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Leon leant against the wall, the bay breeze in his hair. It felt - nice. It was jarringly different from the weather waging a war inside his head. He should say something, anything, to them. To the four of the six people who matter the most to him.
"Well, I know what I'm going to take away from this experience," he said, eyes flicking to each and every one of them, taking in their sun-kissed faces.
Rebecca huffed a soft laugh as she asked, "Yeah? What's that?"
He should say something. He should tell them he loves them. He should tell them thank you. He should -
"Prison tours suck."
Ah. Right.
Should and will are completely different things, aren't they?
Chris mentions giant shark monsters. It makes Leon's lip twitch up with a smile, eyes cast out against the water, helicopters inbound. He should enjoy this moment, so he closes his eyes briefly, letting the sun warm his cheeks for the very last time.
He might miss it.
The warm breeze of a summer afternoon, the cool pattern of rain on a rooftop during fall, the crunch of snow beneath his boots, the smell of flowers on the wind.
He might miss it.
He won't miss the way his shoulder aches, that scar from Racoon City a memory he can never forget, flesh burning as if it never healed at all. He won't miss the smell of blood and gore in his nostrils, the screaming of his comrades, the government breathing down his neck, the pretentious bastards who think they know right from wrong.
He won't miss it.
He pressed himself off the wall to greet the helicopters as they landed, blades slicing through the air and whipping his hair around, Jill close at his back as she asks in a shout, "Joining us?"
Leon huffs a small laugh, soft, quiet, before shouting back, "Guess so."
He planned this from the very moment Hunnigan caught wind of the doctor he was supposed to take in. He made sure no other DSO agents were within the next 100 miles of them. No copters. No boats. Only the BSAA and their operatives, knowing full well they'd offer him a ride. Ingirid was weary and Leon could tell, knowing her eyes narrowed behind her glasses as she spoke to her charge on the phone, but he smoothed her worries over with the quick work of his words, promising he wasn't drunk and that he'll be safe. He snorted after their call, self-deprecation like a brick tied to his ankles. He's a liar, a liar, a liar.
They all pile into a helicopter, Chris grunting as he buckles himself in, his thigh pressed against Leon's as they sit together. The girls sit across from them, tired, worn down, but still having this triumphant glow about them that makes Leon sigh and dip his head to the side.
He misses that.
He misses when he felt like he was actually doing the world a favor, not living in this endless cycle of assholes trying to better the world with pyshoctic bio weapon creation. Maybe he's seen too much, or maybe he's grown too weak, too tired.
Too tired of the beatings, too tired of the torture, too tired of his superiors spitting in his face with rage, too tired of the hot branding iron pressed into his ribs.
The man next to him has seen the same amount of bullshit Leon has, and yet here he sits, arms crossed, face pleased, thigh warm against his. Leon can spot the tired wrinkles around Chris' eyes from a mile away, but Chris has always been able to manage, compartmentalizing things better than Leon. Dealing with things better than Leon.
Leon tilts his head at his companions, eyes scanning over them as they chatter. He tries to memorize their faces, all beautiful in their own way. Intelligent, kind, caring.
"I think I deserve a drink," Claire sighs into the coms, wind wooshing through the open doors of the helicopter. If Leon leans far enough to his one side, he can see the vast advance of water beneath him, blue, dark, and enticing.
It'd be easy to fall. To let his seatbelt click open and slip from the aircraft, plummeting to his death. It would have been easy to let that monster crush him back in Alcatraz. It would have been easy to let Maria kill him. All of that would have been easier, but a plan's a plan, and he's sticking to it. He hums then, eyes glancing back at Claire as he agrees, "Me too." He feels Chris stiffen next to him, eyes undoubtedly shifting to the side of Leon's face as Rebecca's own eyes widen slightly, too knowing. Leon waves a hand, "What? Don't I deserve it? I worked hard." It was a bad joke, or well, it really wasn't a joke. His sobriety has been a sore topic of conversation, only his deep rooted threatening keeping Claire and Jill out of the dark on the promise that he'll get better.
Some promise that was.
Claire and Jill share a confused look then, Claire asking, her voice raised over the wind, "Since when do you turn down an opportunity to drink?"
Chris swallowed then, forcing out a huff of laughter, "Dunno. I think I'd rather devour a pizza in my pjs than go and get wasted after," He gestures, shoulder rubbing Leon's. Leon leans slightly closer to him, greedy for the touch he's soon to lose, "all that. Might give me nightmares."
Leon furrows his brows then, a teasing lilt in his tone as he asks the girls, "Did Chris just say pjs?"
Claire snorts, all cute and full of smiles as she yields, "Alright, Alright. Wouldn't want my big brother to get any more nightmares than he already has."
Chris grins back, his body warm next to Leon's. "Thank you."
Claire laughs, something hearty and melodic, just like Chris' laugh. Jill and Rebecca chuckle too, their eyes crinkling with tired mirth.
He'll miss this.
The meal is indeed lazy, though no one is in their pajamas just yet. Tactical vests and safety-latched guns sit on a conference table within the depths of a BSAA building, the whole group heading there after the operation to debrief around boxes of pizza and chicken wings, not a single vegetable in sight. Leon tagged along, indulging in a slice or two of pizza. He didn't want his stomach to be too full, but he couldn't resist actually having a tasty last meal. He's used to MREs and protein packed smoothies, taste something not as important as nutrients in his line of work.
He all but moans, eyes falling shut as he chews on a bite, the grease and cheese and meat so delicious he could hardly think. This probably wasn't the best pizza in town, but it is the first and last time he'll be having pizza in one of the BSAA's headquarters.
Claire scrunches her nose at him, mumbling, "Get a room."
Leon shrugs, mouth already full of another bite as he makes another noise akin to a moan on purpose, making Claire snort and Chris - flush? Hm, probably just the warmth of the pizza more than anything else, Leon thinks.
More tugging of his shoulders brings them up to his ears and stay there for a moment in a paused shrug as he speaks around his food, manners be dammed, "Can't a man enjoy his last -" he pauses then, swallowing as he catches himself, "last slice of pizza?"
"No," Claire and Jill chorus, noses scrunched up in disgust and Rebecca chitters out a laugh, heavily amused as she looks from Leon to Chris, raising a brow in his direction.
Leon looks at him too, whining, letting himself be loose just this once after such a long time "Chriiis, tell them." He leans over the table unceremoniously, munching on the crust of his pizza as he stares at Chris' ears. Hm. They're red.
