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The Merchant leaned a hip on his table, folded his arms and gazed out over the smoldering wreckage of the Valedelobos village. Between the explosions of the Umbrella laboratories self-destruction, the fires left to blaze out of control, mindless corpses scattered like broken puppets with Saddler’s influence gone, and then several days of heavy rain, little remained of the once-orderly rural community. The military presence lay smothered beneath metric tons of rubble. The streets held half-rotted bodies twice dead, once from the hosts, once from the parasites. And the mansion, where he now sheltered from the drizzle…
He glanced back over his shoulder. The tremors from the explosions had brought many of the walls and most of the roof down, but some rooms still stood. Rich red carpet could be seen under the rubble, grime, ash and puddles. Some treasures surely lurked, for any brave enough to risk splinters and dirt, and possible death by further collapse.
He looked back to the townscape. He supposed he should leave, find another plaga-infected village to scavenge from, but things had been good here for a short time. He’d enjoyed collecting the unused valuables the diseased villagers no longer needed. Content, even, staying alive through the minerals extracted from plaga-stricken corpses and burned in his precious lantern. More than happy watching the Stranger come and go, getting stronger, bringing treasure, saving the world.
The Merchant closed his eyes. No. He couldn’t stay. As painful as it was to admit, the charm of the remote village in Spain had died not when the explosions had shaken the accursed town to the core, but when Leon Kennedy had left, taking with him his mission, his patronage, and his company.
Blast. The Merchant’s heart still ached in a way that had nothing to do with the parasite slumbring deep within his core. No point in dwelling on what he couldn’t have. Better to pack up and clear out before the government descended on the ruins to do their own collecting.
He pushed away from his table, went to a section of collapsed woodwork, and nudged it aside with his boot, just in case.
Silver gleamed in the ashes. The Merchant chuckled, knelt with a creak of knees and spine, and scooped up the coin.
25 pesetas. Wonderful.
The Merchant shook his head, but he did, he noticed a glitter of gold poking out from under a fallen roofing shingle.
Well, fine. A bit of collecting, and then he’d go.
He went back to his table, gathered up his lantern, and brought it over to the rubble, perching it on a pile of crumbled brickwork. He set about shifting the fallen ceiling tiles, retrieved the gold sparkly thing, (it was a pocket watch) and worked on moving further rubble to see what lay beneath.
Wall sections and broken pottery. Fallen shelves and splintered doors.
A handful of coins. A crushed green herb. A single, dusty spinel.
His chest ached.
He wrapped his hands around a ceiling beam and heaved, lifting the length of wood with a strength that would have been impossible for any uninfected man to manage. Something glittered promisingly in its shadow.
“Should have known you’d be able to salvage something from all this mess,” a familiar voice said behind him.
The Merchant jumped, hands slipping on the beam. It ripped free of his fingers and crashed into the rubble pile, sending his lantern wobbling. No! He couldn’t let it fall! He dove for the light, too panicked to even curse.
He caught the delicate fixture moments before it hit the ground. He hit hard instead, the air jolted from his lungs by unforgiving brickwork.
He lay there a moment in mixed agony and relief, unable to breathe, but holding the lantern in a deathgrip in his plaga-stained fingers.
“Oh, sh- I’m sorry, I uh…”
Hasty steps crunched across the rubble to where he lay wheezing. Strong hands grabbed the Merchant’s arm and pulled him to his feet. The Merchant pushed his hood out of his eyes, and only then, when he saw the face framed by blonde hair, only then did he really believe what he’d heard.
Leon.
“Stranger-” he croaked, joy warring with disbelief in his chest. He stopped, cleared his throat, hunched his shoulders with a cackle. “Stranger, Stranger! In need of some new arms? They don’ have any fun toys in your pretty little police station? Well, you just tell me wot you seek, mate, and I’ll see wot I can do for yeh.”
He started to shuffle back to his table, hiding the breaking feeling in his chest behind their usual routine, telling himself the ache was all from the new bruising on his ribcage.
Leon caught his arm. “Wait. I’m not here to buy anything.”
The Merchant stopped, the lantern swinging in the hand not captive by Leon’s grip. Blue shadows danced across the rubble. “Not here to buy?” he repeated, giving the officer a playful raised eyebrow. “Not enough cash, Stranger? Or maybe you’ve something to sell, aye?”
It felt so good to have this. Just for a moment, just for a breath; the old words, now so sweet in his mouth. Treasures unearthed from the rubble, however fleeting.
