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The fatigue isn’t anything out of the ordinary, but Hunnigan makes Leon go home early when he starts coughing.
“I’m fine,” he insists, because as much as he would like to give his aching lungs a break from the training course, he’s not about to start slacking. especially not when BSAA members are hanging around. Sure, Chris will put their asses in line if they talk shit about him, but it would be embarrassing , and Leon is too old to deal with getting bullied by a bunch of trigger-happy rookies who are almost upsettingly unfamiliar with the Geneva Convention. (Never mind that Leon used to be like them.) He’s also too old to grit his teeth and just roll with it when he starts coming down with a cold, not that he is doing that, but he’s definitely not on his A game, and the point is that it’s taking far too much work on his part to hide it.
He takes more breathers than usual and pretends it’s nothing when he instructs the rookies on stealth and adaptability. He avoids Hunnigan’s suspicious gaze when he sits down, chest heaving, sweating more than he should be, after finishing his demonstration. He takes off his jacket even though it’s the middle of October and there’s a distinct chill in the air.
Despite Leon’s best efforts, though, the rookies still all see when he goes into a coughing fit and Hunnigan all but drags him out to the parking lot, Leon’s elbow gripped in one hand and his jacket in the other.
“You’re coming down with a cold, Agent Kennedy,” she observes, and a flush rises into his face. It’s a mixture of the weather catching up to him, his own embarrassment, and the aforementioned cold.
“No, I’m fine,” he says, “I just didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
She affixes him with a cool, unamused stare over the rims of her glasses.
“You never get enough sleep. Which, incidentally, weakens your immune system.”
Leon doesn’t have a response. His few seconds of silence, punctuated by a series of blinks, are enough for Hunnigan. She thrusts his jacket into his abnormally sweaty arms, and straightens up to full height, ramrod-straight back and all. Leon’s been with the DSO long enough that he’s not truly fazed by such posturing anymore, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is very aware he’s just lost his case.
“Yeah, okay, I might be coming down with something, but I don’t want to make a bad example for the BSAA k - rookies.” Fuck, he almost called them kids. He’s getting old .
“I hate to break it to you, Agent Kennedy, but in continuing to work through visible illness, you are making a bad example.”
“Right,” he says, suddenly and uncomfortably aware of how exhausted he is. It’s almost like he’s swaying on his feet. The DSO’s history of OSHA violations (amongst other things) doesn’t exactly agree with what Hunnigan is saying, but thats’ a whole different can of worms that Leon doesn’t feel like poking right now. No, wrong metaphor. He doesn’t feel like opening it. He really wants to go to sleep.
Hunnigan’s face softens a little, sharp edges sanded down just a bit. She looks a little tired herself, though no more than Leon normally is.
“Besides, it’s agency policy. If anyone shows symptoms of illness, we have to screen you for viruses.”
Something in her eyes flashes when she says viruses , or maybe it’s something in her tone that clues Leon in to what she’s referring to. Umbrella viruses. The kind that entail full hazmat suits and a sealed decontamination room and quarantine. Not fun, and most definitely not something that will make a good example.
“I don’t want to refer you to the doctors, though, because that’s one hell of a process, and it looks like you just have a little head cold. The most likely scenario is that you’ll simply need to take Friday off for a personal day, rest over the weekend. and you can get back to work on Monday.”
Leon opens his mouth to protest - Umbrella doesn’t take days off - but Hunnigan glares hard enough at him that any words are lost immediately.
“However, if you come into work still sick, I will report you for your own sake, as I also will if this happens again.”
From anyone else, anyone , this would be extremely threatening, but this is just how Hunnigan expresses that she cares. Leon nods, putting on his jacket again as he begins to shiver out of nowhere.
“I’m letting you off the hook, but it won’t happen again. Understood?”
Leon sighs. Turns to the side to cough into his elbow a few times. Nods.
“Understood.”
Hunnigan moves to clap him on the shoulder, and then changes her mind, evidently deciding that he’s too much of a biohazard right now.
“Good. Take care, Leon.”
With that, she marches away. Leon’s nostrils begin to tickle, and he’s glad he’s outside and alone as he lets out an aggressive sneeze.
