Title: Burning Reminders
Fandom: Post Resident Evil 4
Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy and Luis Sera
Rating: R to the NC seventeen
Warnings: Language Drug Use Violence
Disclaimers: Resident Evil 4 and its characters are rightfully and lawfully belonged to the creator, Shinji Mikami.
Summary: Leon is now working at several, secured campsites all over Europe, trying to help people who are infected with newly government approved Plagas suppressants. And rumors came along that Luis is alive, Leon goes looking.

This was a lush interior collapsing under the weight of constant rain and neglect. Rain fell through the cracks in the ceilings and flooded the lower levels. There was a soft gothic theme to the place with plenty of stairways and ledges leading to many split level rooms and hallways. Every corner in this old castle-like mansion, formerly owned by a wealthy white man, brought many to drug dealers and zombies. Negotiating these hazards was a constant. The tall, broken glass windows were partially covered by nailed wood boards. Chairs and old mattresses were scattered around for the unfortunates.

He had to go somewhere unusual and uncharacteristic of him. Otherwise, his cursed blood would have caught him by now. He stumbled upon this place when he ran away from the mouthy scientists into large terrains near the mountains. Even though this architectural home came from the west, the old world disorder was still being distributed there in Europe. And despite its desolate environment, he decided to stay there for a while.


Luis Sera turned his hooded head toward the man with a coarse voice. Only half of his face and long bangs could be seen from the man's view. Luis looked at the nicotine-covered finger that was pointing at him accusatively.

"You gotta do something or get out," He spoke with a strong Slavic accent in his voice. He said he had came from southern Bosnia. That was whereabouts he was.

Strangely Luis smirked.

It was the same thing every night. The drunk man seemed not to notice that it was part of his pattern of his behaviors. There were numerous of beer bottles beside him as he lay there on the dirtied mattress.

Luis just sat there on the top of the stairs, leaning his back against the wall with one of his legs propped up. Occasionally, Luis would act like he was in the 'other place' or drunk in order to stay under the scattered roof. It was strange that these unfortunate people only accepted others who also had messed up lives.

"Don't worry," The Spaniard told him sincerely, "I won't come back again after tonight."

"Oh okay..." the man said, half confused. Then he looked down to his arm that had a compression belt around his biceps. He pumped his fist as he was ready to insert some intravenous drug. Luis closed his eyes and moved his head away. He didn't need to see that again but the scenario kept repeating itself in his head anyway. He heard the man groaning with partial pain and pleasure. The man lay down on the mattress, his spasms easing.

"Adios, good man," Luis said, mostly to himself. The man had been a good friend of his for few days, even though he barely remembered anything. Luis had learned a lot about these kind of people. He even grew more respect for them than before on the contrary of being an ex-cop. After all, they were just humans with bigger flaws.

The raven-haired fighter turned to scan few others in the large room, drugged up with who-knows substances. Most of them were sleeping. After a few moment of silence, his eyes drifted to the fire in the can in the center of the room, thinking about tonight. It wasn't long before Luis thought about something else. There were red, orange, and yellow. Then there was Leon S. Kennedy, his vivacious blond friend. Well, he was kind of a friend. He was not an enemy either. They were just persons equal to another in quality.

After having his first experiences with Leon, Luis realized that he was, indeed, a comparable to him- typical former police of a troubled city. Unfortunately, the Spaniard felt that he couldn't endure his career anymore, fighting these living dead in combats or being capable of work for the government. After 6 years, Leon was still doing the protect-one's-country routine. He was impressed by his endurance and his strong will. Just thinking about his success made him like a chicken that hindered itself on the bad side.

Luis sighed at the fire as his consciousness asked him why he was thinking of him.

That Kennedy was the least connected to Luis's cursed family and his village. And that was why he liked him. Sometimes he was a pain in the ass but apparently, he still liked him. Probably one of the reasons was his innocence or ignorance.

That boy had no idea what was really going on here... I mean- I had to explain everything to this guy. It was unbelievable how secret or sneaky his US government can be. I don't think he realized how coordinated these people that he had faced are with everyone's life and his, especially when it has been few years already. Luis thought. Hey, I admit I didn't exactly know everything either.

Ugh! Luis rubbed his own face madly, just from thinking about the blond. He and his unruly blond hair, his stylized, acrobatic fighting, his highly trained, orderly movements with the gun and all, his angelic personality, and his smile on a gorgeous face. Luis didn't think that he could write first chapter of his life without Leon in it. The fact that Luis was attracted to him wasn't going to help resolve that either.

Finally, Luis stood up quietly, picking up his backpack and walked down the stairs of the corridor. On the way, he zipped up his black, worn-out leather coat before heading the door. When he stepped outside, the first thing he saw was the gray, chipped lichen rock foundation, where the beautiful flow of water used to be, across the terrain. It was nothing but a disfigured man, rusted, paint-sprayed, and grimed. There was nothing but broken bottle glasses in the empty pool.

