Ever since Raccoon City Leon hasn't been able to warm up. That was almost three months ago and he still feels cold, like the clammy chill of all those dead, groping hands, has permeated his whole body. When he runs he sweats buckets but as soon as the exertion stops he freezes up. That's why he's laying almost fully dressed under the itchy wool blanket of his bunk. He, Claire, and Sherry are all sharing a large room in this institution the anti-Umbrella group they hooked up with is currently hiding out at. He can hear Sherry breathing softly from the top bunk across the room. He's woken up what feels like dozens of nights as she uses his bed as a step up to Claire's bunk above him after one of her nightmares.

He knows it can't really be dozens of times, because ever since Raccoon City Leon hasn't been able to sleep either. Most nights he just lays awake, eyes open, listening to Sherry softly breathe or whimper in her sleep and Claire's frustrated rustling above him. He just lies perfectly still, half praying for the sweet escape of sleep, half dreading the horrific nightmares he knows are sure to come. When he's lucky he doesn't dream at all and wakes up feeling just as exhausted as he did before. When he's not he relives everything over and over and over again.

The groans, and the stink, and the horribly mutated face of Birkin, and the cold and unyielding grip of the undead, and the grating alarm klaxons, and the hot kiss of lead in his shoulder, and Ada kissing him, and Ada plunging down downdowndown.

He's never wanted so desperately to just vaporize off the face of the Earth. But no matter how painfully he wants to, no matter how easy it would be, he knows that he can't. He knows he has to try and make things right, that someone has to be made to pay. And that someone has to stay, to take care of Sherry. Everyday that Claire is still here is a surprise for him, and he knows that it's going to tear Sherry apart to be abandoned like that again. So he has to stay. Good ole dependable Leon. But it doesn't mean he has to like it. And it definitely doesn't mean he has to acknowledge what his own feelings about Claire are.

They hardly know each other of course. They're bound together more of a hate for Umbrella and concern for Sherry than anything else. And yet, he feels closer to her than he has to anyone in a long time. He knows that she's driven by the same things he is, has the same goals. The same restless nights. She's anxious to go search for her brother, she's made that more than clear. Leon likes her, they work well together, and he trusts her to watch his back, but she could be gone tomorrow, and that's why he's kept himself from trying to get close to her.

It would be so easy, too easy, to fall for her. She was smart, tough, loyal, and totally unwilling to be pushed around. But she was also soft when she needed to be, comforting Sherry in the night with practiced skill. And of course her looks had nothing to do with it- that hair… that milky white skin…that body...

But there was something fragile about her that Leon found himself drawn to the most. They'd both been damaged by what had happened back in Raccoon, and no wonder. Sometimes he wanted to hold her so closely, pressing her so tightly into himself, sharing that pain between them. He wanted to seal his mouth with hers, letting his lips and tongue speak for him without words. He wanted to slam himself into her softness over and over until she screamed underneath him and they both collapsed, hot and sweaty and spent, drifting off into a sweet sleep, their limbs still intertwined.

Leon feels the mattress shift under him and suddenly she's there, laying still beside him, their heads sharing a pillow. He's suddenly very glad that, in the pitch darkness of the room, she won't be able to see the hot flush on his cheeks. He's too old to be indulging in those kinds of fantasies, the situation much too serious. But it was such a nice escape from the gurgling, infected monsters that usually ran rampant through his mind. And unlike the peaceful sunsets and other happily-ever-afters, this fantasy actually seems attainable with her warm body pressed up against him in the night.

"Claire?" he whispers, not wanting to wake up the sleeping lump across the room. Sherry could sleep through a nuclear attack, but somehow it felt wrong to raise his voice above a murmur in the serene near-blackness of the room.

"I had a dream that you died," she says flatly, her voice is equally quiet as she stares up at the bottom of her own bunk.

"Oh?"

"You died… but you came back," even through the hushed tones he can tell she's upset. Leon puts an arm around her and pulls her in to his chest, feeling her warmth through his sweatshirt. It feels nice.

"It was just a dream," he soothes, resting his chin on the top of her head. He's always felt awkward at this kind of thing, never knowing what to do, what to say. After what they'd been through, what was there to say? Any training he'd received at the Police Academy was pretty much rendered null and void by the hungry legions of undead. But her hair is soft and smells so sweet that he relaxes naturally into the moment. It's been such a long time since he's had any physical comfort like this that he feels as bolstered by it as she does.

"You came back for us, and it was awful," she lifts her head up from his chest to look at him in the dim light that filters in through the crack underneath the door. He looks exhausted, his hair mussed up from laying on the pillow and his expression intense, hanging on her every whispered word. "I had to kill you Leon," she swallows hard, the grizzly images still fresh in her mind.

"It's okay. It wasn't really me anymore,"

"It was still so hard. I don't know if I could do it in real life," she tries to look away, ashamed to admit this weakness, but he catches her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes, his breath soft on her face.

"You won't have to," although almost inaudible, his voice is sincere, "I promise."

