an awkwardness that spoke of a recent acquaintanceship, but also the ring of a budding bond. She examines the fenced-in area, half looking for anything useful, half trying to give them a moment.

“Good.” Leon exhales, testing the gate, frowning when it sways but doesn’t budge.

Claire shrugs, one hand tugging on a chain looped around the poles and through a couple of links, “It’s chained closed. I can probably climb over.”

“Hold on,” Grace tells her, opening a toolbox up off a nearby barrel, holding up a pair of bolt cutters triumphantly. She smiles shyly at the other woman, “N-no point risking a broken neck in this rain.”

Clair chuckles, pointing to the top of the fence, “Or barbed wire to the cooch.”

Leon flushes, but her words earn a startled laugh from Grace, “That too.” She passes the bolt cutters to Claire through the gap between the gate and the fence.

Leon peers into the dark courtyard beyond Grace, senses pricking, “Better hurry, Claire, you might have some company.” Grace looks up, and she can pick up the shuffling, uneven steps of a zombie before she even hears its ragged groaning.

Claire doesn’t waste any time looking over her shoulder like the stupidest of characters always do in horror movies; she just grabs the cutters and snips, with a grunt of effort and a few swear words, through the chain.

By the time she’s through, four zombies have shambled around the corner, drawn by the noise of the helicopter crashing perhaps, and even more have started to gather by the outer fence of the station. She pushes the gate open with more force than necessary and almost takes Leon out. He catches it before it can make contact with his nose as Grace pulls Claire into the enclosure. Leon slams it shut after her and slides the latch into place.

Claire leans over, hands on her knees, sopping ponytail sliding over her shoulder, gasping, “That was closer than I’d like.”

Grace pats her back, tucking her own wet hair behind her ear, “I know that feeling.”

“I’m starting to,” Leon adds in a grumble, glaring at a zombie that collides with the fence, snarling at him.

With a groan, Claire straightens back up, holding her hand out to Grace, “Claire Redfield.”

Grace blinks, caught off guard, freezing for a few seconds before she remembers to respond, “Oh, uh, Grace. Ashcroft.”

—

Raccoon City Police Department, Second Floor, West Wing, S.T.A.R.S Office

Pale, elegant fingers find the notch on the underside of the carved trim at the front of the old desk, and Albert Wesker presses his thumb against it, waiting three seconds before an audible click sounds faintly and a panel at the top left corner of the desk’s surface pops open.

He never should have left his research in the city, but he hadn’t gone on that damn mission to the Arklay Mountains thinking he wouldn’t be back. A soft beep catches his attention as he retrieves the data disks from the secret drawer, and he turns his head to look at the laptop screen, his dark glasses reflecting the light.

A perimeter alert.

A maintenance door in the East Wing had just been opened.

One fine blond eyebrow arches upward, and Wesker switches to the cameras, “Someone’s still alive? Ah, three someones.” On the screen, the camera captures a young, uniformed officer entering through the maintenance door, followed by two young women. A tall one with her dark hair in a ponytail, wearing dark jeans, boots, and a flashy motorcycle jacket. The other, more petite with pale blond hair and a cautious look to her, wearing a too-big RPD jacket and dirty, worn sneakers.

Wesker sighs, annoyed for reasons he couldn’t identify, “Just a couple of children. Here I was worried it would be an Umbrella Recovery unit.”

He stands up from his chair, securing the five data disks in one of his hip pouches, “They’ll be going after William and his nasty little virus. Not coming for a dead man.”

“Annette will have her hands full trying to stop them.”

He watches the camera for a moment longer. Trying to suppress the part of himself that was worried about his friend's wife and daughter.

He thought that overly sentimental part of him had died a long time ago.

Apparently, he had been wrong.

Chapter Text

Raccoon City Police Department, Raccoon City, September 29th, 1998

Grace spins the lion medalion, holding it between her hands, flipping it again and again, fidgeting because she didn’t have anything else to do with Leon and Claire dealing with any zombies they came across. Both of them were good shots, and while Grace was no slouch in that department, they were better. Grace was just happy her hands didn’t shake whenever she took aim anymore.

Leon’s training was obvious, but Grace felt the need to ask Claire where she’d learned to shoot, “I mean, you’re younger than I am, and it’s not something most college girls go out of their way to learn.”

Claire throws a lopsided smile over her shoulder at Grace, “My brother insisted after I told him I wanted to go to school so far away. He said, ‘If I can’t be there to protect you, you gotta be able to protect yourself.’” She deepens her voice to mimic her brother, laughing after she does. “So he brought me to the gun range, and I got certified in a bunch of different firearms.”

Claire was clearly very fond of her brother, and it was no wonder she had decided to come to Raccoon City to look for him. If Grace only had one person left in her family, she’d do the same.

Her mother, or rather the woman who would be her mother, was still out there right now, somewhere in Raccoon City at that very moment.

Grace puts a hand on her forehead, fighting down a burble of anxiety. She doesn’t know what would happen in a few years, when she was supposed to be born, adopted by Oswell E. Spencer, and later taken in by Alyssa following Spencer’s mental decline. Would she still be born? Would her presence in the past overwrite her existence? Grace took a deep, shaky breath. She hadn’t had much time to think about her situation in the past couple of days. Things had just been too damn chaotic, and honestly, Grace had been thankful not to have to think much about it.

But now everything had calmed down, and Grace’s mind had the chance to actually consider things.

And for someone with an anxiety disorder, that meant an overthinking spiral.

“-race. Grace!”

Grace starts, looking up and meeting Leon’s concerned gaze. How were his eyes still so blue in the darkness of the back halls of the station?

His hand is soft under her elbow, and he leans closer, “You okay? You looked like you were a million miles away.”

Her fingers tighten on the medallion, the edges of the metal digging in, and she opens her mouth to tell him she was okay. But something about the look on his face makes her stop.

Genuine worry.

Claire had stopped about ten feet away, giving them space and watching their backs.

“I-I’m sorry. This is the first chance I’ve h-had to think about everything that’s happened…” She looks down at her hands, forcing them to relax, her hair falling forward to obscure her eyes. Shaking her head, she continues, swallowing, “I-I don’t know how many people I’ve seen die, or how many are still alive…” Does the older Leon think she’s dead? Does he think she fell into the pit below Elpis, lost for good? Would anyone realize she was gone?

“Hey, look at me,” He tucks her hair back behind her ear, the tips of his brushing the pale skin of her cheek. She’s glad he’s wearing fingerless gloves. His hands are so warm. Grace lifts her gaze back to his. Leon’s eyes are gentle. “I don’t know everything that went on when the outbreak started, and I don’t know everything that happened here. I can’t imagine witnessing it all…but I’m with you. Whatever happens next, I’ll stay by your side.”

Grace swallows again, this time as butterflies start fluttering around her stomach. Leon had a whole buttload of charm, and the best part was that he wasn’t even trying to charm her. He was just being nice and comforting her. She smiles, and she tries not to notice the way Leon’s eyes drop briefly to her lips, choosing instead to softly say, “Thanks, Leon.”

He nods, hand squeezing her elbow before moving away from her, and she blinks when she sees the blush colouring his cheeks. She doesn’t have time to really admire it before he’s walking down the hall again.

Claire, not a demure bone in her body, grins at them both, waggling her eyebrows, “You sure you guys only met a few hours ago? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you guys were already dating.”

