Archive of Our Own

Leon didn’t run into Chris Redfield for months after the bio lab incident. He heard about the BSAA’s own experimentation with BOWs and drew his own conclusions about Redfield deserting his own organization. 

With the revelation, the BSAA and DSO’s long-standing partnership began to fracture. Aside from seizing their own research, BSAA had been boxing the DSO out of critical missions across the continent, electing to take control of any active research site before the DSO could clear it. It was clear that the Redfields didn’t tolerate the shift, with Claire working with the government to slap some sanctions on the BSAA’s new brass. Chris, on the other hand—well, no one really knew what the former captain got up to after abandoning the BSAA. 

Not that he had the time to sit on his ass and ponder Redfield’s life. Leon himself was busy, picking up a lead on a particular nasty subtype of Tyrant. Some up-and-coming terrorist organization in Nebraska was mutating their own strain of the T-virus, and the DSO wanted boots on the ground before the BSAA got wind of it. 

So, of course, it was up to Leon S Kennedy to put an end to it. 

Hunnigan had sent him the coordinates and a chopper to drop him off in the middle of fucking nowhere. He stepped out of the helicopter, giving the pilot a nod and salute, and assessed the flat prairies of the Midwest. It had been quite some time since his last adventure this far west. Instead of reminiscing on the past, Leon secured his weapons, his new leather jacket providing some shelter against the biting November chill. 

As he traversed the grasslands, making his way to a wooden cabin a few miles due south, Leon took the time to enjoy the fresh air. Usually, his work kept him underground, in some festering sewer system, or holed up in a stuffy office. It was a rare opportunity to indulge in the open air, and with each deep inhale of the crisp air, he felt his aches and pains ease. It was almost easy to forget he was on a mission at all, easy to pretend he was just out for a nice stroll.

The fantasy evaporated when he spotted the cabin. Leon was quick to pull out his handgun and adopt a stealthy stance. A brief scan of the horizon showed the cabin was eerily abandoned, something Leon didn’t believe for a second. Still, his job required him to advance, so advance he did. 

He chose to forego the front door and instead plastered himself against the wall by a smudged window. With dirt and cobwebs on the inside, it was difficult to spy anything inside. But there was no movement, and that was enough for Leon to shatter the window with his leather-clad elbow. He whipped his sights to aim inside, but a quick survey told him the cabin was empty.

His boots landed on the creaky, wooden panels, disturbing the thick layer of dust. His eyes roamed through the single room. There was barely any furniture: a sagging couch pressed against the opposite wall held a ratty quilt, an electric stove beside it, and what appeared to be a chamber pot, based on the stench of stale urine. 

Leon groaned, pressing his nose into his elbow to block out the smell. Seems like his host had been out for some time. 

He replaced his handgun in the holster at his hip. As he crossed the threshold, a particularly loud creak on the floorboards stopped him in his tracks. He crouched low, then rapped his knuckles against the wood, the sound echoing hollowly on the underside. 

Bingo, Leon smirked. 

He quickly spied the latch handle, cleverly hidden in the gap between two worn-down boards, and heaved the trap door open. A tight, musty tunnel was revealed, with a rickety ladder to boot. 

So much for that fresh air, Leon lamented. This was shaping up to be like any other job, complete with the creepy, underground lair. 

With a heavy sigh, Leon forwent the ladder and jumped down onto the dirt. He pulled his handgun back out, along with a flashlight, and descended further into the tunnel. 

The tunnels must have been sealed from the outside air; whereas the November air was fresh and breezy topside, the air down here was still and damp. As he usually thought, always too late, Leon wished he had brought a mask or something with him on these missions. Aside from the stench of rot and mildew that came with the job, the air in these tunnels always made him feel like he was breathing in mold spores. 

The tunnel was long. Leon had been walking for quarter of an hour with no alternative paths or forks in the road. Just a straight shot, with a slight decline. Nothing seemed to be in the tunnel with him thus far, either, or at least, nothing was alerted to his presence. However, decades of experience had him keep the gun in his hand; BOWs had a penchant for the element of surprise and Leon knew better than to be caught unarmed. Even the scant seconds it would take to unholster his weapon could cost him his life. 

Finally, the tunnel’s decline began to steepen and open up. Leon switched off his flashlight, spying a faint glimmer of light at the end. As he made his way through, crouched in stealth, boots soft against the dirt, the LED of the lab grew more visible. He made his way to the lip of the opening, low to the ground. 

The tunnel opened to a huge lab. It had to be at least 3 stories tall, though he was at the bottom. A metal catwalk connected to the tunnel, leading further into the lab. Leon hesitated to cross through, however. It struck him odd how quiet the thing was, with the only sound being the buzzing of what appeared to be refrigerators or freezers along the ground floor. So much power to keep this place running, and not a soul in sight. Had they been alerted to his presence? The thought made him stiffen, and he redoubled his efforts to stay quiet. 

He eventually crossed the metal walkway, eyes darting around the room for potential BOWs or their keepers. The closed-off coolers soon gave way to tall, wide tubes, tinted yellow with amniotic-like fluid. When Leon’s eyes landed on the first Tyrant, comatose in the tube, his breath came out in a stutter. 

The thing was 8 feet tall, easy. Its skin like metal, arms crossed across its broad chest like a mummy’s. He’d never seen one so at peace, sleeping undisturbed in the containers.

Leon spun around, gun at the ready and spotted more. Three, five, seven sleeping giants. Whichever fucked up, Umbrella knock-off developed these test tube babies, they certainly knew what they were doing. Leon made a mental note of the location, already turning ideas in his head on how to put the things down. He’d never encountered a Tyrant sleeping before and wondered if they responded to toxins or suffocation or anything that wasn’t the equivalent of a nuke to the dome. 

He continued on, taking the stairs on the other end to the second floor. By the catwalk was a door, its security mechanism dismantled based on the flashing yellow light of the key card scanner. The sight had Leon frowning; had someone gotten to this base before him? Was it the BSAA, perhaps? Or a rival seeking to snuff out the competition?

He edged the door open, leading with his gun. Red lights flared on the inside, an alarm sounding deeper still. An uneasy feeling was unfurling in his gut; something was definitely off, but with so little to go off on, Leon had no choice but to press forward. He kept close to the walls, keeping his breath slow and steady. When he spotted streaks of blood on the wall, it confirmed his suspicion: whoever was leading this fucked up show had clearly grown arrogant. The BOWs were on the loose. 

Just as he formulated the conclusion, he heard the roar of a Tyrant in the room over. Swearing under his breath, Leon crouched low behind a rack. Aside from the flashbangs on his belt, he wasn’t exactly equipped to take down a Tyrant. Much less, whatever special modifications this lab was developing. 

Leon chanced a glance when he heard the Tyrant pass him. He peeked out behind the rack and felt his blood run cold. Whatever he saw downstairs in those tubes was nothing compared to this behemoth. The Tyrant stood a little taller than the others, but its bulging muscles and unnaturally broad hands promised a particular violence. Said hands were dripping with fresh blood, its earlier victim’s. Leon pressed back against the rack and slowly let out a shaky breath. His mission was not to engage. All he needed was confirmation that the masterminds behind this shit were dead and to get the fuck out. The DSO had the firepower to blow this shit sky high without risking a single agent. And any intel he could collect would earn him brownie points with Hunnigan. 

Once the Tyrant rounded the corner, leaving the way Leon had come in, Leon risked it and darted further into the lab. A gruesome scene painted the floor and walls, blood and viscera splashed in every direction. The feeling of something soft and squishy squelching under his boot had Leon shakily exhaling. It would be impossible to identify who the victim had been after the Tyrant’s handiwork. Leon could only hope it was the people behind this reaping their karma. 

When he reached the room at the end of the hall, he guessed it was a security base, judging from the locks on its inside and the small screens that littered the far wall. Without sparing the dead victim another glance, Leon beelined for the steel locker. He didn’t chance shooting the lock off, instead, taking the time to sit on his heels with his ear pressed to the lock. He was admittedly out of practice, and with the alarm still sounding, it took Leon a few tries, but he eventually managed to unlock it. He swung the door open, praying for some secret, putting-down-Tyrants grade weapon. Shotguns, ammo, and a cardboard box of grenades—definitely not OSHA safe—greeted him, and he wasted no time filling his pouches with the goods. He grabbed a shotgun too, checking its scope. Satisfied with his findings, he shoved his handgun into his holster and replaced it with the new shotgun. The upgraded firepower would hopefully buy him enough time to make a run for it if it came to that. God, he wished it wouldn’t come to that. He didn’t favor his chances very high after seeing how tall these Tyrants were. 

Leon crept out of the security room and labs. There was nothing left for him down here. He was set on making it up to the top, where research findings or contractual agreements were sure to be hidden. Anything to identify the dumbasses smart enough to grow their own Tyrants. 

He emerged from the door, eyes grateful for the wash of white LED lights over the red alarms. He poked his head out, surveying the main room for the loose Tyrant. He didn’t see anything, nor did he hear anything. With the shotgun loaded in his arms, he began the trek upwards. The next door on the third floor still had its security mechanism active. Leon swore, wishing the eviscerated person downstairs had a keycard he could use. With the open layout of the main room, there was no way in hell Leon would risk shooting the mechanism and risk alerting the Tyrant of his location. He surveyed the surrounding wall, hoping to find some sort of entry into the room, but to no avail. 

Honestly, the floor plan of these hideouts was abysmal. 

