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Rare Side Effects May Include the Following:	By : maiafay376 Category: +M through R > Resident Evil Views: 39551 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil or characters therein. I do not profit from this story. Original characters and plaga hierarchy are mine.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Warnings: Series, AU (canon will be adhered to when possible), violence, non-con, adult themes, dark. I will warn for chapters containing more squicky material when I come to them.

Pairings for series overall: A healthy mix of het and slash. Main ones are Leon/Wesker, Leon/Saddler. The rest are various combinations of male and female.
An: This story is basically brand new. Re-imagined, rewritten. Same plot for the most part, but many many new elements are present. The differences will become more noticeable in later chapters.
Rare Side Effects May Include the Following:
--Double-edged cure--
Leon always told her to hide. She huddled in barrels and boxes while he risked his life to defend her, to rescue her. Duck and cover your head, Ashley—run over there, Ashley—follow me, Ashley. She knew those commands by heart and even obeying was an automatic gesture. Good dog, good girl. Stay out of the way, Ashley—you're more trouble than you're worth, Ashley. No, he never said it, but she knew it. Every time he looked at her she could see it in his eyes. If it hadn't been for her, none of this would have happened.
She sighed. The island facility, laboratory, torture chamber, freak show—whatever name seemed appropriate—had been designed to get under the skin and fester there. It stank like sour fruit and moldy sneakers. Moisture clung to the walls, the steady drip of condensation nagged the silence, and her nerves. The hall was dim, walls cracked and dirty paint peeling. Lights sputtered overhead, shadows played upon the floor. She glanced at the end of the long dark corridor and picked at the hem of her sweater. Her fingers shook. He wasn't there. Not yet. Maybe he got smart and left her here. She wouldn't have blamed him.
No, it hadn't been that long, no need to fret. She bit her lip and stopped when she imagined her father's glare of disapproval. Then his voice invaded her head, that lazy drawl that could somehow sound mean and friendly at the same time. Never show emotion, never show they can get to you—everyone's waiting for you to make a mistake. And your mistakes are mine, girl, remember that. Smile pretty for the reporters, but know the media are all vultures—lower your guard one time and they'll pluck your eyes out. Even your friends can't be trusted. Arm's length, darling, Daddy whispered in her mind. They can't hurt you if they can't get close.
And the one place she felt safe—felt normal—was ruined by some crazy man working for an even crazier man who had an insane agenda. On the way to Marine Biology, one vulture meaner and bigger than the rest had swooped down, carried her off, and then dumped her in Spain under the tender loving care of a priest infected with some ancient parasite. And first order of business for monster priest? Infect his captive with the same parasite, and send her back to Daddy. Being the President's daughter sure had its perks.
Crazy vulture man had kept her blindfolded most of the trip, but she remembered his smell: sawdust and sweat and motor oil. It made her think of those visits to the tiny repair shop Uncle Dale ran out of his garage. Dale's Auto Shed, it had been called in goofy green bubble letters that seemed to fade a little more every summer. Daddy used to take her every August to see her cousins, the twins Stacy and Stan, and to indulge in Aunt Megan's heavenly apple pie. Before Mommy died, the last hurrah before school had been filled with swimming, lemonade, porch swings, and Aunt Megan's twittery laugh you could hear clear across the yard. Odd how the good memories got tangled with the bad; terror and horror mixed with sweet cinnamon and tart apples. A heavenly pie, indeed.
She began walking down the hall, toward the rusted metal door at the end. Leon had gone through there; he had said, stay there Ashley, I'll be just a minute. Lights continued their strobe dance, casting darting glows over the walls and stone floor. She twitched when one of the overheads made a slight popping sound as its light winked out. She picked up her pace, glancing behind often. Every sound made her jump, and the thing inside her made it worse. The parasite that Saddler, the priest, had injected her with. According to the research files Leon had shown her, when the creature reached maturity it would transform her into a mindless slave. Once that happened, all Saddler had to do was wind her up and send her toddling back to her father. Say bye bye to America and hello to the pod people.
Feel this intoxicating power. Don't you want it, little one?
