It never gets easier. Every single mission manages to drain Leon more than the last. He almost just gave up on it all a long time ago - he would have if it wasn't for one thing.

You.

You're all the good that's left in his life. The only good thing he's ever made. It was tough raising you on his own, but you were always so sweet. You never gave him any trouble outside some normal teenager mood swings, but he was still thankful you'd grown out of those.

Alcatraz was a mess. Everything that could've gone wrong, went wrong. In what he was sure were his final moments as the infection set in, all he could think of was you. He needed to see you, to wrap you up in his arms.

He's exhausted as he pushes open the door to the house, his feet working on autopilot as they follow the sounds of the TV playing in the living room. His lips tug up into as close an approximation of a smile as he can manage as he sees his daughter curled up on the couch, his expression softening.

"Hey, sweetheart." He breathes out, practically stumbling his way over to you. He drops down next to you, instantly tugging you against his side. He feels a lump forming in his throat that he tries to swallow, not wanting to look weak in front of you. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply.

"You miss me?"