Luis walked down the cracked driveway toward the bent gates where he would face the path toward the mountain's trails. He readjusted his inside sweater's hood by pulling the strings slightly even though it was raining lightly. It would be long before he would arrive anywhere. He started north, whereabout the city used to be. He knew the area in the mountains that had some inns, gas stations, and other such convenient stores. Hopefully, there would be people that went out of zombies' reach...

It was still dark out there. There was no changes. Still stormy blue/gray clouds hovered over his head, hitting his head with gentle raindrops. In Luis' opinion, that was beautiful calmness. At that moment, nothing was revoking his presence.

He managed to get to the road but it was totally empty. He walked for about fifteen miles, which wasn't much for him. He was getting close. However, he was more than willing to take any ride to reach the destination he wanted. Luis was about to find out how generous the people were these doomed days, such as today when he heard a vehicle coming. At first, it sounded distant and in a while, he figured it wasn't a four wheeler.

Motorcycle. Whatever. It was still considered a ride so while walking down the road with his bag with one strap on his shoulder, he lifted a thumb outward. There was no need to look back. The purring sound of the ninja engine only increased as it approached. The Spaniard sighed warily and dropped his useless thumb. It wasn't slowing down at all.

But when that motorcyclist passed him, there was a sudden loud screeching of brakes as the ride hurtled in front of him.

Luis stopped walking, suddenly alarmed by the impulsive and violent reaction. His instinct told him to place his hand on the gun that was hidden underneath his jacket, behind him. He held the handle of the Beretta that was in his pants, waiting for anything. His faded green eyes followed the streaking black mark, trailing the path and the smell of burning rubber filled his nostrils. Up ahead, the motorcyclist took his leg out to the ground to assist turning the bike around.

He unlocked the safety.

The rider stopped about twenty-five feet away from him. The first thing Luis saw was vibrant blond hair flinging in the air.

Oh, no. He whispered to himself.

And he met the pair of intense gray eyes of the American.

The beautiful, wet hair clung to his face. His goggles obviously were not used for the ride as they sat proudly on top of his head. His eyes were gazing at him determinedly. He was still leaning over his ride, his hands on the billet handlebars.

Luis was expecting him to quip something to him. Contrarily, he didn't say anything.

"Leon." He said tediously.

Leon's face expression softened at that sound of the familiar voice. He took a deep forceful breath. Finally, after a silence, he said his name,

"Luis Sera. So it's true..."

At first glance, Leon didn't appeared to be surprised. Maybe he wasn't believing what he saw standing in front of him. Luis wondered what were the odds of him bumping into his friend on the hillside.

"You were at the drug house, weren't you?" the blond asked, frowning slightly with a propped eyebrow. The odds were possible, Luis concluded. Leon was a police, an agent, and now a researcher. Drugs would have to be surrounding that kind of life.

Luis sighed with dismay, "Yes."

Leon sat up on the seat, his engine idling. He pulled his left leather glove tightly. He was wearing black leather pants with several adjustable straps on both sides of his thighs. It looked like a bondage pants. It also had pine green triangular shapes on the sides to show their unique design for front and back. He wore a matching black shirt with his typical holster that he had seen during their interactions on the last mission.

Finally, he looked at the dark figure in front of him again seriously. He, then pulled his right glove tightly while explaining, " 'This guy came by and he had long black hair..." he swung his head back and forth, saying in a wonder voice, "And he got like- weird look on his face. When he took his jacket off... I saw a branded tattoo on his arm.' "

Luis nodded his head in understanding, "Is that so." He was referring to the Los Illuminados logo tattoo that he wished to be removed but Saddler insisted him to have it. It was a stupid trust thing.

Leon, with or without intention, pouted his lips with regard, "Was paying a favor to an old buddy of mine." He looked down, placing his hands on the bars. He refused to meet his eyes as he said something that was strange, especially for Luis since they shared an ambivalent relationship. "Hop on. I'll take you to the inn."

The raven-haired pulled back his hood with uncertainty and hesitantly walked toward the motorcycle. He watched as Leon blinked at his slow movements with water dripping down his pale face. The water fell from his slender lips and supple chin. Luis resisted the need to lean over to kiss the figure, to find out if these lips were warm and real against his skin. He was still attractive as ever since the last time he saw him.

"Thanks," Luis said quietly as he climbed behind the Leon. Sitting behind him on this what felt too small seat weren't exactly comforting. Luis placed his hands on the hips of the American. It would be his first to ride on this two-wheeled motor vehicle. If he was to drive it for the first time, he would probably pop the clutch and kill the engine or be hard on the throttle and spin out of control. At that thought, Luis wrapped his arms around Leon. He also realized that the blond was waiting for him to have a second thought of holding on. Leon was the type who rather hurry than to worry about the street laws. Anyway, the laws weren't enforced in that area. Once the motorcycle moved down the smooth asphalt road, they exchanged no words.

To Be Continued...