With no option presenting itself, Leon gave one last look around for the Tyrant. He peeked over the railing, glancing behind him, and when the coast remained clear, Leon decided one heavy kick was worth the risk. After all, with the BOW not immediately present, he had a head start in case it did decide to show up. 

He shouldered the shotgun, taking a deep breath. He decided if the door didn’t give with one kick, he’d figure out another way to get in. He couldn’t risk more of a racket. 

With a grunt, he sent a roundhouse kick through the door’s handle, the lock mechanism shattering under the force of Leon’s boot. Once it cracked, Leon rushed inside, not bothering to pause to see if the Tyrant had been provoked, and shut the door. 

His heart was beating erratically in his ears, breath huffing loud with anxiety more than exhilaration. It wasn’t often that Leon’s missions were so eerily quiet, and the constant straining of his ears was wreaking havoc on his nerves. 

He pressed his forehead to the door, counting to ten with deep, purposeful inhales, and got his shit together. 

And as he spun on his heel, hands lifting the shotgun from his shoulder, he found himself face to face with a BOW. 

“Fuck.” 

The thing was deadly silent, something that should be impossible given its sheer size. It was nothing like anything Leon had seen before, and cold terror gripped his spine. It resembled a Licker, though that was mostly in its 4-legged stance. Its eyes were wide, holding Leon’s in a staring contest that he was definitely not losing. He knew how fast these things moved, knew that in the blink of an eye, his neck could be snapped like a pretzel. And with its mouth hanging open to give him a glimpse of the rows of teeth, dripping red with viscera stuck like lettuce, Leon swore to himself that he would not get a chance to see what the inside looked like. It had to be about 10 feet long, each limb bulging with flexing muscles under shimmering, grey scales. 

The thing hadn’t moved yet, besides blinking owlishly at Leon. Not wanting to disturb its uncharacteristic peace, Leon slowly, steadily held the shotgun in its general direction, but didn’t risk shooting. One shot was definitely not enough to incapacitate the monster, no matter how accurate, and with how close it was to him, one shot would be all Leon could manage before he became a decorative Rorschach blot of red on the door behind him. 

His eyes drifted to the side, where he spotted another body. This one at least still resembled a human, though whoever they were, they had been relieved of their head.  

Leon made a calculated guess and inched along the wall, further into the room. The thing only turned to follow his movement for a moment before turning back to the body to tear at it some more. 

A deep breath ached to be released from his lungs, but Leon held it in, not risking the sudden movement or sound. To the sound of human ligaments tearing, bones snapping, he pushed through a side door, quietly closing it behind him. Only when he flipped the light on and switched the flimsy lock on did he let the building anxiety release with an exhale. 

Whatever that monster was, it seemed content with its snack for now. Still, Leon was not about to press his luck; he surveyed the room and got to work, intent on leaving as soon as possible. 

It was an office of sorts, one Dr. Samuel Grover by the placard resting neatly at the edge. Leon switched the computer on, scanning the documents scattered on the desktop as the monitor lit up. Progress notes, budgetary invoices, and insignificant memos were the bulk of the paperwork, but a drawn diagram of a Tyrant caught Leon’s eye. He gathered it along with some other sheets, stuffing them into a pocket to review later. And when the computer finally booted up, he stuck in a thumb drive, opening up as many relevant-looking folders as possible. 

He would have preferred to take his time, but with the BOW’s lunch already served, Leon did not wish to see if it had a hankering for dessert. 

He was in the office no more than five minutes when he decided it was time to leave. Grabbing his drive, he pulled the shotgun back into his arms and approached the door. He pressed his ear to the door, expecting (hoping) to still hear the BOW distracted with its meal, but it was dead silent on the other side. 

No use in waiting, Leon thought. He flicked the light off and pushed the door handle down, bracing for the BOW’s attention and the inevitable fight. 

But when he pushed the door open, he was greeted by an empty room, save for the corpse in the corner, though there was decidedly less of it than before. Not wanting to wait around for the chance to become the next victim, Leon darted for the main door, not bothering with the rest of the wing. He shouldered it open, eyes still behind him in case the sudden light startled the BOW and provoked its aggressive nature, shotgun pointed into the room rather than out to the hallway. 

His back hit something solid. He closed his eyes, heart lurching up to his throat. “Shit.”

The Tyrant from before grabbed Leon by the torso, its huge paw spanning his whole chest and squeezing the breath out of him. The roar was deafening, but Leon still managed a couple shots at its head before he was unceremoniously tossed off the walkway and onto the first floor. In the brief seconds he was in freefall, he had just enough time to adjust his grip on the shotgun, planning to use the momentum of his fall to somersault. His plan was thwarted when his back cracked against something metal and unforgiving, ripping a groan as he collapsed onto the first floor. 

Breathing hurt, his lungs stuck sucking in shallow breaths. His head throbbed, and he definitely had bitten his tongue, based on the taste of copper flooding his mouth. 

No rest for the wicked, he thought drily, and pulled himself onto his knees, spitting blood onto the ground. With a wince, he grabbed the shotgun that had skittered a few feet away and turned to face off the BOWs. 

The Tyrant jumped from the third floor to the first, its heavy landing shaking the metal grating. The smaller, reptilian one peeked its head out, attracted by the commotion outside, and began crawling down the walls. 

Great, because what was definitely missing from the BOW arsenal was biodiversity. 

Leon pulled a grenade from his pouch, pulling the pin out with his blood-stained teeth and tossed it in the direction of the approaching Tyrant. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the pain radiating along his left side, and ran. With the Tyrant between him and the exit, the only option was to go up to the second floor. 

The explosion shook the facility, but Leon didn’t have to look back to know all he did was buy himself a few seconds. He turned on his heel, knee dropping to steady himself, cheek pressed against the shotgun and fired two shots into the Tyrant’s eye. The monster groaned, swiping a hand over its face, and Leon took the time to run down the catwalk. His goal was to run past the Tyrant, drop down onto the first floor, and run back up the tunnel. He knew he wasn’t faster than these things, but the tunnel narrowed closer to the surface, and with the grenades and flashbangs, he hoped he could buy enough time to get back up. 

What he didn’t account for was the reptilian monster and how far it could leap from the wall. 

It pounced, landing directly in front of Leon. This close, the shotgun’s spray pierced the BOW’s flesh, blood oozing from the wound on its shoulder. It didn’t flinch, approaching with a predatory stalk. Leon pulled out a flashbang, but before he could activate it, the walkway beneath his feet bent to the right, metal groaning at the sudden pressure. 

The Tyrant on the first floor had jumped, gripping the railing and pulling down the walkway. 

“Shit!” Leon yelled, throwing the flashbang at the reptile and grabbing onto the opposite railing. 

The reptile screeched, momentarily incapacitated as Leon focused on avoiding the Tyrant below. He tried to stand on the railing as it turned over, but he lost his balance. Gravity was on the Tyrant’s side; the catwalk could not support its significant weight, and with the sound of metal scraping against itself, the Tyrant pulled the whole thing down with it. Leon scrambled, shouldering the shotgun and pulling out his handgun, which allowed him more movement. He braced himself as he fell through the air again, sights stuck on the Tyrant’s skull. He unloaded the magazine into its head with a yell. It roared, twisting its arms to shield itself, and when Leon’s feet landed on its shoulders, he sprang forward, his landing successful this time around, but not without sharp pain radiating throughout his left side. 

Leon wasted no time and dove for cover by the freezers, hunching over as the facility shuddered and the second-floor walkway collapsed onto the first. The sound of glass shattering echoed, and when yellow liquid crept by his boots, Leon looked up, dread a lead ball in his gut. 

The railing had crashed into the Tyrant tubes, three of the seven being smashed open. And with their sleep disrupted, Leon was helpless to watch as one by one, they stepped out of their little tubes, eyes honing in on Leon as if he was the reason they were awoken. 

“Fuck me,” Leon muttered and darted to his feet. Four Tyrants, plus the other novelty BOW. He’d barely gotten away with his life when fighting off one. There was no way in hell he’d make it out in one piece with the monstrosities approaching menacingly. 

Leon swallowed his fear, his jaw ticking. He pulled the shotgun out, reloading it dutifully, and fired at the closest Tyrant with the precision and calm of a soldier on his last tour. The thing barely reacted, baring its teeth and clenching its fists. As they got closer, Leon pulled out two grenades—his last two—pulled the pins out and tossed them. The explosion sent him flying backwards, back cracking against a freezer, and stealing the already shallow breath from his lungs. 

The Tyrants howled, and Leon grinned. “Take that, you sons of bitches.”

His mini celebration was too soon, however. No sooner than he got to his feet, shotgun held again, that the reptilian Tyrant crept behind him, eerily silent in its approach. All Leon felt was the cold hand grab at his shoulder and throw him against a metal shelf. A groan was ripped from his throat. He coughed up more blood and knew this time that it wasn’t from his mouth. 

He’d lost the shotgun and didn’t bother trying to relocate it. Instead, he pulled his handgun, slamming a new magazine in, and pointed it between the reptilian BOW’s eyes. 

“Die, asshole!”

The taunt was all it needed to abandon its slithery approach. It screeched, the high pitch rattling inside Leon’s skull, and ran with alarming speed. Leon rolled out of its way, pulling his second-to-last flashbang and launching it at the monster. 

He shielded his eyes, ears ringing at the pained shriek. He shoved his feet under him, resolutely ignoring all the pain in his bones and organs, and forced himself to breathe against the wave of nausea. He stumbled towards the tunnel, though a small part of him knew he wasn’t making it out. 

