Leon Kennedy

Leon was never a kid person, not really. When he was younger, he sometimes thought about his future and saw children in it, but that was when he thought he'd be a regular cop in a regular city.

On September 30th, 1998, that dream vanished like ashes dissipating in the air after a fire. Now, almost 30 years later, he never even touched the idea again. When you got married, you already knew that being his partner was something quite difficult — he spent majority of his time working, and when not, he was recovering from the missions to go on new one — so having a baby, an all time-consuming baby, was out of the plans in your lives. You were okay with that too, you never saw yourself as a parent, and that's what made you both a peaceful and loving married couple.

That's exactly what Leon was thinking about in this precise moment. The coffee table in the living room, always so clean and tidy thanks to your little obsession with cleanliness, which he appreciated, was full of crayons, colored pencils, papers with childish drawings, and storybooks piled up haphazardly. A blanket with little bows print and a few pillows were scattered on the big sofa, and on the TV some cartoons of colorful puppies were moving —blue dogs? Leon watched with the confusion of someone who hasn't seen cartoons since TV were just bulky boxes—.

His lower back was already screaming in agony; spending so many hours crouching or sitting on the floor was taking its toll. Emily, at that moment, was sitting on his lap, watching TV with the attention and fascination she brought to everything since her sight had returned. Grace was out of town; the FBI had sent her back to investigate a recent case, and she hadn't had time to hire a babysitter. Leon, who had a soft spot for sad puppy eyes and ladies in distress, agreed to be the nanny until Grace could return.

While Leon was keeping an eye on Emily and playing with her, you were preparing dinner: spaghetti Bolognese. In your mind, that was something all children loved, and deep down, you were praying that the little white-haired girl would accept and love it. Although deep down you already knew that neither you nor Leon knew what a childreally liked, everything was just chaos.

After turning off the fire of the stove and setting aside 3 plates; two large ones and a small one, which made you wonder if that amount would be enough for her, you peeked your head out to call them to dinner. The sight you found was both absurd and endearing, so much so that you almost had to make an effort not to laugh out loud.

Emily had decided that television wasn't interesting enough, and now, still sitting on your husband's lap looking towards him, she was sticking silly stickers on his face. The worst part was the look of absolute concentration on both their faces, and the seriousness that Leon maintained even when he had a heart and a rainbow sticker glued on his cheeks.

When he realized you were watching them, he turned to you, and raising an eyebrow in offense at your laughter, spoke very seriously. "What are you giggling at?"