Work Text:
zero
There were days when he wasn’t plagued by the terrors of Raccoon City. Days–moreso nights–where his brain cracked open the deeper ends of his consciousness and forced him to remember further back. When he was 8, watching flames bite against the wooden walls of the building he once called home. When his 8-year-old brain thought it was possible to dwindle the fire just by staring at it long enough. Leon remembered then how someone in his family, not sure who, used to comment on his eyes. That they were so blue they could swallow sparks and then proceed to remark they were definitely inherited by his father. (So kind, he thought bitterly, to be told something that belonged to you was really something that actually was someone else’s and now you’re just borrowing it.) Leon’s 8-year-old self held on to that comment, hoping desperately that it was true; that he wasn’t being fed another lie for dinner even if somehow at that age, he knew it was.
Leon realized his life was unique by the time he was 7. Stuck with another mediocre tv-dinner (though he liked those at the time), he remembered watching his father, drenched from abdomen to ankle in red, trip over himself, heaving. His father looked up, ocean blue piercing ocean blue, before walking back outside to probably continue whatever charade he found himself in. At 7, he wondered if other kids his age also had fathers who would do mysterious things. Fathers who barely spoke to them, only fussing at whatever their mother cooked, grumbling about newspaper articles, and yelling at the phone. Fathers who would look at them, just stare for what felt like hours, only to sigh and protest they never clean their room. Leon wondered if their dads also looked exactly like them but older.
He hated the dreams that slapped him in the face with unwanted nostalgia almost as much as the ones that groaned in his ears, smelled of iron and rot, and stung his eyes with the memory of smoke from cars on the verge of exploding.
At least the unwanted nostalgia never left him feeling as if he was a cadaver on the side of the road, organs made of jelly, bones crushed.
Though, Leon had to ask himself, which was worse: being reminded that he was human or having the bits of the soul he once had sucked out, leaving an empty socket.
one
You were a new, riveting surprise.
Ingrid Hunnigan, a fellow agent and communications specialist, had been transferred to a new office building temporarily, allowing someone new to slip into her role and provide him with information and, if needed, support. (“Going on vacation this early, Hunnigan?” Leon had thought to himself in a jest.) You were her replacement, according to Simmons. However, that word didn’t sit right on Leon’s tongue. Replacement indicated Ingrid was now gone and had completely vanished from sight. As far as Leon was concerned, she was none of those.
He greeted you with neutral respect, holding back the urge to create a snippy comment. He wasn’t aware of how greatly you’d treat his quips or if you’d appreciate them at all. It surprised him when you shook his hand, eyebrow raised as if he had already said something stupid.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Kennedy. I’ve heard a lot about you.” You said in a friendly manner. He couldn’t help the curiosity that was bubbling in him. People talked about him around the office?
“Oh yeah?” He crossed his arms, offering you a chance to tell him more. “Enlighten me.”
You sucked in a breath through your teeth. “Mm, I don’t know if Ingrid would be too happy with me if I told you.” His expression was so amusing: he was attempting to act smug as if he knew people were chatting behind his back about his achievements or failures. However, as you regarded his form, you knew that wasn’t the case. Perhaps in the very back of his mind, he glazed over the idea, but once the information was relayed to him, he froze.
“Before you ask,” you watched his mouth open only to snap shut. “Ingrid and I are friends.”
Leon sighed. “So this is how it’s going to be.”
You sat in Ingrid’s chair, giving it a feel. “Oh come on now, don’t say that as if you already can’t stand me.”
It was the opposite, actually. He was already starting to like your attitude, but naturally, he couldn’t let you find that out just yet. Leon needed to grasp that feeling of satisfaction before you welcomed its embrace.
“I could already hate you, and you wouldn’t even know it.” He remarked, lifting his hand lightly to mitigate his point.
“Well, damn, shoot me now.”
two
It honestly startled him how fast you adapted to his behavior. Maybe Hunnigan had given you a lecture on him, Leon S. Kennedy 101: How To Deal With His Bullshit. Your first-ever assignment as partners went smoothly. He was to retrieve data on illegal B.O.W transports, observing for any kind of suspicious activity in the vicinity of Manhattan. You made a joke about New York and how the food wasn’t even that good for those prices. He snorted, giving you some credit for your originality, half tempted to ask how you knew before he spotted something. He gave you a short, to-the-point comment on what his next actions were.
You replied. “Don’t die when it’s my first day on the job, alright?”
Leon rolled his eyes. “Already thinking about the paycheck? That’s kinda fast.”
“How else am I gonna pay rent this month?”
“Side job?”
“Don’t start.”
The next few months, he allowed himself to grow more amused with your antics, with your banter. You were funny. He had to admit it. Chatty, even. It impressed him how often you knew how to reply, firing comments of your own as if you were always loaded with something.
You grew to be familiar. A calm voice that he didn’t know he could’ve used at that moment in time.
Then you grew to be more than just a voice. A person who he missed when your shift ended, and he was alone at his desk, messy papers the only thing giving him company. A person he gravitated towards when he immediately saw your figure. Be it a gathering, a meeting, or simply seeing you during lunch, he found himself by your side.
Leon liked it. He liked having this. He knew the word for it was friendship. You two acted as if you had been friends for years even though it was the complete opposite. You clicked so easily.
That's what scared him the most. It petrified him down to his very core that this wasn't even the closest you could get to him. There were still more forks in the road, more paths you could take. A part of him froze at the idea of you pausing in front of the box of horrors he's encountered, opening it, only to be drowned by him, by his essence. As if he was Pandora's Box, and you would perish.
Those burdens were almost impossible for him to carry. How would you react to what he saw in Raccoon?
Leon glared into his bottle of whiskey as his thoughts rolled around like boulders in his head. He took a sip, allowing the alcohol to sting his throat.