A test tube Tyrant dropped in front of him, blocking his path. Its eyes were cold, and when Leon moved to roll out of its way, he was snatched up with inhumane speed. The monster grabbed him by the neck, squeezing. Leon emptied his clip into the monster’s chest, but as he grew lightheaded from oxygen deprivation, he dropped his weapon and clawed at the BOW’s hand. His legs kicked, finding purchase against its chest, but it was useless. With frightening speed, he felt his muscles grow weak, his vision narrowing, his legs growing heavy. 

The last thing he was ever going to see was a Tyrant’s cold, mean face as it impassively choked him out, driven by nothing but a biological imperative from the terrorists Leon dedicated his life to stopping. He failed; his mission was compromised. The bad guys won; there was only so much he could do. 

Just as his eyes began to shut, sinking into unconsciousness like he was falling backwards into a warm pool, a loud bang reverberated against the walls of the facility, and a blast of heat sent him flying backwards. 

Leon felt himself drop onto the floor and heaved heavy lungfuls of air, desperately holding back the reflexive coughing fit. His head was spinning, and he couldn’t parse through the chaos that erupted around him. His lungs ached with each pull of oxygen, his left side sending shooting pain up his spine. His fingers felt numb against the cold ground, ears roaring with the pump of blood. 

“---Kennedy!” He felt hands push at his shoulders, pulling him up off the floor. A pained whimper tore from his throat; why couldn’t the bastards just let him die in peace?

He was propped against a wall, the sudden change dizzying. He weakly coughed, lungs still spasming, and felt blood trickle out of his mouth. 

A familiar face grew clearer in front of him as his vision focused, the voice getting through as his ears began to pick up on the surroundings. 

“Leon, are you with me?” 

Chris Redfield was kneeling before him, broad palm gently palpating his torso. Leon was so surprised he barely noticed the pain when Redfield’s hand ghosted against his surely cracked ribs. His face was drawn tight in concern, and when Leon continued to fail in responding, he barked some orders into his comm. Leon couldn’t understand, neither the words nor Chris’ sudden appearance, and his eyes remained glued to Chris even as the captain shifted Leon. 

He was not dead. He was most definitely on his way to dying, but Chris Redfield showed up. Chris Redfield was saving him. 

The lump in his throat was thick, which was so not cool with how hard breathing already was. 

He found himself draped against Chris’ side, supported on his other side with a steadying hand on his waist. Leon barely noticed the surrounding fight, eyes stuck on Chris as he occasionally let go of Leon’s arm braced against his shoulder to fire a couple shots behind them. They made their way to the dirt tunnel before the pain grew unbearable and Leon collapsed. 

“Shit!” He heard Chris shout. “Stay with me, Kennedy, you don’t get to die!”

It was funny, so Leon laughed. Tried to, anyway, but it came out like wheezing with a healthy serving of blood. It was the last thing Leon felt before darkness blissfully pulled him under. 

<><><><>

He woke up to a splitting headache and a burning pain in his flank. He sucked in a sharp breath, hand moving to push the offending agent away.

“Shh, you’re fine. You’re safe.”

Leon groaned, nausea coming over him in waves. Flashes of what transpired in the underground lab ran through his mind and he came up blank on how he got out. 

Another prickle of burning pain flared, and he winced, hand gripping the wrist by his side. 

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He was given a brief reprieve, where he drew in a breath through his nose. Leon cracked his eyes open and spied Chris Redfield kneeling by his side.

They were on a helicopter, Leon realized, the steady sway of the vehicle and the sound of the blades familiar. He was laid on a mat, his leather coat and shirt removed. He tried to push himself up onto his elbows to survey the situation more, but Chris pushed him back down by his shoulder. 

“You’re gonna hurt yourself more, don’t push it.”

Chris was right, Leon thought. He could barely suck in a breath without his ribs throbbing, without his throat aching. He tried to speak, wetting his lips, but a cough tore itself through his throat. 

“Easy.” A plastic straw was placed between his lips, his head gently lifted, and he greedily sucked up the water. The fresh liquid rolling down his throat eased some of the soreness, the hydration helping his mind’s clarity. “There you go.”

Chris laid him back down before resuming his first aid. 

“What happened?” Leon asked, voice sore. He was surprised his vocal cords still worked after the Tyrant’s unyielding grip on his throat. 

Chris’ face was pinched. “We took care of it,” was all he said on the matter, and Leon let it go, for now at least. 

“At least three of your ribs are cracked,” Chris said, changing the subject. Leon watched Chris’ jaw tighten, could visibly see the restraint in his low, measured voice. “What were you doing there all by yourself?”

Leon let his head drop back against the mat. He didn’t answer and Chris didn’t push it. He knew that whatever he said would only serve to anger Chris more, though he didn’t really understand why. Leon had always been a lone wolf; he preferred going at it alone. He wasn’t used to company, he supposed. 

After having cleaned out the scrapes on his flank, Chris started wrapping his ribs, helping Leon up to get the bandage around his torso. He passed some painkillers to Leon along with the water bottle, and Leon gratefully threw them back, forgoing the straw and chugging the rest of the water. 

“Alpha,” a voice sounded from the cockpit. “Five minutes until landing.”

At the stoic exchange, Leon snorted. Whether it was the come-down after facing his death or the pain wearing him down, Leon laughed, holding a hand up to his mouth, trying and failing to stifle it. 

Chris frowned. “What’s so funny?”

His sincerity sent Leon into another wave of giggles. “Alpha? Seriously, Redfield?”

At that, Chris’ ears burned red. “You’re doing just fine, then.”

Leon couldn’t stop laughing, despite the stabbing pain in his side. 

“It’s not that funny,” Chris grumbled, sitting back against the wall, knees up, elbows draped over them. 

“It really is,” Leon said and let himself really look at Chris for the first time in months. He looked good. He was definitely worn down, like Leon, the work never-ending for either of them. But there was peace in his posture, his shoulders relaxed. A sight for sore eyes. 

“Thank you,” Leon said before realizing. He didn’t make it a habit to rely on others, but it felt good to have Chris at his back. “Thought I was a goner.”

“Any later and you would be dead, Kennedy.” Chris frowned, still clearly upset by Leon’s directive. 

Leon shrugged. What did Chris want him to say? 

The silence was tense, neither of them willing to give ground. It wasn’t until Leon grabbed for his shirt and realized it’d been sliced open with surgical scissors that Chris sighed and got to his feet. Leon watched him quizzically as the man stepped over him, crouching at a duffel, and pulled out a sweatshirt. 

Leon held his hand out, expecting Chris to give it to him. Instead, Chris tutted; he bunched the fabric to the neckline and gently pulled it over Leon’s head, then eased each of his arms through the sleeves. When his left arm was raised, Leon couldn’t quite hold back the sharp inhale as the pain in his ribs flared anew. The warm hand on his side, the reassuring slide of Chris’ thumb on the bandage was comforting, though, almost intimate. It left Leon unbalanced, unsure where he stood with the man before him. 

The helicopter landed on a field and Chris helped Leon to his feet. 

“I’m fine,” Leon insisted, taking slow, measured breaths with each step, but climbing out of the chopper by himself. “Where are we?”

He stepped out onto the soft grass, the sun setting behind them and casting the picturesque scene in pink and orange hues. 

Chris’ team, three agents still in tactical gear, bustled around them, opening a cabin door open and filing in. Compared to the last cabin Leon walked into, this one was a lot nicer. A lot newer, too. 

He followed the other agents in, Chris behind him, and watched as they set some gear down. Leon couldn’t see their faces, those weird-ass helmets obscuring any individualizing features. They walked around him like he was a statue. 

The cabin itself was cozy. From the main entrance, he could spot a kitchen, complete with a stove, fridge, and breakfast table with a couple wooden chairs neatly pushed under. To the side was a fireplace, a rocking chair with cushions and a dark blue quilt folded neatly atop the seat, and an L-shaped couch. The bearskin rug was clean, unmatted. Between the two rooms was a small wooden ladder that led to a loft, where Leon guessed a bed was hidden. 

“What is this?” Leon asked, turning to Chris as the other agents filed out and left them alone. “Where are we?”

Chris walked the short distance to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door. “One of my safe houses,” he said, as if that answered any of Leon’s questions. He cracked open a water bottle and held it open for Leon. Dumbfounded, Leon accepted it, but didn’t take a drink. “Some place safe for you to recover.”

Leon raised his eyebrow. “I can handle myself, Redfield.”

The jaw tick returned and Chris avoided his eyes. “Well, clearly not.”

And that stung. Chris of all people knew how hard the job was. That no matter how well you went in prepared, there was nothing you could do when the rug was pulled out from under you and all you had to keep alive was the pure instinctual drive to survive. That the more people you brought down with you, the more people you lost. 

It was probably one of the biggest differences between the two of them. Where Chris always had a team, Leon couldn’t bear to have someone down in the field with him. On the rare occasion he did have someone by his side, he was usually looking after them. Claire, Sherry, Ashley—the list was long. The people he had to drag out of hell. And those were the ones who got out safely. The ones who didn’t, the ones he couldn’t save—

Leon set the untouched water bottle onto the table, a sigh shaking his frame. He was so tired. His head was killing him despite the meds, his body was broken and needed time to heal. He wasn’t in the mood to fight with Chris. 

“Look,” he started. “I appreciate you saving my ass. I bit off more than I could chew, I get that.” He raked his right hand through his hair, struggling to find the words. “But you don’t have to do this, you don’t owe me this.”

Their last encounter was fresh in Leon’s mind. What Chris had admitted. The softness of his touch, the depth of his worry shining in his eyes—it left Leon breathless. Leon couldn’t handle it. 