Chris clears his throat then, eyes tearing away from Leon to talk to the two girls across the table, his tone unserious as he chides, "Let the man enjoy his pizza."
"Ugh," Claire sounds with faux disgust, "Whatever. Maybe we should talk about how many vehicles Leon crashed on this op instead?"
Leon jolted back up, crust of his pizza nearly gone now as Jill snorts next to Leon, Chris putting on a thinking face. There's a beat of silence as everyone mimics Chris, leaving Leon to brush them off with a wave of his hand, "Guys, it really wasn't that many."
There's another beat, everyone but him him thinking with scrunched up brows before Rebecca chimes in, "I think at least three."
Leon sighs with exasperation, finishing up his slice of pizza entirely as he rolls his eyes. He'll miss this. He'll miss this casual banter, the warmth in his chest. He'll miss them.
Maybe… Maybe is he somehow got out - left the DSO, he could join the BSAA, he could be -
"Wait, but what about the bike he totaled on the way over here?" Chris asked, amused as Leon's cheeks flair.
"Chris!" Leon squeaked, "I told you that with confidence that you'd tell no one else!"
Chris grinned sheepishly, shrugging his own shoulders as he mumbles a loose, teasing, "Sorry."
He'd miss that most of all, Leon muses sadly, gazing over at Chris. He looked so handsome. Chris always looked handsome.
Leon slouches over the table, letting his head hit it gently as he mumbles, "I loved that bike." He couldn't bear to stare much longer, fearing his heart might burst then and there.
Chris let out a laugh then. A hearty thing that made Leon's insides warm. Chris lays a hand on Leon's back, patting it gently with his fingers as he croons, "I know buddy."
Leon is going to miss Chris.
The night ebbs by, the office growing quieter as the agents grow tired, limbs heavy. Jill is the first to stand, her shoulders popping with a stretch as she clicks her tongue, "Well, I'm out. This was nice guys."
Leon finally rises his head from the table, Chris' palm slipping off his back. It was sat there comfortably for a while, almost as if -
Leon shakes his head slightly, forcing himself to smile as Jill rounds the table. She bids her farewells and even though her and Leon had met only some odd number of hours ago, they meshed well, as if they had known each other forever. It's a shame, really, that he'll never get the chance to work with her again.
"Hey," Leon says, his voice gravely. He swallows, forcing the emotion from his throat as he glances up at her. He knew of Jill Valentine. He knew of her troubles. He knew of her exemplary skill set as well as the fact that this is the first time she's been out in the field since Albert Wesker. He doesn't have a speech for her, he doesn't have a letter, but he finds himself wanting to say goodbye anyways. "You did good out there," he murmurs, offering her a knowing smile.
She reciprocates, holding out a fist. Leon bumps it with his as she says, "You too."
Rebecca is next, nearly asleep on her feet as she stands, rubbing at her eyes while she mumbles, "I'm spent."
Leon shifts in his seat, arms crossed loosely over his injured chest. Maria had broken a couple of his ribs, but he didn't want to bother the doctor. His injuries won't matter soon, anyway. If anything they remind him of how alive he is, making doubt hang onto the soles of his boots, heavy and keeping them planted on the floor as he bids her farewell, "Goodnight, Doctor Goodhope."
Rebecca stills for a moment, a startled laugh waking her as she points out, "You haven't called me that in ages."
Leon shrugs, letting his lip quirk up to the side. He can't explain to her that the words 'good' and 'hope' have lost all meaning to him, but what he can do is use the nickname one last time, just to make her smile a little.
Claire was next, oh Claire. His other best friend. The Redfields were something; little thorns in his heart that make it ache when he looks at them. He's going to hurt them, he's going to hurt them and yet he finds himself unable to think himself out of his plan. He's made it too far now to just - give up.
Chris stands to give her a bear hug, squeezing her hard enough to make her squeak and pat at his arms, "Chris! You're crushing me!"
Chris beams as he releases her, though only at an arms length as he teases, "Can't help that I love my little sister." He then ruffles her hair, musing it up in a way that only a sibling can manage.
"Gah, Chris! I love you too. Now let me go sleep," Claire complains, though her smile screams fond.
"Okay, okay," Chris relents as Claire gets on her tiptoes, kissing his cheek.
Leon stands after that, offering them a soft, tired smile before gesturing with his hand, "Alright, come here."
Claire's eyebrows shoot up, amusement falling from her lips, "Oh hoh ho, I get a Leon S. Kennedy hug today?"
"Well," Leon starts, hand outstretched, brows twitching slightly. It's not like he could leave without hugging her one last time. "I don't want to be left out."
She laughs softly, slipping into his arms. He hugs her, letting his chin dip to rest on her shoulder, nosing behind her ear in an attempt to get closer, breathing her in. She will be the last survivor of Raccoon City. Leon doesn't know what to do with the guilt from that.
Claire's brows twist, her eyes flicking over to Chris in confusion. Chris shares the same look with Claire, a twinge of worry settling in his gut.
"Wow, okay, okay, I'm not going to be gone forever," Claire murmured, wrapping her arms up and around Leon's back, her fingers pressing into his shoulders, squeezing them gently. It's like shes … reassuring him. Trying to ground him. Keep him here.
Leon stiffens for just a moment before forcing in a sigh, making himself relax as he leans back, giving her arms a gentle squeeze while he mumbles, "Right. Just wanted a good one for the book, is all."
Claire shakes her head, reaching out to pinch Leon's cheek, slightly amused, slightly alarmed at the sudden display of affection, "Whatever, you weirdo."
Leon swats at her hand. "Ow - okay okay! Geeze," Leon laughed, letting the tension in his chest ease. "Get outta here, go get some rest."
Claire bids her goodbyes and Leon sighs, a fond expression coloring his features as Chris disappears for a moment, walking Claire out of the room.
It's a shame this has to be the last time she'll ever see him, but Leon has made peace with that recently. It took time. A lot of time. And a lot of liquor. He was not one to usually write his thoughts on paper, but once he read tear stained plans, he knew it was time. He knew he had to let go. Despite all that time spent reasoning with himself, he still feels the shame shackling his ankles, the guilt in his chest. He has to trudge on. He can't let his feelings throw a wrench in his plans now, no, not when he's gotten so far.
He's nearly reached the last step, after all.
