Work Text:
Leon had been with her long enough to notice the patterns. He was trained to spot tails, but this one was different. A shadow with four white-tipped paws that followed her everywhere. At first, he'd scanned the rooftops for a handler or a camera, thinking it was some bizarre surveillance. But she just laughed at his paranoia.
“I've always had a connection with them.” she said. That wide, toothy smile always managed to disarm him, breaking through his tactical shell. “And strangely enough, a black cat finds me every few years. It stays for a while, then vanishes.”
“You think it's the same one?” Leon asked, his brow furrowed. He was trying to find a logic in it, a biological constant.
“I don't think so. How long do they live? Fifteen years?” She shrugged, leaning into him.
“Something like that.” Leon murmured.
“Then it can't be. This started when I was a kid. It would make this cat... well, my age.” She giggled, squirming as his leather jacket crunched against her side. “Don't look at it like a mission, Leon. It's just a cat.” That afternoon, they walked through the biting autumn air. Leon’s eyes kept darting to the perimeter. He saw the black shape slinking through the dead leaves, keeping a perfect, haunting distance. “There. Ten o'clock.” he noted. “Oh, he’s getting closer today" she said, her voice dropping into a soft, melodic lilt.
“It's beautiful, isn't it? Black kitty bitty cat, black kitty bitty cat...” She chanted it like a mantra, a playful rhythm that felt out of place in Leon’s world of grit and steel.
“If you say so. Most people say they're bad luck. An omen.”
“Don't tell me the great Leon Kennedy is afraid of a superstition.” she teased, catching his eye. “It's just a cat, Leon.”
************************************************************************************************************************************************
He held her while she broke, his own face a mask of restrained agony. He'd seen cities fall, he'd fought monsters that defied nature, but he couldn't fight this. He clenched his jaw so hard he felt the hinge pop.
“I'm right here. I'm not leaving you.” And he didn't. He approached her treatment like a mission, the most important one of his life. He sat in those sterile rooms, the smell of antiseptic clawing at his throat, holding her hand while the poison dripped into her veins. He was there for the nausea, the bone deep exhaustion, and the quiet, terrifying nights when she was too weak to even speak. When she had to shave her head, he did the same without a word. He wanted her to see a reflection of herself in him. But as she grew thinner, the cat grew bolder. It sat on the porch railing, its yellow eyes fixed on the window of their bedroom. Watching. Waiting.
“Black kitty bitty cat, black kitty bitty cat...” she'd whisper, the rhyme now a ghost of its former self. One afternoon, the sun managed to break through the gray autumn clouds. Leon carried her to the porch, settling her into a chair with a precision that masked how much his hands were shaking. He tucked the blanket around her, his heart heavy as he looked at her pale skin.
“I'm going to go prep some dinner. Stay in the sun for a bit, okay?”
“Thank you, Leon. I love you.”
“I know.” He went inside, the silence of the house pressing in on him. He could hear her through the screen door, a faint, melodic humming. Then, a soft, breathy giggle. And then, nothing. The world went dead quiet.
Black kitty bitty cat.
The words echoed in his mind like a gunshot. Leon didn't just walk, he moved with the panicked speed of a man under fire. He burst onto the porch, his heart slamming against his ribs, a metallic, bitter taste flooding his mouth. She was still. Her head was tilted back, a final, peaceful expression on her face. Her hand was extended over the edge of the chair, fingers curled as if she were resting them on the head of an invisible companion.
The cat was gone.
And so was she.
The grief didn't just hurt, it turned Leon into a ghost. He became obsessed. Paranoid. He convinced himself the animal wasnt an omen, but a thief.
“It was just a cat, Leon.” Hunnigan would tell him, her voice full of pity. “She was sick. It was the stage four. Not some stray.”
“It was there when she took her last breath.” Leon would growl, his eyes sunken and dark, his voice a jagged edge. “It watched her fade. It took her from me, and if I ever see that shadow again, I'm putting a bullet in it.”
***************************************************************************************************************************************************
He spent his days on the porch, a bottle of bourbon on the table and his gun within reach. He scouted the tree line like he was back in Raccoon City, waiting for a target. A year passed. The air turned chilly again, the leaves dying in hues of brown and red. And then, he saw it. A sliver of pure midnight moving through the brush.
“There you are.” Leon whispered, his voice devoid of warmth. “I didn't forget.”
He drew his weapon, the familiar weight of the grip grounding him. He waited. The cat didn't run. It walked with a slow, heavy elegance, its paws barely touching the earth. It moved like a memory. Leon's vision blurred with tears he refused to let fall as he leveled the sights on the animal'schest. It was only a few feet away. He took up the slack on the trigger, closing one eye to steady the world. And then, the wind shifted. A faint, sweet sound drifted past his ear,a voice that should have been silenced a year ago.
Black kitty bitty cat, black kitty bitty cat.
Leon froze. The trigger stayed still. The cat sat down directly in front of him, looking up with eyes that weren't yellow anymore. They were the deep, soulful color he'd spent a lifetime memorizing. It blinked at him, a slow, soft movement that felt like a goodbye. Leon's arm dropped. The gun felt like lead. He reached out with a trembling hand, his fingers brushing the soft, cool fur between the cat's ears. The rage broke, leaving only a hollow, aching understanding. It hadn't come to steal her. It had been her escort.
“Keep her safe.” Leon whispered into the cold wind. “Please."