Grace flushes brilliantly, red from the roots of her hair all the way down to her chest, and she curses her pale complexion. Before she can say anything to deny Claire’s teasing words, the windows between her and Leon and Claire shatter explosively. Grace bites her lip to stop herself from screaming, shielding her face and stumbling backward, her back slamming against a wall.

A gurgling shriek fills the hallway, and Grace opens her eyes, finding herself face to face with a licker.

The skinless, mutated thing’s head moves around like it’s sniffing the air, though she knows it’s not smelling but listening. She straightens up and holds a finger to her lips desperately, stopping Leon from shouting for her.

Behind the licker, Leon snaps his mouth shut and grabs Claire before she can move forward to take it on. He wraps a hand around her mouth and shuffles them both backward.

Grace points at the licker and then deliberately taps her ear. Lickers were sensitive to sound and fucking dangerous when they locked on to whatever was unfortunate enough to catch their attention. If they move quietly and slowly, they would be fine. They didn’t have the firepower to deal with one of these long-tongued bastards right now.

What she wouldn’t do for a bottle of acid at that moment.

All that exposed muscle and sinew had zero defence against it, and they’d been so fucking useful when she’d been faced with dozens of lickers while exploring the ARK.

Leon nods slowly, seeming to understand her meaning. Grace exhales, relieved.

The licker shifts tongue, whipping through the air, scant inches from Grace’s legs, and she shrinks back, trying to disappear into the walk at her back. She meets Leon’s gaze and looks pointedly back the way they had just come.

He wants to protest; she can see it in the tight lines of his jaw.

She shakes her head.

Grace glances around and sees a large shard of broken glass near her foot. Slowly, one hand holding the material of her coat so it wouldn’t rustle against itself, Grace leans over and takes the glass in her hand. She straightens just as carefully, frowning when she sees Leon is still standing at the other end of the hallway. Claire’s hand is on his wrist, tugging on it, urging him to follow her.

Grace meets and holds his eyes once more. Mouthing ‘go’ when he makes no move to follow Claire. He grits his teeth.

There go the butterflies again, wings fluttering so hard she was afraid the licker might hear them.

Finally, Leon allows Claire to pull him down the rest of the hall and around the corner.

Grace closes her eyes for a moment and prays that what she’s about to try is going to work.

Looking back at the licker, she sees it turn away from her, facing the direction Leon and Claire had fled, head tilting this way and that.

Grace lifts her arms and tosses the shard of glass, wincing when a sting of pain erupts from her palm, aiming for the middle of the hallway, where it had crashed through the window.

The shard lands, big enough that it scatters smaller shards, and by some miracle, it sounds like someone had lost their footing on the broken glass. The licker jerks forward, moving like a big lizard on all fours toward the sound. Grace clenches her hand closed and takes the opportunity to move in the opposite direction. She hesitates at the foot of the stairs that they had passed early with intentions of finishing their exploration of the first floor, one medallion in hand from the statue in the main hall, on the balcony above the goddess statue.

She flinches when the licker’s enraged shriek reaches her, and without thinking about it any further, she climbs the stairs carefully. If she remembers the station map she’d looked at earlier, it should bring her to the hallway where the STARS office was.

Unclenching her hand, she winces at the red line sliced into her palm, blood dripping from the wound. The glass had been sharper than she’d realized.

If anything, maybe she’d be able to find an unpilfered first aid kit. Marvin had mentioned that the STARS officers had never shown up at the station once the outbreak had, well, broken out. And even before that, both the A and B teams had been struggling to keep together after their last mission had gone poorly, losing more than half of their active members.

The upstairs hallway would have been as silent as a grave, if not for the rain pouring in from a broken window in front of the door to the STARS office. Not a single zombie in sight.

Grace puts her uninjured hand on the handle and twists. The door is swollen with moisture, refusing to budge until Grace puts her weight behind a shove, using her shoulder. She stumbles when it swings inward, almost falling on her face.

She walks right past the open door of the private office, once again looking at her bloody palm. Forgetting herself in her pain. Forgetting that things could be lurking out of sight in the dark.

She doesn’t know that Albert Wesker, captain of the STARS A team, has his back pressed to the wall next to the door, one hand on the knife sheathed at the small of his back.

He moves silently, like a tiger stalking its prey through tall grass. One hand over her mouth, the other holding a very sharp blade to her throat.

Grace freezes.

Flashing back to Victor Gideon’s hand on her throat.

But this isn’t Victor Gideon, and she’s not the same girl she was then.

With her bloody hand, she grabs the wrist of the hand that holds the knife, forcing it away from her throat with more strength than she thought she could manage.

With the blade away from the pale skin of her neck, she swings her elbow back. Hoping to hit whoever it was that held her in the temple and forcing them to let her go.

But she’s too short, and he’s too tall.

He steps back anyway.

Grace spins around, hand finding the grip of the pistol in the holster on her thigh.

Her eyes find his face, adjusting to the windowless darkness of the room.

And blinks because there was no way in hell it was possible.

His eyes were obscured by a pair of opaque sunglasses, and he wore a black police uniform with a patch bearing the STARS ensignia embroidered on the left sleeve in gold thread. With his blond hair slicked back from his face, he bore an uncanny, frightening similarity to Zeno.

Or perhaps it was that Zeno would bear an uncanny resemblance to this man.

The original?

He cocks his head, just a little, fine mouth quirking down at one corner, one pale brow lifting, “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It feels like I have.”

The silence is heavy.

Grace breaks it, her voice trembling faintly, “I-I thought there were no STARS members left in the city.”

Humming softly, he looks away from her, “Either dead or long gone. Hunted by one of Umbrella’s tyrants.”

“But not you?”

“No.” He holds up a hand, and Grace snaps her mouth shut.

A door slams.

Loud footsteps.

Something big.

Not human.

The man sighs.

Grace wants to laugh.

Chapter Text

2nd floor, S.T.A.R.S. Office, Raccoon City Police Department, Raccoon City, September 30th 1998

He puts a finger to his lips, not unlike she'd done only a few minutes earlier to Leon, the heavy footsteps in the hallway getting closer to the door. Grace glances quickly at the door, seeing that she had at least remembered to close the door behind her when she'd come in. He steps closer to her, recapturing her attention and scoops her off her feet with an arm around her waist, pulling her into the office he had been skulking in before she'd come in. She instinctively grabs his wrist, above the watch he wore, leaving a bloody handprint on the pale skin of his forearm.

He drops her softly onto her feet, carefully closes the door behind them, and points at the desk. Grace understands he wants her to duck beneath it, and she does so. Flinching when a loud bang reverberates through the office as a massive fist comes into contact with the main door, the heavy, swollen wood crashing inward.

The man remains next to the door when she lowers herself under the desk, one gloved hand resting on the grip of the large pistol holstered on his thigh. A heavy, magnum pistol of a make and model she's not familiar with. This STARS officer was expecting trouble, for him to be packing something with that much firepower.

Tucking herself under the desk, Grace wraps her good hand over her mouth and closes her eyes, willing her breathing to calm and her heart to slow from the frenzy it had worked itself up to.

She listens.

The door, no doubt broken now, bounces off the wall, the faint creak of leather as whatever the fuck this thing was leans down to fit through the top of the doorway.

The officer doesn't move, his breathing controlled and too low to hear, but Grace swears she can hear his hand tighten around the grip of his gun. His gloves were the same fingerless variety that Leon had grabbed when he'd changed into his uniform, but leather where Leon's had been cloth, grips on his palms.