Leon stands in the room, glancing over at the mess on the table. He starts to pile up the plates, closing the pizza boxes and making the mess just a bit more manageable for Chris who undoubtedly would be staying behind for a little bit longer.
Chris came back in with a sigh, eyes cast over Leon's shoulders as the man tidied the table. He huffed a laugh, "You don't have to do that Lee, just head out and get some rest. Today was - long."
Leon felt his lips curl at the nickname. He turned his nose over his shoulder for a moment, talking in Chris' direction, "It's alright. Just thought I'd help out a little. Besides," he stands then, wiping his hands on his pants as he fully turns to face Chris, "I need to write up my report before Hunnigan kills me. Got a computer I can borrow?"
Chris looks slightly incredulous as he speaks pointedly, "Leon, it's nearly midnight. I'm sure the report can wait."
Leon hummed then, taking in Chris' appearance in full. He's a walking mountain, strong, determined, but soft around the edges. Leon loves that about him. He loves everything about Chris. He loves him so much it hurts. "Not if I want to sleep in," he explains quietly, knowing he'll be sleeping for eternity once he finally closes his eyes later tonight.
Chris narrows his eyes, trying to read Leon. He's acting… different. Maybe it's his sobriety, but that really can't be it. There's something about the way he's acting that just seems - off. He can't put his finger on it though, those icy blue eyes staring too deep into Chris' soul for him to keep eye contact, his heart doing happy little flips. He should really address his overwhelming fondness for Leon, probably with the man himself, but that can wait a little while. Chris doesn't want to scare Leon away, not after he seems to be doing better all of a sudden. "Fine. I'll take you to my temporary office 'n' you can borrow my laptop." Leon smiled, expression not quite meeting his eyes as he trails after Chris just a few doors down. Chris powered up his laptop, sliding it over to Leon while trying to school his expression, making his voice soft and caring instead of accusing, "Don't over do it Leon, you took some heavy hits today. I know you didn't let medical look you over."
Leon let his smile turn to a grin. Chris, oh Chris. He knows too much about Leon. "I'm fine, really. I just want to get this paperwork out of the way. I'm… finally going on that vacation after this."
Chris' brows rose, shock tilting his voice up into a question, "Oh? You are? How'd you manage that?"
Leon's lip twitched as he sat down, patting at the keyboard. It was strange, the way the BSAA gave him credentials at the same level of Chris'. He never really thought about it too much, but he's always been able to stumble into any BSAA HQ since he and Chris first met. "I pulled a few strings," Leon said, knowing his answer is roundabout at best. He wasn't going to give away the plans for the rest of his evening.
"Well good for you!" Chris said, cheerful as he clapped him on the shoulder, giving it a squeeze, always touching Leon, "Where're you going?"
Leon's smile saddens as he averts his gaze, hiding beneath his bangs under the guise of typing up his report on the computer, "Someplace… I haven't really decided yet, if I'm being honest." That was a half truth. Half lie. He really didn't know where he'd be going once he was dead, if there was anywhere to go at all.
Chris chuckles then, giving Leon's shoulder one last good squeeze as he turns to leave. He's leaving. Chris is leaving and Leon hasn't said goodbye, he hasn't said goodbye he hasn't said -
Leon stands abruptly, grasping at Chris' bicep as he whispers, "Wait." He can hear his heart in his ears, feel it pounding in his chest. One last time - one last time - he has to touch Chris one last time -
Chris stalls, turning to face Leon in full as his eyebrows scrunch with sudden worry, "Leon?"
Leon looks up to Chris, his gaze searching, for something - anything, but he can't find what he's looking for amongst those eyes, so he just jerks forward, their chests bumping as Leon latches onto Chris' shirt at his back, burying his face into Chris' shoulder with a stuttered sigh. Chris smells like a battlefield. He smells like blood and sweat , the scent overpowering the hint of a woodsy cologne attached to his skin and clothes. He smells like a place that could be Leon's home, but Leon has always been a realist. He knows better. He knows he can't have what he loves most.
"Leon?" Chris asks again, arms a steady weight around him as he reciprocates, one hand wrapping around the sides of his bruised ribs, the other across his shoulder, fingers smoothing over the wrinkles in his shirt as he whispers, "You okay?"
Leon shudders again, the pain in his heart sharper than the pain in his ribs. Chris didn't know about the injury, so he doesn't let himself flinch. He just takes it. He just takes it like he always has, the gentle caress of Chris' fingers against his ribs kinder than any other hand that's touched him there. He shakes his head slightly as he takes in a deep breath. He wants to remember this warmth, he wants to remember Chris' hands on his body - holding him so gingerly, he want to remember until he can't anymore.
Leon squeezes Chris' back, falling away just as quickly as it began, shielding his eyes once more from Chris' worried gaze. He thinks he might burst into a million pieces if Chris looks at him too closely right now. "I'm fine, just -" He bit his lip, forcing himself to glance in Chris' direction with a tight smile, "Needed that."
"Oh," Chris breathes at the admission, fondness swelling in his chest as he claps at Leon's shoulder gently, rubbing his hand there. "Anytime Lee. Why don't you get that paperwork done. Come see me before you leave?" Maybe… Maybe Chris should speak with Leon about his feelings sooner than later.
Leon's lips twitch with the lie he breathes out, "Sure."
Chris is gone then, leaving Leon in the silence of the room. It's dark in here, the lights dimmed overhead to accommodate the late hour of the day. Leon falls down into the chair, taking his phone out and setting it on the desk. He works his lips between his teeth, staring at the blank document, fingers hovering above the keyboard.
What should he even say?
Hey Chris. Sorry I went and killed myself. Hope you have a good life though.
Leon snorts, his finger tapping next to the laptops track pad. He already wrote the letters. They were sitting on the coffee table in his apartment, each one labeled.
Still, he thinks he should say something.
Chris,
He types, swallowing hard. His fingers stutter against the keys for a moment as emotion wells behind his eyes, his breath coming up shorter in his lungs. Why - why is guilt consuming him whole, when all he should be feeling is relief? Is it the fact that he's leaving his friends behind, or is it the fact that he's leaving the only man he's ever really loved behind? Perhaps a bit of both? He presses a hand to his eyes, suppressing the tears threatening to spill. He mashes his fingers in his damp eyes, smearing the tears against his skin and his lashes as he forces himself to take a deep, shuddering breath.
