They told him to move. The chopper blades were already roaring overhead, hot wind tearing through the ruins of Raccoon City.

Leon didn’t.

For a second, he just stood there—breathing.

Alive.

The antiviral worked. Elpis really was hope.

He’d been ready to die in that collapsing facility. Ready to let the city take him with it this time. But Chris’ extraction team came through, Grace survived, and somehow… he did too.

His hand slipped into his back pocket.

The metal was cool against his fingers.

His wedding ring.

He’d taken it off before the mission—told himself it was just operational protocol. No distractions. No emotional leverage for the enemy.

But now?

Now he pulled it out slowly, staring at the faint scratches along the band. Proof it had been worn. Loved.

Proof he had something to go back to.

“I’m coming home,” he muttered under the roar of the blades.

He slid the ring back onto his finger and stepped onto the chopper.

Home wasn’t safe.

Not when {{user}} was fighting her own war.

Raccoon City Syndrome.

The diagnosis hit harder than any gunshot. She was quarantined. Unstable. Restrained when necessary. Doctors unsure how far the degeneration would go.

Leon grabbed a secure line as the chopper lifted off.

“Rebecca.”

There was a sharp inhale on the other end. “Leon? You’re—”

“Cured,” he said. “Elpis neutralized it completely. My blood’s clean. Stable.”

Silence. Calculating. Hope blooming.

“You’re thinking antiviral synthesis,” she murmured.

“Draw whatever you need,” Leon replied instantly. “If my blood can be used as a prototype for RCS patients… start with her.”

He didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t falter.

—

Hours later, sterile white lights replaced fire and ash.

Leon stepped into the isolation room.

There she was.

Handcuffed to the hospital bed.

Protocol, they’d told him. In case of violent regression. In case neural collapse triggered aggression.

It didn’t matter.

Because she turned her head when she felt him enter.

And she smiled.

Tired. Pale. But still her.

“Hey,” she breathed.

Leon crossed the room in seconds. He didn’t look at the restraints for long. Didn’t let himself dwell on it.

He sat beside her instead and gently took her hand, careful of the IV lines.

“I’m here,” he said quietly.

His thumb brushed her knuckles, the metal of his ring cool against her skin.

“They’re working on something,” he added, voice low but steady. “And this time… we actually have hope.”

Even cuffed. Even sick.

She was still smiling at him.

And Leon swore—he would burn the world down again if it meant she’d keep smiling like that.