Had it really taken him this long to realize you were this precious to him?
two and a half
He dreamt about his mother and father that night, and it made him wonder if fate truly had it out for him.
three
Leon's worst fears came to light when his fingers accidentally brushed against yours, igniting an inner feeling he recognized immediately. While you hadn't really reacted–maybe bashfully glanced down–it hit him fast and hard like a brick falling from the sky. He wouldn't mind holding your hand. He wouldn't mind doing a lot of things with you. Because it was you and you made him experience joy. Genuine joy. Something he thought would be nearly impossible for him to feel again.
Maybe that’s why he’s scared. He truly can’t imagine doing anything without the ghost of you being there. How funny, what a human can do to another, how easily one could slip into his life, creating an asteroid-sized crater in his chest.
However, despite that never-ending pit of fear, he remained the same on the outside. A contrast to what happened in his head. At least, he thought he continued to keep up the tough, stoic expression he managed to have all the time.
You two were having a normal exchange. Talked about each other’s days, about upcoming missions packed into your schedules, and what you were having for dinner later (he almost asked you if he could join but stopped himself). But then, the atmosphere changed and suddenly you held a look of uneasiness. Now he was concerned.
“Everything okay?”
“I feel like I should be asking you that.”
Leon crossed his arms, his usual stance. “Nothing’s up besides the files we’ve been reading. Nasty shit, though I guess I can say I’ve seen worse.” He had.
“No, not that.” You mimicked him, now crossing your own arms. He half wondered if you were doing it partly to mock him, but with how serious your tone was, that probably wasn’t the case. “You’ve been uneasy. As if you want to tell me something but you can’t.”
Come on. You can’t possibly read him that easily. “Nah.” He brushed your concern off, but he hated himself for it. For the way your face dropped. Of course, there were more things he could tell you, to plop in your lap, hoping you understood where he was coming from. “You’re cute for being concerned though.” Maybe that will turn your curious nose away for now.
“I’m cute?” You look baffled. “That’s a new one.” He could tell from the way you scoffed, turning your head to look anywhere else but at him, that got you.
“I’m full of surprises.”
“More like full of shit.”
“Ouch.”
“Still, back to what I was saying, I’m here to listen. I think you know that by now. I mean, I got wine at my place with your name on it.”
Leon wrinkled his nose. He was never a wine guy, scotch was ragged and spiky when it went down his throat and he preferred that. “Inviting me over?”
“If you need it.”
He almost took it. Almost.
“Maybe some other time.”
four
He caved when you asked again a few weeks later when he severely needed some form of alcohol after what he had been dragged into.
You poured him a glass of wine, and he watched as red covered the glossy inside to almost full. “Thanks.”
You smiled, and something burned within him, it glowed red, overflowing like how lava does when it’s spewed from a volcano. This was more than just friendship now, your every action caused him to feel something, whether it was burning or just warm. You were warm.
The wine made him feel sluggish, and vulnerable. He was only on his third glass before his brain was less rigid, slowly turning into mush.
“You okay?” You laughed a little. “You look like you’re about to be sick.” You glanced at the wine bottle with knitted brows, scanning over the label. “I hope this hasn’t expired.”
Leon waved his hand at you. “No, wine just hits me a little harder than scotch does.”
“Is that why you never drink it? Or do you just like scotch so much?”
“I just like scotch, probably an unhealthy amount.” He smiled a little, cheeks pink from the alcohol. “Never been a wine guy, but today’s special.”
“Our government is running you ragged, Lee.”
“Tell me about it. The main guy at the white house seems to really favor me now.”
“Have you ever gone on vacation?”
“Nope.”
“You should. I highly recommend it.”
He chuckled. “I got on vacation, and then what? I’m called on the second day. Perks of being the golden boy.”
Leon realized that under the influence, he was better at small talk. The fog around his brain prevented him from overthinking, allowing him to share his thoughts and his ideas. For once, he felt no burdens weighing on his shoulders. The world seemed less dark.
Until he slipped a comment about Raccoon.
“I was there.” He accidentally said, shutting his mouth immediately as you raised your eyebrows. You blinked, licking your lips in thought.
“You never told me that.”
Well, now he could no longer avoid it. His trauma, his old wounds that were constantly reopened, were now somewhat spilled on the floor. The probability of you simply letting this go was zero. Leon sighed heavily, placing his wine glass on your kitchen counter. “It wasn’t really brought up. Well, maybe it was, but…I guess I was nervous about scaring you off.”
“Scaring me off?” You held a hand to your hip, looking at him as if he was stupid, and suddenly he was whisked back to when you two first met, and you had given him that exact same look. “You know what we do for a living? The wine didn’t make you forget right?”
“Not in that sense,” Leon felt weird telling you this. Oddly confident. It was the wine–did he really only have three glasses?
“Oh.” You got the hint almost immediately. He knew you would. He was searching your expression now, but he couldn’t read it. You were thinking, your forehead wrinkling. It was cute, downright adorable.
He didn’t want to scare you off, because this was more than just friendship to him.
“Didn’t think you were interested in me in that way.” You huffed. You bit the inside of your cheek, still thinking. You approached him, placing yourself in the seat next to him, the air now so warm it was hard to breathe. “Well, you can tell me about Raccoon City. You can tell me anything. Show me your scars, and I’ll show you mine.” You said it so sincerely, he had to be inclined to believe you.
It was silly, how scared he was about his. He told you everything, and somehow later that night it led to you holding him close to your chest, fingers in his hair, heartbeat in his ear.
A night so beautiful he actually cried.
He thought back to the night when his childhood home burned. The night he willed the fire to diminish into smoke with just his eyes.
You aren't alone anymore, kid. He thought, still feeling your fingers threading through his hair, through the darker roots. Not anymore.