He's already wept. He's already sobbed until he could hardly breathe.
He doesn't need to do it again. He doesn't have the time to do it again. He needs to go - he needs to go - to go - to go.
He shakes his head, scrubbing at his eyes before placing damp fingers against the keyboard, typing at it quickly.
I'm sorry.
I loved you, you know? I don't know if I said it enough, but I did.
Leon hesitates again, body trembling. This part was harder than he thought it'd be, the guilt and pain tormenting him. He sniffs, forcing his fingers to move against the plastic of the keys, not bothering to wipe any of the tears on his cheeks.
Tell Claire I'm sorry. Tell everyone I'm sorry.
Please don't be upset with me. I was just so tired. I left you a letter in my apartment, explaining things better.
Please forgive me.
L.S.K.
Leon starred at the screen, eyes reading over the brief lines of text over and over again. He let out a breath, it a weak laugh. His lungs are burning. He needs to leave.
He needs to leave now, or his cowardice will never let him step through the front door of the building, will never let him leave this all behind.
An afterthought crosses his mind as he shuts his phone off, setting it neatly next to Chris' laptop. He leans back down, typing his last thought onto the document, lips quivering with a despondent smile.
P.S. I want you to have Matilda. Take care of her for me.
Leaving the building without Chris noticing is relatively easy. The hallways here are short and dark, easy to navigate with signs overhead. He strolls through the building casually, hands in his pockets, his tactical vest left behind. He doesn't bother to hide from the cameras, a determined look to his stride. It's nearly over. All of this - all of his suffering, it will soon be over. He can tell the tears on his face are drying, the air chilly against the wet marks on his cheeks. He pauses for a moment, glancing left, then right, then left again. He swivels on his toes, stepping down the sidewalk to the right. He's not positive there any conveince stores around here, but it's a small city. There's got to be one or two.
He walks in his lonesome, shivering slightly as the air bites at him, trying to convince him to get inside somewhere, to bundle up, to get warm.
He sighs then, walking briskly. The cold hardly mattered to a dead man, and he is so tired. He is so, so tired.
He walks, and he walks, and he walks until his feet hurt, stopping at a shoddy liquor store along his randomized path. The neon lights of the sign flicker like a broken beacon, urging Leon into the store. He doesn't bother wiping at his face, he doesn't bother combing a finger through his windswept hair. There's no point. Not anymore. The door chimes in his ear as he steps in, a gruff looking man glancing at him from behind the counter as Leon makes his way to the liquor aisle. He browses the shelves for a moment, bottles enticing. He can see bits of his reflection in the glass stacked on the shelves, but he ignores it to read labels, not really having anything particular in mind. Booze is booze, alcohol is alcohol. The taste wouldn't matter once he's dead. He shrugs then, grabbing the most expensive bottle of liquor with the highest alcohol content he can find. Maybe he can indulge just a little bit, since it will be his last drink after all.
The man behind the counter raises an eyebrow at Leon, mumbling with narrowed eyes as he asks, "Having a party?"
Leon hums, soft smiled as he shakes his head, "Something like that."
The man eyes him, taking Leon's cash as he only mumbles out a tired, "Right."
Leon takes his receipt after thanking the man, tossing it nearly instantly as he leaves the store. The bottle is heavy in his hands, heavier than what it'd appear to weigh. Leon thinks he's imagining it though, letting his boots thunk against the concrete of the sidewalk, a sign catching his eyes. He supposes it's still mostly random as he finally passing through the threshold of the small park. It was attached to a vast forest, hiking trails leading in and out of it. It's probably a gorgeous little reserve, Valley Oaks and Fremont Cottonwoods swaying in the wind, tempting him closer.
He meanders deeper into the park as he unscrews the lid to the bottle of alcohol, taking a generous sip from it before hanging his head back and looking up at the sky with a sigh, his lips curling slightly as the warmth of the vanilla whiskey burns his throat on the way down.
"Lucky choice," Leon murmurs to himself, the taste of it still on his tongue as he counts the stars for a moment. Lucky.
Lucky isn't a word he really likes, it having been thrown at him for the past twenty-ish years.
He's lucky to be alive, lucky that the US government wants him, lucky he lives through every mission despite coming back more broken and battered than the last.
He snorts. Right. Lucky.
He draws in another long sip of the whiskey, it burning on the way down. He lets out a sardonic chuckle, swaying slightly as it seeps into his bloodstream. He starts to wander towards the trees, their canopy like a giant green blanket. He feels his boots crunch against the leaves on the ground, warmth pooling in his stomach as he drinks some more. The wind slips past him, tickling through his shirt. He thinks me might be going slightly numb from the alcohol, but he shivers anyways, arms erupting in goosebumps as he shoves his fingers in his pocket, pulling out a bag of pills. He fingers at them through the plastic bag for a moment, feeling the oblong objects, the round ones, even a few square ones. Their colors are muted, some white, some green, some multicolored. He chuckles, the laughter having a hard time dying from his lips once it started.
It was freeing as he fished his fingers into the bag, grabbing a couple of pills. They were haphazardly thrown together; a mix of all different types of medication. Without much more thought, he popped them in his mouth, washing them down with more booze, a smile lazy on his lips.
He could feel his body loosening with each sip of whiskey, body warm but numb. He can't remember the last time he's felt like this. Unburdened, not in pain, not scared. This is it.
This is it.
"Heh," Leon swayed with a giggle, popping a series of pills into his mouth. He could feel it. The slip of his consciousness breathing in and out of him as he stumbled down a trail he doesn't remember picking, losing his footing. He tumbles face first, knocking his nose hard into the ground.
He can taste blood on his lips, feel it dribbling over them and down his chin. Of course he'd bleed at the moment of his death, of course, of course.
"Mm, fittin'," he slurs into the dirt. He can taste it, its dry, earthy taste muddied with the tang of copper. He uses a great amount of effort to flip over, sprawling out on his back. He needs to be on his back. Needs to make sure that his lungs fill up if his body decides to try and purge the contents he's stuffing in his mouth. He grasps another handful of pills washing them down with the last dregs of whiskey in the bottle. He sighs then, letting his nose bleed as he spawls out on the ground, hand going lax around the neck of the bottle. It hits the ground with a click making Leon giggle quietly, gurgling around the blood in his throat as he looks back up at the sky.
