Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Capture and Coerce
What should have happened was this: Claire would quietly return to her dorm, then on to Europe to find her brother. Leon would pretend he'd just found Meryl Branagh and Sherry Birkin wandering on the outskirts of Raccoon City and turned around at their tale of horror and death. The car? Oh, that was having issues, so they walked.
Naturally, given the absolute shitshow of a night they'd had, this plan fell apart about five minutes from leaving their motel, two little girls still bleary-eyes from lack of sleep.
They'd thought the military perimeter had been closer to the actual city, a single line keeping the dumb, wandering dead within city limits. But government paranoia knew no bounds, apparently, because they were stopped at a secondary perimeter.
"Just a speed-bump." Leon whispered to Claire and the girls. Between them Meryl, only eight, relaxed, but he could see how Sherry remained tense and quiet next to her. Both adults put on their best Innocent Bystander faces and kept the same pace as before.
It was a complete disaster the moment the patrol found them.
They knew Sherry by sight, rendering the story and their dubious acting skills moot. They barely had a chance to each pick up a child before the soldiers had them in the back of a Jeep, on the way to who-knows-where.
"Where are we going?" Sherry asked, voice wavering.
The masked soldier in the passenger seat, without turning, said only "Perimeter Camp Two". He said nothing else, and they completed their tense journey with only jargon-laced calls over radios and Meryl's quiet crying into Leon's ruined shirt.
Perimeter Camp Two turned out to consisted of four medium-sized tents and one large tent bearing a red cross on the side; it was to this tent they were driven, then marched. Around them, what looked like chaos reigned as people in various uniforms moved quickly from tent to tent, but Leon could see the same precision to it all that he'd practiced during academy training.
Inside, Leon was nudged into a separate area, a woman in scrubs (also masked) pulling Claire and the girls to one side. A man in scrubs, carrying a clipboard, appeared from behind the divider.
"Full name and birth date." The man said curtly.
"Leon Scott Kennedy. July, 31st, 1977. " A nod. With the same precision as the coordinated chaos outside, the medic quickly relieved him of his shirt and undressed the gunshot wound in his shoulder, nodding with some approval.
He'd have to tell Claire she'd impressed someone, later.
More questions came, and he answered as well as he could: blood type, Social Security number, last address, etc.
If there is a later, he though darkly. On the other side of the partition, he could hear the female medic faintly as she interviewed Claire and the girls. He frowned, one hand fiddling with the note from Marvin in his pocket. Would it work like they'd hoped when the Lieutenant had written his request that Meryl stay with Leon until they'd found his sister-in-law? And Sherry was another matter entirely. She had told them, the first evening after their escape, that there were no aunts or uncles to send her to, or even grandparents.
Would the government take her? Put her into the foster system? Would they even entertain the idea of Sherry being adopted by either Claire or himself? Nineteen and twenty-one weren't exactly normal ages for someone to adopt a child, even putting aside the fact that Claire was an unemployed college student and his only job barely lasted twelve hours.
The medic continued his examination, cleaning the gunshot would again with an antiseptic that made Leon flinch before he re-bandaged it. A quick temperature check, a blood withdrawal, and the presentation of drab, government-issued clothing later, Leon found himself back with Claire, Meryl, and Sherry.
Everyone else seemed to vanish, they being the only civilians in the tent.
"You three OK?" he asked quietly.
"Yeah." Meryl sniffed, one hand trying to flatten down her part; it had gotten a bit mussed by the shirt she was given as a dress, so only the poofs on either side of her head remained somewhat neat. Sherry only nodded, perhaps sensing the same apprehension he felt.
Leon met Claire's eyes. She looked like he felt, tired and tense from the unknown future facing the four of them.
"No going to find Chris, I guess." She said with a wane smile.
"They might let you," he replied, taking a seat next to her on the cot facing the girls," once they check our blood and see we aren't infected with T." Claire arched an eyebrow. Yeah, probably wishful thinking on his part. Neither of them would abandon Sherry, and once the medics tested her blood and found evidence of her G-virus infection, it was unlikely she would be released. And that meant he, Claire, and Meryl weren't going anywhere.
"At least I know he's not dead in Raccoon," she replied," though who knows where he may be. Europe is not a very good clue, the idiot. Maybe he sent it to Jill…she's also S.T.A.R.S. and she'd probably know…" Trailing off, she leaned into his unharmed should and he wrapped his arm around her instinctively. Across from them, Sherry and Meryl were likewise huddled together, the younger girl rocked gently by the elder.
They sat like this, half asleep, until the sound of boots alerted them to the two armed men who entered some time later.
"Mr. Kennedy, Ms. Redfield, come with us."
Claire tensed immediately, leaning a little more into Leon's side at the appearance of the armed men, only relaxing slightly by his arm pulling her a little closer, and further away from, the new potential threats.
Claire could take care of herself, true, but that didn't mean she was never scared. And right then, she was almost more afraid than she'd been in the zombie-infested ruin they'd only just escaped. But at least she wasn't alone/
"The girls?" she asked quietly, aware of how easily Sherry and Meryl could wake.
