Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Leon S. Kennedy woke up in a cell, his hands cuffed in front of him, his first thought was: 

Did the DSO ever negotiate with terrorists? 

The obvious answer was 'no' . In all the time Leon had been working as an agent, never once had he heard of a rescue mission for a missing colleague. If an agent failed their mission it usually meant one of two things, either they'd been lucky and were dead, or if not – well, they might have ended up in a situation like he just had. Which usually meant they would be dead in five to ten business days. Either way they were not coming back. His only hope at this point would be that he could find a way out by himself.

He sat up slowly, taking stock of any injuries he might not know about. The chain between his wrists rattled ominously. Some joints ached and popped back into place, as he lifted himself to his knees, though he couldn't find any more blemishes, or bruises he hadn’t already been aware of.

The strangest thing about his current state was, that apart from removing his heavy combat gear, his captors had also taken his shoes and socks, leaving him barefoot. Leon scrambled to make sense of it, his head droning from whatever had knocked him out. The possibilities were endless, maybe he’d been drugged, or beaten over the head, or maybe he'd been tased, or choked out in a fight? 

Wouldn't be the first time that happened , he thought to himself. The more he tried to think, to remember, the more obvious it became that Leon was struggling, still too dazed to process quite what was going on.

Not the time to falter. If he wanted to survive whatever this was, he'd need to stay focused. He pulled himself to his feet, feeling the rough stone floor underneath, as he inspected the cell he was in. It was small, three walls probably carved from stone, which had the clay cladding crumbling off in fist-sized chunks. The fourth wall only consisted of a row of thick iron bars, their metal sheen long gone and instead tinged orange with rust. While this might've not given him the best conditions for privacy, it at least looked like the lock would be easy enough to pick, if he could just find a piece of wire, or a stick. Doors like the one on his cell, especially in buildings as old as this one seemed to be, were often of a simpler make, so maybe this would be a first step in Leon's escape plan. 

He looked around some more, and noted to himself that there was no window in the cell. That, combined with the temperature probably meant he was in a basement. Apart from the lack of natural light, the confinement only housed a smattering of moldy straw, a dirty blanket and a bucket. Leon scrunched up his nose, at the sight. Hopefully he could escape before he'd have to forfeit his pride.

Remembering the very visible hallway that stretched beyond his prison, Leon decided to ignore his uncomfortable predicament and stepped up to the bars, risking a glance up and down the floor. He saw a nearly tunnel-like construction, lit up by what seemed to be oil lamps that dangled from the ceiling. There seemed to be more cells like his, adjacent to him, though he could neither hear, nor see any other prisoners. Further down was a small wooden table, scooted close to the wall with only a single chair next to it, another lamp glowing on its surface, though seemingly abandoned for now.

Careful to move silently, Leon began to search the floor and walls, trying the door for any give. Maybe the metal was weathered enough for him to kick it in. That would be noisy though and could attract unwanted attention too quickly. There was also the problem with the alarming absence of protection on his feet. 

Running his hands over the walls, checking for crevices that could hide something useful, his bound hands came away a dusty orange, the dried out clay sticking to them. He pulled on a rusty piece of metal, obscured by the stone, yanking it out with quite some difficulty, though the sight of the bent old nail was still a small kind of success. 

Next he turned over the straw, feeling around for anything else that could be of help. Maybe it should've made him suspicious when he actually found a long piece of wire, knotted between the threads of the blanket, but he would take all the luck fate handed him at this point. If it was a trap, he'd find a way to wind his way out, one way or another.

He waited for a few minutes, listening if he could hear another soul down here with him, but when nothing stirred, except the rodents in their holes, he decided to take the risk. Stepping over to the prison door, he looped his hands around one of the bars, pulling on the chain between his wrists for more leeway, as he struggled to get them into position. He had to fumble around blindly, guiding his fingers by sound and feel alone, as he poked around in the rusted lock.

At some point he pushed his index finger in too, jamming the nail further in and twisting the lock. He could hear the pins move one after another and before he knew it the mechanism turned. Hissing quietly, Leon drew his bloody finger from the door, shaking off the stinging pain that came with the cut the sharp metal had left. It was negligible in comparison to the fact that he had overcome the first obstacle to regaining his fickle freedom though. Hesitantly he pushed against the door, mindful of the creaking it would surely produce. Having made a narrow opening, he squeezed himself through, storing the nail and wire absently.

With his hand in his pocket, he felt something else, smooth and small. Pulling it out, revealed a black flash drive, obviously DSO property. He wondered what he had needed it for, but decided to tuck it securely in another pocket and worry about it later. Then he approached the table with the lantern.

He had nothing to defend himself with, except his bare hands and as much of a fire hazard that these things were, maybe it could prove useful in his escape. He picked it up by its handle and crept down the hallway, approaching another metal door, this one though, had no way of seeing what was beyond. As he passed the other cells he took notice that they really were all abandoned. Whoever took him, didn't seem to be used to making prisoners, or they led them to a quick death. 