It's gotten so dark. He can hardly see the leaves anymore, the stars faint twinkles amongst the black night sky. He can't feel his body anymore, can hardly feel the wet stream of tears cascading down his temples. Maybe he'll end up up there… among the stars…
The idea is pleasing… comforting as he wheezes weakly, letting his eyelids flutter shut as he heaves one final, stuttered sigh. He could feel death's gaze as he mumbles his last incoherent thought, a listless smile barely on his lips,
"Finally."
Chris stalls, body leaden with fatigue. The day was getting to him, it well past one in the morning now. He grumbles to himself, finally kicking his feet out and standing. He lets himself sway, rubbing a hand down his face, scratching at his stubble that's started to peek through his skin. This day - or yesterday, or whatever - was weird. It was just weird. Successful, sure, but weird. He got infected by some random ass virus only to be cured later, fought a giant shark-monster, and survived to tell the tale. He wasn't looking forward to writing the report, his mind lingering on his time spent with his friends instead.
Speaking of friends, his best friend still hasn't stopped by to notify him of his departure, making Chris' nose scrunch with worry. Leon was acting strangely earlier that day, his hug still fresh in Chris' mind. It seemed… Chris isn't sure. He can't put his finger on it, nor can he find the words to describe the oddness of the whole ordeal. There was just something about the way Leon clutched at him, words soft yet - almost desperate, in a way. Chris really can't put his finger on it as he strolls down to his temporary office. Leon was… he looked good. Good in a way that was refreshing. Back in New York, he looked the worst Chris has ever seen. Reeking of alcohol and exuding an aura of pure angst. It was enough for him to pull Leon to the side after the operation, to shake his shoulders as he pleaded for the man to get help, if not from Chris then from someone - anyone - because Chris couldn't stand to keep seeing him this way.
The tiny intervention seemed like it worked, but… why did he feel like it was too good to be true?
Chris shook his head, wanting, needing to give Leon the benefit of the doubt. His boots thud against thin carpet, his distracted gaze sliding up from the floor to peer into his empty office. With furrowed brows he peeked inside, calling out quietly, "Leon?" His eyes flicked around the room, noticing Leon's phone next to Chris' laptop. Chris bit at his lip, fingers leaving the doorframe to step deeper inside.
Weird…
Maybe he went to the bathroom and left his phone here?
Chris hums out a noise of soft confusion, walking behind his desk. The way the phone was sat looked purposeful, and Chris is almost one-hundred percent sure Leon would never intentionally leave a laptop open with loads of confidential information on it. He clicks his tongue, letting his finger tap at the space bar. The screen takes a moment to boot up, revealing an otherwise empty document besides a few lines of text. Chris' brows furrow, noticing his name at the top of the document.
Moments later, his heart sinks beneath the some fifteen floors beneath him, his blood running colder than ice, his eyes scanning over those lines, bare-bones in explanation but haunting him deeply.
Chris,
I'm sorry.
I loved you, you know? I don't know if I said it enough, but I did.
Tell Claire I'm sorry. Tell everyone I'm sorry.
Please don't be upset with me. I was just so tired. I left you a letter in my apartment, explaining things better.
Please forgive me.
L.S.K.
P.S. I want you to have Matilda. Take care of her for me.
Chris shakes his head, back curling as he gets closer to the laptop, fingers sliding over the track pad of the laptop, trying to find more - to find some sort of clarification - but -
What's written on screen clearly spells out Chris' worst fear:
Leon is going to kill himself.
Chris jerks back, his breath hitching as his heart palpitates painfully, trembling hands yanking his phone from his pocket as he starts a hurried jog down the hall. His phone is ringing by the time he's slamming his fingers into the elevator button, a mutter on his breath as he repeatedly presses the close-door button, "C'mon, C'mon, pick up - pick up."
The phone blips, signaling his call has been answered as a tired voice sighs on the other end of the line, "Redfield, do you know what time it is?"
Chris doesn't bother greeting Ingrid Hunnigan, his voice strained, "I think Leon is going to try kill himself."
There's a sharp breath on the other end of the line, Ingrid wide awake now as she asks, "What do you mean? What did he do? Where is he?"
Chris can hear rapid typing beyond the phone, the elevator dinging as it reaches the first floor of the parking garage. He billows out of it, rushing past rows of parked vehicles as he chokes out, "I don't - he left a note on my laptop - apologizing, Ingrid, apologizing - saying he wants me to have his gun - to tell Claire he's sorry -"
"Redfield!" Ingrid shouts, her voice wavering as she orders, "Snap out of it! The last ping I have from his phone is at BSAA HQ California - it seems he turned it off -" She rattles on as Chris hauls himself up into his jeep. It's cold for a night in California, his flesh erupting in goosebumps as Ingrid directs, "There's a liquor store a mile and a half from the HQ - check there first. Keep me on the line and I'll give you directions."
"Okay - okay," Chris says, though his voice feels far away from him. He's shaking his head as he shoves the key into the ignition, the jeep stuttering to life. Thankfully the old hunk of metal treats him well on what is turning out to be the worst day of his life.
Ingrid's directions lead him to a small liquor store down the road. He doesn't bother parking properly, jumping out of the vehicle with his keys in his hand as he barrels through the door, the chime of it too cheerful for the moment he's trapped in. There's an old man at the counter and Chris all but shouts at him, "Was there a man here - about this tall - pretty - blonde hair - blue eyes -"
The man snorts. "Yeah. Bought the biggest, most expensive bottle of booze with a grim smile on his face. Why?"
"When he left here, what way did he go?" Chris asked, heart thrumming in his ears. Leon was here, Leon was here, Leon was here -
"What do I look like? A baby-"
Before the man can finish his sentence, Chris reaches across the counter, grabbing a fistful of the man's shirt and tugging him over the counter to hiss in his face, "Listen old man, I need to know what direction he went in."
The guy stammers, holding up his hands and pointing, "W-West, he went west - there's a park nearby - maybe -"
Chris releases the man, stomping from the store as he asks into his phone, "Did you get that, Ingrid?"
"Yes, there's a small park leading into a giant reserve of forest, sending directions now."
Chris peels out of the parking lot, going well over the speed limit as he hauls ass down the road, anxiety burning holes in his gut.
I'm sorry.
His jeep slides across the gravel as he turns into the parking lot, Chris not bothering to turn it off as he launches out of it, calling out, "Leon?" His eyes search the dimly lit park, only catching moths swooping around the occasional lamp here and there. He lets himself go into search and rescue mode, shoulders taught as he combs the area, feet moving fast.