“Not here to sell either,” Leon said, exasperated, but a smile flickering momentarily across his stern features. “I just want…uh…”
He looked away, letting go of the Merchant, folding his arms awkwardly.
The Merchant eyed him, noting the tension in Leon’s shoulders, the narrowness of his mouth. It wasn’t like him to hesitate. “Something the matter, Stranger?”
“No,” Leon said at once. Then, more slowly. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” He uncrossed his arms, crossed them again. Gave an irritated sigh.
The Merchant looked him over more closely. Dark circles around the eyes spoke of little sleep. A leaner face described either a loss of appetite or continued stress that was more than food could counter. No scars remained of his plaga infection, but…
…not all scars were of the physical sort, were they.
“Tell you wot,” the Merchant said, offering Leon the lantern. “Hold this steady for me, Stranger, and I’ll let you have your choice from the treasures we find.”
“I don’t have much use for necklaces or gemstones,” Leon said. He took the lantern anyway, though, his expression softening a touch.
The Merchant shrugged. “Never know, mate. Maybe if not for you, for some pretty pair of eyes back in your office, eh?” He gave a rough chuckle, and went back to the rubble, crouching to shift a large chunk of collapsed roof. Easier, now that he didn’t have to worry about his lantern falling.
The roof shifted with a groan and further crumbling. Something crunched and clattered under the stones.
“Nothing like that,” Leon said with almost a laugh. He held the lantern high, casting its light over the now-cleared area. The remnants of a large vase glittered in the blue light. “I don’t think I’m… I don’t think a relationship would be very good for me right now.”
“Wotcha mean by that?” the Merchant asked, feigning astonishment, feeling secretly guilty over his relief. “You’re as ‘andsome a young devil as ever walked this earth, mate. Any lady would be lucky to be your special someone.” He knelt in the dust, shifting the pottery that was half dust, and picked out the still-intact stones. Red, blue, green, yellow. Tch…almost a complete set…
“No, it’s not that!” Leon shook his head, the shadows swaying slightly from the motion. “I just- well. After everything that’s happened-”
“Hard to get back to normal, even when your bosses tell you to?” The Merchant slipped the gems in his pocket, stood up with a few creaks and pops. “That I can understand, mate.”
“That’s it! That’s exactly it.” Leon actually smiled at him, relief clear on his careworn features. “They expect me to just leave it all behind.” He gestured towards the door, and the ruined village. “And I try, but…”
The Merchant couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on that smile. It was the nicest thing in the room, and his pockets were full of treasure. “Well, mate,” he said warmly, stepping out of the cleared area. “If wot you need is just someone to talk to who understands a thing or two, I’m more’n ‘appy to listen. Still…I would think there are people wif jobs of that sort of thing, where you come from.”
He reached up, touched Leon’s wrist, gently shifted his arm to cast the light over the rubble. More things sparkled in the crevices, and he moved to seek them out.
He could feel Leon’s eyes on his back, though. It was almost torture to turn away from him. He wanted to watch Leon’s every expression, to see how his eyes changed as the thoughts formed in his head. Best to not appear too invested, though. So instead, the Merchant knelt at another pile of ashes, and pawed through them, unearthing a few pieces of dirty silverware and listening to Leon’s next words.
“You mean the shrinks?” Leon gave a cold laugh. “The people who tell me I imagined half of what I saw? Who say “your problems are just like those of every man in uniform,” when I tell them I had to kill dozens of innocent people to save one girl and end a mass plague? Or-”
He stopped, but the Merchant could still hear his anger and pain ringing in the silence. It lay between them, heavy as stone, cloying as a corpse.
The Merchant used one of the forks to dig a silver spoon out from between two bricks. “They tell you that it gets easier in time,” he said, voice soft, not looking at Leon. “They say the load becomes easier to bear. You’ll find new things to fill your life with, new faces to brighten your day. But then you’re left in hell, in the meantime. Left with your ‘eart, your very bones rotting, while the rest of the world spins on as if nothin’ ever ‘appened.”
“Yeah,” once again, Leon sounded relieved. “And meanwhile you don’t want to sleep, because of the nightmares waiting for you. Can barely eat, because everything tastes like ashes.”
The Merchant stood slowly, turning to face Leon, his hands still clutching the dirty silverware. “Stranger,” he said, “are you telling me you ‘aven’t been eating?”
Leon hesitated. “I ate something yesterday.” Another moment, then he added unsurely, “I think. The days blur together, sometimes.”
