Note: Just a reminder that this fic is AU, so please expect the changes and people who shouldn't be there!

Prologue

I wake up screaming.

Every night, without fail, I would wake up grabbing the sheets in white knuckled fists, staring into the darkness. I swear...I swear I could feel the hands grabbing onto me, that stench of rotting flesh, that inhuman, distressing groan. At first I didn't even realise that I screamed at all, not until my landlord mentioned I was disturbing the neighbours when he came for the rent. It made me feel sick, the thought that it was still affecting me. Even after my escape, I still hadn't managed to fully leave the past behind. Some nights I felt like I would never escape it at all, that every night for the rest of my life would end with me waking to sweat soaked sheets and angry landlords.

That was usually when I phoned Claire. I felt bad about doing it, partially because it was always far too early for her to be awake and also because I felt like a pathetic fool for asking Claire of all people for comfort. She'd been through the horrors of Racoon too, and somehow she'd seemed to be getting over it far quicker than I was.

"Hey Leon," she would say, "bad dreams?"

Her voice was calming, and for some reason it reminded me that it was over, it was finished. I wasn't there any more, neither of us were. I'm not sure why I needed her reassurance that it was true, but sometimes I found it hard to tell the difference between reality and the horrors lurking in my subconscious. It was three straight weeks of calling her every night before she broached the subject of therapy. I guess, considering how patient she'd been with me, I shouldn't have shouted at her.

"Don't be mad," she'd said sternly, "I'm only thinking of you, of what's best for you."
"I...I'm sorry," I felt ashamed when the tears began to roll down my face, trying and failing to stifle the sob that left my throat.
"Oh Leon," he tone was once more kind, almost mothering, "look, I really think it would be best if you spoke to someone about this. I know it's hard, believe me I know. I hate to think of you like this, you know I care about you right?"

She'd given me a name and a phone number and I'd gone without any more questions. I'd told myself I was doing it for her and somehow that didn't grate as much on my pride as giving in and believing that I needed it. The first few sessions didn't go well, mainly because I hadn't thought about how hard it would be to skirt round the reasons for my nightmares. The shrink, a woman named Melissa Hydan, had given me leeway on the first few evasive answers, but after that I could tell she was becoming annoyed. This, in turn, made me annoyed and I ended up storming out of her office. It was Claire again who convinced me to go back, to stick with it. I think, deep down, she was worried I was going to do something rash, like kill myself, or maybe someone else. I'm not sure if she thought I was delusional at that point, but then I was never sure what I babbled down the phone at her about sometimes, I usually hadn't woken up by then. I think it scared her, the things that I said, and I've always felt guilty about that.

"Get a hold of yourself Kennedy," I'd breath every time as I stood outside Melissa's door.

After the third session things got better. She realised there were boundaries laid down between what I would and wouldn't talk about, and I realised how to bend or disguise the truth enough that I could talk without giving away too much information. Claire had been right of course, she usually was; it had helped. After four weeks I was calling Claire at more sociable hours to talk about her day instead of sobbing down the phone at her at three in the morning. She was happy for me, she'd said one day, that I was feeling better and for some reason it made me feel absurdly lonely.

After escaping Racoon City, Claire had gone to stay with her brother Chris Redfield while she recovered and tried to get her life back on its feet. Chris had offered me the same courtesy and, thanks to him, I had somewhere to stay while Claire and I suffered through the barrage of police questioning, tests, lawsuits and constant harassment by the press. After it had died down, months later, he continued to let me stay while I looked for a job and an apartment. He was a genuinely nice guy and I envied Claire her protective older brother. I'd never had any siblings, my mother died when I was very young and my father and I hadn't spoken for four years. Since I'd moved out of the Redfield's I'd been so preoccupied by my nightmares and trying to get over them that, once I had, I felt more lost and alone than I think I ever have in my life. I realised just how much time I spent in my apartment, alone and just how meaningless my life had become. I got up, showered, went to work, came back, ate and slept. Lather, rinse repeat.

I'll admit it, it depressed me. I stopped going to see Melissa, telling her I was done, that I was better now. She didn't buy it, obviously the tone of my voice gave away the bullshit I was trying to pull. She even turned up at my apartment once, scaring the crap out of me, and forced me to talk.