His muscles tensed the closer he got to the looming door, his ears straining to pick up on any noise that could come from beyond it. He could hear people talking, having a conversation in a language that he didn't understand, though they seemed to be few, not much noise coming from the room except their chatter. Leon steeled himself, taking a deep breath and clenching his hands tight, preparing for a fight that would need to be quick and effective, or else he could lose the moment of surprise.

He gripped the door handle and ripped it open in one swing, like tearing off a bandaid. For a split second he saw the startled faces of two men, both brown haired and unshaven, then he sent the first stumbling with a well placed kick, before shattering the oil lamp in his hand against the other's chest. He had to cover his face behind his naked arms, shielding himself from the fire that caught in the fabric and hair of the guard.

He had no time to consider the screams of the burning man, as he sprinted up the stairs, dust and dirt sticking to his skin uncomfortably. Behind him he could hear footsteps, pounding up the steps, then a hand was tearing at his shirt. He could hear the seams rip, yet he had not a second to spare, knowing that he would only get this one chance at escape. He sent his elbow backwards, half turning, while still trying to keep his momentum. The joint connected hard with the man's head and he released his grip, opting instead to try and douse the spreading flames. Leon could smell skin burning and it made him want to gag, but he couldn't. Instead he reached the top of the stairs, another wooden door separating him from the rest of the building. The noise from downstairs rang in his ears, making it impossible to know if there would be more people awaiting him. He just had to take the risk and hope he could pick up a weapon.

It turned out he landed himself in a maze, the building in which he found himself a labyrinth of winding hallways and rooms looping into each other, with passageways hidden behind bookshelves and other cartoonish contraptions. The only relief in this was that it was equally hard for his captors to track him down, once he had escaped their direct line of sight, nevertheless it forced him to keep moving, never knowing where he'd be safe. 

Sweat was running down his back, a glistening sheen covering his forehead and pasting his hair to his face, while his shirt was soaking through and yet he didn't feel closer to an exit. He did find some useful rooms though, an old storage that hid a revolver with just enough bullets to get him through the upper basement level and now an office space, old and unused. At first glance it wasn't much but when Leon had spotted the landline covered in cobwebs and certainly unusable, it had felt like someone had handed him an emergency exit on a silver platter. If he had enough time to fiddle with the piece of tech, he was sure he could at least get a ping through to Hunnigan.

She would try and get him out, right?

Doubt sat heavy in his stomach, as he broke open the plastic casing and frantically searched the wiring. Sweat dripped from his brows, making him blink and wipe at his eyes to keep it from blurring his vision. He had no time for second thoughts, if worse came to worse, this would be his only chance of survival.

“Come on, come on.“ He mumbled to himself under his breath.

Using the rusted wire he still had, he carefully lifted up a part of the tech, he was ninety percent sure, he shouldn't touch bare handed. There were noises from outside the room, heavy boots on wooden flooring but he couldn't let that distract him. If he botched this the same he did with the mission, it was over for him. At least the desk he was kneeling behind would buy him a few precious seconds when they would inevitably find him.

The phone gave a jarring beeping sound, before the small light over the dial pad began to blink again. If Leon hadn't been so focused on keeping his hands still, he would've severed a few cables with the shock that seized him. His heart was hammering wildly, that noise had been way too loud for his liking. But he couldn't stop now, he was so close.

When he touched the end of the wire he had detangled, back onto the circuit board, the noise blared again, grating uncomfortably on his ears. He was sure someone would pick up on the clamour. Leon grit his teeth, if he had succeeded in his amateur engineering the signal should come through now and all he had left to do was send his message, if it weren't for the phone's speaker still giving audible feedback. 

He considered taking the time to extract it and risking breaking the device. There was no telling how long that would take him, if he'd even manage before someone came into the room. Ultimately, he decided against it, knowing that if he lingered any longer he'd be found out one way or another. Alert on any noise from outside, Leon began to transfer his message in quick morse code. He prayed there was someone on the other side to hear him.

“What's that noise?“

His ears perked up at the voice, muffled from the other side of the wall. He needed to get moving. Now.

The door sprung open, two warning shots ringing out in the dusty office, Leon flinched and ducked his head, his hands instinctively going up to cover his ears, before he suppressed it and instead began to set himself into motion. He rounded the office table, crouching low, his fists extended to defend himself, as he stared down the barrel of a gun. If he hadn't been as quick as he was, the next shot would've blown his brains out but before the man in front of him was able to fire, Leon had hit him hard on the wrist, knocking the weapon from his grip. 

There was no time to think about what to do next, as he had to dodge the other person in the room, who was unloading her magazine at him. He stormed towards the door, pieces of the wall bursting next to his face as he took cover behind it, narrowly avoiding the shots chasing him.