The tyrant's, and it must be a tyrant because nothing else of Umbrella's creation was big enough to sound like that, footsteps are louder now, no longer muffled through the walls, and his heavy boots shake the floor as he takes one, two, three steps inside.

Grace keeps as still as possible.

The officer remains statue-like next to the door, as perfect as a marble statue, hand never leaving his pistol, but ready to draw if the tyrant made any move in their direction.

Was a magnum in this day and age strong enough to take down a tyrant? Leon's Requiem was, but how much did it differ from an older magnum?

Not much, Grace prays.

The tyrant doesn't move any further inside, nor does it approach the closed door of the office. Grace knows, somewhere in the back of her mind, that it's only about thirty seconds before the tyrant turns and stomps back out, but it feels like an eternity. Her heart's heavy thud against her ribcage is painful, and a breath hitches in her throat. She squeezes her eyes more firmly shut, her mind screaming at her that the danger had passed, that the tyrant was gone, but her anxiety was too busy kicking into overdrive to register it.

The officer moves, and it sounds muffled as though Grace's ears are underwater, the light footsteps entirely unlike the tyrant's. Grace forces her eyes open, and she watches him crouch, muscular thighs coming into view, then his torso, then his face. Uncomfortable in its familiarity, but strangely comforting because of it too.

He offers her a hand, face stoic besides for the faint twitch of his eyebrow.

She grabs it.

Uses the physical touch to anchor herself back to reality, and she watches his chest, matching her breathing to his. Calm, unbothered, patient.

"I-I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" He cocks his head, and Grace swears his eyes narrow, nothing to go on beyond the faint crinkling of the skin around his eyes, "You were having a panic attack, weren't you?"

"W-well…yes—"

"Then there isn't anything to apologize for." His matter-of-fact tone left Grace no room to argue, and really, what was there to argue about? She, unfortunately, couldn't control when her brain decided to be stupid and trigger an attack. She knew that.

But it never fails to make her feel awful for any potential inconvenience she causes people.

Her heart slows back to a more normal pace, and Grace releases her death grip on his fingers. Hissing when she realizes she had used her injured hand on reflex, clenching her fingers closed. He snags her wrist before she can pull away and turns her hand over. The pointedness of his stare has her sheepishly opening her fingers, cheeks turning red.

How someone could shoot a scolding glare while wearing opaque wraparound sunglasses, Grace didn't know.

He lets go of her wrist and stands up, pushing aside the chair, and Grace crawls out from under the desk, accepting his offered hand to get back to her feet.

He turns to the sideboard beside the desk, opens one of the cupboards, grabs a large, untouched first-aid kit, and drops it onto the desk with a thump. He pulls out some disinfectant and a roll of bandages, holding one hand out, palm up, toward her. "Hand."

He'd never be accused of being gentle, but he was efficient. Spraying the disinfectant on the still bleeding wound, hushing her when she swears at the stinging burn, before he wraps it tightly in a bandage, securing the pad of gauze he places over the cut.

As he works, Grace frowns at him, "Who are you anyway?"

He glances at her face, quiet for a long moment, seeming to consider her question before he finally says, "Albert Wesker, STARS A team Captain."

"W-Why are you here if all the other STARS are gone?"

He ties the end of the bandage and tucks the knot under where it's wrapped around her wrist, exhaling through his nose, "Because I left something behind that I couldn't afford to lose."

Grace waits for him to add more, but he falls stubbornly silent. She looks down at her neatly wrapped hand, "Thanks."

"Hm," Wesker returns everything to the first aid kit and zips it back up, before looking back at her, "Where are your two companions?"

"H-how—"

"Cameras."

"We got separated after a licker got between us."

"Licker?"

"A weird, skinless zombie with a long ass tongue that crawls around like a lizard and can't see and hunts by sound."

Wesker cocks an eyebrow but nods.

"We're gathering the three medallions that will let us access a tunnel that runs under the station," She grabs the medallion from where she'd slid it into her jacket pocket and holds it up for Wesker to see. Should she trust him? Maybe not. But he had just saved her life and treated her wound without complaining. "Hopefully, they continued looking for the next statue.

Wesker stares at the medallion for a moment, "There's a statue just down the hall."

Grace brightens, putting the medallion back in her pocket, "There is? Which one?"

"Unicorn."

"Great. I'm going to go get it," Grace smiles. She turns to the door and makes to leave, then pauses and points at the first-aid kit. "Can I take that?"

"By all means."

Grace thanks him and slings the strap over her head, and makes to leave again.

His voice stops her, and he sounds curious when he asks, "What's your plan if you run into that tyrant?"

"Run."

Wesker snorts, looking around the office and then back at her, "I'll come with you. I have what I came for."

Grace blinks, "Uh, sure, I don't have a problem with that."

"It wouldn't matter even if you did."

"Was that supposed to be comforting?"

He stares at her, "No."

Grace purses her lips and considers him.

Having someone at her back who seemed to know what he was doing would be nice until she could reunite with Leon and Claire. Wandering around the RCPD by herself would undoubtedly bring her right back to scurrying around Rhode Hill Care Center.

Reasonably, she knows it had only been a few days since she was trying to escape Rhode Hill with Emily.

It feels like it's been years.

RCPD was a different sort of trauma.

"If you promise to only kill the things that try to kill me, then fine."

"What an odd thing to say."

"Is it?"

"Isn't it?"

Chapter Text

1st Floor, Safety Deposit Room, Raccoon City Police Department, Raccoon City, September 30th 1998

The heavy footsteps on the second floor were more than a little concerning. Nothing like the typical shuffling, stilted gaits of the average zombie. Nothing like the quick patter of the lickers moving on all fours. This was a big individual, moving methodically above them.

Hunting for something.

For someone.

Leon could only hope Grace had chosen to stay on the first floor, and that she wasn't alone and afraid, cowering in the dark.

Or worse, hurt and bleeding without Leon there to help her.

"You're making that face again," Claire tells him, opening the last safety deposit locker, retrieving the fancy hunting knife that had probably been confiscated from some drunk hunter outside the city and had never been collected later. Claire slides it halfway out of the tough nylon sheath, testing the edge of the blade with her thumb, satisfied to find it still sharp. Her eyes scan over his face as she clips it onto her belt.

Leon glares at her, without any heat behind the expression, "No, I'm not." Despite what she had insisted several times now, he was not pouting.

Claire smirks, eyes jerking up when another loud thud sounds from upstairs, waiting for a long moment before the heavy footsteps finally move on, "You totally are. Geez, Leon, Grace managed to keep herself alive for days before you showed up. I'm pretty sure she can handle herself for a little bit longer until we meet up again."

They both flinch when another door is slammed open, and Leon's mouth twists, pointing up at the ceiling, "She didn't have whatever the fuck is stalking her."

Claire bites her lip, admitting to herself that Leon had a point. "She's no dummy, and I bet as tiny as she is, she can hide just about anywhere."

Grace was pretty small. Only a couple of inches above five feet, and built fairly petite. She could probably move fast when she wanted to. But would she be fast enough?

Something heavy lands on the floor above them, shaking the ceiling and sending a shower of dust down from a high vent in the wall. Leon sighs. If anything, she'd hear the big thing coming.

Subtlety didn't seem to be its strong suit.