He didn’t expect Chris’ glare. “You think I’m doing this because I like you?”

Having heard it aloud, it did sound rather ridiculous. Childish, even. Still, Leon couldn’t wrap his head around it. His answering shrug only exasperated Chris even more.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Chris snapped. He moved to push past Leon, nearly shoulder-checking him in his haste for the door. 

Leon grabbed his elbow, demanding an answer. “Why else, then?”

Chris shot him an incredulous look. He grabbed Leon’s hand and removed it before replying. “Because if I don’t, no one will.”

That made Leon frown, rooting him to the spot. He watched as Chris left, slamming the door behind him. 

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Leon half expected the man to walk out, board his helicopter and fly far away, abandoning Leon. But after a few minutes, with Leon rooted to the spot, half in shock, half in pain, Chris walked back in, his muscles flexing as he brought in a trunk before settling it in the kitchen. 

With his back to him, Leon couldn’t see Chris’ expression. But from his tense shoulders, Leon made an educated guess and decided not to provoke the man any further. Even though Chris was the one who started it by crashing his op (again), by dragging his ass to his house, by—

Leon took a deep breath. He elected to ignore Chris as the man began stocking the fridge and instead crashed onto the couch. His exhaustion outweighed his irritation, and he fell asleep as soon as his head dropped onto the cushion. 

Leon woke to the late morning sun shining in his face, irritating the dull ache behind his eyes. With his body rested and the surge of adrenaline finally evaporating from his veins, he felt every bruise and scrape on his body, the pain in his ribs screaming high above the rest. 

He stumbled off the couch, fighting the blanket that was tangled between his legs, and pushed himself to the bathroom. He took turns vomiting and taking a piss before dragging himself to the sink.

In the mirror, his sickly pale face stuck out like a shitty marble bust with the deep purple bruises blooming along his neck. He gingerly touched the skin and grimaced; it would take weeks for it to fade back to his normal skin tone. Pulling the sweatshirt off and peeling away the sticky bandages, he assessed the damage to his torso. Along with the deep bruising, his left side was littered with shallow scrapes, though they had already started scabbing over. He shucked off his jeans, stained with all sorts of fluids Leon didn’t want to dwell on lest he throw up again, and noted the bruises along his legs and lower back, but nothing was too serious. The worst of it was his ribs and throat. He’d dealt with worse. 

He stayed bent over the sink for a moment, piecing together the previous day’s memories gradually. The mission wasn’t a total bust; Leon remembered the drive and stolen documents that were hidden in his gear, wherever Chris had stashed them. He just had to locate them, call Hunnigan, and get the fuck out of here before Chris returned. Wherever he had disappeared off to. 

Leon emerged from the bathroom in his briefs, a slight limp in his step revealing itself in the absence of anyone to prove he was fine, just a little sore. He located some Norco first, swallowing down three little pills with a swig of water, then set about rummaging through Chris’ crap looking for his own. 

It was clear that this was Chris’ place. The clothes in the wardrobe were a couple sizes too big for Leon, but he still pulled them on, breathing in Chris’ neutral, homey scent, familiar to him from months ago, but now, under a different circumstance, it made him ache for a wholly different, unfamiliar reason. He recognized some of the book titles as those Claire had recommended, and found himself laughing softly at the image of a bespeckled Chris curled up in the rocking chair, a dog-eared book in his big hands. The abundance of protein bars and their chocolaty, peanut-butter flavoring also had him snorting, though he didn’t hesitate to steal one and stick it in his mouth. Leon found himself learning more about the man by exploring his house than he had in the years of knowing him. 

If that said more about Leon or Chris, he didn’t really know, and didn’t think to dwell on it too much. Not like it would change anything. 

Leon had no clue how long he spent turning the place upside down looking for his gear, but when he came up short, he was seriously considering booking it anyway. However, as tense as their relationship was now, Chris was not an enemy. He would return Leon his stuff eventually; Leon just didn’t exactly want to see the man when he felt (and looked) this beat up. 

After pulling his boots back on, Leon stepped out into the afternoon sun, squinting as he surveyed the surroundings. There was a lake a few miles west, but aside from that, grass stretched out in all directions for miles. 

It was then that Leon realized: he had no idea where he was and had no means of leaving. Chris effectively put him on house arrest. 

He swore, kicking the sturdy cabin wall and ignoring the twinge up his side. 

Did the man think that if he didn’t coddle him, Leon would just disintegrate? He was a grown ass man, for fuck’s sake. He could handle himself. He knew how to stay on bed rest, knew when it was appropriate to get back into the field. 

He felt embarrassed that he was essentially in time out, benched by someone he didn’t even work for. Moreso, he felt angry, enraged that the asshole whom he hadn’t even seen in months could just show up and decide what Leon needed. He didn’t need a babysitter. 

Stomping back into the cabin, Leon dug around some more, a little for his gear, but mostly for a gun. When he found Chris’ liquor instead, his plans of shooting Chris in the foot flew out his mind in favor of draining his alcohol. 

That was how Chris found him, hours later. Slumped on the couch, the bottle of whiskey, closer to empty than full, dangling from his fingertips. 

Leon turned his head lazily at the cabin door opening. Chris was dressed down to a T shirt and cargo pants, a floppy hat sitting on his head. In one hand was a small cooler, in the other was a fishing rod. 

“Gone fishing?” Leon asked, holding back a fit of giggles at his own joke. 

Chris spotted the bottle in his hands and rolled his eyes before trekking to the kitchen. Leon took another sip, then followed him. The pain was dulled to a distant throb with the pain meds and liquor. He was feeling strong and brave, almost back to normal. 

He watched Chris take out the fish, setting them aside to be dealt with later before turning to Leon. He made a rather comical image, with his stupid hat sitting on top of his hard expression. 

“How are you feeling?” Chris asked, and Leon grinned. 

“Doing better,” he answered by raising the whiskey. “Hope you don’t mind me making myself at home. You know, since you basically kidnapped me.”

That came out harsher than he intended, and Leon’s mood soured as Chris’ eyes darkened. He hadn’t meant to push the man so soon after his return, but was aiming for a joke to ease their tension from earlier. He suddenly felt like a wine-drunk housewife, yelling at her working husband as soon as he stepped through the door and was filled with the urge to shoot something. 

“Your voice is still hoarse,” Chris said, ignoring the bait. “Can I check your ribs?”

It made Leon feel smaller. He couldn’t tell which was worse, Chris fighting him or ignoring him. 

He nodded, sulking, and when Chris nodded to the kitchen table, he took a large gulp of liquor and slumped into the chair. 

Chris disappeared briefly before returning with a med kit. His gentle touch as he helped Leon out of his (Chris’) sweatshirt set Leon’s nerves on fire, making him itch with nervous energy. 

His fingers traced along the shallow scrapes, murmuring how there was no sign of infection. When he poked at Leon’s sore ribs, he muttered an apology. 

“How’s the pain been?” he asked clinically.

Leon shrugged, eyes glued to the table. 

“You shouldn’t drink while on the pain meds.”

Leon shrugged again, but when Chris’ fingers unexpectedly ran over the bruising on his neck, he jumped. 

“Sorry, sorry.” Chris dropped a hand onto Leon’s shoulder, something Leon was positive was meant to be soothing, but with the heat on his direct skin, it felt like a brand. He was unsure if he needed to be more drunk or sober to deal with Chris playing nurse. 

“I spoke with Claire,” Chris continued his one-sided conversation as Leon forced himself not to throw up all over the man. “She’s updated your handler, Hunnigan, on the mission and your status.”

Leon supposed he should appreciate Chris’ thoughtfulness. 

“Nothing I can do for the bruises,” Chris finally declared, unraveling the bandage roll. “Just keep the ribs wrapped and take it easy.”

Sitting stiffly, Leon held his breath as Chris’ fingers ghosted over his torso, wrapping the bandage snug. 

Whether it was the pain that broke through his drunk haze or the drunk haze itself, Leon felt unbalanced. The last time he had been alone with Chris was when they were under the influence of a mad botanist’s science fair project, and at least then, there was a driving need thrumming in his veins. Now, there was a burning fire coursing through his veins, a nervous energy ready to shoot out of his body with no direction. 

Without thinking, without meaning to, really, Leon reached up around the nape of Chris’ neck, eyes zeroed in on those parted lips, and pulled him down into a searing kiss. Their lips slotted together, tongues barely breaching the other’s mouth, almost shy. It was nothing like their first kisses back in that botany lab, where everything was dialed to 110 and they were feverish with need and hunger. No, this time, Chris kissed Leon like he was special, his lips moving sensually, tongue reaching out indulgently, and Leon could only gasp, overwhelmed by how sweet Chris Redfield was. Chris pulled back enough to speak, but stayed close enough that they shared the same air. His hand had cupped the back of Leon’s head, his thumb soothingly rubbing the skin behind his ear. His eyes shone with want; Leon saw it so clearly as they focused on each of his own eyes, darting back and forth. 

“Tell me this is real,” Chris whispered, his breath ghosting over Leon’s lips. 

Leon fisted the short hairs just above Chris’ neck, tried to bring him back down for another kiss and was met with resistance, his eyes dulling with disappointment. 

“Christ, Leon,” he sounded broken, and it twisted Leon’s guts. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you,” Leon answered, surging up to meet him. The kiss was everything, soothing the ache in Leon’s chest, but it was over too soon when Chris pushed him back into the chair. 

His head hung low, low enough that Leon couldn’t see his eyes anymore. Couldn’t get a read on the situation. 