The ruckus would most certainly attract attention, who knew how long he'd have until the whole building would be flocking to him. He sprinted down the hall, trying to lose his tail and picking directions at random, just focused on getting as far away from the bullet spray. By pure luck he found another set of stairs leading upwards, without hesitation he made the steep climb and burst through the door at the top, uncaring if there'd be more enemies awaiting him behind it. He hit the wood hard, it was locked. 

“Shit.“ He cursed to himself, before taking a step back to throw himself against it.

The wood creaked under his weight but didn't break yet, he steeled himself for the next impact, sure that his shoulder would be bruised a deep purple by tomorrow. It took him two more tries before the door budged, the lock finally snapping under his force and springing open.

The first thing he saw were windows, streaming golden sunlight onto the parquet floor, that reflected it back in a burning auburn. The sudden light was so overwhelming it almost blinded him, as he stood at the top of the stairs, stunned for a split second. Then a fist connected with his face and Leon stumbled sideways, blood beginning to pour from his nose. He lifted his chained up hands in defense, whipping around to gauge his chances.

There were currently three people in the room, more filling in from a door at the far back. The exit was just behind him, if he'd run he could still make it. He blocked the next punch aiming for his head, twisting his opponent's arm with the iron chain on his wrists and sending him reeling back with a kick to his sternum. He could hear the man's head crack on the hardwood floor and saw the blood gushing from a cut at the back of it. 

He turned and ran, beelining for the door, gripping the handle in both of his hands and throwing it open in a fit of violent panic. Cold wind hit him as he bolted outside, it was freezing despite the sun shining high in the sky and Leon was definitely not dressed for this kind of weather, the few people out on the street stared at him weird but their gazes paled in comparison to the mob at his heels, screaming in a language he didn't understand.

He darted down the street, not turning back to see how close they were. He almost made it to an alleyway he could've ducked into, almost, if it weren't for the hand on his collar ripping him backwards and making him choke. He gave a startled cough as he was thrown onto the cobblestone, the air forced from his lungs with how hard he hit the ground.

Suddenly there was someone on top of him, pinning him down, he raised his arms just in time to avoid getting decked in the face again but when he went to throw the man off another pair of hands reached for the handcuffs and yanked his arms up and out of the way. The next punch hit him square in the jaw, making him taste blood. He grit his teeth through the pain, struggling to free himself, though the longer he fought the more people were grasping at him, holding his limbs down and crushing his head to the floor. He could see nothing more than the wet street and a pair of knees in thick jeans, as he growled like a dog in a snare.

“Stay down you bastard!“ A voice barked, his accent heavy and familiar, the details of his mission slowly coming back. 

“Fuck off.“ He grit from clenched teeth, he wasn't about to go down without a fight. 

There was incensed chatter above him, while he still squirmed against the hold on his body, a dull pain pressing down on him and making him feel short of breath. Without another word the hand on his head shifted to grip his hair, ripping it back and forcing a sharp hiss from him. Before he could say anything else, or ask what was happening, someone pressed a wet cloth over his mouth, that smelled strangely sweet. He tried to twist his head to shake it off but he found himself completely immobilized, staring up at the wide blue sky with squinted eyes.

He really hoped Hunnigan had received his message, as he could feel his muscles going lax. Whatever the fuck he was breathing in wasn't as strong as he had expected but was taking effect nonetheless. He took shallow breaths, trying to prolong whatever they were doing to him.

The silhouette of a man loomed above him, covering most of the bright blue sky, Leon fought harder against the restraints, though his muscles didn't seem to work how he wanted them to. He could nearly feel the sharp gaze of someone looking him up and down, like a hyena perching around a dying animal, waiting for death to take its claim.

“Take him back in. And this time make sure he won't be walking for a while.“ 

The man addressed him, his words carrying a similar accent to the others, he grinned at him, as he watched in interest how the drug slowly took effect. Leon knew he didn't have much of a chance, his vision growing dark at the edges, as minutes passed, his strength having abandoned him only moments before. He tried to protest, trying to hold onto consciousness, despite the sickly sweet scent of the cloth dizzying his head with every shallow inhale. At last his stubbornness was defeated, eyes rolling back as they fluttered closed and the darkness swallowed him.

***

He came to, when two figures dragged him over rough, dirty flooring, the metal of the handcuffs dug deep into his skin and his shoulders ached from the strain but as much as he tried, he didn't manage to get his feet back under him, his body still sluggish and his head spinning with the drug leaving his system. He breathed in the stale basement air deeply, filling his lungs in an attempt to shake off the weakness in his bones. His vision blurred, as he tried to take in his surroundings, though the room was so dimly lit, he couldn't have made out much, even if his head had been clear.

“Careful, he's awake.“ A female voice warned, before he felt himself being lifted upwards and roughly thrown on a metal table. 

His head hit the surface hard and Leon almost passed out again, if he hadn’t been so set on clinging onto consciousness, now that he wasn't forcefully being put under. Still he was slow to react, noticing too late, how his hands were lifted above his head and locked in place. When he tried to move on his own, his limbs still felt heavy and clumsy, pulling on the cuffs uselessly. Next someone pulled his ankles together, starting to wrap something around them that felt like hemp rope. Leon began to twist, struggling to sit up enough to see what was going on. 