I loved you, you know? I don't know if I said it enough, but I did.
He can hear Ingrid saying something on the phone, but he's distractedly running over the trails, back and forth, back and forth, voice going raw as he screams out, "Leon?! Where are you?"
I loved you, you know? I'm sorry. I'm sorry - I loved you - I loved you - I'm sorry - forgive me - I'm -
Chris spots the entrance to the woods, trees looming overhead and watching him, jittering in the cold breeze. "I'm going into the forest, I might lose reception - God Ingrid, oh god -" Chris all but cries, Ingird's encouraging voice falling on deaf ears as he shoves his phone in his pocket to do a full sprint. His boots crunch over twigs and leaves as he bolts through the forest, his lungs burning as apprehension makes his eyes start to water. He keeps crying out, knowing, somehow, that Leon probably won't respond. "Leon? Leon - please -" His voice falls to a whisper, throat hoarse as he stumbles, hands coming out to brace himself against the dirt. His foot caught on a root, making him trip onto his knees and hands, breath ragged in his throat as his chest heaves through a sob, eyes leaking, "Please."
It goes quiet then, the forest blanketing him in darkness. It's swallowing him whole as he drags his nails through the dirt, body trembling. He hears the wind, blowing cold against his ears, piercing his skin and carrying with it the sound of insects and - choking.
Chris snaps his head up, alert like a dog as he listens closely, eyes scanning the pathway rapidly as the sound reaches his ears again. Gurgled noises breach his eardrums, faint, but there. He darts forward, not bothering to call out Leon's name anymore. All he can do is run towards the sound, run, run, run as his legs burn with protest. It is only when he reaches the top of a small slope does he see him down the path below, covered in dirt and blood, convulsing against his own vomit stuck in his throat.
Chris moves faster than he thinks he ever has, skidding across the dirt on his hands and knees as he gasps out a terrified, "Leon! Leon -"
The man only gurgles, skin pale and damp with sweat, flat on his back - dying.
Chris instantly tugs him to his side, grabbing at Leon's back and shoulder as he cries, "Oh god - oh god -"
There's yelling coming from his pocket as Chris manages to get Leon's lifeless body on his side, his limbs completely limp as his head bumps into the ground, body jerking as it attempts to spew the contents of his guts.
"Chris! Chris!" Ingrid shrieks from the phone in his pocket.
Chris struggles to free it, hands trembling as Leon's vomit gets on his pants. It reeks of alcohol and he has to stop himself from gagging as he finally frees his phone, dropping it to the ground. His voice is sticky in his throat until he forces himself to speak, words laced with fear, "I found him - I - he's -"
"What's his condition Chris? What's his condition - I can't help if -" Ingird is practically screaming. He doesn't blame her. He might be screaming too.
Leon's body stops seizing suddenly, only a small dribble of drool, blood, and stomach bile slipping from his lips as Chris checks his pulse, counting quietly to himself before relaying, "Pulse is weak. I can hardly feel it - it looks like -" Chris gulps, the contents of Leon's vomit hosting semi-digested pills. He wants to hurl himself, stomach cramping with nausea. He swallows thickly, eyes catching the glint of the moon off the bottle of liquor strewn to the side. "He was choking on his vomit but it's stopped now. He's hardly breathing."
"Okay. I know - this is - can you tell if he took anything by the contents of his vomit?"
Chris swallows, his lips sour as he glances down at the ground. "Pills and al-alcohol," he manages, noticing undigested tablets in the contents of Leon's sick.
"What kind of pills Chris? How many?"
Chris gulps, keeping his fingers against Leon's pulse as he rubs his free hand at Leon's shoulder, not knowing what else to do. Leon felt so cold. His pulse is so weak.
"A - a lot, I don't know - Ingrid - what do I do - he's barely breathing," Chris cries, voice cracking.
"Hold on. Just hold on. I've contacted your HQ and medics are on your way - just - he might stop breathing -"
"What - No -" Chris gasps, eyes glued to Leon's face. He's too pale. The dirt and sick on his cheeks shouldn't be there - he shouldn't be here -
"Chris. He might. You need to be strong. Y-You need to be, for Leon, okay? Medics are five minutes out, please… please," Ingrid whispers then, voice as raw as his, "Don't let him die."
Leon looks small in the medical bed. He looks too small, too frail, his hair a mess, blood still staining his chin beneath the tubes in his throat.
It's been three days.
Three days.
Chris has barely slept, glued to Leon's side, his fingers gripping at that slack hand. Ingrid insisted he go get some rest at the hotel he was holed up in before Alcatraz, the staff more than willing to extend his stay. He refused, always refused. He…
He can't let Leon out of his sight. Not anymore. Not today, not tomorrow. He doesn't care what he has to do. He already spoke to those assholes at the DSO, slamming in their face that their best agent nearly drank himself to death, demanding medical leave for Leon until the foreseeable future. He knows Ingrid pulled some strings too, her influence as strong as her will. He'll do even more than that when Leon wakes up. He'll get him out of that shithole of a government agency, hell - he'll take Leon across the world, have him take up asylum in one of the international headquarters. He'll beg on his knees. He'll do anything. Anything. Leon just has to wake up.
They haven't told anyone.
Ingrid only sighed when Chris pleaded with her to keep this to herself for the moment, knowing Leon will hate for the others to know. It's probably wrong of him to keep this from them, from his sister, but he can't. He just can't. He is selfish that way, keeping Leon sealed away from the world - from his friends - but Chris doesn't care.
Four days pass. Leon chokes awake on the fifth, incoherent and scared before falling back asleep as soon as the tubes are removed from his throat. The doctors said he was recovering, his organs suffering some damage from the mix of alcohol and medication in his system. They said it might take days for his body to filter out the toxins, his comatose state normal. Chris only nodded quietly then, wondering what about trying to commit suicide is normal, and then requested a clean cloth to wipe Leon's face and arms down, gently removing leftover dirt and blood from his skin.
Ingrid has to leave on the sixth day, and the seventh day is when Chris starts to wonder if Leon will ever wake up again.
At first, he is numb, the only thing he can feel being the pressure in his hand and resting against his outer leg. It takes a good, long while for him to finally feel the breath in his own lungs, it burning dully on the way in, down, and out. His lungs stutter, chest twitching with each breath he forces from his lungs, eyes still too heavy to open. In, out, in, out… His brows furrow slightly, mouth dry.