The Merchant heaved a sigh and stepped right right up to him, towering over the officer at his full height instead of his usual servile slouch. “Now you listen to me, mate.”
Leon’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t step back. “I’m listening.” His words were guarded, but his expression lay somewhere between wary and amused.
“We’re going down to the lake,” the Merchant said, tapping Leon on the chest. “We’re gonna catch a pair of fat bass, and I’m going to fry em with herbs, salt, and olive oil-”
“Will the herbs heal me from my wounds?” Leon asked, raising his eyebrows.
“No, but the food will ‘elp you at least have the strength to even begin talking about-”
“You’re getting blood on my shirt.”
The Merchant looked down. Sure enough, blood oozed from his finger, where the beam had driven several wicked splinters into his flesh.
“Oh…sorry about that mate.” He drew his hand back. “Bill me for your laundry, heh heh-”
Leon caught his wrist before he could pull away. “Wait.”
The Merchant held very still. Leon’s grip was warm, his calloused hands so wonderfully, terribly alive against the Merchant’s cool skin. “It’s nothin, mate,” he said, trying to be casual, but the words came out all soft. “Barely’ a scratch.”
Leon examined the damaged fingers closely. “You’re full of splinters.”
The Merchant shrugged. “Hazard of the trade.”
Leon raised his eyes, piercing the Merchant with an accusing blue stare. “When was the last time *you* ate something?”
“Uh, well…” the Merchant was having a hard time remembering, actually, with that icy stare pinning him to the spot. Ah, he could look for ages. A sea worth drowning in, that. “M’sure I had something…at some point…probably…”
Leon raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Sounds like a serious case of the pot calling the kettle black,” he said. “Tell you what. I’ll accept a meal on two conditions.”
He slipped his grip from the Merchant’s wrist to his hand, turning the fingers upwards so both of them could see the bloody, splintery damage.
“One,” Leon said, still watching the Merchant’s face. “You let me take out these shards.”
The Merchant raised his eyebrows, attempting a dubious expression while secretly very glad he had a mask on. He could feel his face heating from the idea of Leon gently tending his hand. He didn’t want to give the Stranger any suspicions, though, so he only said, “and?”
“And two,” Leon looked down now, at his hand holding the Merchant’s, “if one of those fat bass I catch is for you.”
The Merchant’s heart almost stopped beating. Leon wanted to share a meal with him?
No. No, calm down. Don’t jump to conclusions. The Stranger always put the needs of others in front of his own - the Merchant had seen it, with that girl, Ashley, and also with Leon risking his neck for the Spaniard. This was just his nature. No point reading into it.
Selfless. Yet another thing that made him a noble hero, straight out of a fairy tale.
The Merchant forced a chuckle. “Alright, mate. If it’ll get yeh to eat, I’ll eat too.”
“Deal,” Leon finally let him go, turning away and striding for the entrance of the broken-down mansion. “And you missed one.”
“Eh?” the Merchant’s hand still burned where Leon had held it. He watched the man go, admiring the cut of his figure against the reddening light of late evening. “One wot?”
“There’s a purple gem wedged under the stones to the left of the broken vase.” Leon cast the Merchant a smirk over his shoulder. “I know how much you like a complete set.”
“Ah, yeah. Yeah, I do.” The Merchant looked away, hoping Leon hadn’t realized he was staring. That smirk…really something else. He wished he could capture *that* and frame it in gold and silver.
He busied himself finding the stone in question, using the silver knife to lift the rubble and adding the gem to the collection in his pocket. Right thoughtful of Leon, really.
Though he rather wished Leon hadn’t pointed out the splinters. Now the Merchant knew they were there, his fingers throbbed.
He stepped out of the rubble pile, dusting his hands on his coat and following Leon, who still held his lantern, out onto the path towards the lake. “I can hold that, mate,” he offered. “Though I do appreciate your ‘elp.”
“Sure.” Leon handed it back over, then continued down the path. “Now that I think about it, this is the first time I’ve seen you venture away from your table.”
“Ah. Well,” The Merchant gave a helpless shrug, “safer there, I guess.”
“Because of the light?” Leon slowed a bit, waiting for the Merchant to reach his side, gazing at the blue flame. “I noticed, you know. Blue light keeps away the infected. Puts the plaga to sleep…” He gave the Merchant a pointed look.
The Merchant repressed a sigh. So, his secret was out. He nodded.