“What are you doing?!“ His speech came out slurred, as more dizziness hit him, he didn't have the luxury to falter now though.

Whatever was going on, he was sure it wouldn't end well for him and if he didn't stay sharp, he'd miss any chance of escape.

“You'll find out soon enough.“ This time it was a male voice that was speaking, drawing the rope tight and fixing it in place, securing Leon's legs to the table.

Panic was rising in his throat, as he realized that he couldn't move, the yanking of his arms doing nothing but scraping his wrists bloody. He felt around on the chain for the lock, desperate to find some way for him to wind his way out if he had to. But all he found was a metal loop bolted tight to the table, his fingertips barely brushing the padlock that kept it closed. Even if he managed to reach it, he doubted he'd be able to pick it.

“The boss told us to make sure you're not running out of here again.“ The man spoke, unprompted.

Leon snapped his head to look at him, tracking his every movement. He had dark brown hair, coming down to his shoulders and wore an old green cargo jacket, his face wrinkled with deep grooves of worry and the occasional scar. If Leon had to guess, the man was somewhere in his fourties to fifties. But his age didn't matter now, not with the way they had him strung up while they were walking free.

“And who the fuck is your boss?“ He spat. 

Maybe he could use this situation to gather more information, find out where they kept the BOWs, like Hunnigan had sent him to do.

'We have proof of residual BOWs in the Eastern Slav Republic.', 'I know it's been years and we don't expect you to run into too much trouble, but your superiors thought it wise to do some belated cleanup.' Well, that had been another fucking lie. But what was he to do about it? It didn't matter if he was being lied to or not, he had no choice but to follow the orders given to him.

“Figure it out, you're the spy.“ 

The woman had gripped his jaw, digging her fingernails into his cheeks, as she made him look at her, her eyes filled with an ire that could kill. He jerked his head out of her grip, baring his blood stained teeth at her, not dignifying her with an answer, until she decided to scoff and retreat.

“I would've suggested just breaking a few bones but he said, he needs you in one piece and besides,“ He paused, looming at the table he was bound on, one hand placed lightly on his abdomen, like the touch of a ghost.

A sense of foreboding chased goosebumps down his arms but Leon kept his gaze locked resolutely on the figure above him, drawing his eyebrows together in defiance.

“you lit up one of our men and we all think that deserves some retribution, don't you?“ 

He smiled a humourless smile, slowly his words trickled through to Leon, realization settling in his gut like cement. If he died here, they would make sure his death would be long and painful. 

“His fault for getting in my way.“ 

Leon choked out, lifting up his head and shoulders as much as the chain would allow, his muscles didn't feel as numb anymore and the flexing helped to keep up bloodflow. 

“Your arrogance won't help you here, believe me.“

The man scoffed, slamming his hand down hard on his sternum and pushing him back with a loud bang. Leon huffed and tore at his chains but didn't say another word.

“Quit with the games, let's just get it over with.“ The woman complained, pacing through the small chamber in agitation.

“Come here and hold him still, hard to aim with this thing.“ The other waved her over, while he sauntered around the head of the table, dragging his nails on the metal all the way.

Leon had seen him pick up a piece of hose earlier, making out the vague shape of it in the dim basement light. He tried to figure out what they'd do with it, going through the various torture methods he'd been trained for in the military but came up short, it wouldn't be something common to US practices then.

A pair of strong hands settled on his ankles, pressing down. 

They are going to torture him.

The thought just now settled in, moments before it would happen. They would torture him and Leon couldn't free himself and the DSO would not be coming for his rescue either.

The US government had never sent forces after a captured agent.

If he'd become a threat to national security he was expected to eliminate himself. Air stuttered in his lungs and he forced himself back to reality. Leon tried to steel himself for the pain, breathing slowly in anticipation, as he commanded his muscles to relax, telling himself he'd be fine, if he could hold this out, he would find another way to escape. Pain wasn't an unfamiliar companion after all.

The first hit came, the sound of rubber hitting skin splitting the silence with a snap, while a stinging pain lanced through the soles of his feet and spread outwards. It was a strange sensation, not conforming to his terrified expectations. But if he had learned one thing in the training he’d received, it was that true torture seldomly played out like the movies.

The second hit came, precise and forceful as the last, he closed his eyes to keep him from flinching at the third and fourth taking deep, steady breaths as the pain built and built and built. His captors were clinical in the delivery of his torment, keeping up a steady pace for minutes, the room filled by nothing but the rhythmic tapping of the hose against his soles, providing no distraction.

Leon clung to the chains now, his fingers white knuckled around the metal that kept him tethered. He tried to remember his training, but the memories came back hazy, his focus ripped away by hit after hit, there was a reason he avoided reminding himself of his time at the bootcamp. He shook the resurfacing pictures off again, their teachings wouldn't help him now either, they had never been anything but cruel.

