Leon still remembered the expression on your face the moment before he thought he saw you die in Raccoon City. That moment of silent, heartbroken horror before you disappeared in an explosion. That expression had haunted Leon ever since. You had haunted Leon ever since.

For six years onward, your presence always lingered in his mind. He saw you in the people he saved, and in the people he failed to. He saw you for a split second in the corner of the room when he would jolt awake from a nightmare. And suddenly, there you were.

Leon had been sent on a mission to Spain to save the President’s daughter, and you had been nearby on your own mission, available to assist him. Turned out, the two of you had worked for the same organization for six years and he had been none the wiser.

He had tried to go on through the mission, to act as nonchalant about the revelation of your survival as you seemed to be. He was stoic, calm. Even tried to joke, but his mind was burning.

After a harsh run-in with a large mutation, you and Leon had taken a moment of respit to recuperate, and you had situated yourself behind Leon to treat a gash he had recieved to his back. It was the silence that followed that began to wear at his patience, until, finally, he burst.

“How the hell did you survive that explosion.” He said, more of a statement than a question. But inside, it was a plea. For six years, Leon had dealt with the whole song and dance from others, sugarcoating, vagueness and white lies to cover up the stories. He prayed you would be honest. Blunt, hopefully.