“So that’s why you cover yourself up so much?” Leon kept his gaze on the Merchant’s face as he asked, making the question non-judgmental. Just trying to understand. “You think I wouldn’t buy from you if I knew you were infected?”
“Well…maybe not you in particular, Stranger,” the Merchant said, watching his steps. The path was rocky and uneven, and Leon was right, he didn’t often explore far beyond his table. One wrong step - one fall, one dropped lantern, and he would be in for a very bad time of things. “Think of it more as a courtesy, aye? My mug ain't the prettiest, wot with the extra passenger I carry.” He found that his steps and Leons were in synch, despite his own extra care. Leon was clearly matching his speed in order to not leave him behind. “You saw the rest of the ganados. You know…wot it does to a man.”
“Yeah.” A single, solemn word from the Stranger. He was quiet for a few strides, then spoke again. “To be honest, I…I wasn’t sure what I’d find. As I was coming back here, I thought-”
He stopped, took a deep breath, started again.
“I was afraid that you’d ended up like the rest.” His gaze darted to the rotting corpse of a ganado off in the bushes, then back to the road. “When I considered that in killing Saddler, I might have taken you down with him, after everything you’d done for me-”
He stopped again, rubbing at his arm where the Merchant knew black plaga lines had once marred his skin.
The Merchant halted as well, facing him, holding the silence and giving Leon space to think and speak.
Leon let out an unsteady laugh, and forced himself to keep walking. “Well. Let’s just say I’m very, very glad I found you alive. I don’t know if I’d have been able to live with myself, after…everything.”
“You would, mate,” the Merchant said gently, following after. “You’re a survivor. A fighter.”
“Only because I have to be,” Leon said bitterly. “What else can I do? Run away? Lie down and die?”
The Merchant shrugged. “Plenty of men do the same.”
“Is that what you did?” Leon didn’t look at the Merchant when he asked this. “Ran away? Clearly you didn’t choose the latter.”
The Merchant said nothing for a moment. He looked out over the water, thinking how different a place this little village was from his narrow, dirty street in the poorest parts of London, and then the tiny, cramped barracks that had been only the beginning of a life descending into hell.
“Nah mate,” he said, soft and low. “Ain't running away if there’s nothin to go back to anyway.”
Leon looked out at the water too, and the ruined houses bathed in the crimson tones of sunset. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you’re right.”
They walked the rest of the way to the lakeside in silence. No dogs barked as they passed through the desolate town. No lurching undead burst through doors or windows to confront them. A few chickens pecked in the dirt, roaming free in the streets. Everything stank of death, but in a clean sort of way; a way that promised that the natural order would return. Already there were weeds sprouting in the untended vegetable gardens, and doubtless soon other plants would follow, reclaiming the streets that had known only horror for so long.
“Things do heal with time,” the Merchant said aloud at last, gazing at a cow browsing in the forest. “Hurts to get that far. Hurts to carry the memories of wot you’ve seen and done. But time helps, mate. Time helps.”
“I’ve done it once before,” Leon said. “I know some things get easier.” They came out to the lakeside. The waters rippled, purple-red, undisturbed except for a slight breeze. “But some things fester. Let me see that hand.”
The Merchant chuckled. “Alright,” he said. “You can keep my fingers from festering, and I’ll see what I can do about that heart of yours.”
He led the way over to a driftwood log and sat, patting the wood for Leon to join him.
“My heart?” Leon did sit, holding out a hand for the Merchant’s.
“Clearly you got somethin you need to get off your chest, Stranger,” the Merchant said, surrendering his hand and doing his best to hide the way it made his own heart race when Leon took it again. “Came all this way, after all, and you don’t want any of the treasure. I could flatter myself and say it’s for the company…”
Leon raised an eyebrow and drew his knife.
“...but you don’t seem the sentimental type,” the Merchant smiled with his eyes. He knew that knife well. Almost a friendly face, that knife. “From wot you’re saying, mate, you need someone who understands a bit wot you’re goin through.”
Leon nodded, bending over the Merchant’s hand and using the sharp blade to drag out the worst of the splinters. “You seem to,” he said. “Understand, I mean. The way you were talking before.” He scraped a few more splinters free, then set aside the knife and went at it with his fingernails. “I don’t know anything about you, but you sound like you know a thing or two.” He drew out another shard and grimaced at the blood oozing out along with it.
It hurt, but the way the Merchant’s entire hand tingled had nothing to do with the slivers of wood Leon was so focused on. “Yeah,” he admitted. “This place ain’t my first…ah…encounter, with the parasite.”