Leon walks down the row of lockers, most of which had already been opened, but a few were still shut tight. Red lights glowing beneath their corresponding numbers indicated the locks were engaged. Nothing in them seemed to be worth looting. Leon still dutifully looks in each, flashlight lighting up the lockers through the windows. He reaches the end of the row and pauses before an enclosed area, testing the gate.

"Hey, Claire, you still have those bolt cutters?"

"Of course, figured they'd be useful to have. Why?"

"Confiscated gun storage." Leon pans his flashlight around the space, "We got some rifles, pistols, a couple of shotguns, and ammo…lots of ammo." Claire comes up behind him, handing him the bolt cutters and taking his flashlight to hold it for him so he could see the chain held shut with a padlock that kept the gate locked.

"Backpacks too. Good, we can load up."

"Grab as much as you can carry," Leon grunts quietly, cutting through one of the links of the chain, handing the bolt cutters back to Claire, and pulling the chain free of the gate. He retrieves his flashlight from Claire and pulls the gate open. He takes a shotgun for himself, and Claire makes a beeline for a grenade launcher, humming a pleased little tune under her breath. He looks around and wonders what sort of weapon Grace would prefer.

Claire pauses while loading up one of the backpacks with all types of ammo, raising her eyebrow at Leon's indecision. "Looking for a sign from god?"

Leon snorts, "No, trying to decide which gun Grace would be able to use."

Claire blinks, looking down at the opening of the backpack, hiding her smile, "A rifle. She's careful with her shots and would benefit from being able to brace against her shoulder."

Leon nods, either missing or ignoring Claire's amusement, "That's what I was thinking, too."

"You really like her, don't you?"

Leon glances over his shoulder at Claire, caught off guard by her question, and his voice cracks when he asks, "What?"

"Oh, don't act like you don't know," Claire grins at him, "You're totally smitten with her."

Leon blushes, pulling a 22-gauge rifle off the rack, avoiding her eyes, "She's really cute. And tougher than you would expect. And like, I want to protect her, because I don't want her to get hurt. But I also…" He trails off, covering his mouth with his hand, physically stopping himself from saying anything embarrassing…or anything else embarrassing.

He wants to kiss her.

Hold her close and guard her from the trauma she carries on her shoulders.

It was more than the last few days, more than the outbreak. It was in the coil of anxiety she fought with whenever she spoke, the shadow that passed through her beautiful eyes sometimes when she looked behind him, as if she were expecting something, someone, to be standing behind him. If there were, she seemed prepared to do something about it.

Leon wants to know more about her.

Claire props her chin in her hand, her elbow balanced on her knee, crouched as she was in front of the shelves of ammo, "You want to kiss her."

Leon looks away, and yeah, maybe he's pouting a bit, "Oh, shut up."

He wants to do more than kiss her.

But he wasn't enough of a douche to admit that out loud.

He had some class.

"We should head back for the main hall. Grace should have headed there when we got separated as soon as it was safe for her to."

Claire chuckles, but stops teasing him, getting to her feet, sliding her arms through the backpack's straps and tightening them so it would sit comfortably, "Yeah, sounds good. Safe to say there are no statues on the first floor."

They retrace their steps back to the door, and Leon pokes his head outside, gesturing for Claire to follow when he decides the coast is clear. They cross the hall to the door of the west office. Inside is pitch-black, and Leon frowns when his flashlight makes little difference. He descends the stairs slowly, and Claire shuts the door softly behind herself.

Broken ceramic from the shattered remains of a mug crunches underfoot, and the stale scent of old coffee wafts up to his nose from where it had pooled onto the old carpet. A body Leon hadn't noticed slumped over one of the desks lurches up, snarling lowly.

Leon avoids thinking about the uniform the zombie was wearing, Lieutenant Branagh's voice in the back of his mind telling him not to hesitate. He raises his gun and squeezes the trigger, once, then twice, both shots impacting the zombie's skull, shattering it and sending a splatter of gore onto the desk it had been sitting at.

It falls to the floor dead.

Claire circles the other side of the desks, pausing at the open door of an office, raising her gun and firing off two rounds into a body slumped against the wall.

Just in case.

There was always a chance that the dead bodies were not so dead.

Neither of them wanted to get caught from behind.

They climb the second set of stairs at the far side of the room, and Leon digs into one of his pockets for the spade key, fully understanding Grace's deep disdain for the things now.

Claire turns to face the office, and Leon blinks when he hears her gasp.

"What is it?"

"Look."

Leon turns, fingers slotting the key into the lock, eyes finding the sign above the desks that Claire's was illuminating. Yellow letters on a dark blue background.

Welcome Leon!

"Oh." His heart throbs in his chest, and he swallows. It hurt more than he would have expected. He should have been here a week ago. Maybe he could have helped.

Deep down, he knows he would have just been in the same boat as the rest of them. Undead and trying to kill any living person he saw.

He wouldn't have met Grace.

Maybe he was selfish, but he had to take any silver lining he could.

Grace was his silver lining.

Leon closes his eyes for a moment, then gives Claire a small smile, "Come on."

Chapter Text

2nd Floor, Library, Raccoon City Police Department, Raccoon City, September 30th 1998

Wesker is dangerous. Her initial impression of a large tiger stalking through the tall grass had been, in her humble opinion, spot on.

Luckily, he was only dangerous to the zombies so far.

His skills are undeniable. Clearly, his position as captain of an elite team had been well-earned.

He isn't even using his gun.

It would draw too much attention, he tells her when she asks.

The magnum, especially.

Grace knows he's right, but watching him crush the head of a zombie with his boot, in a move that reminds her vividly of an older Leon Scott Kennedy, was more gory than she would prefer.

He cocks an eyebrow at her, another snarling zombie pressed against the wall with his foot, as she grimaces at him.

Blandly, he says, "If you would like, Miss Ashcroft, I could always start blasting away and draw that lumbering tyrant directly towards us."

Grace sighs at him. His sense of humour was painfully deadpan, and it was a struggle to tell when he was and wasn't making a joke. Her only clue was the faint twitch of his lips before his face settled back into neutrality. "Y-you're getting the books all covered in blood."

"And grey matter." He snorts at the face she pulls, stoicism slipping enough for a small smile to cross his sharp features. "Squeamish, Ashcroft?"

Grace pauses midway around a writing desk, her mind flashing to Rhode Hill and every single time she had been splattered with all manner of bodily fluid and gore, up to and including the instance where she had taken an impromptu slide into the pool of blood in the basement. Her stomach churns at the memory, "H-honestly, not anymore."

The handful of lights that still worked made a valiant effort to brighten the cavernous space, allowing Grace to at least make out the curious look his passes her. She had the distinct impression that Wesker could tell there was more to her than being a simple survivor of the outbreak. He didn't know what, yet.

Given enough time, he might figure it out.

Wesker hums thoughtfully, his thigh tensing, and the zombie's skull is crushed, gore splattering on the wall. He drops his leg, stepping back away from the corpse and following after Grace further into the library, to the spade door. She had unlocked it earlier when she, Leon and Claire had retrieved the first medallion. Turned out to be a smart decision, since she'd handed the key to Leon for safekeeping afterward.

Grace opts to change the subject, rather than inadvertently give him any more hints about her origins. "Any idea where the maiden statue would be?" She offers him Elliot's journal before carefully opening the door, taking her pistol in hand.

He takes it from her and flips it open, the rising of his eyebrows her only hint that he knew she was changing the subject. "I've never seen it, so it'll be somewhere out of sight. One of the third-floor storage rooms, perhaps."