He's breathing.
Why… is he breathing?
He swallows, throat making a noise against his will as his brows furrow deeper, eyes twitching as more soft, confused whimpers echo from his lungs.
Why is he breathing?
His head hurts. It hurts yet at the same time it doesn't, a thick fog wrapped around his brain. He thought… he thought…
He hums again weakly, or maybe it's another whimper. He isn't quite sure, but he knows his throat feels sore. It takes great effort to peel his eyes open, the white ceiling too bright against his tired retinas. He flinches weakly, eyes squinting as it takes every muscle in his body to even hold his head up just a bit, glancing down at his lap.
A familiar head of dark hair is pressed into his thigh, the owner also resting his hand against Leon's.
Leon's lip twitch with guilt, mind too addled to figure out why he's still alive right now. He's sure the brunette glued to his side had something to do with it, and that makes the sadness within him seep out to all of his limbs, making him feel heavy again.
Chris was not supposed to find him. No one was supposed to find him.
He sighs, defeated, chest aching dully. He drops his head back to the pillow while he tries wiggling his fingers, the digits slow to wake. They shake slightly as Leon curls them around Chris' hand, his voice a hoarse croak in the back of his throat, "C… Chris." He sounds awful, voice gravely and weak. If only he had succeeded, if only the concoction of booze and medication had actually done what he intended it to do - he wouldn't have to be here, floating on a cloud of uncertainty, grasping his best friend's hand.
Chris doesn't stir. Leon can't blame him. He's sure the sight wasn't pretty. He can smell himself, the acrid scent of vomit, blood, and alcohol still stuck to his skin. He lets his head fall to the side, gaze lingering on Chris' sleeping face. Purple bruises dotted beneath his eyes as he slept, brows pinched without any ounce of peace. Leon did that. He made Chris look this way, dog tired and worn down to the bone. He mouths Chris' name again, the word not audible. Another sigh makes his chest twinge as he closes his eyes.
Chris was not supposed to find him.
Leon can't remember falling back asleep, the feeling of fingers brushing back his hair waking him slowly. There's a quiet murmur filling the room as fingers slide through those dirty strands, gentle, kind, loving. Chris is saying something again, whispering it between just the two of them as he sweeps his fingers against Leon's hair so, so gently. Leon's lips part, the soft click of his mouth opening being the only indication he's awoken, Chris' fingers stilling atop Leon's head as he asks softly, "Lee?"
Leon hums, eyes scrunching for a second. It's still too bright but… he wants to see Chris. He mumbles something, not even sure of his words as he tries to blink his eyes open. They're blurry and dry, Chris only a smudged silhouette, so he lets them slip closed again.
The faint reply has Chris' heart up in his throat again, his voice a shaky whisper as he resumes his hair petting, "Leon, sweetheart?"
Leon's lips twitch, eyes still closed as he manages a rasp, "Since…" He breathes through his nose, taking his time. His eyelashes finally unstick from themselves, vision clearing as they flutter open to meet Chris' soft, warm gaze. "Since when d -" Speaking is hard, his throat sore as Chris gasps, his grip tightening in Leon's hair. Leon thinks Chris might be shaking a little.
"Don't talk - it's okay, it's-"
Leon hums some more, lips curving slightly as he lets his head fall deeper into Chris' palms, words slightly slurred, "Since when d'd you star' callin' people swee'hear'?"
"Leon - Leon -" Chris prattles gently, releasing his hold of Leon only for a second, both of his hands coming up to cup Leon's cheeks as he asks, "How do you feel?"
Leon thinks he might be on too many drugs, Chris' face twisted in a meld of worry and relief, eyes too pretty to look that way. "Mm," Leon sounds, letting his eyes drift close as Chris sweeps his thumbs beneath his eyes. It tickles. It feels nice - good and warm and welcoming. He mumbles, again, though he thinks he might be purring, Chris' touch pouring warmth into Leon's skin.
He's distracted for a moment until Chris asks again, "Lee, please, how do you feel? Do you know where you are?"
Leon blinks. Maybe he is dead and this is heaven. It has to be with the way Chris is looking at him, making his heart flutter in his chest. The monitor beside his bed beeps with the increase in his heart rate, making Chris smooth his hands down Leon's cheeks as he reassures, "I will be right back? Okay? Gonna get the doctor. I will be right back."
"M…'kay," Leon murmurs, watching Chris go. His chest starts to hurt then, a hollow guilt opening behind his ribcage as he struggles to push himself up the back of the bed. It takes great effort, his arms wobbling. By the time he's settled back again, Chris and a nameless doctor enter the room. He wants Chris to pet his hair some more.
"Hello," She greets, teeth white as she smiles, rounding his bed.
Leon eyes her as she stands at her side.
"I'm glad to see you've finally woken up. Mind if I check a few of your vitals?"
Leon looks from her to Chris, mind still fuzzy. Chris nods from the other side of the bed, so if Chris trusts this woman then Leon can. He nods, letting out a soft, "'Kay."
She smiles some more, fingers cool against his wrist as she counts to herself in her head, Chris a steady presence at the other side of Leon's bed. Leon's fingers twitch, wanting to touch Chris' curled up fist as the doctor asks, "Do you know your name?"
Leon gives a short nod, replying, "Leon S Kennedy."
"Good. Do you know where you are?"
Leon looks past her for a moment, letting his eyes glance around the room before he answers slowly, "Med…bay? Medbay."
Chris shoots the doctor a look to which she replies coolly, "The BSAA's special recovery center, yes. It's like a medbay."
Leon's brow furrows slightly as he takes in the information, brain fog still thick. "Oh," he murmurs, "Okay." He's not sure what he's supposed to say to that, so he falls silent.
The doctor nods then, asking a final question, "Do you know why you're here, Leon?"
Leon's brows tug into a furrow, eyes grazing over Chris for a moment. He makes himself look away, eyes casting down to the white bedsheets as he whispers, "I failed to kill myself."
He can hear Chris' breath hitch beside him as the doctor nods again, her gaze flicking over to Chris as she reports, "It seems your memory is intact. That's good. As for physical injuries, you have a couple of broken ribs, which your friend here says are most likely untreated from your most recent mission. Your internal organs only suffered minor injuries. They will take another week or so of bed rest to heal in full. As for the… mental aspect of things, why don't you just rest for now, and I'll come back later. Then we'll talk. How does that sound?"