Sweat was gathering on his skin, as he bit his bottom lip, panting through his nose so he wouldn't scream. Maybe he was misguided for clinging onto his pride in such a situation, but he couldn't help himself. If he had to go down like this, he at least wanted to make it as difficult as possible, even if it would kill him. At least he'd go down with his head held high.

Confusion made him open his eyes, when the pain ebbed away for a moment, the movements at the foot of the table stopping abruptly. The man had paused, rolling his shoulder as if it were aching, a similar sheen of sweat glistening on his weathered skin.

“Getting tired already?“ Leon sneered like he wasn't at their mercy, if only to make room for his own anger.

The man snarled curses at him he didn't understand, before he brought his flat palm down to slap him in the face once more. Leon wished he could say he didn't flinch, kept up the mask of arrogance long enough to save his dignity, but his eyes twitched before he could reign them in, he kept his gaze on the ceiling afterwards, the warm sting on his face colouring his cheek a ruddy pink.

Time became a distant concept, when he took the hose up again, though Leon's mind didn't slip away that easily, feeling it all, while he trembled in his restraints, biting his lip bloody while suppressing the urge to gasp at every new strike drawing agony from his flesh. He didn't know when it would end, when he would have suffered enough for their satisfaction, just knew that, at least, his skin was growing numb where he was hitting him, though the deep aching in his bones still prevailed. It was easier then to keep his mouth shut, only jumping at the familiar sound, expecting more pain, even though it just buzzed in the background, like soft TV static.

“Make him walk.“ The man ordered suddenly, breathing heavily, he had been slowing down for a while now, maybe he was as equally exhausted as he was?

Leon heard the padlock at his head opening, his first instinct was to snap up and fight, his stomach muscles convulsing to do just that, when his wrists were tugged forward by themselves, bringing him into a sitting position. He trembled with fatigue, his limbs heavy as lead, he didn't think he could beat anyone in a fight right now, let alone maneuver this maze of an estate a second time. They freed his legs from the restraints next, pulling on the handcuffs until he sat at the very edge of the table, dazed and wheezing.

“Walk.“ The woman barked, waiting for him to obey but Leon just sat there blinking trying to make sense of the sudden change. 

“I said, walk!" She repeated herself, dragging his uncooperative body forward. 

Leon dropped to his feet with a gasp, expecting the pain from before to come crashing down on him, though for now everything up to his ankles remained numb. The woman made him go in circles, her hand a vice around the chain on his wrists. It didn't take long until the effect his captors were aiming for, began to set in, making Leon pause in his shuffling.

The buzzing ache that had been pushed to the background, came back now in full force, increasing in intensity with every second Leon remained upright. He stumbled clumsily, the sensation of the rough stone beneath him like a hot iron pressing to his abused flesh. His knees buckled involuntarily, as he tried to follow the woman's lead. If she made him take another step, he would surely fall. So he remained standing, glued to the spot, just trying to breathe through it all. He should be able to take it, he should be equipped to handle situations like these, and yet- 

Thoughts lost their coherency when his wrists were dragged away from him and he had no other choice but to follow, pain exploded inside him. Falling to the floor, his lungs seized with the effort it took to gulp in air without gasping, Leon felt like someone was choking him, crushing his ribs into his lungs, slowly but surely.

They heaved him onto the table again and this time he didn't put up any fight, too distracted by the loss of control over his limbs. They would continue with the torture, for who-knows how long. They didn't want anything from him so far, hadn't asked questions, hadn't made demands, it was pure punishment and he had no say in when it would be over. Talking wouldn't help, so he bit his tongue. There was blood in his mouth, his face swelling and pounding and maybe he would die like this, or maybe tomorrow. All he could do was close his eyes and wait.

They picked up where they had left off, the soft rubber stinging in an indescribable way but never breaking anything, never splitting the skin, just making him feel like his bones were shattering in slow-motion, again and again. He had given up on keeping still at this point, thrashing and twisting as much as his bonds would allow, his muscles spasming with each strike. It didn't matter how he made it through this, just that he did, if this was what would be his end, he truly did fail as an agent.

And on top of that, he'd leave his messy apartment behind. He couldn't die while his flat looked like dog-shit, right?

As much as Leon wanted to laugh at the silly thought, it still struck him to consider it though. Out of all the things he'd leave unfinished, he was worried the most about the dirty clothes on his bedroom floor and the dishes still sitting in the sink. There was no one waiting for him back home, no friends and family that would worry and mourn if he disappeared, just his own very isolated mess, that someone would need to take care of.

He must've screamed, at some point, he was almost sure about it.

At least his throat was sore like he did, when he snapped back to reality in the same cell as before, the pain was still fresh and Leon reached out to his burning soles in incomprehensible horror. His clothes were soaked with sweat and every bone in his body screamed for rest, weighing down his very being and urging him to fall back onto the moldy straw. But he couldn't, he needed to stay alert, watch out for someone else coming to pluck him out of the corner of his cell.