Saddler's voice cooed in her head and the plaga reacted. Pain bloomed around her middle and the sensation crawled into her lungs. Her throat twitched. She tightened her jaw and held her breath, but warmth spattered her chin when a cough burst past her pressed lips. She grabbed the stone wall for support and doubled over with an agonized gasp. Even though no one heard—the wretched sounds she made as she added blood and phlegm to the already stained floor—embarrassed her. Her lips trembled as she tried not to cry. Her chest constricted. Her fists balled up. The parasite thrashed in her chest like a skewered fish.
Images popped unwanted in her head: alien creatures exploding from lungs, aliens eating the host from the inside out. There had been so much blood in those movies. So much screaming. Didn't seem fun anymore now that it was real. Fear doused her insides with icy water. Her vision blurred as she fought for air. The coughing increased. Tears ran down her face; she fell to her knees. Hazy disjointed thoughts buzzed—his face the only thing clear. She clung to his image: he would soon find her. He would protect her, keep her safe.
Leon...hurry...please.
---
Leon opened the rusty door as silently as possible—which meant an assortment of squeaks, groans and shrieking from the weathered hinges. He rolled his eyes and swallowed a groan. Sometimes he wished Murphy's Law wasn't so...lawful. He wouldn't mind if it bent a little now or then. He peered down the dark hall, toward where he had instructed Ashley to wait for him. His jaw tightened. Empty hall, no Ashley. Where the hell did she run off this time? He should seriously think about a leash.
He took a step, then a soft sob erupted from...somewhere. He raised his weapon, but didn't call out. Less chance of alerting the enemy. The halls he just left had been swarming with ganado. He had killed fifteen and still, they kept coming. It was like an endless march of pissed-off ants. What if one had managed to get through and—
He stiffened as he heard the cry again, coughing along with it, but faint, around the corner somewhere. Ashley. It had to be her. He stalked forward, gun drawn until he rounded the bend of the L-shaped hall and spotted his charge, alone, bent over in the shadows and heaving.
"Ashley!" He holstered his gun and rushed to her side. She sputtered and managed one look up before coughing an alarming amount of blood on the floor—and on him. God, was the plaga finally maturing? Was this the final attack before it took her over? He wrapped his arms around her shaking body and rocked with her with every spasm, with every inhale she struggled to take. There was blood on the floor, on her hands. Guilt coiled in his stomach. Why didn't he save those pills Sera gave him? Ashley's parasite was further along than his; she had needed them more. Damn Salazar and his stupid rituals! Who knows what that little midget geezer did to her, or what Saddler might have—
Ashley exhaled in a quaking sigh and ceased coughing. She panted against him, her eyelids half-mast. Tears streaked her cheeks; her hair clung to her forehead in dirty blond clumps and he had seen tanner skin on a corpse. Blood coated her lips and had spattered on her sweater. He should wipe it away, or at least the red splotches on her face. He braced her with his arm and reached into his back pocket. Damn, nothing but a few pesetas and some empty gum wrappers. Ashley moaned and wiped at her mouth. "Gross," she said even though it sounded more like goss.
“Can you stand?”
Ashley sniffed. “Yeah I think so." The sickly gleam to her skin lingered, but she seemed more alert. She clung to his arm for support and hobbled to her feet. "Thanks," she murmured against his shoulder. He ignored the red smear when she lifted her mouth.
“Are you okay?”
Ashley nodded and took a rattling breath that would have made a smoker wince. “Yes, I think the worst is over, for now anyway.” She looked at him through wide, bloodshot eyes. Her expression of stupid hope made his heart lurch. "Did you find the laser?"
He nodded and motioned toward the door he had just came from. “I found the device, I think. It seems to be working. As for its safety?” he broke off and grimaced. Perhaps now might not be the right time to mention the risks in the report he had just read. The further along the plaga, the harder it was to kill; the harder it was to kill, the longer the patient had to endure the pain. Severe internal bleeding or burns could result—at worse, death. Better not mention that detail; the less she knew, the easier it would be to get her into that chair. “Not sure about that…the thing looks a bit, worn.”