"Third floor. R-right." Grace slides her gun back into her holster and takes the journal back. Wesker closes the door after a momentary pause. The handful of zombies that had been occupying the library were unlikely to get back up, with their heads crushed, but you couldn't be too cautious. It wouldn't be the first time an Umbrella-created virus had caused multiple stages of mutations in the infected.

Grace knew it.

And it seemed that Wesker was thinking along the same lines.

And Grace is reminded that she doesn't really know who Wesker is.

He seems to know way too much for a cop.

"How do we get to the third floor?"

"Stairwell at the back of the first floor on the east side of the building."

Grace frowns, "W-we might be blocked from accessing it by an on-fire helicopter."

Wesker stops mid-step and glances back at her, confused, "Oh?"

"U-unless the sprinklers put it out."

"Hm."

"Grace!"

"L-leon?" Grace looks over the balcony railing, blinking when Leon spins around, from where he and Claire had just come through the door of the west office. He beams up at her, and if he had a tail, it'd be wagging. Grace blushes, turning away, covering her face with her hands.

Wesker stares at her, "Really?"

"Grace? Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine!"

Wesker shakes his head at her, leading the way to the stairs. She scowls at his back.

Leon and Claire freeze when they see him at the top of the staircase, relaxing a little when Grace appears behind him, still holding her red cheeks, trying to will away the blush. Leon bounds up the stairs, Wesker shooting him a judgmental look before continuing down.

"You're hurt!" Grace looks at him in confusion, and Leon clarifies what he means by grabbing her wrists and shaking her bandaged hand lightly.

"O-oh. Yeah, when I threw the glass to distract the licker."

"A superficial wound," Wesker says, putting his hands on his hips, glancing at Claire, tilting his head to look more closely at the backpack she was wearing. "Ammo?"

She blinks, eyes half on Leon and Grace, caught off guard by the tall blond's words, "Yeah. Need some?"

"9mm. Please." He tacks on the please like an afterthought, tapping the grip of the large calibre magnum on his thigh, "I only have magnum rounds, and I'd rather save those."

"I assume you two heard the big thing stomping around the second floor?" Claire asks, taking off the backpack and lowering it to the floor.

"Mm, almost came face-to-face with it in the STARS office," Wesker explains dismissively, accepting the box of bullets she offers him.

"STARS?" Claire looks up and sees the ensignia on his bicep, "You're STARS?"

Wesker blinks, "Yes."

"Have you seen my brother? Chris Redfield?"

Wesker falls silent, because of course, this is Redfield's sister. Why wouldn't it be? "I believe he left for an extended vacation in Europe shortly before the outbreak." That's what the paperwork had said at least. Likely, Redfield was investigating Umbrella. If Wesker were lucky, he wouldn't have told very many people why he was going before leaving.

Claire exhaled a huge sigh, "He's not even in the city? Damn, Chris, you could have told me."

On the stairs, Leon was giving Grace a once-over, making sure she wasn't hiding any other injuries.

"I'm okay, Leon, I promise." She smiles sweetly at him. Every expression she made was sweet. She digs into one of her pockets, holding up the two medallions proudly, "Wesker knew where one of the statues was."

Wesker was obviously the blond wearing the STARS uniform. Where had this guy even come from? And why the hell did he and Grace seem so close?

Leon forces down the surge of jealousy because no way Grace is into older guys like that.

She's talking about the big guy that was stomping around upstairs, hunting for something, calling it a tyrant like that meant something. Leon would be lying if he said he was really listening.

He was too busy staring at her lips. He was a couple of steps below her, bringing them nearly eye level.

Had they always been so pink? Maybe she'd been biting them. A nervous habit of hers.

"Leon?" She tilts her head, hair rasping over the nylon of her jacket.

He grabs her waist, tugging her closer to him. Her eyes widen, startled, but she doesn't stop him.

He kisses her.

Brushes his mouth over hers, and he watches her eyes fall closed, the hand not holding the medallions tightly grabbing the front of his bulletproof vest. Leon wraps her more tightly in his arms, until she's flush against him.

A throat clears, and they both freeze, "If you two are done, I believe we have another medallion to find."

Wesker does not look impressed.

Claire giggles, muffling it behind her hand.

Leon looks back at Grace.

She stares at him with huge eyes, fingers touching her lips. Pink with a blush.

If he only had twenty minutes.

—

The ARK, Beneath the ruins of Raccoon City, 2026

He had kissed Grace.

He had kissed Grace.

Why the fuck had he kissed Grace?

And since when was he such a simp?

And why the hell was he remembering Albert Wesker being in the RPD during the outbreak?

The only STARS in the city during the outbreak had been Jill Valentine and Brad Vikars. And Brad had gotten infected trying to protect Jill, and he'd been the one to bite Marvin.

But Wesker?

Wesker being there was almost as weird as Grace being there.

"Oh, what the fuck is even going on?"

Chapter Text

Main Hall, Raccoon City Police Department, Raccoon City, September 30th 1998

Grace's fingers brush against Marvin's neck, seeking out his pulse. It's a weak flutter against the tips of her fingers, but it's still there. Kneeling beside the bench, Grace drops her head onto his shoulder as softly as she can, her breath puffing out in a sigh. She didn't know whether to be relieved he was still alive or upset that he was still suffering the pain of this excruciatingly slow death.

Marvin had been nothing but kind to her since she'd woken up in this hellscape, brought into the station by another survivor who had decided to carry her unconscious form to safety despite suffering a fatal wound himself. A last act of kindness before he died. Grace didn't even know that man's name, only that he had handed her off to Lieutenant Branagh, with only a brief explanation of how he'd found her collapsed in one of the nearby subway stations before leaving.

Marvin had become a face of unrelenting calm amid all the pain, panic, and anguish. And not just for Grace. He was the commanding voice holding all of the survivors together, preventing them from descending into utter anarchy until it was too late.

Even as he buried his own worry and desperation beneath his steadiness.

A hand on her shoulder pulls her back to reality, and she wipes the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hands, looking up at Leon. His eyes linger on Marvin's frighteningly still body before he pulls them away, forcefully, to meet her red-rimmed gaze. "We're ready to get moving. Wesker's being impatient."

From behind the partition, Wesker sighs, as though he had explained himself several times now, and Leon was beginning to irritate him, "I am not impatient. I simply think that the sooner we collect the final medallion, the sooner we can get out of here."

Leon gives her a mischievous smile, lifting his hand off her shoulder, "Like I said, impatient."

Grace laughs, a wet sound thick with tears, and she can almost hear Wesker roll his eyes. Leon leaves her there, slipping back outside of the partition, and Grace places her hand on Marvin's forehead, swallowing.

Unlike a few of the others, Marvin hadn't been suspicious of Grace's origins, even when she'd been unable to provide any identification. She supposes it had been lucky that Victor Gideon had taken all of her belongings when he'd kidnapped her, otherwise she might have had to explain why her driver's license listed her date of birth as 2004.

For fuck's sake, Grace didn't even know how she had come back in time to a point before she'd been born, how was she even supposed to explain that sort of bullshitery?

Maybe some fail-safe she'd inadvertently activated in her desperation to unlock Elpis and save Leon's life.

Maybe some failed Umbrella experiment that had been activated as the ARK had begun to collapse, as Victor Gideon had started his horrific transformation into a nemesis.