“I had hoped so,” Leon said. He was having a bit of trouble with one of the smaller splinters, and shifted, resting the Merchant’s hand on his own knee, using his fingers to pinch the skin and make the splinter more accessible. “Your accent isn’t exactly Spanish.”
“Bloody right there,” the Merchant chuckled.
“And you’re still just as alive as last I saw you,” Leon closed one eye, reached with the very tips of his fingernails, latched on to the tippy top of the splinter. “Which means, I think, that your strain of Plaga isn’t from here. From what I learned, if you’ve far enough along…” his eyes flickered briefly up to the Merchant’s face, then down again, “You can’t survive the plaga being removed.” He drew out the splinter, but it broke part way out, half staying firmly lodged in the Merchant’s flesh. Leon swore.
The Merchant only chuckled. “Cut it free mate, I don’t mind. Hardly feel a thing.” Aside from those warm fingers. Aside from that knee, supporting the back of his hand. The Merchant wished he had about a thousand more splinters. “But you’re right, Stranger, clever lad that you are. This ain’t the only place plaga has grown, an this ain’t the first place Umbrella came sniffing around for it.”
“Umbrella?” Leon froze a moment, then went back to his work, drawing his knife. “You’re one of their victims too, then?” He scraped a layer of skin away, and the entire splinter came out with it.
“Guess victim’s a word for it. Though these days, I prefer to think of myself as a sort of plaga upon *them*,” the Merchant grinned. “Only where do you think I get all my gear from? It ain’t the supermarket, friend.”
“You sly devil,” Leon flashed him a smile. “You have some way into their store rooms?”
The Merchant nodded, pleased by the Stranger’s approval. “An’ as you might’ve noticed, I keep their enemy well stocked.” He winked at Leon. “Heard a bit about you before you ever set foot here, Stranger. More’n made my day to see you show up in person.”
“That explains a thing or two,” Leon said, still grinning. “I can’t even imagine how you get all that without getting caught, or how you’re able to lug so much out here.”
“We have our ways,” the Merchant said serenely. “Maybe if you stick aroun longer’n a day or two, I’ll think about showing you.”
Leon chuckled. “No promises.” He looked down at the Merchant’s fingers again, gently brushing them with his own, checking for roughness. “Anything still hurting here?”
Only his heart, but that ache wasn’t one he was going to tell Leon about. “Ship-shape, mate. Be off to your fishing.”
“That’s going to take me all of two minutes,” Leon said, standing with a self-assured smile. Fine thing, seeing the Stranger smile like that. He already seemed in better spirits than at the ruins. “Better get your frying pan ready.”
“Oh ho! Such confidence! Well, you’ve certainly earned it, mate,” the Merchant stood as well, moving to the thinner end of the driftwood log and gathering up some of the smaller, flammable debris. “Won’t take me a moment to prepare.”
They both busied themselves for a time, Leon wading into the water with his knife out, the Merchant collecting wood and starting a fire. He had, in fact, everything he needed in his bag, and before long he had a cheery driftwood flame going, and a pan settled on a stone, sizzling with oil.
A short while later, Leon waded out of the water, two modestly-sized bass dangling from his hands, his fingers right through their gills. “They aren’t the biggest,” he said, “but I figured they still had to fit in your pan.”
“Ah, yeah mate. In this case, size does matter, and bigger *ain’t* better,” the Merchant chuckled. “You ever cleaned a fish before?”
“Yeah. Just a moment.” Leon squatted across from the Merchant and set about cutting the fish open, removing the innards and heads, then, with the Merchant’s nod of approval, laying the meat in the pan.
It gave off a satisfying sizzle when the flesh hit the oil, and the Merchant immediately added herbs, salt and pepper. “Perfectly done, Stranger,” he said. “You can toss the rest back in the lake, all his little friends will be happy to gobble him up.”
“Some friends,” Leon said with a grimace, but he did as the Merchant suggested, bringing the little pile of discarded bits to the water, chucking it in, and washing his hands. He came back and settled down again by the flames, looking into the pan and taking a deep breath. “Wow. Smell of that actually does make me hungry. Don’t tell me you really used those healing herbs for seasoning-”
“Nah mate,” the Merchant nudged the fish around in the pan, using one of the forks he’d just claimed from the mansion ruins. “Only a bit of thyme and wild garlic. Salt and pepper never hurt, neither.”