“What’s wrong?” Leon asked. He was already out of his depth; he didn’t remember the last time he felt this off-kilter without a gun in his hand. He didn’t get it: Chris wanted him, he wanted Chris, they could fuck about it, like they had already, and move the fuck on. “Was it something I said?”

Chris’ shoulders shook, and for a horrifying moment, Leon thought he was crying. But then he straightened, picking his face up, and removing his hands from Leon’s person. There was a smile on his lips, but his eyes looked so sad, his posture defeated. 

“What brought this on?” Chris interrogated, thick arms crossing over his broad shoulders, and Leon averted his gaze. “Feeling grateful?”

Leon shrugged, itching for another drink, but he had a feeling Chris would smack the bottle out of his hand, and then where would he be?

“Last time I saw you, you told me you needed to ‘adjust.’” Chris spat the word like he hated it. “Is this you adjusting?”

Leon didn’t really pick up what Chris was putting down, but the sting of rejection, especially after initiating and being stuck without an escape, left him feeling particularly bitter.

“First, you get upset because I didn’t call you,” Chris laughed. “Then, when I do call you—multiple times, by the way—you never pick up! Never call me back, never shoot me a text. And now, you want to kiss me.”

He shook his head like he couldn’t believe Leon was serious. 

Leon knew they were the wrong words as soon as they came out: “Can’t a guy kiss his knight in shining armor without the interrogation schtick?”

Chris’ eyes darkened immediately, his posture tense, and internally, Leon cringed. “Is that what this is to you?”

“That’s not—Look, Chris—”

“You think this is some sort of game?” Chris shouted, and Leon wanted to disappear. Maybe Claire told Hunnigan where he was staying and could send him evac. “You’re more of an asshole than I thought, Kennedy.”

Story of his life. 

Leon opened his mouth, but the words to defend himself fizzled out on his tongue. The headache that had been rising and falling all day came back with a vengeance. Leon rubbed at his sore temples. Chris waited, expectantly, and when Leon failed to apologize or explain himself, he huffed another one of those humorless laughs, those laughs beginning to grate on Leon’s fucking nerves, before tossing the bandage roll into the metal med kit. 

He turned around, swiping a box of cigarettes and a lighter and stormed outside. 

Christ, Leon had a foot-in-mouth problem, and the pain in his side and behind his eyes was only wearing his patience thinner. He cursed himself, digging his fingers into the space between his eyeballs and brow ridge. 

He still didn’t know why Chris brought him to his little cottage, why the man hadn’t just sent him back to the DSO or even a local hospital. Guilt was eating him up inside: first, he couldn’t even finish his mission without needing to get rescued; second, he was being a dick to said rescuer. Why couldn’t he just swallow his pride and play nice?

With guilt and shame swirling sickly in his gut, Leon heaved himself out of his chair, determined to apologize without having to face Chris. He examined the fish, abandoned on the kitchen counter, and though he couldn’t figure out what they were, a fish was a fish, and he knew how to clean them out. 

Chris returned after some time, probably half an hour or so, and found Leon searing the fish on a skillet, alongside some frozen vegetables he dug out of the freezer. It was an awkward minute of Chris staring, and Leon’s tongue stuck to his roof, but eventually, Chris just mumbled his gratitude and went to the bathroom. 

They ate dinner in silence, with just the sound of forks scraping on plates. 

“It’s good,” Chris said, an olive branch. 

It wasn’t; Leon had dumped way too much salt on the filets and was now chasing each bite with a mouthful of beer. But he appreciated the effort. 

“Where’s my stuff?” Leon asked after a beat. He resigned himself to being stuck until he was in better shape, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t send his notes to the DSO. 

Chris’ head jerked before he got out of his seat and climbed up to the loft. A minute later, he dropped a duffel of Leon’s belongings, including his leather jacket. 

“Didn’t mean to hide it from you,” Chris rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Just thought that if it was out of the way, you know. You could focus on recovering.”

Leon wanted to feel irritated, but after the long day, he brushed past it. “Thanks.”

Chris cleared the table and washed the dishes as Leon charged his phone, scanning documents and texting Hunnigan. It was unlikely she was in the office, but nothing was time sensitive. He was engrossed in his work, squinting in the low light and trying to piece together the story of the facility, figuring out who the head researchers were and how they were connected to Umbrella and Friends. It was unfortunate that he didn’t have too many last names on the documents he pilfered; these scientists were smarter than they were prideful and had more codenames or common first names, an unusual characteristic in Leon’s line of work. Usually, the bad guys signed their full government name, proud to display their research and findings even if it got them caught. 

He jolted out of his reserve when Chris set a glass of water on the coffee table and suppressed the scowl at Chris’ apologetic look. 

“I get you want to figure this all out as soon as possible,” he said, settling two white pills next to the glass. “But you won’t solve it all tonight. Better to just get some rest and we can look at it tomorrow.”

A reflexive argument bubbled in Leon, but when he set his phone down, he realized how exhausted he was. He nodded his agreement, shoving the evidence back into the duffel, then swallowed the pills down with the water with a mumbled thanks. 

“You want the bed?” Chris asked, eyeing Leon’s sore side.

As much as his sore body ached for a soft mattress, especially after having spent the previous night on the couch, he couldn’t steal the man’s bed on top of everything else he put him through. Besides, he wasn’t confident in his ability to solo the ladder to the loft, and the last thing he needed was Chris heaving him up there. He gave a tight-lipped smile: “I’m good, thanks. All yours, buddy.”

Chris looked like he had something else to say, but in the end, he only nodded and left Leon to get ready for bed on his own. 

He went through the motions, brushing his teeth with a borrowed toothbrush and avoiding the dark bruises littering his body in the mirror. When he emerged from the bathroom, a thick quilt and some extra pillows were stacked on the couch. 

Redfield had a compulsive need to take care of people, Leon thought, though fondness tugged his mouth into a half smile. He shucked off the borrowed sweater and pants and settled in for the night with a heavy sigh. 

His dreams left him restless, shapeless images of past horrors and haunts grabbing him, pulling him down, weighing heavy. He woke with a start in the middle of the night, bolting up with heaving pants. He was covered in sweat despite the room’s chill, and his ribs protested his sudden movement. 

“Fuck,” he whispered into the dark, rubbing tenderly at his throat. He registered where he was and resolved not to wake Chris. However, as he tiptoed to the kitchen to dig out the unfinished bottle of whiskey, he spotted the man outside, smoking in the moonlight. 

Leon pulled the sweatpants on and slipped out the cabin door, two glasses and the bottle in his hands. 

“Hey,” he said, startling Chris out of his thoughts. He ignored how rough his voice sounded.

“Can’t sleep?” Chris asked, his lips quirking up. 

“Hazard of the job, right?” Leon passed him a glass before throwing back his own. “Can never catch a break.”

Chris laughed, puffing on his cigarette. 

“You know, for all the shit you give me about my drinking habits, you sure go through those pretty quick.” Leon looked up at him with a smirk and chuckled when Chris rolled his eyes. 

“Not you too,” he grumbled, but he still snubbed out the remaining bud. Leon wasn’t even trying to get him to quit, was just yanking his chain to get back to their regular level of banter. “Claire’s been on my ass about quitting.”

“She cares about you,” Leon said after a moment, unsure what else to say. He drank some more; the conversation wasn’t enough to dull his mind from the recent dreams. 

Chris seemed to think that was an opening to rehash their earlier argument. “And we both care about you, Leon.”

Leon groaned, thumping his head against the cabin wall. A headache threatened to blossom behind his eyes and he wished he’d stayed in bed and taken his chances with his subconscious. 

“I’m serious.” Chris turned to him, eyes hard in the moonlight. It was a full moon, and in the cabin’s clearing, there were no trees to obstruct the silver rays. “When that fucking Tyrant dropped you, I swear I thought you–”

He seemed to choke on his own words, and that more than anything had Leon turning up to him. He hadn’t realized how affected Chris was by the whole thing, had figured his nagging was just him throwing his weight and experience around. It left him unsteady; he wasn’t sure how to comfort the other man. Usually, he was the one offering a shoulder to cry on. 

“I can always count on you having my back,” Leon tried for a light-hearted tone, but after the old fears being dredged up in his dreams and his bone-deep exhaustion, it came out rough and uncertain. 

“I just wish you’d ask for help when you need it,” Chris sighed, sinking into the grass. He wasn’t looking at Leon anymore, his glass of whiskey dangling loosely from his fingertips. “There’s no shame in asking, especially in our line of work.”

Leon sank down next to him, staring ahead into the night. He didn’t really know what Chris wanted from him. It just wasn’t in his nature. In Raccoon, in Valdelobos—he was used to making do with what he got, and more importantly, he was used to bearing that weight on his shoulders, alone. 

They sat in the dewy grass for who knew how long, the moon inching its way across the sky, the wind blowing gently through the blades of grass. At a particular chilly breeze, Leon shivered, regretting not bringing his sweater out with him. 

The movement pushed Chris out of his stupor, and he sat up, shoving at Leon’s shoulder to do the same. “Come on, you need all the rest you can get. Can’t have you catching a cold while on bedrest.”

Leon relented, huffing a laugh as he climbed to his feet. The steadying hand on his bare flank warmed him, made him feel drunk despite how little he actually drank. The pair of them shuffled inside, and Chris carried both their glasses to the kitchen. 

In the dark cabin, knees resting on the couch, Leon found himself blurting out: “I can’t ask for help because I don’t know what I would do if something happened.”

Chris was halfway up the ladder, but at Leon’s words, he paused, then turned around. It was too dark, the moon not reaching the windows, and Leon couldn’t make out his expression, just his bulky silhouette sagging against the ladder. 

