Word Count; 1057
Rating; ...R because there's a naughty word or two, but other than that, it'd be PG-13~
Notes; Kacee and I had all this fun backstory for Claire and Leon, and it made me emo that we could never really RP it out. It was really bothering me, and driving me crazy. So, I wrote it out, more or less. this way I won't go CRAZY.
"Wake up, little girl."
Claire's eyes snapped open, and she was rolling, reaching for the knife she always kept by her bedside at the sound of a voice that certainly wasn't anyone who should be in her apartment while she was asleep--
And froze, mid-roll, when she was greeted with the barrel of a very expensive looking rifle.
"Did I say you could move?" The voice behind the gun was cold, high, heartless. She couldn't make him out yet, in between the dark in her room and the fact that she'd just woken up from a dead sleep, all she could see was the gleaming metal from the gun, highlighted by the streaks of moonlight filtering in through the slats in her cheap plastic curtains.
"Who the fuck are you?" Claire kept her voice calm, despite the rising panic she felt, the fact that, even though the goddamn knife was practically at her fingertips, she couldn't reach for it, because there was a gun pointed at her face.
"Such language!" The man laughed, a strange, tittering, shrill sort of thing. It dripped with deranged lunatic. Claire's breath caught, as he re levelled his gun. "I am your liberator, Claire Redfield. You have been a burden on this world for far too long. Sit up."
Her liberator? Claire scowled, despite this sudden intrusion, groggy fear... everything. She was a burden on no one if she could avoid it, what the hell was this guy talking about?
"I said sit up!" The man barked at her, and shoved the barrel of the gun towards her in a threatening manner. She would've attempted to grab it, but she could see his finger on the trigger. It'd go off if she tried it, and the muzzle was dangerously close to her heart. She pushed herself up, leaning her back against the back wall, staring up at him with a grim sort of disgust.
"Who are you?" Claire repeated. It was a simple enough question, if he was going to kill her, he could at least tell her. Plus, she might be able to buy herself a few more minutes.
Damn her for telling Chris off when he tried to get her to shell out the money to get a security system installed.
"Persistent little rat, aren't you? Always part of your personalities. Oh, why I bother. So headstrong. Think you're so righteous. If you must know, why not ask your friend Leon? I do believe he's the one who's been trying pitifully to stop my horrible indiscretions." The man laughed again, and Claire practically felt her blood run cold.
Leon's murder case.
It was this guy. She was part of this guy's sadistic pattern.
Or, hell. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe he just targeted her to fuck with Leon. Oh God. Claire's distress finally showed itself on her face, her brow furrowing as she glanced away from the gun pointed in her face. She would've cried, if she were the crying type. She wasn't. She was the turn the odds in your favor type.
Survival of the fittest, and this guy was seriously fucking unstable.
"Why me?" Claire asked coldly, looking back into the face of the man who could very well be her killer. She could make out his features now, or most of them. High cheekbones, pointed nose, looked like he had blond hair, or something close, anyway. The colors in the room were practically black and white, with only the moonlight to go by.
"You fit the profile." He said calmly. "You fit the plan." He raised his gun, and cocked the barrel back. Claire knew he was going to do it, and there was no way in hell she could get out of the way, not when he had the gun so close to her heart. She tensed, trying to think of a way to live, to fight back, to somehow not die
When the door burst open, and in the sudden noise, the barrel of the murderer's gun jerked, and she acted-more on fear and instinct than rational thought, shoving the barrel of the gun away from her body, and pulling it, trying to get it from his hands.
It fired, she screamed and ducked, practically at the same time as more gunshots were fired..
and the rifle fell to the floor, along with its owner.
Shaking, Claire looked up as the light snapped on, blinking at the sudden bright assault to her darkness-adjusted eyes, and saw Leon standing there breathing heavily and looking like he'd just run a mile marathon, holding his gun pointed at an angle to the floor. Pointed at the body of a blond man who was very clearly dead, and very clearly leaving a crimson stain across her white carpeting.
Leon's eyes slowly left the body, looking at her, and she felt a wave of gratitude, relief, love, whatever, wash over her. He'd saved her life.
"Leon." Claire barely felt herself moving, her body practically numb from the adrenaline draining from her system after those -minutes? it was minutes, wasn't it?- moments had passed. She gave the body cooling on her floor a wide birth, before crashing gently into Leon, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. She hated being needy or clingy, but she'd really needed his contact at that moment.
She felt one arm circle around her, and after a brief movement which she took as him holstering his gun, it was followed by the other. She held onto him for a long moment, before she grew slowly aware that he hadn't said a damn thing the whole time he'd been here. She drew away from him, tilting her head at an angle so she could see his face, expecting him to look down at her and to smile his Leon Smile and that everything would be okay...
But he wasn't looking at her. He was staring across the room, his eyes looking strangely distant.
"...Leon?" He didn't answer her, although he blinked, which was a sign he was at least aware of her presence. She frowned, turning her head to see what the hell about her wall was so damn interesting---
And there, about a foot or so diagonally right of the bullet hole that was clearly caused when she'd pushed the rifle away from her body, was another hole, clearly caused by a weapon of smaller caliber than the rifle.
Exactly where her head had been, just before she'd ducked.