Whether it be through the BSAA rookies, Hunnigan, or (hopefully) Leon himself, Chris is going to have a field day when he finds out about this.
Leon hears Chris’ car pull in, hears the front door unlock, hears his husband go through the motions as usual. He wonders if he can lie and say he’s just taking a day off for stress or something. Obviously, he doesn’t really want to lie, because that’s not healthy, but Chris doesn’t necessarily need to know Leon is sick if it turns out to be nothing, and Leon doesn’t need to scare him. He’ll just do his work like normal, get some sleep, and he’ll be fine.
Chris finds Leon in the shared office of their little rental house, pen in hand, hunched over a weighty report. The blue glow of his laptop screen, open to some internal DSO page, emphasizes his dark circles. Despite his awareness, he’s intensely focused on the work in front of him, attention split between Chris’ approaching footsteps and mumbling to himself about BOWs and helicopter fuel costs.
“Hey, Leon,” he says, and Leon immediately freezes up, realizing two things. One, Chris is probably about to come over and kiss him. Two, he’s probably very contagious right now. Yeah, lying was never going to work.
“Hey - wait,” Leon says as Chris, predictably, approaches him. “I’m out sick. Not a big deal, just a little head cold, but I’m probably contagious.”
Chris looks at Leon’s face, and then at the setup in front of him that is very obviously related to work, and then back at his face.
“Hunnigan called and let me know. Leon, I know how much you care about your work, but I say this from a place of love. If you’re out sick, you should probably be resting.”
Leon pouts. “This is resting. I’ve been sitting in this chair for at least two hours.”
Chris leans over his shoulder and peers at the laptop screen. “Can you close this without losing any work?”
“Sure.” Leon takes that as his cue to put down his pen. He closes the laptop, gathers up his papers, and pushes it all to the center of the table. He slumps against the back of the chair and sighs, realizing just how tired he is now that he’s snapped out of his workflow. Chris, still keeping his distance a bit, elects to run a hand through Leon’s hair in lieu of hugging or kissing him, and Leon groans a little at the sensation. He’s exhausted, and they’ve been married far too long for him to have any dignity, and it feels really nice.
“Be honest with me,” Chris says gently, in that voice that used to surprise Leon back when they first met, when he didn’t see past the muscles and the gruff voice and the sharp jawline to Chris’ caring, empathetic personality. (Yes, it’s cliche, no, he doesn’t care.) “How bad is it?”
Leon purses his lips. “Ugh. I thought it wasn’t so bad earlier, just some coughing and fatigue, but now I’ve got a stuffed up nose too, and - ” he yawns “ - everything is a bit sore. I think I should - ”
He’s cut off by Chris picking him up.
“Aye! I do not need to be carried, Redfield! I can take care of myself.”
“I’m sure you can,” Chris says, smiling contagiously (maybe that’s the wrong word to use in this case), “but you’ve already exerted yourself enough, and I happen to have called in for a day off.”
“A sick day?” Leon inquires, trying to remember if the BSAA’s virus testing policies are as shitty as those of the DSO.
“Nope, personal day. Being so high-ranking comes with its perks.” Chris swings Leon a bit, as if he’s a cat. Leon tries not to take it personally.
“Right,” Leon says, “because taking care of your sick, stubborn husband is a perk.”
“It is to me!” Chris insists, looking so genuinely bashful and convinced that Leon isn’t sure whether to laugh or blush.
He settles for something in between, and resists the urge to smother his husband with kisses. Chris may have taken Friday off too, but Leon doesn’t need to get him sick too if they can help it. He’s very glad he changed out of his work clothes and into boxers and a T-shirt, too, because the second Chris plops him down in their bed, Leon wants nothing more than to pass out for the foreseeable future.
Evidently, he does pass out, because he comes awake later with what is, for him, a surprising amount of gentleness. A quick glance over at the window shows golden light peeking through the blinds from where it’s reflecting off a neighboring building. The clock on the nightstand table, which neither of them have remembered to change for Daylight Savings Time, reads 16:43 .
Leon yawns, rolls onto his side, and is immediately met with his clogged sinuses making themselves very apparent. He lets out a prolonged groan and goes for the nightstand table.