“If I called you and you got caught in the cross-fire,” Leon continued, eyes straying to a corner. “Well, Claire would never forgive me.”

“Leon,” Chris said, and his voice was rough, like he was holding something back and suddenly, Leon couldn’t stop talking. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he rambled, falling against the couch and wincing at the sharp stab of pain. “I know you can handle yourself, Mr. Alpha.” He tried to laugh, but it came out closer to a wheeze. “It’s just–Where would we all be without the golden boy?”

Chris’ feet dropped to the cabin floor, and he stalked towards Leon so fast he barely had time to react before he was being pulled up into a crushing kiss. The shallow breath he was desperately hanging on to was stolen from his lungs as Chris swallowed his gasps, pushing down into the couch to relieve the strain on Leon. Chris’ tongue pushed between his lips, coaxing out soft moans as his hands cradled his jaw like he was made of precious porcelain. Like he would break. With each passing second, with Chris’ feather-light touches and the scent of cigarettes sticking close to him, Leon thought he actually might. 

Then, Chris pulled away, just far enough that their noses were brushing. 

“I’d rather die beside you than live in a world without you.”

He said it with such sincerity, like he was swearing a blood oath, and Leon couldn’t pull enough air in. 

“Jesus, Chris.” He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself against the man’s shoulders as he tried to get a hold of himself. 

What did that even mean? What did Chris want from him?

“I mean it,” he pushed on, kneeling over Leon on the couch, running his fingers over his jaw, through his hair. “I can’t do this, if you’re not in this fight with me–”

“For fuck’s sake, Redfield.” Leon tilted his head back, trying to avoid looking at the man. Chris took the opportunity to push himself into Leon’s neck, sucking a bruise on his pulse point, and he had to bite his lip to stifle the whine that threatened to come out. “We don’t even work together, we don’t even talk–”

“Why?” Chris asked, and it sounded like he was on the verge of a breakdown. He pulled back enough to look Leon in the eye, but it was still too dark to see anything beyond the glimmer of his pupils. “Why don’t you pick up when I call, why don’t you ask for help when you need it?”

“I don’t know!” Leon shouted, and whatever spell that had woven its way in the midnight air was shattered. Chris slowly withdrew his hands, sitting up and away from Leon, and the chill in his absence made the man shiver. He regretted his words, his tone, immediately. 

They sat in silence for a beat, Leon trying to think of something to say, but his mind was running too fast to land on anything. The shit Chris was saying, there was no way the man actually believed it. Chris had people depending on him, his team, his sister, the whole fucking world—he couldn’t throw all that away just because Leon was occasionally reckless or ill-prepared on a job. But the way he spoke, like he was making a promise, the way he cradled him like he was precious—Leon almost believed him. 

“I’m sorry,” Chris whispered in the dark. His fingers gently found themselves against Leon’s knee, just barely touching in apology. “I didn’t mean to. . .”

His voice drifted off, and Leon was unsure if he was apologizing for the kiss or the words. 

“Sleep it off, Redfield,” Leon eventually said, pulling his leg away from Chris’ warm touch. He wasn’t sleepy, didn’t even think he could sleep with how fast his thoughts were racing, but he was exhausted, and a headache was making it hard to keep his eyes open, even in the dark. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, but this time, he stood up from the couch. 

Leon sank into the cushions, pulling the blankets high up his shoulder and faced the back of the couch. It took a minute, but he heard Chris step outside the cabin, presumably for another smoke. 

Leon almost regretted getting out of bed entirely, but his neck pulsed with Chris’ bruising kiss, his lips tingled in phantom memory. He fell back into a dreamless sleep before Chris came back inside and was grateful to have that at the least. 

The smell of coffee brewing stirred Leon out of his deep slumber. He squeezed his eyes shut at the onslaught of the morning sun, digging his head deeper into the blankets and groaned. His whole body throbbed in pain and his throat was tender, inside and out. 

“I got breakfast ready when you are.” He heard Chris call out from beyond his shelter of blankets and pillows. “I’m going hunting soon if you want to join me.”

The thought of leaving the cabin and getting his hand on a gun had Leon perking his head out, eyeing Chris suspiciously. The latter laughed, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Breakfast, it turns out, was thick slices of spam next with buttered toast, and a pot of coffee that was more hot than tasty. It didn’t matter; Leon appreciated the grease and caffeine, and when Chris dropped two more of those precious white pills, he swallowed those down too. 

“Can I check your ribs?” Chris asked and Leon nodded, swallowing a too-big bite of toast. 

Gentle hands unravelled the bandages, fingers ghosting along the bruising and cuts. “Looks like these are all scabbed over,” Chris assessed, but still ran an alcohol swab over his side. Goosebumps rose up on his arms and flank at the chill. “Are your ribs bothering you?”

“No more than expected,” Leon answered. At Chris’ furrowed brow, he insisted: “I’m fine, I promise.”

Chris sighed, but he still pulled out the bandage roll to begin rewrapping. “You’d tell me if something felt off, right? If I needed to take you to a hospital?”

Leon grinned. “Have a little faith in me, Redfield. If I was dying, you wouldn’t hear the end of it, I promise you that.”

That got a smile out of Chris, and Leon felt that whatever tension that lingered from the night had dissolved. 

As Chris prepared his gear, Leon rang Hunnigan. 

“The Hound Wolf Squad cleared out the Tyrants,” she filled him in. “I ran a check on the names you sent over, but obviously, without something more specific, it will take some time to narrow down our list of suspects.”

Leon sighed, but it was no more than he expected. “Thanks, anyway. Keep me posted with any updates.”

“Always.” She paused before hesitantly adding, “And let me know when you plan a return trip to DC so I can send a chopper.”

Her words left Leon smacking himself, though he thanked her for the offer and ended the call. God, he didn’t even want to know what Hunnigan thought of Chris’ stunt. Or how she said that stupid team name without an ounce of humor. 

“Ready?” Chris asked as soon as Leon stood from the couch, that floppy hat back on his head. 

“What exactly are we hunting?” Leon picked up the offered rifle, appreciating the craftsmanship. 

“Mostly small game,” Chris answered, holding the cabin door open for Leon. “Rabbits, turkeys. We’d be lucky to see a deer.”

They spend the day walking in the tall prairie grass, moving towards the lake. The atmosphere was reminiscent of when Leon was first dropped in Nebraska for the mission: the air was crisp, the sun warm on his face, and he felt an indescribable tension bleed out from his shoulders. He was careful not to agitate his side, breathing shallowly and keeping his heart rate steady. He even let Chris take most of the shots, watching appreciatively as the man’s muscles flexed as he held his rifle, like a tiger coiling up before pouncing. 

Chris’ competency was one of the hottest things about him, and even in that god-awful hat, Leon found his breath coming out stuttered at the pure focus on the man’s face, the veins sticking out of his thick forearms, his fingers’ sure grip on the gun. 

They had a late lunch by the lake, though it was more of a snack than an actual meal. The two rabbits Chris shot would make for a decent dinner, and Leon lounged on the lake shore with a half-eaten apple in his hand, eyes closed as the sun’s rays warmed his sore bones. 

“Cozy?” Chris asked from a few yards away. Leon didn’t even care what he was up to; he could die at this lake with a smile and no regrets. 

Distantly, he heard some splashing and figured Chris was washing up or going for a swim. The whole scene was so serene, Leon might have even dozed off for a minute before—

Freezing cold water rained down from above, and Leon surged up, gasping, soaking—

Chris, with an empty bucket, laughing above him, the sun behind him like a halo. “You’re not old enough to be resting your eyes yet, Kennedy.”

“What the fuck,” Leon gasped. His hair was plastered to his face, his shirt was absolutely drenched. At Chris’ answering snort, Leon bolted up, a wicked grin on his face. “You asshole!”

They chased each other into the lake, Chris already down to his boxers and Leon shuffling out of his own clothes while tackling Chris into the water. They took turns dunking each other underwater, wrestling in the frigid water, all the while shouting taunts and insults. At one point, Leon had managed to climb over Chris’ shoulders, holding Chris in a half-decent headlock. Then, Chris fell backwards, submerging them both in the lake. 

Leon could pinpoint when the sparring turned into something more; when he released his hold on Chris, floating backwards with a smirk, Chris was quick to turn around, grip his ankle, and yank Leon closer, all the while a predatory glint shone in his eyes. They surfaced, gasping for air, and Chris hauled Leon towards him, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Everything was wet, but with Chris easily treading water, Leon wrapped his legs around his waist, arms clutched around his broad back, and forced his tongue down his throat. He felt Chris’ hands all over him, across his back, squeezing his ass, and God, why did they have all this teenage-angst bullshit when they could just fuck like adults?

“If you don’t fuck me,” Leon gasped between kisses, grinding down on the bulge beneath him. “I will kill you, Redfield.”

Chris managed to laugh at that and pulled Leon in for another kiss, and the taste of lakewater flooded Leon’s mouth as Chris struggled to swim back to shore. He didn’t care, though, he couldn’t take his hands off Chris. 

They reached shallower water, and instead of setting Leon down to walk to the sandy beach, Chris hefted him closer, big hands supporting Leon’s not unsubstantial weight, and carried him out of the water. The demonstration left Leon somewhat flustered; he was a grown man with the muscles and bulk necessary for his job and he rarely, if ever, met someone who could lift him without breaking a sweat. Even so, Chris fucking Redfield was fucking huge; with Leon glued to him as he crossed the short distance to their belongings, he could feel those muscles flexing under his palms, his skin warm despite the cold water. 