Coming to – this time – kill him for good. Gut him like a fish and string out his organs in the room, showing them to him and watching as shock sent him over the edge. Drain his veins until they could drown him in his own blood, or peel thin slivers of skin from his body, until he was nothing more than a groaning corpse. His exhausted mind provided the gruesome fantasies easily, a paranoia that came naturally to him these days, keeping him up until the booze usually won the battle against his “PTSD“, as Claire had called it.

Shaky fingers touched the swollen flesh of his feet, inspecting them for any visible damage. But there were no lacerations, no abrasions, not even any bruising for now, apart from the irritated skin one wouldn't be able to tell Leon had been hurt at all. It only served to freak him out more. He tried to regain his bearings, thinking about his next steps. No visible signs of injury could be a good thing, it meant he would probably be able to swallow down the pain and push through it long enough to make a break for it. He just needed to establish a plan first.

***

It was dark, he thought he might've been sleeping, though he couldn't remember lying down. He snapped up at once, when the feeling of being watched overwhelmed him, the chain on his wrist rattled softly with his movement, as he brought himself to his knees. His eyes darted around the room, unable to make out as much as a shadow in the pitch black room. Holding his breath, he listened for the trace of another's presence, the ruffling of cloth or a shallow pant. He held himself dead still, just perceiving, there was a hint of something in the air.

The metallic flick of a lighter suddenly illuminated the figure standing in the same cell as him. Leon jerked back, scrambling to get to his feet but was abruptly cut off by the agonizing pain shooting through him, like he was standing on hot coals. His knees hit the rough stone again and Leon bit his swollen lip until it started bleeding. He wouldn't scream again, he couldn't keep making mistakes.

The man lit a cigarette stuck between his teeth before smothering the flame again. The glow of the tobacco illuminated the very edges of his face, casting him in a warm light that was barely there, just enough for Leon to squint and try to make out distinct features. 

“You know, we do not want to keep you here.“ He began to speak, the words slurred from his accent and his lips around the filter.

The lie was so obvious he wanted to laugh, what did he think he was achieving here? Appeal to some misguided feelings of gratitude in Leon after he'd been drugged and had his feet turned to pulp?

“Sure, you really drove that message home.“ He snarled, grinding his teeth together.

The stranger took a deep dreg, the smoke billowing out in a thick cloud and filling the room with the smell of cigarettes. Leon wrinkled his nose, he had never picked up on the habit himself, the burn of the smoke in his lungs was pleasant enough but the taste and smell repelled him, he had other vices. Loading this one on didn't seem worth the hassle.

He still did it occasionally though, if the company was right and the night was dark enough, carrying a packet for the sole purpose of nodding yes, whenever Chris asked if he had one, using it as an excuse to catch a few scarce minutes alone with him.

“I think you misunderstand our intentions,“ He was torn from his memories back to the figure and his aching feet, refocusing his eyes on the spot of light, he strained to listen.

“You're not special, we don't want information, or whatever else you might've made up.“ His tone was dismissive, the sound of rustling cloth indicating he was waving a hand around, then two fingers grasped the cigarette to pull it from his teeth.

“I doubt I'm just here for pleasant conversation, am I?“ Leon retaliated, he was suspicious of what else they could want him for, what was he good for if not for his knowledge, or his skills?

“That is true.“ The man spoke slowly, with intention behind every word, like he had to think a long time to find the right ones. 

More smoke filled the cell, Leon had to think about his father's living room, the fading embers in the ashtray, as he pressed a cold bottle into his hands. ‘You're a real man now, don't look at me like that, just try it.’ Leon had been fourteen. But it was fine, everyone did that and now it was in the past anyway.

“But we can't afford another mutt like you, crawling back to their master and reporting on us.“ 

He perked up at the admission of there having been others. Maybe that meant this place would get busted soon, even without his help.

“So what, you gonna kill me?“

He didn't let his optimism get the better of him, but maybe he could at least hope for a quick death, if they didn't want to torture information out of him. They might as well just get it over with fast and clean. A headache was creeping up on him out of nowhere, buzzing in his head, the more smoke gathered at the ceiling.

“What a waste would that be? You're important to the people who send you here, yes? At the least as a weapon. So we're going to utilize you, as a...“ He took a moment to pause, the cigarette coming up to his lips, yet hovering just shy of touching them. “Bargaining chip if you so will.“ 

Leon could swear he knew those teeth, glinting at him in the low light, it was the same smile he saw, before he passed out on the street. 

“And you're telling me this because?“ He cocked his head, curious but wary, the man didn't need to know that he was worthless as a currency for negotiations, as long as it would keep them from tying a noose around his neck, Leon would play along.

“I'm giving you a chance to cooperate.“ He smiled, exhaling another cloud of smoke. 