Everything seemed so real in that moment, more so than anything had in the past two and a half months, far more real than walking dead men and monsters ever did. She pulls his face down to hers, pressing their lips together in a hot, wet, silent kiss. Arousal flared in him instantly as he crushed her to him, feeling her leg wrap around his waist, drawing him closer. He deepens the kiss, sliding their tongues together as he holds her head in his seemingly huge hands, his fingers sliding through the soft locks – she tasted better than any fantasy he'd ever had. Claire breaks the kiss briefly to pull the sweatshirt over his head, revealing the t-shirt still left on underneath.

"Cold?" she purrs in his ear,

"Not anymore," Leon growls in response, crushing her mouth again as his as his hands come up to gently cup her breasts through the well worn material of her shirt. He rubs his palms lightly over her nipples in circles, feeling them harden from the friction as she arches into him. Her nails rake down his back under his shirt and he has to try hard not to moan as they grind their hips into each other. Leon slides his hand up the smooth plane of her belly to knead one breast with his hand, his fingers barely brushing her hardened nipple. He starts to pluck at the nub, gently twisting and rolling it between his fingers as Claire clutches desperately at his hair, writhing underneath him.

She tugs at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head, and runs her hands over his chest, loving the feel of the ridges of his muscles while being careful to avoid the still visible bullet wound at his shoulder. He pulls her own shirt off and slides down next to, pulling her on to her side to face him as he kisses her again, less desperately this time. He rubs a hand up and down along her side, loving the curve of her hip, running it over and over again, pushing her sweatpants lower to be able to feel the silken skin of her thigh. She's surprised at this change of pace but thinks the way he's touching her is endearing, and yet still sensual. It's like he's trying to memorize every inch of her to keep with him after she leaves, to worship her while he still can. It makes her feel like a goddess.

She reaches for his hip, running a finger lightly inside the waistband of his sweats and feels his hand, with its thumb moving so maddeningly over her inner thigh, tense slightly – it's enough of a hint. She shifts, pulling the material down his long, lean legs, kicking her own pants into a jumble at the end of the bed. He pulls the blanket over both of them and she wraps her leg around him again, their naked genitals grinding up against each other for the first time, both of them breathing hard in the near silence of the room. He slides a hand over her hip, his fingers finding and rubbing the length of her oozing slit and just grazing her aching clit.

"God, you're so wet…" he half whispers, half groans against her mouth. Claire bites his bottom lip, pulling it gently with her teeth.

"Please Leon…" she murmured, trying her hardest not to moan aloud as he rubbed her clit, making it slick with her own juices. He lifts her leg a little more, positioning himself, and then slowly pushing into her, one of her hands fisting itself in his hair again as the other clutches his shoulder. He teasingly pushes into her inch by inch, withdrawing again with every new progress. "Leon…" she groans softly against his neck, trying to move her hips to draw him in fully. He's always loved the sound of his name on his lovers' lips, the way the vowels let them draw it out nice and long until it almost becomes a moan. Finally he's all the way inside of her, nothing but hot softness inside and out, thrusting deeply with every stroke. Their lips meet again, mouths open, swallowing each other's sighs in the darkness, not even really registering the kiss as they hold on to each other, their bodies melding together like liquid. His thrusts become harder, faster, reaching a hand down between them to rub the hard little button at the top of her slit.

"Come for me baby," he says softly into her ear, "I want to feel you…"

Claire can only grunt in response, her hips working against him quickly now as she nears her release. He can feel her quivering, her whole body thrumming with the need to let go and he works his hand faster, his hips thrusting even harder into her. At last he feels her arch against him, her whole body tensing up, his name a breath on her lips. His own orgasm is spurred on by the spasm of her muscles around him and he pulls out, releasing himself into the sheet beneath them.

The room is still quiet and dark around them as Leon feels himself fading into sleep in the euphoric aftermath. Claire lays her head on his chest, feeling the reassuring thump of his heart against her ear as he gently rubs her back. Neither of them is sure if and how this will complicate things in the morning, right now it doesn't really seem to matter. She knows she shouldn't tempt her emotions like this; she's still going to have to leave, no matter how wonderful it feels to be snuggled up beside him like this. She tells herself that it was just a physical release that they were both in desperate need of. Leon is telling himself much the same thing.

She reluctantly grabs the wadded ball of clothing at the foot of the bed, tossing his t-shirt and sweatpants onto his chest; it won't do to have them both caught like this. Death could come in a lot of ways in the next day, it could be a horrible viral monster, or it could be Barry Burton's fist through his face after catching Chris Redfield's little sister naked in his bed. They both slide back into their clothes, Leon pulling the itchy wool blanket up over the damp spot on the bed. Claire slides out from the bunk, leaving him alone again in his dark little cove. Now that they've been lovers, they're not sure how to go back to being friends. She pauses with one foot on his bed to boost herself up,

"Well… goodnight,"

"Sweet dreams," he whispers, laying back in just his t-shirt and sweats with his arms folded behind his head. He can feel himself drifting off to sleep with the stupidest, goofiest grin on his face but he's too relaxed to care. Claire settles herself comfortably in the bunk above him and Leon feels him drifting off to sleep peacefully for the first time in months without even the slightest chill – he's not even wearing his socks.