“Thyme heals all wounds, right?” Leon looked up at him, his mouth twitching.
The Merchant’s heart all but melted. “Aye,” he agreed with a sage nod. “Unless you’re the fish wot been seasoned with it.”
They both laughed. The sun edged lower in the horizon. The fish cooked perfectly, filling the air with savory promise. The Merchant produced two plates from his pack, and put one fish on each. He handed Leon the larger of the pair, keeping the smaller for himself, and dished out silverware from his pockets. “See? Always good to be prepared.”
Leon shook his head, accepting plate, fish and silver. “I never doubted you for a second.”
They sat side by side, enjoying their fish and watching the sun disappear behind the lake. The Merchant ate slowly, slipping each flavorful bite behind his mask. True, Leon already knew he was plagued, but the Merchant still preferred to hide the misshapen jaw and uneven pointed teeth that the plaga had left him with. He could feel Leon peeking at him sideways, and pretending not to notice.
Fortunately for him, however, after the first forkful of hot, seasoned food, Leon devoured his fish in record time, looking almost surprised when it was gone. “That was the tastiest thing I can remember eating.”
“Hunger’s the best sauce, mate,” the Merchant said cheerfully, taking another bite. His own soul sang, but it had nothing to do with the food. Leon liked his cooking.
“Can’t argue there,” Leon set his plate aside, stretched out his legs, leaned on his hands, and contemplated the lake once more.
The Merchant watched him, chewing slowly. The Stranger looked a bit better, less pale, less weary, but the weight on his shoulders was still almost a visible thing. It was his eyes, the Merchant decided, world-weary and distant. The Merchant doubted Leon was taking in the sunset at all, despite his gaze lingering over the water.
“Penny for your thoughts, Stranger?” he asked, and held up the 25 pesetas he’d found not an hour ago.
Leon gave a half-hearted laugh and accepted the coin, setting it on his thigh. “I was just thinking that it’s… weird, actually being happy here. I almost feel guilty about it. So many died, and yet here we are, eating a good meal and looking at the sunset.” He was quiet for a moment, his eyes roving across the horizon. “This must have been a nice place, before everything.”
The Merchant nodded, pleased, deep in his heart, that Leon could find a moment of peace. Sharing that strange sense of awareness that they dined on the doorsteps of the tortured dead. “Survivor’s guilt, mate. But you’re right, t’is a lovely place. Lake full of fish. Clear skies. Sheltering forest.” He pushed aside his plate, preferring to give Leon his full attention.
Leon nodded. “Luis grew up here,” he said. “I found notes, in one of the houses, and in the lab. This was his home as a child.”
Ah, the dead Spaniard. The Merchant nodded, remembering the fellow’s teasing, cheerful nature. “Good country, for a boy full of spirit.” He sighed, looked up at Leon. “I’m sorry for your loss, Stranger. He seemed a good man.”
Leon shrugged, but the casual motion didn’t hide the haunted look in his eyes. “I’m not sure he was. I only knew him for a few hours, and for half of them I thought he was an idiot.” He trailed off, looking down at the coin on his leg. He was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice came out unsteady, rough with emotion. “He wanted to be better. I only knew him for a few hours, but…”
He sat up, covered his eyes with a shaking hand, took a sharp breath that sent a spike of sympathy through the Merchant’s core. “I get so tired of it, sometimes,” Leon whispered into his palm. “Watching people die. I’m so tired of it, and yet they expect me to come back. To keep working. To forget and move on, like a good soldier.”
The Merchant hesitated. He hadn’t meant to drive Leon to further grief.
Then again, sometimes it was easier to heal from these things when one actually acknowledged they were there. Like a splinter, pulled free and bleeding out the poison.
He made a low noise of sympathy and reached across, laying a steady hand on Leon’s shoulder. “How many has it been, Stranger?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Leon tried to sit up, to wipe his eyes, staring into the deep purple sky. He didn’t pull away from the Merchant’s touch, though. “My first day at the station I watched everyone die. Everyone. That was five years ago.” He stopped. Opened his mouth. Stopped again. “I keep thinking I’ve gotten past it. I keep…I keep thinking I’ve healed, and then something else happens-” He closed his eyes again, clenching his jaw so hard the Merchant could see his neck muscles bulge.
The Merchant had a feeling that finally having the strength and space to face his history was pushing pretty hard on the Stranger’s mental walls. He made no comment, only patted Leon’s shoulder, showing he was listening.