“Showing off now, huh?” Leon quipped, tamping down how turned on the display left him. 

Chris snuck in a kiss before replying. “For you? Definitely.”

Leon laughed, pulling Chris closer, biting his lips, licking into his mouth. “You know you don’t have to, I’m already wrapped around you like a fucking spider monkey.”

Something shone in Chris’ eyes, beyond the glimmer of the sun and the amusement of their afternoon. Something that looked like the other side of fondness. “Maybe I want to anyway.”

The look in his eyes left Leon breathless, like his lungs were trapped under a mountain, and rather than debate what Chris was implying, what any of this could amount to in the future, he pressed in closer, squeezing his thighs around Chris’ bulk, and pushed into his mouth again. 

Chris laid him down onto the soft grass, a little further away from the shoreline, like he was made of glass. He slowed the kiss down, cupping Leon’s jaw and holding him still as he controlled the pace. It left Leon itchy, like something was burning under his skin. He pushed his hips up, bracketing one of Chris’ legs between his own, and grinded into it. But Chris pushed his hips down, slowing things down yet again, and Leon couldn’t help the angry growl that crawled out of his throat. 

“Relax,” Chris chuckled, broad palm passing over Leon’s uninjured flank. “We have all the time in the world.”

“Don’t know why that means we have to go at a snail’s pace,” Leon groaned, pushing his hips against the resistance. 

“I just want to appreciate having the infamous Leon Kennedy under me.” 

His smile felt too genuine, too real, and Leon pulled Chris’ head down for a kiss to escape it. Soon, his lips trailed across Leon’s jaw, down his throat, switching between soft kisses, sucking the skin, and sharp bites soothed with his tongue. The bruises around his neck ached with each kiss, but Leon couldn’t care less. Better to look in the mirror at a ring of hickies than the hand print of a fucking Tyrant.

Leon writhed beneath him, hips pressing hard against Chris’ thigh, seeking any friction. When Chris got to his chest, pinching one nipple and sucking on another, Leon saw stars. 

“You’re killing me here!” Leon gasped, hips stuttering in their rocking motion. 

Chris looked up at him, teeth grazing the sensitive bud. “I want to take my time with you.”

Leon squeezed his eyes shut. Since when was Chris known for his self-control? “Don’t remember you being this much of a bastard.”

Chris answered by moving down, passing over the soaked bandages, leaving wet kisses down Leon’s twitching navel, tongue brushing through the hair that drifted beneath his briefs. In the cool breeze, Leon’s damp skin felt incredibly sensitive, like he was one long livewire. With each gasping breath, he felt the pressure in his ribs ache, but he couldn’t stomach pushing Chris away, couldn’t consider pulling the brakes on what was happening, what he needed to happen. 

“Stop fucking around, Redfield!” Leon groaned as Chris peeled his waistband down over his hips just to leave more kisses, mouth everywhere except where Leon needed him. 

“Let me have this,” Chris looked back up, pupils blown. “Please?”

“Fuck,” Leon gulped, eyebrows pinched at the pain in his side. He was leaking so much, with every pass of Chris’ tongue on his sensitive skin leaving him shaking. His fingers, rubbing and tracing across his bare skin, left him burning. 

The last time he ran into Chris, they didn’t have the brain function to draw anything out. Both of them acted only on instinct, seeking out what their hind brains needed under the influence of the poison. Now, however, there was nothing shielding Leon from Chris’ worship, each reverent kiss drawing out the softest, neediest sounds Leon’s ever heard himself make. He felt himself flush all the way down to his chest, he was so keyed up. 

Then Chris started to kiss him through his underwear and he lost it. His knees shot up, caging his head, and he rolled his hips, grinding down onto Chris’ face. 

“Shit,” Chris exhaled, and Leon’s jaw dropped at the hot air passing over the damp fabric. “I need to taste you, please.”

Leon helped him wriggle out of his briefs, and the second they were off, dangling from an ankle, Leon pushed himself onto his elbows and shoved Chris’ head back between his legs. 

The man was a sight to behold, broad shoulders forcing Leon’s thighs apart as he pushed himself closer into Leon. That tongue which had been winding Leon up this whole time was finally being put to good use, sucking his dick, licking at it like it was a stick of honey. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Leon groaned, hand gripping Chris’ short hair, pushing him down as his hips fucked up into that wet heat. “You’re so good at this, fuck, you were made for it.”

He felt Chris’ moan through his dick, and his hips bucked up to chase more of it. Chris traded his mouth with his hands, moving lower to slurp at the steady slick leaking out of Leon, beard rubbing at the thin skin of Leon’s thighs. 

“You taste so fucking good,” Chris moaned. 

Leon’s elbows buckled and he sprawled onto his back. His hand was loose on Chris’ head, thighs quivering with the strain of holding them apart. “I’m so close, Chris, God, you’re so good.”

His hole was drenched with the combined slick and Chris’ saliva, his dick throbbing in the air as Chris’ thumb pushed rhythmically on the underside. His ribs were aching, each breath accompanied by a sharp pain, and when Chris bit down gently on his labia, two fingers diving in and angling up, Leon cried out. He felt himself squirt, fluid flushing out of him in a way that it hadn’t in the past decade, at least. Chris’ resultant moan, mouth still in his hole, sent shocks up his spine, and Leon’s back bowed off the grass, hips angling away from the sensation. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck!”

Through lidded eyes, Leon saw Chris brace himself on an elbow, hand pushing his drying boxers off his hips enough to pull his thick cock out. Leon’s mouth watered at the sight, Chris’ face soaked in Leon’s wetness, jerking off over him, too horny to even pull his underwear off. And while he was too tired and his ribs too sore to return the favor, he still managed to push himself up, lips brushing against the shell of Chris’ ear. 

“You ate me out so good,” he made his voice breathy, fingers brushing Chris’ hand off himself and replacing it with his own. His thumb brushed over the head, sliding the fluid down the shaft. “Look how wet you are, just from getting a taste.”

Chris whined, humping erratically into Leon’s hand. He had a white-knuckled grip on Leon’s thigh, restraining himself from jerking off on his own. 

“You like that?” Leon grinned, biting gently on the shell of his ear. “Like when I tell you how good you are, how good you make me feel?”

“Fuck, Leon,” Chris moaned. “I’m close, I’m gonna cum.”

With a cruel smirk, Leon clamped his hand hard at the base of Chris’ cock, the pitiful whine music to Leon’s ears. “You don’t cum until I tell you to, got it?”

His head was frantically shaking yes before Leon even finished his sentence and Leon decided to reward him and restart his steady rhythm.

“Good boy.” Leon grinned and Chris’ head dropped onto his shoulder. 

As Chris’ hips pistoned, fucking himself into Leon’s fist, he reached his other hand around, first soothing the muscles along his back, then down his sculpted ass. When Chris’ pace grew uneven, he pushed his fingers into the spot behind his balls, massaging his prostate from the outside. 

“Shit, shit!” Chris panicked, and his hand shot to his own dick, clamping down to stave off his orgasm. 

It left Leon breathless, watching Chris hold himself on his say-so alone, and he drew the man in for a kiss. “You’re so good for me.”

“Leon.” Chris’ voice was watery, his eyes bright like he was on the verge of tears. “Please.”

“You’re doing so good,” Leon said, pushing Chris’ hand away and resuming his strokes. “Come on, one more, then you can cum.”

“Leon, please!” Chris whined, pushing his head into Leon’s neck, panting like a dog. The arm supporting him was shaking with the effort of holding up his own weight, but Chris held firm.

“You can do it,” Leon encouraged. Chris’ cock was drooling at this point, the slide of Leon’s hand frictionless. Chris’ half-thrusts would be amusing if seeing the man so keyed up didn’t leave Leon just as turned on. “Come on, I’ll talk you through it.”

Chris whined all throughout the next wind-up, hips continuing their unwitting movement. Leon continued to whisper praise in his ear, gently rolling his balls as he stroked his cock, and when he almost reached his orgasm, Leon’s grip turned mean, twisting his sac and holding off any relief. 

“Fuck, please!” Chris cried out, tears finally rolling down his face, and it wasn’t until Leon saw them that he realized that Chris’ crying was what he was pushing for. His muscles were twitching under Leon’s hands, the arm supporting him buckling to the elbow, and he pushed his head into Leon’s shoulder, seeking comfort from the torment. Leon felt his own dick pulse with need, his earlier fatigue long forgotten. 

“You did so good, so good for me.” Leon kissed his cheeks, licking the salt and tasting himself. God, this was the messiest he’d ever seen Chris and he’d seen the man high on a biologically engineered aphrodisiac. He fell back onto his elbows, releasing Chris’ cock and ignored the man’s sob. “Fuck me, Chris, you’ve been so good.”

Chris didn’t need to be told twice. Once Leon’s legs spread enough, he pushed himself in, breath hitching at the wetness engulfing his cock. Leon gasped, hands clutching at Chris’ shoulders, scratching lines down his back. 

Having been on the precipice of his orgasm multiple times already, Chris did not last long at all. His hips were bucking in a frenzy, mind singularly focused on reaching that peak. Leon squeezed a hand between them, pulling at his own cock, enamored with the sight before him. And when Chris finally came, face pinched tight, lips slightly parted, cheeks wet with tears and Leon’s cum, Leon brought him down to kiss him through it, swallowing his pitiful whimpers.