However it had happened, Grace was here now. This wasn't a dream. It wasn't a hallucination. The people around her were flesh and blood, walking, talking, breathing…passionate.

She blushed, removing her hand from Marvin's forehead, the fingers of her bandaged hand touching her lips.

Leon had kissed her.

Sweet and chaste, with a look in his eyes as she'd pulled back that suggested he wanted to do a lot more than kiss her.

Grace wasn't complaining.

Far from it.

She'd imagined his older self kissing her, too.

She'd never pictured it as being sweet and chaste, though.

Not with a man that much older than her. Not from a man with that much life experience.

With this version of Leon? Sweet and chaste with the hint of a dirty train of thought that she would happily follow up on if given the chance, was more than she could hope for.

Pushing herself to her feet, Grace muttered to herself, "Not the time or place to be hoping you'll get pinned against the wall by the hot guy, Ashcroft." She wasn't the innocent virgin people often assumed she was, but her experience was limited to a few hook-ups and one long-term boyfriend she dated her first year of college.

She knew exactly what she'd like to do with Leon, or rather what she'd like him to do to her.

When they weren't fighting for their lives, and likely about to get involved with Umbrella bullshit, maybe she'd make a move, anxiety be damned.

With one more sigh, Grace joins the others.

Her resolve flounders a little when Leon's hand finds the small of her back, and he smiles at her.

Grace blushes, dropping her gaze shyly. Leon was too damn kissable for his own good. Quintessential golden retriever boyfriend material.

Wesker grunts, grabbing them by their collars and pulling them apart, "Stop flirting. I realize your libidos are probably at that point where sex is the only thing on your minds, but we are in an apocalypse-like scenario that requires focus if we're going to get out of here alive."

"W-we're not flirting!" Grace defends herself, sidestepping the mention of her libido with all the ambivalence she can muster. Wesker raises one skeptical brow at her, and over his shoulder, Leon ducks his head, hiding his boyish grin.

Claire marches past them with a cheerful, singsongy, "Nobody believes that," while leading the way to the stairs on the right side of the main hall, Wesker trailing after her, still shaking his head.

Grace stutters out a few syllables before snapping her mouth shut, stopped by pressure on her hand. She glances down at Leon's hand grasping hers before jerking her head up to stare at him.

He smiles, cute and lopsided, "I was definitely flirting."

Without waiting for a response, he pulls her along to follow Claire and Wesker, not letting go of her hand.

Claire is asking Wesker why he thinks the statue is on the third floor.

"Arguably, it should be near or in the library, where most of the remaining museum pieces are, but I've never seen it. There are no statues on the first floor, besides the Goddess Statue. There is one other statue on the second floor, in another storage room, but it's not the one we're looking for. That leaves the third floor, either in one of the storage rooms or in the clock tower." He explains it like a teacher lecturing a class, sidestepping a startled Claire to open the door of the waiting room. He sighs as they walk through it. "The layout of this building is awful."

Grace tilts her head at his back, "You work here, and you're just realizing this now."

He glances over his shoulder, "No. Just reminded of it now that I have to wander through. For example, why is Chief Irons' office in such an out-of-the-way location that can only be accessed via a private elevator in the parking garage or the most roundabout path through the building? Terrible."

"Is the Chief even still alive?"

"Irons? Oh, without a doubt. His office is a veritable fortress, and he's far from the philanthropic individual the public always believed him to be."

Claire blinks, "Really? But he's the chief of police."

Wesker chuckles darkly, "If you meet him, shoot first and ask questions later."

Chapter Text

2nd Floor, Raccoon City Police Department, Raccoon City, September 30th 1998

"Oh! I picked up something earlier that will get us past this shutter!" Claire digs into her backpack without anyone saying anything. She and Wesker stand in front of the closed fire shutter that was blocking the hallway leading farther into the east side of the building. Wesker had been glaring at it like it personally offended him, but Claire's words made him turn.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, a crank lever!" She holds it up triumphantly, grinning at him.

"Good work…But I have to ask why on earth you picked it up in the first place." Wesker says, taking it from her and slotting it into the manual control panel.

Claire hefts her bag onto her back and shrugs, "Looked useful, figured it wouldn't hurt to bring along."

"That's very practical of you. I suppose there's no question whether you're actually Chris' sister or not."

Claire dimples at him, pleased by the words, "He did teach me everything I know."

By the corner of the hallway, watching Claire and Wesker's backs, Leon and Grace half-listened to the conversation, exchanging amused looks.

"That is…apparent," Wesker begins to turn the crank, and the shutter raises a few inches. "You two must be close."

Claire nods, "We're not all that close in age. He was about sixteen when I was born, and he might be more of a father figure than a brother, but he's a really good big brother."

Grace might be the only one who notices the borderline softness in Wesker's voice when he says, "That does sound like him," and her eyebrows jump up to her hairline. Wesker was stoic and cold, with moments of snarkiness. Soft though? Wesker was not soft.

Then her brain catches up to what Claire had said. Her brother is sixteen years older than her? That doesn't sound right. Granted, it had been a while since Grace had examined the Raccoon City survivor files, but she distinctly remembered looking at Claire's when the FBI had started to track them when the bodies had started appearing. Chris Redfield, a BSAA Captain, was listed as a "technically a survivor" who just hadn't been in the city during the outbreak as a footnote in her file.

She recalls his year of birth as being 1973, not 1963. Grace liked to think she had a pretty good memory.

A keystroke error? Not uncommon in old files that have been digitized.

"Something wrong?" Leon asks, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, lips curved upwards slightly.

"N-no! No…I just didn't realize Claire and her brother had such a large gap between their ages."

Leon looks thoughtful, leaning his shoulder against the corner of the wall, "It makes sense, if you think about it," He lowers his voice, "If he had been too young when their parents died, he might not have been able to become her guardian."

He's not wrong. An adult man with a stable job and income wouldn't have had much trouble getting custody of his preteen sister compared to a guy ten years younger, independence barely broken in. Luckily, Claire hadn't had to end up in the system at all. Grace had been placed in a foster home for a couple of years after her mother's murder, until she secured emancipation when she was sixteen. Not an enjoyable experience as a traumatized teenager.

Grace opens her mouth, not really knowing what she was about to say, when the door of the waiting room, at the other end of the hallway, slams open and a tall, dark and definitely not human figure ducks under the door frame, footsteps as heavy as ever on the old, creaky wood floor.

"Oh, shit," Grace says at the same time Leon says, "What the fuck."

They share a look, smiles dancing at the corners of their mouths, amused despite the terror that was bubbling to the surface.

"Don't just stand there. Shoot!" Wesker barks, unholstering his magnum and striding towards them as Claire takes over the crank. "Redfield, lower the shutter back down to the halfway point."

"Got it!"

Grace squeezes the trigger, her first shot taking the tyrant's hat off his head. He was dressed like a criminal from an old noir detective film, who had recently watched The Matrix.

Wait…had the Matrix even come out yet? She doesn't think so. Pretty sure that wouldn't be until 1999.

Wesker raises his gun and fires the magnum twice, and Grace flinches at the loud cracks. Magnum's should not be fired in such tight quarters. Too damn loud.

The tyrant stumbles, ten feet away from them, and with one blast from Leon's shotgun, the monster falls to his knees. Wesker grunts, grabbing Grace's arm and urging her toward the shutter, "Move."

"We might be able to kill it," Leon protests, following after them backwards, shotgun still trained down the hall.