“But you found it?”
He clamped his mouth shut and began walking toward the door. Guilt simmered inside, but he cooled it with a deep breath. There was no other choice now. Either they became Saddler's pawns or they risked death to destroy the creatures inside them. If this didn't work...Well, he would worry about that later.
He waved Ashley to follow. “Yes, it's this way, stay close.”
---
The room where he had found the laser was large and caked in concrete as most of the facility. Slender florescent bulbs hummed like strained bumblebees and hung lopsided from their supports. Computer monitors lined one wall and blinked like erratic Christmas lights. Cables ran thick and serpentine toward the middle of the room, where the main attraction, a metal chair complete with wrist restraints and guarded by two lasers, squatted like a prop straight out of a science fiction movie.
“This hunk of junk? Are you sure about this, Leon? “ Ashley eyed the chair with distaste. Fear clouded her features and seem to age her ten years. Poor kid. When this was over she needed some serious R and R.
“We have no choice," he said. "The plagas need to be destroyed—sooner rather than later." Ashley did the lip-biting thing and he forced a patient sigh. "I know the chair looks scary, but it will be okay, okay?"
"I'm not five-years old, Leon." She crossed her arms, but her lip remained tucked under her teeth. Not five maybe, but not willing to jump in the chair either. Guess the Ladies First rule didn't apply.
"Ashley, I'll go. That way, if I survive, you'll know it's safe."
"That's your plan?" Her eyes actually bugged, and he had to fight to keep a straight face. "What if you die? Where does that leave me?" That whine began to creep in her voice. God, he hated that. He had coined this particular tone the 'Ashley Shrill' back at the church when he had first rescued her. It's no wonder Saddler didn't use a muzzle.
He stifled his impatience and gave her his biggest smile. He pointed to the console. "Yep, that's the plan. If it works, we got one less problem; if it doesn't, we'll both be out of our misery one way or the other." He dropped the fake smile and met her eyes. "I'm sorry, but this is it, Ashley, the choices just ran out."
She stopped chewing her lip to shreds, but now looked ready to burst into tears. He braced himself for the rivers soon to flow, but they never came. To his surprise, Ashley blinked several times, inhaled a shaky breath and walked to the console. The control panel bathed her face in green light as she looked over the buttons. She bit her lip again and nodded. "Looks easy enough, I guess."
"Good. Now don't press anything until I get my butt into the chair."
"Kay." She kept her eyes on the screen. He could see her hands clench her sweater, wringing it. He better hurry before she lost her nerve.
He appraised the chair and his entire midsection did a loop-de-loop. Wrist restraints? Whoever built this thing had seen one too many horror movies. And why two lasers instead of one? Did they intend to miss the first time? He sighed and rubbed his forehead. Okay, now who did he have to coax him into this chair? The fluttering in his stomach twisted into a cramp and he felt the plaga undulate with a burning jerk. He gasped. That was the quickest pep talk he ever had. Two lasers or one, whatever it took to kill it, whatever risks were involved, he would take the chance.
Once he seated himself under the lasers, he said he was ready. Ready as one can be anyway when searing lights would probably incinerate his vital organs along with the parasite, which wasn't very 'ready' at all to be honest, but no point in saying that out loud. He was the hero after all, here to save the day, not whine or fidget even if he now gripped the arm rests with cold, stiff hands. Fearless, yeah right.
Ashley hesitated. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
He cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said. She frowned at him, then hovered her finger over a button he couldn't see. His body tensed and he almost told her to stop. No, this had to be done. If it was his time to go, then—
"Here goes nothing," she said, her voice soft and unsure. He heard the hollow click as the button depressed.
Pure agony. The wrist restraints didn't seem so funny now. Without them, he would have bucked off the chair and curled into a screaming knot on the floor. The plaga launched itself into a series of furious contorting that made all previous cramps seem like love snuggles. Tears sprang to his eyes and the hoarse cry echoing through the room didn't sound like himself. If his internal organs survived unscathed, it would be a miracle. Fire seethed in his torso, scoured his insides with bristles made from flame. The plaga thrashed. Good, let it burn alive. It served the leech right, it needed to die. It didn't belong. No more muscle spasms, blackouts, coughing up blood, forced obedience to Saddler—
He liked that last one best of all.