Chris walks in to see Leon half falling off the bed, trying to reach the tissue box without fully removing himself from the comforting warmth of his blanket cocoon.
He wasn’t even under the blankets when he got in here, he realizes. Chris must have tucked him in. This thought makes his heart swell a little, which is cheesy considering how long he and Chris have been married, but...you know what? Scratch that. It isn’t cheesy, and...he’s glad he has some time off work, even if Chris will probably insist on sleeping on the couch tonight to avoid getting whatever Leon has.
“Hi,” Leon says, blushing. Chris looks at the pile of blankets tangled around his lower half, and at his arm braced on the edge of the bed, and his other arm in the nightstand table drawer, and starts laughing.
“You need some help?” he asks gently, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.
“No!” Leon insists, just as he loses his grip and rolls onto the floor. The blankets come after him.
“God damn it,” he mutters, staring up at Chris, who doesn’t budge. Everything is so, so sore, and what did he do to deserve this? He didn’t even get in a fight, or anything honorable. No, his traitorous body decided to pick up this season’s pathogens.
“You just said you didn’t need any help,” Chris teases, fighting his laughter, and Leon pouts at him. It works like a charm, as always, because Chris begins to laugh again, chest heaving as he leans down to free Leon from the blankets and hoist him back onto the bed. The sudden rush of cool air is uncomfortable for a moment, but quickly becomes refreshing.
“You’re gonna get sick,” Leon complains, to which Chris just hums.
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“You stubborn - ”
Leon is cut off by Chris picking up a pillow and gently dropping it on his face.
“My love for you is so powerful it makes me forgo all rational thought.”
“That’s gay,” Leon says into the pillow.
“Is it gay to catch a cold because you can’t resist the urge to stay away from your husband even when he’s contagious?” Chris asks, and Leon feels the bed dip beside him, Chris’ familiar warmth seeping into his bones.
Leon aims without looking, and grins when he hears the telltale oof of the pillow hitting Chris’ face.
“Yes. It’s also incredibly stupid.”
Chris tangles his fingers in Leon’s hair and cups his head.
“Don’t worry, I’m just fucking with you. I won’t be too bummed if I catch whatever you have, but I’ll try not to. That would really put a wrench in my plans of spoon-feeding you soup and poking fun at your shitty immune system.”
Leon has seen that smile almost every day for more years than he can count with his muddled brain, and it still makes his silly heart do acrobatics. Every damn time. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“You mean my shitty self care?” he replies.
“That too. And hey, at least you’re finally admitting it.”
Leon leans further into Chris’ hand, trying to balance his self-indulgence with caution. His success is moderate.
“Are you gonna yell at me until I go back to sleep?” Leon asks through a yawn. The morning’s exertion is starting to catch up with him.
“Aww, no, I won’t yell at you,” Chris insists, humming out a gentle laugh, “but I do think you should call it a night early tonight.”
“You know that’ll have me waking up at the ass crack of dawn.”
Chris presses a light kiss to the top of Leon’s head. “That’s okay, because you have an excuse to spend all day in bed.”
“True.” Leon yawns again.
“In the meantime, I’m not technically excused from my work duties until tomorrow morning, so I’m going to catch up on some reports. Are you hungry?”
“Not right now, I don’t think I can eat.” Right on cue, he begins to cough, and Chris escapes the blast radius just in time for Leon to sneeze.
“I’ll put on some tea, then. And maybe chicken noodle soup. I know we have the instant stuff somewhere.”
“Ugh, that sounds great.” Even feeling stuffy and a bit nauseous, he could kill for some good hot broth now and always. More than the idea of food itself, the gesture is so sweet it replaces the tight sickness-induced ache in his chest with one that feels much closer to that induced by romance. Leon’s age and experience have made him more cynical. They have also made him so much softer. Behold, the duality of man.
Chris smiles from the doorway like he’s trying to kiss Leon from a distance. That’s probably the thought process going on in his head right now, if Leon is being honest, and he smiles back.
He reaches for the nightstand a moment later to blow his nose, eagerly anticipating trying to find the tissues again, and realizes with a soft laugh and another smile that Chris already remembered to grab those for him too.