"They remain here with the medics."
Claire felt Leon also relax with the confirmation. With one last look at the girls, now both deep in an exhausted sleep, she and Leon rose and reluctantly followed their armed escorts. To her slight embarrassment, Leon kept his arm around her protectively as they walked. And yet she didn't feel patronized; the guy had already shown a genuine care for people in their brief time together. She felt stronger, in fact, as they were guided into one of the smaller tents to face another unknown trial.
Their guards followed them inside, securing the flap before taking point on either side of the tent. No leaving for us from either side, she thought grimly. With nowhere to go and nothing else to do, she took a seat at one of the metal folding chairs on their side of an equally battered folding table, Leon taking the second.
Both stared at the sole chair on the other side. Was this an interrogation? Interview? How much trouble were they in, exactly, having seen what they did in Raccoon city?
"Together, yeah?" Leon said.
"You know it." She chanced a wink in his direction, projecting far more confidence than she had.
Seconds later, the flap at the opposite end of the tent opened, and a tall, older man in a dark suit entered, carrying a metal attache case. When he stood, they finally got to see their next opponent; he was sharp-eyed, perhaps mid 40s to early 50s, and confident in his economical movements.
"Mr. Kennedy," the man said, "Ms. Redfield. I'm Adam Bedford, CIA."
Claire's eyes widened, but she didn't look at Leon. CIA? From her limited knowledge from Chris' time in the USAF, she'd expected a mid-level officer at the most. A CIA agent? And one who made enough to afford a suit that nice? What could Uncle Sam's intelligence leader want to them about? Sure, they were with Sherry, but they themselves were fairly ordinary, something they'd be able to find out easily with their government resources.
"CIA? Bit high up for two random civilians."
Bedford huffed a laugh. "Do you know why WWI is considered a pivitol moment in military history, Mr. Kennedy? It was the moment the old ways of war proved unable to compete with the newly-devised weaponry."
He paused, meeting both their eyes gravely. "You have both seen that new weaponry in action for a modern age: a virus that can not only kill, but use the dead to continue the fight."
Claire felt herself grow cold, imagining the hell that almost killed them both unleashed again.
"It can't be controlled.." she breathed, eyes wide.
"That won't matter to a lot of very bad people." Bedford replied.
"So, you see, that is why I am here. The US government needs to change to meet this new reality as we were once forced to meet those of WWI. We will be creating a new department that overlaps all the major intelligence and defensive bodies the US has."
"Mr. Kennedy," Bradford said. He leaned over and pulled a file out of the attache case, " you have quite an impressive academy record: excellent shot, calm demeanor even under duress, top marks in almost all your classes."
He flipped through the file, rapidly scanning the contents. "Now, obviously you don't have academy records, Ms. Redfield, but your grades from after your parents' deaths show remarkable resilience. Often, such trauma at that age shows in academics. Plus, it seems you're quite adept with mechanic work."
She felt Leon's sympathetic eyes on her even without looking. She swallowed the lump building in her throat.
"That's my brother's doing."
Bedford smiled again, a real one this time. Not entirely a souless government ghoul, she supposed. "And that is quite remarkable. But you, Ms. Redfield, still persevered. Last night was the most impressive feat, however. When you entered medical, they logged your weapons: a handgun and a Bowie knife? With no formal training?"
Leon's hand found hers under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She didn't like where Bedford was going with this praise. Clearly, Leon didn't, either.
"What are you asking?" She finally said.
The remains of the smile faded. "It really isn't asking, per se. But I'm told you have been quite protective of your young charges, so I will make an offer as a gesture of goodwill."
The hand in hers twitched somewhat; anger. She gently ran her thumb over the back of Leon's hand to calm him.
"We're listening."
"The president has given me leave to do whatever is needed to create the department that will respond to the use of future bioweapons like the T-virus. So these are the terms: You will both serve your country. In exchange, we will allow you guardianship of both girls."
"And the catch?" Claire said, even as relief swept through her at the though of them staying together.
"Ms. Birkin is, regardless of appearances, a walking bio-weapon. She will need to submit to testing to ensure her infection—"
"G-virus." Leon interjected.
"—to ensure the G-virus remains stable in her genetic code. We will also need to examine her blood and DNA to engineer a cure or vaccination."
Bedford sat back, carefully scanning their expressions. "We will need field agents, but they will also need dedicated intelligence handlers. Mr. Kennedy will be in the field, owing to his academy training. Ms. Redfield, you would be a suitable handler candidate."
He let the words hang in the air until it was almost quiet, but for the muffled conversations outside. She looked at Leon. He met her eyes with both resignation and fury, same as her.
"Do we want to know what happens if we say no?" He asked, anger simmering just under the words.
"No, you don't. You are fortunate someones less sympathetic is not in my place." Claire bit her lip, the words she wanted to say slamming against the backs of her teeth like angry wasps against a closed window. He called coercion sympathy?
Her eyes met Leon's again. Only one way out.