The parasite hears its host's thoughts and shrieks in soundless fury. Its body is melting, oozing apart, becoming nothing. It refuses to become nothing. The source of its demise is burning light, it must escape, must hide deep inside, deep where the light can't find it. Its core is still strong, still intact. Through death, there is life. It will endure, it will adapt, it will swim through blood and flesh, burrow inside the host mind, find sanctuary in rooms unused, pathways untraveled.
It will wait until the right moment, until its wounds heal, until the host is vulnerable.
Then it will feed.
“All done!" He heard Ashley sing from a long tunnel filled with fog. That fog invaded his brain and messed with his motor functions. His limbs felt broken, heavy. His eyelids didn't want to open, but that was fine with him. They could stay shut. His body felt hollowed out from the inside. His lungs ached. It was hard to breathe, but the moan that crawled its way from his throat eased that a little, just a little bit. He raised his arm and grunted as it flopped back on the metal armrest. Ow, that hurt.
“Leon?” Her hand grazed his forehead, but her fingers were too warm, almost burning. He moved his head away with a twitch, and that twitch developed a life of its own and continued down his body in a shuddering wave that had his teeth chattering and legs jerking as if pulled by puppet strings. He moaned again and braved a peek at the world. Everything spun in blurs and halos. Ashley better find a pan quick because he was going to be sick. And aside from his other woes, there was a strange flexing sensation, like something twisting deep inside his head. His heart began to gallop in his chest, and in his current state that wasn't a good thing. The plaga wasn't dead! No, stay calm, of course it was. Ashley wouldn't say “all done” for no reason. She would have told him it wasn't dead. It was just a muscle spasm, it had to be.
He cracked his neck back and forth. The sensation went away. Weird.
“Leon?”
He squinted at Ashley. The lights were too bright. He blinked her into focus, enough to see her worried frown and her lip buried under her teeth again. He attempted a smile, but it never made it to his lips. “See, that wasn’t so bad…” he said with a croak. How convincing he sounded.
Ashley sighed with relief and brushed the hair from his face. It was an affectionate gesture, one he wasn't comfortable with, but allowed because it would've been rude to lean away. “I was worried. I thought you were going to die.” Her hand cupped his cheek. Even with his mind fuzzy, he knew if he didn't do something quick, she would do something else she might regret later, or something else that if Daddy ever found out about, Daddy would fire him on the spot.
He brushed her hand away and softened that action with a laugh. “Really, Ashley, I'm okay. Still in one piece, more or less. It’s finally gone at least and that’s the important thing.” He heaved himself out of the chair and stood. His legs felt like soggy twigs and his back creaked. “Your turn,” he said, and managed a wink. She pouted, and whether it was from his polite spurning or the fact she was next in line for Plaga Removal, he couldn't tell.
Ten minutes and some creative bribing later, Ashley stood and wiped her eyes. She smoothed her sweater over her skirt and adjusted her headband. He stared at her over the console, mystified. She was fine: no spasms, no groaning, no whining, no adverse affects other than the tears—which was something they both had experienced.
Maybe they carried different species of plaga. He knew of three varieties of the Las Plagas from those he’d eradicated from the village, castle and even here on the Island Base. But how many more were still out there? And what species had been inside him? Did it even matter now?
Ashley looked over at him and grinned. Despite his irritation, seeing her smile like that made everything better. Even made the pounding headache he still had worth it.
“That wasn't so bad. You made it seem hard.” Her grin turned teasing.
He sighed and powered down the machine. He had made it seem hard? If she had felt what he felt—
Something burrowing...twisting...
Never mind, he'd sort it out later. Maybe when he got back to the States, he would contemplate these mysteries while sitting under a palm tree and sipping some nice strong tequila. Until then, he had a job to do. Take Ashley back to Daddy, save the world, and try not to die.
He felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Secret government agents only, kids, don't try this at home.
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