The tent he had shared with Krauser, had smelled like this too, their first and last mission together, before everything had ended in a disaster. ‘Breathe in when I breathe out.’ His former teacher had said, as he lit up the cigarette. Leon tried not to think about the taste of nicotine and gunpowder on his lips too much, especially not after spain.

He bared his teeth in a snarl, the air thick and suffocating. 

“How generous, but no, I'd rather keep my dignity than work with psychopaths like you.“ 

His words dripped with disgust towards the man, the thought of cooperating and begging his superiors to rescue him, making his stomach curdle. It snapped him right back to the presence. Just in time to see the shadowy figure stride at him with intent, one hand pointed at him, the other gripping the dwindling bud of his cigarette. 

“You should count yourself lucky I'm not sending your head to the DSO after what you did on your little trip upstairs!“

He yelled, the threat making his blood rush in his ears, anger boiling and spilling over, his head droned with the stench of the tobacco and the memories that came with it. He was sick of that conversation.

“Try and touch me and you won't be walking out of this with all of your fingers, bastard!“

He growled, aiming his undirected hatred at him, if only to intimidate the other into backing off. Without his mobility he wasn't too sure how effective his melee skills still were and he wasn't eager to find out either.

“We'll see how long you can keep up that attitude of yours.“

His empty hand grabbed him by the throat pushing him against the wall at his back, before Leon had much of a chance to put up a struggle, it twisted his legs into an awkward position, pressing against his injuries. He clawed at the arm grappling him, when another plume of smoke, blown directly in his face, sent him coughing and spluttering between the pressure of the other man’s fingers and the stench of the air.

From his stinging eyes, he could see the consideration on his face for a split second, before he pressed the glowing bud to the thin skin on his neck, stubbing it out. He could barely feel the heat, too focused on keeping his body motionless, muscle memory doing most of the work, his hands having stopped scrabbling as well.

Stop whining before I give you a real reason to cry!

He waited until the pressure on his neck relented and didn't shift from his spot at the wall. Only when he had heard the iron door lock again, did he bring one hand up to brush over the stinging burn mark, black with soot and perfectly round. His fingers wandered over the skin unsure what to do, then they traveled downwards settling right above his knee, the old scars there were easily covered with a pair of pants.

Noone asked and he didn't tell. It was fine, he hadn't meant to hurt him, just an accident, it happened but Leon could take it. He'd always carried pain well.

***

The hours between his conversation with – what Leon assumed was – the head of command here, and the first guard who lit up an oil-lamp were long and dark. He sat in total blackness, dragging himself across the floor to search for another piece of wire, having lost his last one.

He was pretty sure they had searched him at some point after his recapture and taken the few tools he had managed to gather. Now he was back to step one, plus a swollen face and useless legs. He was still tired, despite his involuntary nap and the migraine that was stabbing his sinuses wasn't helping either. But he couldn't lay back down again, not when it left him as exposed as tonight. So he tested walking instead, hoping to find some position or technique that would make putting pressure on his feet bearable. His joints protested at his experiments, the bones feeling like broken glass even now.

it left Leon sweating through his shirt once more, his entire being curling up, unwilling to move to his command, it left him trembling on a patch of straw, wrung out and exhausted while he pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, groaning in frustration. He dozed in that spot, his migraine coming and going in waves until the first lick of flame shone warm across the dungeon floor.

A group of men gathered at his cell door. Leon sat up and scooted to the back of the cell anxiously, hurriedly getting distance between them. They talked amongst themselves, like they were having a heated debate, obviously split over some issue Leon wasn't privy to. 

Though he couldn't care less, when only moments after, they opened his cell door and tackled him to the ground, one kneeling on his chest, while the other crushed his wrists in his hands, another one sitting between his legs to hold onto his knees. They were overly cautious now that they knew how dangerous he could be and they weren't taking chances anymore, treating him like a feral dog they had to force into a muzzle.

The man on his chest fumbled with a piece of cloth in his hands, folding it in half before nodding to the guy keeping his hands pinned. For a second he thought that they would try to gag him but instead he felt rough hands on his head forcing it upwards so they could wrap the blindfold around his eyes. He threw his head left and right, scrunching up his eyes and bucking against the pressure on his chest but his fight was short lived, as he was outnumbered and overtrumped.

After wrestling it on him, Leon blinked against the pressure of the cloth, spots of light sparking in front of his eyes. At least the crushing weight on his chest eased after that and he could draw in a full desperate breath.

Someone tugged on the metal handcuffs once, twice. He wrestled himself to his knees following the direction he was drawn to. 

“Get up.“ They commanded before tearing at the chain with a jerk that had him falter and fall forward.

He gave an indignant grunt, putting up one leg to push himself up. Without the use of his hands to take some of his weight, it was more difficult and painful to get back to his feet, his knees shaking and giving way without his permission. He bit his cheek to stifle the noises of pain that wanted to escape him and fought to stand on his own.