Leon finally continued, his voice rough. “There’s been dozens since then. I thought Ada was gone, but apparently she came back. And just now it was Luis and…” he closed his eyes, a tear slipping down before he could catch it. “And Major Krauser. D##n it!” The last words came out as a sob. He pressed his hands over his face, as if he could physically restrain his tears.
The Merchant gave a deep sigh, and shifted a few inches closer so he could rub Leon’s back. “Let it out, mate,” he said, his voice as gentle as he could make it. “You’ve carried it all long enough. Let it out. I won’t tell a soul.”
“I don’t want to. I’m just tired. I just-” Leon’s voice cracked, shattering any further words. He dug his fingers into his hair, took one sharp, watery breath, then broke down completely, sobbing into his hands and leaning sideways against the Merchant.
The Merchant scooted closer, wrapping Leon in his arms, holding him close as he wept, his own heart breaking. His poor Stranger. His poor noble hero. Who would have guessed that behind all that muscle and armor, a soul languished in agony, bearing the weight of so many deaths? Exhausted from his toil, but not permitted to rest?
It put him in mind of his own history, his own losses. How many nights had he cried out in the darkness, alone, wishing he’d had someone to just hold him, and tell him things were all right? Feeling ashamed of his own tears and loneliness?
Well. He could do one thing at least. He could make sure Leon knew he wasn’t alone, and that he didn’t have to be ashamed.
“Steady on, Stranger,” he murmured, low and soft. “Its proper to mourn people we’ve lost. Don’t be too ‘ard on yourself. You’ve seen enough to know, world ain't right and it ain't fair. We live in a hard place, aye. And people wot try to help get caught between the teeth and torn to pieces.” He rubbed Leon’s back. “No shame in knowing the reality of it. No shame in wishing things were better. Considering all you’ve faced, you’ve done really well, friend. ”
“How can you say that?” bitter, broken words, and yet Leon’s strong fingers curled in the cloth of the Merchant’s coat. “All the villagers-”
“-were dead before you laid them to rest,” the Merchant said firmly, smoothing a hand through Leon’s hair. “Not by your hand, but by Saddler’s. They deserved peace, aye? It’s man’s fate to die, but to be paraded about like a puppet?” He shook his head. “Nah, mate. You only helped them. They were too far gone to come back. You ended their misery and humiliation. And,” he chuckled. “You rescued the little miss, didn’tcha? She’s safe and sound with her family now?”
“Yeah,” Leon agreed. He’d stopped crying, but made no attempt to move away, lying in the Merchant’s arms like an exhausted child. “She is.”
“Then you saved the life of the only person wot could actually be saved,” the Merchant patted Leon’s back. “Can’t do much better than that, mate.”
Leon was silent for a moment, either thinking over the Merchant’s words, or too exhausted to argue. Eventually he said, “I guess you’re right.”
The Merchant gave him a boop on the nose. “Good lad.”
Leon managed a weary chuckle and pushed himself up.
The Merchant let him slip free, pulled out a handkerchief from his pack, offered it over.
Leon accepted, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose. “Sorry,” he said, not meeting the Merchant’s eye. “Didn’t mean to fall to pieces like that.”
“Don’t worry about it, mate,” the Merchant turned his gaze back over the water - it was dark now, reflecting the star-speckled sky above. “Often with these things, we can’t truly grieve until we feel safe enough to do so. You probably been in panic mode this whole time without even knowing it. Can't process when you’re just trying to survive” The Merchant wondered if Leon had *ever* worked through his grief before now.
“I guess that means I feel pretty safe around you,” Leon said, and the watery smile in his voice drew the Merchant’s gaze once more. “I don’t think I’ve cried like that since I was a kid in my mom’s arms.”
The Merchant chuckled. “Bet she wiped your nose for you too, eh, Stranger?”
Leon raised an eyebrow, folding up the used handkerchief and slipping it in his pocket. He was a mess, red-eyed and exhausted looking, but there was an honesty about his disarray that tugged at the Merchant’s heart. He seemed better, at least after his tears. Stronger. “Yeah,” he said. “She also kissed my owies better.” He gave the Merchant a devilish grin, even though his voice was rough from crying. “You offering that as well?”
The Merchant was glad it was dark. Hopefully the instant blush that bloomed in his cheeks could be attributed to the red warmth of the fire. The Stranger was probably only joking, only trying to cheer himself up after his cry, but the words escaped the Merchant’s mouth before he could stop them, “Of course. We offer only the best wares and services-”
Leon stared at him.