"Not without significantly more firepower." He tells Claire and Grace to go under the half-open shutter, "Grab the crank, there's a manual panel on the other side as well."

"You want me to close it behind us?" Claire asks, voice muffled as she passes under.

"Yes."

"'K!"

Grace is next, eyes going past Claire to the darkness beyond, squinting and tilting her head. Is someone over there?

Leon nudges her out of the way, swearing when Wesker shoves him forward, making him stumble against her. Claire lowers the shutter quickly once Wesker is past. And it drops with a thud, moments before a fist makes contact with it. Leon accidentally pins her against the wall, and Grace blushes, nose pressed into the crook of Leon's neck.

BAM!

The shutter rattles, but it must have been made of some grade-A material because it doesn't even dent under the force of the tyrant's blows.

"It took two shots from Wesker's magnum and another from Leon's shotgun…h-how the hell did it get up so fast?" Grace taps Leon's bicep, asking silently for him to step back, and he does after pressing a soft kiss against her temple.

They all tense up when high heels on the hardwood approach behind them, "It regenerates at extreme rates." Grace can't see who it is until Leon finally moves away from her. A woman, her hair styled into a short, neat bob, wearing red stiletto heels, nylon stockings, and a plain beige trench coat that fell to mid-thigh, tied shut. "You just had to bring trouble here, didn't you?"

"God forbid we try and survive," Claire's voice is painfully sarcastic, and Wesker huffs a quick snort.

The woman frowns, pulling something from her pocket and flipping open a leather badge wallet. "Ada Wong, FBI."

Grace's eyebrow lifts, and she knows she doesn't look nearly as intimidating as Wesker when she did it, "W-what the hell is the FBI doing in R-raccoon City during a zombie outbreak?"

"Investigating Umbrella Pharmaceutical's connection to it."

"A single FBI agent sent into a locked-down area? Really?" Wesker's voice was positively scathing, "Colour me skeptical."

Ada scoffs, "I work faster alone."

"Or you're not really FBI."

Grace half expected to see lightning sparking between their locked glares. Not even another bang on the shutter broke their intense eye contact.

'What the hell is happening?" Leon muttered, hand finding Grace's waist under her jacket.

Grace shrugged, just as baffled as he was, "No clue."

Claire leaned around Wesker's back, shooting the STARS captain a wary glance, "Do FBI agents usually wear stilettos?"

Grace shakes her head, "Not exactly practical, yeah?"

Ada shakes her head, "You do know I can hear you, right?"

"We weren't exactly making an attempt to be quiet," Claire jerks her thumb over her shoulder at the shutter, "Big boy already knows where we are anyway."

"Clearly."

Chapter Text

2nd Floor, Raccoon City Police Department, Raccoon City, September 30th 1998

Grace didn't believe for a second that Ada Wong was an FBI agent. From the way she was dressed to her lone wolf attitude, nothing said Quantico-trained agent to Grace. The professionalism just wasn't there. Stepping out of Leon's reach, she holds out her hand to Ada, palm up, wiggling her fingers insistently, "C-can I see your badge and ID, please?"

Ada, eyes obscured by large designer sunglasses, twists her mouth into some semblance of a smile. The attempted sweetness didn't sit well. Her face was better suited to boss-babe stoicism. She pulls out her badge wallet once more and hands it to Grace without fuss, tsking quietly, "You're an awfully suspicious bunch, aren't you?"

"We are trying to survive a zombie outbreak, chicky. Pays to be suspicious," Claire told her, grabbing Leon by his collar to stop him from crowding against Grace's back.

Wesker sighs in exasperation, "Kennedy, you are not a dog, stop behaving like one." Lowering his voice to a mutter, he adds, "And I am not your father, though I am starting to feel that parental annoyance."

Claire laughs.

Grace flips open the wallet to examine the badge and immediately notices how wrong it looks. The thing about federal organizations was that they tended to take impersonation pretty seriously. A crime committed by the person doing the impersonation, certainly, but also heavy fines and jail time for whoever counterfeits badges and identification. Not even movies and television used the real design for their fictional FBI agents.

Grace had never had one of her own, being an Intelligence Analyst rather than an agent, but she'd seen more than her fair share of them with as often as she'd met and interacted with special agents. Ada's "badge" was little more than a costume prop.

Somebody with little or no experience might have fallen for it, but Grace knew better, and she had the feeling that Wesker would as well. Grace looks over her shoulder, holding up the wallet, "I-it's fake."

Wesker's eyebrow arches, staring at Grace as if another piece of the puzzle were sliding into place in his mind, stepping forward to take it from her, tilting it so that the polished gold would catch what little light there was in the hallway. Ada frowns and moves to grab it from him, but he sidesteps her without lifting his eyes.

He chuckles, glancing up at her with a smirk, quirking his lips, "Didn't have time to get a convincing fake made, so you raided the nearest costume store?"

Ada grits her teeth, jaw tight with anger, and for a moment, Grace thinks she's about to take a swing at Wesker. But something stops her, and Grace understands. Wesker doesn't move, but the threat he poses is hard to miss.

The image of a tiger in the grass hits her once more.

You never turn your back on a tiger.

Ada's anger eases from her face as she exhales softly. "Fine. It's fake."

It was almost too easy. Grace braces herself for what will no doubt be a convincing explanation full of half-truths.

Leon has escaped Claire's clutches, stepping back into Grace's personal space, hand landing on her hip, "So who are you really?"

"A mercenary."

"You must be getting paid a pretty penny to come into a city in full lockdown and filled to the brim with the shambling undead," Wesker says, tossing the wallet back to her, unimpressed eyebrow doing that thing it does. Grace must be getting too used to him; he was becoming almost comically easy to read.

"I don't do anything unless the pay is worth the risk," She shrugs, full of charisma now that she wasn't pretending to be a fed, "I was sent to recover something before the government takes drastic measures and flattens the city."

Claire blinks, "Flattens the city how?"

Not what Grace would have asked, but she has a feeling she knows what Ada was being paid to recover.

"They're discussing sending a prototype thermobaric missile…though they may have already decided."

Leon's grip on her hip tightens, and Grace finds herself shifting closer to him, "When?"

Ada smiles coyly at him, "No clue, handsome, probably as early as tomorrow."

Leon doesn't even register her seductive tone, looking around at each of them, "We need to get out of the city sooner rather than later."

Grace notices the way Ada's eyes linger on the hand Leon keeps on her hip, swallowing down the uncharacteristic desire to be smug and possessive. He's mine bitch! Which, oh my god, not something she would ever say out loud. As Wesker had said, Leon wasn't a dog. No matter how much of a golden retriever boyfriend he was.

Boyfriend?

Leon wasn't her boyfriend.

Not yet.

Grace shushed the little gremlin voice in the back of her mind, telling Leon, "We will." They had to. Leon and Claire had both survived originally.

Grace silences her anxiety when it rears its ugly head. But not fast enough. What if me being here screws that all up?

No.

They would be fine.

Grace would make sure of it.

She was a lot more stubborn than people gave her credit for.

Claire beams, "Damn right we will! Right, Wesker?" She punches his shoulder playfully. Claire was a woman of little fear.

Grace is surprised he doesn't turn to stare at her slowly like the Terminator. He just sighs at Claire's enthusiasm and answers, "Yes."

Pursing her lips, Grace stares at Ada in thought. "W-what were you doing up here?" The door Ada had been fiddling with when they'd come through the shutter was to Chief Irons' office. If Ada were here to steal a sample of the G-Virus, why would she need access to Irons' office?