They dropped onto the grass, boneless, in a tangle of limbs and fluids. Then, the pain in Leon’s side erupted from a dull ache to a sharp, stabbing pain, exacerbated by Chris' hefty weight dropping onto him, and Leon suddenly found it difficult to get a breath in. He shoved at the man, wincing when he slipped out. 

“Sorry, sorry!” Chris groaned, flopping beside him onto his side. 

“ ‘s fine,” Leon grumbled, hand cradling his sore side. He forced his breathing shallow, but was almost dizzy with the need for oxygen. 

“Shit,” Chris grew worried at Leon’s pained expression, which was the last thing Leon wanted. “This was a bad idea, you shouldn’t be exerting yourself.”

Leon held a hand up. “No, don’t start with me.” He pushed himself up gingerly, batting Chris’ helping hands away. “We had a good time, don’t ruin it.”

“How is my being concerned for your health ‘ruining it?’” Chris huffed. 

It was astonishing how quick their good mood could be soured with the same fucking argument, Leon mused bitterly. Especially so soon after getting off. 

He chose to ignore Chris, any serenity found by the lake or by getting laid evaporating with his mother henning. Instead, he pulled his briefs up over his hips and picked up his clothes from where they were scattered across the sand, biting his lip against each pained groan as he bent over to grab them. 

“Right,” Chris said behind him, clearly frustrated with Leon. Like he always was. 

Why did Chris take him to his cute little cabin again?

They made the trek back to said cabin in tense silence, Chris holding all their gear without complaint and Leon trailing a few yards behind. Even the stupid hat, sitting back on Chris’ head, wasn’t enough to lighten his sour mood. He would never admit it, but each step sent needles through his nerves, each breath being squeezed out of him. The wind picked up, the sun dipping below the horizon, and with his shirt still damp, Leon arrived at the cabin freezing. 

Chris frowned, setting his stuff down on the kitchen table as Leon made a beeline for the bathroom. He shucked his clothes off and turned the water as hot as it would go, muscles relaxing under the scalding spray. He probably stayed in the shower longer than he should, and definitely used up all of Chris’ hot water, but to the man’s credit, he didn’t barge through like Leon half expected him to. 

When he finally emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist, steam curling out of the opened door, Chris was finishing up a stew. He barely glanced at Leon, eyes focused on the pot on the stove, but it was hard to miss the way his jaw ticked, the way his shoulders were practically up to his ears. 

At first, seeing the man so clearly agitated filled Leon with lividity. Where did this asshat get off, forcing himself into Leon’s life and making everything his business? It had to be a Redfield quirk, but it was significantly less endearing on the older brother. He stomped to his duffel, pulling out some spare underwear and swiped a pair of shorts from Chris’ wardrobe and got dressed. 

But as he was pulling a T shirt over his head, the fight bled from his posture. It was the same shit over and over, and they had only been cooped up for two days. Maybe it was time for Leon to be the bigger man—in theory only, of course, no one could compare to Chris without some biological interference—and accept Chris’ frustration for what it was: a misguided, but well-meaning worry over Leon. 

Mind made up, and with a little help from the forgotten bottle of whiskey, Leon shuffled into the kitchen. He stared at Chris’ hunched form over the stove for a minute, finding the words stuck on the roof of his mouth, before forcing himself to blurt out: “I’m not mad at you.”

His words had the opposite effect: Chris’ shoulders hiked up even higher. 

Leon tried again. “Look, I appreciate your concern. It’s cute. But I can take care of myself and I don’t need you hovering like I’m gonna break.”

Leon watched as Chris turned to face him, slowly, though his eyes were stuck in some middle space on the floor. He couldn’t figure out how his words were received just from looking at Chris, and it took the man a solid minute before he responded. 

“You know, Claire told me about Raccoon.” He paused, licking his lips and briefly glancing at Leon. “She talked about how even though you were scared shitless, like everyone was, you stayed resilient for her and for Sherry. She said you have this innate drive to save people, and I see that drive in you too.”

Leon had no clue what Chris was getting at and he stared dumbly as Chris finally raised his eyes to meet his own. 

“You care for others so easily, like it’s second nature,” Chris continued. “But for some reason, it’s so hard for you to see that other people care about you too.”

“I don’t–” Leon immediately argued, though he didn’t even know what he wanted to say. Something squirmed under his skin—it was an uncomfortable thing to hear how people saw you. The idea of Claire and Chris talking about him—he didn’t know what to do with his sweaty hands. “I’m not–”

“I know you can hold your own, Leon,” Chris said, a faint smile on his lips. “You’re the stuff of legends, man. You kick ass like no other. But that doesn’t mean the people around you stop caring.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” Leon finally managed to say, eyes wide. 

Chris’ expression softened, and he took a couple of steps closer until he was an arm’s length away from Leon, though he kept his hands to himself. “You put up a big fight for the people you care about. Why can’t you return the favor? Why does it bother you so much to have someone do the same for you?”

Throat constricting against the wave of emotion threatening to break free, Leon averted his eyes, shrugging sharply and wishing desperately that he had brought the whiskey with him instead of leaving it on the coffee table. 

Chris, emboldened by Leon’s lack of a response, moved closer, his hands coming to rest on Leon’s biceps, forcing himself into his space until there was nowhere to look except Chris. 

“Why is it so hard to trust that you can ask for help?” Chris asked, his voice soft. “That when you’re knocked down, someone will be there to help you back up?”

It wasn’t that Leon was drenched in self-loathing to the point that the concept of someone caring about his well-being was foreign. He wasn’t an idiot, and he was semi-regularly in touch with a handful of people from his past. They always asked after him, nagged at him to take a vacation and take care of himself. But the special brand of concern that came with Chris felt more intimate than anything he was used to. Ever since Raccoon and STRATCOM, that kind of intimacy felt strange, jarring even. It was one thing to have a friend patch up a broken bone; it was another plane entirely to have someone help him through the gruesome mundanity of the aftermath. And to have someone bear witness when he was at his most vulnerable, when he was beaten down and needed more than a hand to get back up, the idea left Leon nauseous, made him want to tear at his skin and pull at his hair. 

“Is that what you’re offering?” Leon asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes stuck in the hollow of Chris’ neck. 

“If you’d let me,” Chris breathed, his lips ghosting over Leon’s temple, and Leon couldn’t get a breath in, his throat was so tight. 

“Okay.”

Chris pulled back enough to look at Leon, head angling down to catch his eyes. “Yeah?”

Leon felt himself flush, and he was getting closer than ever to socking Chris in the jaw. “Yeah, okay.”

As soon as the words were out, Chris was there, kissing him, cradling his jaw, his hip. He pulled back again, eyes bright with the widest grin. “Yeah?”

“You keep asking and I’ll change my mind,” Leon grumbled, but he couldn’t stop the smile tugging at his lips. Still, he wouldn’t be Leon Kennedy without pushing some boundaries. “This doesn’t mean you can show up whenever the hell you want on my missions. I work for the DSO and I work alone.”

“But if you need back up?” Chris prompted, and Leon could practically see his metaphorical tail wagging.

“If I need back up, I’ll call.” He relented and was rewarded with another searing kiss. “Now get off me, your rabbits are burning.”

Despite the novelty of it all, and how it made him feel like he was being flayed alive if he thought about it for longer than two minutes, Leon tried to allow himself an isolated moment of happiness. To enjoy what had been offered in Chris’ secluded cabin, far away from BOWs and bioterrorism. 

They ate dinner amicably, though Chris didn’t wipe that smug smile off his face until Leon told him the rabbit was too chewy. They washed the dishes side by side, Chris elbow deep in the suds and Leon drying the dishware, wearing goofy grins and trading barbs and kisses. And when they finished, Chris hauled Leon to the couch, smothering him with wet kisses until Leon’s phone rang with a call from Hunnigan.

However short it was, their little bubble of contentment unfurled a knot that had been tightening itself in Leon’s chest since that day in September. So when Hunnigan called in with a recon mission in Washington state, a follow up on the Nebraska facility, Leon simply closed his eyes, choosing to savor the last few hours alone with Chris before he was sent away. 

“You’re still injured,” Chris stated with a frown. He was reclining on the couch, his hand rubbing circles on Leon’s back.

“No expected combat,” he responded numbly. 

Chris snorted, but he wasn’t amused. “Just like your last mission, right?”

“You know as well as I that that’s the job,” Leon said drily, exhaustion from the day settling in his bones. “If it turns out to be more than that, I promise I’ll call.”

Chris nodded, but he wasn’t looking at Leon anymore. 

Leon didn’t even get a chance to sleep before his ride came in. They spent the remaining hours curled into one another on the couch, staring at the dancing flames in the fireplace. At some point, Chris dozed off, head pillowed on Leon’s chest, a little bit of drool escaping his parted lips and the sight had Leon’s heart aching fiercely. 

He never signed up for his job. His recruitment out of Raccoon was founded on blackmail and threats, and though the DSO was miles better than his time with STRATCOM, there was a distinct lack of autonomy that permeated his career. Even so, he rarely found himself bitter with hate over the course his life had taken; he understood the real threat of bioterrorism more than most and he had long since resigned himself to a lifetime of fighting it. He knew he would die fighting it. Now, however, with Chris in his arms and his bruises still purple, he felt resentment like tar in his veins, could taste its bitterness in the back of his throat. 

Walking out of the cabin with his duffle, wearing a stolen sweater under his leather jacket, Leon stole one last glance at Chris. The man was leaning against the cabin wall, thick arms crossed, brows furrowed in a way they always seemed to be in Leon’s presence. Even in the dim moonlight, even though his hair was messy with sleep and drool was drying on the corner of his mouth, he was the most beautiful thing Leon could imagine.