The Merchant, realizing what he said, looked away, closing his eyes. That’s done it, then. Put his whole dang heart on his sleeve in a moment of foolishness. Leon was going to stand up and walk away.
He felt the Stranger shift at his side. Yep, that was it. He was leaving. A whole beautiful night, ruined with ten blasted words.
“Is this enough?” Leon said softly.
The Merchant opened his eyes. Leon hadn’t stood up, he’d only taken the 25 peseta coin off his thigh, and now held it out to the Merchant.
The Merchant looked at the silver circle for a long time. He looked up at Leon - Leon, who already looked much less pale and weary, after his solid meal, though his eyes were still pink from crying. Leon, who’d come all this way to find the Merchant, wanting to be sure he was still alive. Leon, who said he felt safe around the Merchant…
…Leon, whose gaze didn’t leave the Merchant’s face. Who had no sweetheart back home. Who was so, so close, the Merchant could smell him over the smoke and fish and shore…
The Merchant closed his hand around Leon’s fingers, accepting the coin, letting the point of contact linger.
“Show me,” he whispered, his heart racing, “where it hurts.”
And Leon smiled, laughed, wiped a last tear from his eye. “Would you believe me,” he said, “if I told you I ache all over?”
The Merchant’s heart did a backflip. The breath caught in his lungs. Leon couldn’t have slain him any better with a rocket launcher. He tried to speak - made a noise that was nothing near a word - cleared his throat - tried again. “Well then,” he said, the plaga in his chest grumbling from the noise of the Merchant’s racing, singing heart. He shifted nearer, pretending to look Leon over with a critical eye. “This repair might take a while, mate. Lot of ground to cover.” Only teasing, but oh, the very idea of it set a flame in him.
Leon, too, had somehow moved closer. Leon had somehow slipped his other hand over the Merchant’s, there in the sand of the lake shore. Leon, somehow, said, “better get started, then.” He leaned right in, paused with barely an inch to spare, and met the Merchant's gaze, momentarily unsure. “Is this...is this okay?”
The Merchant, face blazing, said. “Y-yeah.” And then, firming his nerve, he pocketed Leon’s payment and reached up, tracing his now-splinterless fingers down the side of Leon’s face. “First one’s, ah…on the house.”
Leon smiled, leaned close, and kissed him, right through his mask, showing him that it wasn’t a joke, that this was really, truly, what he wanted.
The Merchant had never dared to dream it, and yet here it was.
The Merchant cupped Leon’s face in his hand, kissed him back through the cloth, felt his entire body blaze with something that was like light and fire and sky and life, all mixed into one.
Bloody hell. Bloody heaven, more like.
They broke apart for a moment. The Merchant, giddy, said in a voice that broke somewhere in the middle, “did I ever mention that you’re my favorite customer?”
Leon, breathless, said, “I’d better be,” and reached for the Merchant’s mask.
The Merchant caught his hand, still trying to communicate over the brightness pulsing through him, still trying to be safe, even though the whole world spun around them both. “A-ah, a moment, mate. I’m not…I’m not normal under-”
“Don’t care,” Leon pulled the mask down. He cupped the Merchant’s face in both his hands, smiling as he looked over the sharp teeth, plaga scars and all, and kissed him again, his thumbs lingering on the points. His lips were soft, sweet, still tasting slightly of fish, salt, and thyme. “You’re perfect,” he breathed.
The Merchant laughed, though he barely had the breath for it, Leon having stolen it all. If this was a dream, (and it wasn’t, for not even his dreams were this sweet,) he never wanted to wake. He kissed Leon back. He took Leon’s hands, kissed the knuckles, first of one, then the other, unable to repress the enormous smile stretching across his scarred face. So long he’d barely dared to dream, never once allowed himself to wish. So long. And now this, his blessed, sweet Stranger, was his, if just for a moment. “The customer,” he purred, blinking back tears of his own, “is always right.”
And Leon, grinning, slid right onto the Merchant’s lap, there in the sand. “D##n right I am,” he said, and kissed him again. And again…
Above them, the sky glittered with stars. Before them, the lake churned, soft and tireless. Around them, the air was warm from the fire, cool from the night. Between them, only warmth, and shivering breaths, and gentle contact of lips on lips, on skin, on lips…ah.
Whoever said money can’t buy happiness had clearly never figured out where to shop. Those 25 pesetas were the best investment the Merchant had ever made.