"Is this professional conduct?" I had snapped at her as she settled herself on my couch, admiring my living room.
"Not really no, but then you'd know all about that wouldn't you Leon?" she'd smiled, ribbing me playfully as she always did, "now go and put a top on or I won't be held responsible for any more unprofessional conduct I might feel the need to indulge in."

I hadn't even registered that I was standing there with no shirt on until she pointed it out. She had surprised me in the middle of changing. I hurried to my bedroom, slamming the door and grabbing a t-shirt from a drawer. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and blanched at the sight. The fact that I was blushing so goddamn hard just from a simple joke also showed just how long it had been since I'd had any intimate company. I'd sighed, running my hands through my hair. Everything was falling apart, that's how I felt. That was when Melissa offered me a way out.

"It's a recruitment programme," she said helpfully when I didn't respond, waving the sheet of paper in my face, "are you going to take it or do you want me to read it out?"

At the time working for the government seemed like a joke. The investigation they had put into action against Umbrella had quickly and efficiently been doused by Umbrella's expert lawyers and vast funds. I was still angry about it, I wouldn't lie, and I had laughed in Melissa's face and told her, in detail, exactly why I would never work for them. It was only after I had raged at her for ten minutes that I realised I had said far too much. After months of carefully making sure I didn't say the words zombie, undead, Umbrella and T-Virus and I had spouted it all out in ten measly minutes. I stared at Melissa in horror, but was even more amazed when she just rolled her eyes.

"Come on Leon," she said with a smile, "don't you think there was a reason Claire Redfield recommended you to me? I helped her brother out, after the mansion incident, you know?"
"Why didn't you..?" I breathed out, still tense.
"Say anything?" she finished, sighing as she crossed her legs, "I didn't want to say anything because you wouldn't have believed me, you would have thought I was just being patronising to get you to speak. Don't deny it. But all I can say is I believe you Leon."

My world had done a couple of flips before settling right ways up again. I had stared at Melissa for a whole minute in silence before I could come to terms with any of it. Somehow it made more sense now why Chris had been so accommodating.

"Now why don't you sit down and take another look at this," she'd said civilly.

She talked me into taking the assessment. The evaluators were so impressed with my skills that they didn't even make me take the whole test. The only thing they were stringent about was a background check. When they found out who I was, well, let's say that it was a very good thing that Claire had talked me into therapy. They wanted to know that I was mentally sound, no PTSD, and Melissa was more than happy to sign me off. Her belief in my ability to cope was perhaps the most reassuring thing she had ever done for me.

I'd left for the training programme a week later. I talked it over with Melissa first, and then Claire. I'd wanted to ask Chris but something stopped me. Instead he was the one to talk first. He'd overheard me talking about it with Claire and, when I was leaving, he stopped me in the doorway.

"Just look after yourself," he'd said seriously, "okay?"
"...Yeah," I'd nodded back, feeling uncomfortable and yet glad.

I'd given his a friendly pat on the arm and he'd shaken his head and pulled me into a one armed hug.

"I mean it," he'd reiterated, "even just for Claire's sake if not for your own. Be careful."

We left in a non-descript coach, my life bundled into a long duffel bag. The journey was uneventful but long. I didn't sleep, worried in case I had a nightmare. The therapy had helped, sure, but that didn't mean I still didn't have them now and again. I couldn't imagine a more mortifying way to start my time here than screaming my head off in front of all the new recruits. So instead I looked out the window for the entire journey, watching it speed past.

The coach jolted suddenly and I put my arm out to stop myself crashing into the seat in front. The man next to me, who'd slept for most of the journey, woke up with a start. The scenery outside was nothing spectacular. A large, featureless facility with sprawling grounds sat beside us. I shuffled off the coach with all the other recruits, stretching my atrophied limbs. I'd noticed a few of the recruits eyeing me with interest, some whispering, and realised that this was something that I hadn't yet encountered simply because while I was living in my apartment I hardly ever went out or ended up in crowds of people I didn't know. Claire and myself had been splattered all over the news for a long time after Racoon, so people would know my face. I sighed.

Melissa's words came back to me as we were herded into the facility.

"The fear isn't real anymore Leon," she'd said, "no more than you make it."

I could do this.

AN: Um, I've never done an RE fic before so I hope this was okay. I realise that I have changed things to suit my story and it has been an awful long time since I played RE2 so there may be mistakes even when I didn't mean to change things! I will try and research as best I can but some things I just can't seem to find so I have filled in the gaps. Anyways, please review if you have time and let me know what you think.

Maiko