Leon nods, unable to meet her gaze, sheepish as he replies quietly, "Okay. T-Thank you."
He feels so guilty. He feels so so guilty. He thinks, maybe, in the deepest part of his mind, that he may have messed up. He may have messed up badly.
The doctor leaves soon after, checking out his IV drip before exiting the room.
Chris lets out a sigh, it strained and high-pitched as Leon finally looks back in his direction. Chris looks even worse now that Leon can see him better. He was unshaven, his beard growing in. He looks like he hasn't slept in day. His posture is heavy with fatigue. He looks - sad. Upset. Miserable.
Leon is Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
"I'm sorry," He whispers, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap like a child riddled with anxiety.
Chris presses his lips into a thin line, not meeting Leon's gaze for a long moment. Leon swallows nervously, mouth parting as if to say something, but, what can he say? He can apologize until he's blue in the face, but he knows that will not make up for what he's done.
A long moment passes before Chris sighs, letting those pained eyes finally meet Leon's as he asks quietly, "Why did you do it?"
The question hangs like a noose in the air. Would revealing these parts of himself kill whatever image Chris has of Leon? Would he think differently of him? Hate him? Despise him? Leon stays quiet, eyes glued to his hands in his lap. He worried his lip between his teeth, a bubble of copper bleeding out onto his tongue. Leon shudders, closing his eyes behind the veil of his hair as he ignores the question, mumbling a quiet, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have."
Chris takes in a long, deep breath before exhaling, tapping at Leon's legs as he requests, "Scoot over." Leon shuffles his legs to the side, letting Chris settle on the bed next to him. He's in his civilian clothes, his grey t-shirt wrinkled. He settles a large palm on Leon's knee, fingers swiping at the fabric of the white sheet for a moment as he looks at Leon's bowed head. Chris has had a long time to think, so he approaches Leon with caution, "Lee, could you look at me?" Leon shifts, more awake now. His heart is beating up against his ribs, steady yet rapid as he lifts his gaze to meet Chris. The heart monitor gives him away, but Chris doesn't pay much mind to it as he smiles softly when Leon's eyes finally meet his. "There you are."
"Here I am," Leon breaths out softly, confused but not brimming with anxiety anymore. Chris is still here, sitting next to him.
Chris slides his hand up and over Leon's knee as he murmurs, "I read your letter. The one from your apartment." Leon's mouth parts open around the word How, but Chris beats him to it with a quiet explanation. "Ingrid. She's quite the woman, isn't she? After a couple days, I remembered you mentioning it in the - the note you left on my computer. She had someone she trusts go and retrieve them and bring them here." Chris reaches in to his pocket then, his fingers leaving Leon's knee to hold a folded sheet of paper in his hands gingerly. Leon doesn't have to look at the front of the page to know what it is. Chris looks at it for a moment before asking softly, his fingers skimming over his name written on the page, "Is what you wrote true?"
Leon takes a moment before nodding slowly, his own voice feeble, "Yes."
Chris swallows, dark brows curling against his forehead as he asks, "Everything?"He looks to Leon then, brown eyes meeting blue.
Leon feels his lips tremble. He felt strip bare, everything about him - all his traumas, his emotions, sitting in the palm of Chris' hands. "Yes," he whispers, struggling to make eye contact now. He curls his fingers into fists above the bedsheets in an attempt to hide the way they are trembling.
Chris scoots closer, head tilting low to meet Leon's as he asks, "You love me?"
Leon breaks.
A sob jumps up his throat, making him hiccup harshly around the pain in his ribs as his walls completely crumble, that look in Chris' eyes enough. Enough to make him hunch in on himself as he whines out a hoarse whisper, ashamed, "Yes."
He can hear the way Chris gulps. He can feel the bed shift again under his weight, and there he goes, there he goes - Chris is going to leave him here - he is going to leave him here to suffer in his guilt and wrongdoings - alone -
"Leon," Chris breathes, closer than before. There are fingers touching Leon's chin then, lifting it up gently. Leon lets himself be guided, breath stuttering through his nose and in his lungs. Chris is so fucking gentle with him it hurts - it hurts - because he's sure Chris doesn't feel the same. He doesn't feel the same but Chris is going to let him down easy because he's Chris - kind, gentle, caring Chris -
"I'm sorry."
Leon's thoughts come to a halt, eyes watery and confused as he asks in a whisper, "What?"
Chris shakes his head, gaze apologetic as he rubs at Leon's flushed, damp cheek, "I'm sorry. I should have noticed."
Leon has a small, baffled look on his face as he sniffs. Chris is still cradling his cheek, drying his tears with the swipe of his thumb. "What do you mean?"
Chris hums fondly, eyes crinkling then, "That you feel the same way about me, as I do you."
Leon narrows his eyes, searching Chris for any tell of a lie.
A chuckle startles Leon, Chris' hand slipping from Leon's jaw only to paw at the back of his neck, tugging Leon closer so that their foreheads are brushing. "I'm not lying."
Leon sucks in a breath, feeling Chris' own on his lips, their gaze locked for a long moment as he stutters, "Y-You have to be - You -"
Chris shakes his head against Leon, lips inching closer, closer, close enough that Leon can feel their breaths intermingle as Chris whispers, "Why would I lie, sweetheart?" Then, as if to punctuate his statement clearly, he brushes a soft kiss to the corner of Leon's parted lips. Then his nose, then his cheeks, his forehead, his cheeks again with the mantra, "Why would I lie?"
Leon whimpers softly, his hands having gripped at the front of Chris' shirt the moment his lips touched his skin. "Chris," he whispers, whines, nosing at Chris' cheek as Chris presses another kiss to his skin.
"Still don't believe me?" Chris murmurs lowly, eyes warm and fond as he finally leans forward enough so that their lips touch. Leon whimpers into the kiss, lips trembling as Chris smiles against him, mumbling there, "I love you, Leon." He pulls away then, a hand hooked around the back of Leon's neck, the other rested on his hip as he asks softly, "So will you let me help you?"
Leon crumbles into a sniveling mess, head nodding rapidly as he sobs, "Yes, yes, I love you - I love you - yes, please -" His skin is warm where Chris holds him, those large hands tugging Leon to his chest where Leon cries. He cries, and he cries, and he cries, feeling alive for the first time in years.