"The best way out of this building is through the parking garage, but the gate to the street has been locked down. Needs a parking pass to open."

As one, Grace, Leon and Claire all look at Wesker.

"If the tunnel leads there, yes, I have a parking pass." He doesn't say where it is, whether it's on his person or back in the STARS office, likely so that Ada wouldn't try to steal it. He stares at her, "You're on your own."

"Rude."

Wesker ignores her, pointing at the stairs, "Move."

Claire doesn't hesitate, taking the lead and climbing the stairs, taking her pistol into her hand. Leon takes his hand off Grace's hip only after giving her a squeeze, then moves to follow Claire. "Wait up." Grace pauses at the bottom, one foot on the first step. Wesker stops beside Ada, hand landing on her shoulder, leaning down slightly, voice dropping to a low murmur.

Grace strains to hear them, "I'm curious to know who sent you?"

"Is that important?"

"If you're here for what I think you are, yes."

"Not Umbrella."

"No. Umbrella would send its own recovery team; they wouldn't risk bringing in a third party. Spencer's too paranoid."

Grace's heart thuds in her chest.

Spencer.

Wesker said his name with no small amount of disdain, but also as if he knew the man personally. And it reminded Grace that she really didn't know who Wesker was or why he was here. He obviously had some connection to Umbrella. To Claire's brother. To Spencer.

This knowledge should have stopped Grace from trusting him. Made her more wary of him.

But he'd saved her life when he hadn't had to.

Taken charge when it became clear none of them had much more experience than shoot the dangerous thing and be the one to come out alive.

He worried about them, in his annoyed, quiet way.

He turns his head slightly, looking at Grace. He knows she's been listening. That she can hear him.

"William won't give up his virus without a fight. Hope you're ready for it."

Who's William?

Wesker seems to think Ada's after the G-virus, same as Grace. He also seems to know a lot more about what's going on than even Grace, the time traveller from the future, who had learned about the Raccoon City Destruction Incident in high school.

Her brow furrowed, Grace waits for Wesker to let go of Ada's shoulder and start walking toward the stairs before she starts climbing. He doesn't ask her what she heard, and she doesn't ask him how he knows so much.

They both know the answers, at least in part.

Both of them were working on the puzzles that were each other in their minds, more and more pieces slotting together, revealing the bigger picture.

Chapter Text

Third Floor Storage Room, Raccoon City Police Department, Raccoon City, September 30th 1998

"Somebody else was really keen on getting their hands on this medallion," Leon said, poking at the C4 stuck to the boarded-up entrance of the enclosed space where the maiden statue was stored

Grace shakes her head, brow furrowing with her confusion, "That doesn't make sense. We didn't even know we needed the medallions until Elliot and I started looking for how to unlock the Goddess statue.

Claire was digging through her backpack, glancing up to consider the maiden statue, secure as she was behind bars. "Maybe someone was trying to steal her."

Wesker glances over his shoulder, magnum in hand, guarding their backs. Mr. X, the tyrant, whom Claire had named because it was easier to talk about him that way, was stomping around the floor below them. He was easy to track when they knew to listen for him. He sighs at them, "It doesn't matter. The C4 won't explode without a proper detonator. Just rip it off and find a way through."

Claire pulls a half-size crowbar out of her bag, brandishing it with a smile. "Always pick up something if it seems like it might be useful!" Grace takes it from her with no small amount of amusement. Claire was certainly living up to her reputation as Ms. Utility.

Leon begins removing the C4, choosing to trust Wesker's experience on whether handling it was safe or not.

Wesker stares at Claire, baffled, "…Was Chris getting you ready for an apocalypse, or is this just your own personality?"

Straightening up from her crouch, Claire props her hands on her hips, with a thoughtful look on her face, "Both?"

"Are you telling me or asking me?"

Claire's eyes narrow, a small smile quirking her lips, "That depends. Are you and my brother dating? Don't think I didn't notice the way you get all soft," as much as Wesker was capable of becoming, "Whenever you talk about him."

The silence that follows that declaration is deafening, broken only by the sound of a licker screaming in the distance, the sound cutting off abruptly. Likely, a victim of Mr. X's large fists.

Finally, Wesker scoffs, turning his head back to watch the rest of the storage room, "I'm not answering that."

"And your refusal to answer says almost as much as it would have if you had just said yes," Claire grins, voice almost singsongy, bending over to zip her backpack closed. "I know Chris has been seeing someone, because he gets all squirrelly. The question is whether or not you're the one making him squirrelly."

Wesker doesn't even bother to sneer at her words. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

It makes Claire chuckle, pleased with herself.

Grace smothers a laugh, handing Leon the crowbar after he tosses aside the clay-like plastic explosive, and he starts tearing off boards. The work is slow, but eventually there's a hole large enough in the three layers of barricade for Grace to wiggle through, Leon's hand held over a jagged piece of wood to prevent her from getting snagged on it. She dusts her pants off when she pushes herself back onto her feet, pulling Elliot's small journal out of her back pocket and flipping it open to the page where the maiden's combination was scrawled.

The maiden is as exquisitely carved as the large goddess statue, and Grace has to wonder why she'd been sequestered in such an out-of-the-way area of the station. She deserved to be in a place of prominence. To be shown off to the world.

Not hidden away.

Grace circles around the statue, the combination lock, at the statue's back. Whoever had carved her hadn't wanted to obscure the painstaking detail of her figure; that much was obvious. The combination lock's pictograms were scratched and faded, and without prompting, Grace was transported back to Rhode Hill.

To carrying Emily through gore-splattered halls to the Isolation Ward in the East Wing, all so that the blind girl could translate the braille on the puzzle box and open it to retrieve the final crystal to unlock the door.

To Marie smashing through the wall and snatching Emily off the ground, pulling her into the yawning darkness of the basement.

Grace flinches when she turns the last dial, glancing over her shoulder at the heavy stone wall.

Marie was dead, melted into nothing like the Wicked Witch of the West after getting splashed with water.

No. Marie wouldn't be born for another twenty years at least.

Either way, she wouldn't be coming through the wall this time.

The mechanism holding the medallion releases with the sound of metal scraping against metal, gears clicking open by perfected design, and Grace scoots around to the front of the statue, thanking the statue silently for guarding it so well.

She hands the medallion through the bars to Claire for safekeeping.

The concern on Claire's face makes Grace wonder what sort of expression she was wearing.

Fear?

Anguish?

Anger?

Thoughtful?

All of the above?

There was another task to add to her list of things she could try to change. Finding a way to save both Emily and Marie from Victor Gideon's care at Rhode Hill.

"Grace?"

She smiles at Claire, giving herself a mental shake, "Sorry. I was lost in my thoughts."

"You okay?"

"All good," Grace assures her, retreating to the hole in the barricade and kneeling on the ground to wiggle back through, Leon's hands on her back and waist more comforting than he must have realized. He helps her to her feet and, opportunist that he was, presses a kiss to her lips when she looks up to thank him. Her laugh surprises her, a soft giggle that makes Leon turn pink in response.

As handsy as he was with her, she'd almost given up on seeing him get flustered.

Wesker, with all the patience of a drill sergeant, looks over his shoulder once more, "If we're done here, there's a fire ladder we can use near the entrance of the clock tower, that will get us back down to the main floor."

"Express shortcut?" Claire asks.

"If you insist on calling it that."