“Hurry up!" The man holding the chain growled, dragging him forward before Leon could keep his balance.

He stumbled two steps after him. The sudden impact on his bruised soles felt like someone was grinding his bones to dust, then his legs gave out, his full body weight hitting his knees and the joints in his shoulders popping dangerously, as his arms snapped upwards. He huffed through the shock of the sudden movement, clamping his mouth shut.

“I said, up!"

Someone grabbed a tuft of hair at the back of his head and tore, attempting to hoist him upwards by his head alone. Leon followed the draw of pain threatening to rip the blonde hair from its roots, coming to a wobbly stance, his back bowed and knees bent. They led him out of the cell and to the left.

“Where are you taking me?!“ He found his voice again, albeit breathless and strained with pain, turning his head uselessly to make out anything behind the blindfold.

“Be quiet!"

One of them shouted, giving him another push to the back to urge him forward faster. Their little parade only made him slow and sweaty though.

After an eternity of shuffling forward they reached another room, the squeak of rusted hinges painting the picture of another steel door in his pain dazed mind. Once inside they pushed him to his knees again, he could just hear the tail end of a sentence over his own wheezing. 

“But we all know you wouldn't believe us, without an appropriate demonstration.“ He knew the voice from tonight, the face of the man only a specter in his memory, the teeth and smile the clearest part of the vision.

His hands were fixed above his head, stretching his torso to a painful degree, he could theoretically get to his feet, but that would just promise more agony. So he remained on his knees, open and vulnerable.

“I chose this method, just so it would be more...“

Who was he talking to? He wondered, unable to make out the sound of another person. 

“Comprehensible for the likes of you. But first-''

The clicking of shoes echoed through the room, approaching him, until a hand grabbed the collar of his shirt, jerking backwards in discomfort he let out a small gasp, as he felt cold metal on his skin and the rip of fabric. He was cutting off his shirt.

Panic surged through him at the sensation of cold air on his exposed skin, thoughts of what this could mean, racing through his mind, presenting him with a thousand different possibilities, one worse than the other. Leon curled his lip, hissing at the specter.

“What are you doing?!“ He tried to move away, getting any room between him and the man but all that did was unsettle his fickle balance and rub the skin on his wrists raw.

“You'll find out soon enough.“

He cooed, as the last piece of cloth fell away from his upper body. A shiver ran through him as the chill of the room settled in his muscles.

“You may begin.“ The man stated, stepping away from Leon, the smell of smoke wafting over.

He heard the tell-tale clink of a belt, which sent a deathly wave of dread rolling through him. 

"No! Don't touch me, I'll kill you!” He spit, choking on air alone, as a set of heavy boots approached him.

He almost felt relief when he heard the snap of the leather in the air, the belt coming down on his back in a brutal whip. He yelped at first, stunned by the sudden onset of pain but got ahold of himself relatively quickly. The impact of the belt sent him swaying back and forth, making him clutch onto the chain he was dangling from if only to release some pressure from his wrists. The hits came sharp and quick, aimed on his broad back that had been stretched long in front of his captors. Sweat was already gathering on his brow, the effort of just keeping still sapping away at his scarce energy reserves.

“What do you want from me?!“ He ground out in between strokes, not understanding as to why they were doing this in the first place. 

The man in his cell had said something about using him for blackmail but the connection to his recent predicament didn't click. The next blow had him falling forward, bowing his back against the leather licking at his bare skin but doing nothing to evade his captors. His head snapped back up at the sound of heels on stone, turning his face towards it.

“We don't want anything from you .“ Fingers pressed into his cheeks, holding his jaw like a trophy.

“This isn't about your person, but your country occupying our land, exploiting our people for their profit.“

His grip grew tight, almost crushing, as he pressed into the bruises on Leon's face but in his rage, he had let slip their true intentions and maybe, he thought, he could use that against them. He could hear the man inhale shakily, before his nostrils filled with gray, stinging smoke.

“But I forget myself.“ He mumbled to himself “There's no use talking to dogs.“

He rubbed the lit end of his cigarette against a spot above his clavicle, dragging the burning tobacco over his skin and leaving a blistered path of angry red. Leon did nothing but gape and grip the chains harder, taken aback by the decades old memories resurfacing.

He heard his father's voice, stern and muffled like he was underwater, his muscles tensed unconsciously for a second, before the moment passed and Leon was back in the torture chamber, the belt coming down even harder than before. He jerked in shock but bit his tongue. No use screaming if there was no one that could hear him.

He tried not to ruminate too much about what was happening, taking the sensations in waves, one strike at a time, ignoring how the pain layered onto itself, until it outgrew his control. He tried to remind himself of his training, they put him through this before and now he was back, it hadn't killed him then and it wouldn't now. That didn't mean it would be any easier though.

He held out well for the first stretch, sensing his torturer slowing down, their arms growing tired, while the pauses between strikes lengthened. At this point Leon was shaking, his numb fingers still wrapped tightly around the metal, while his arms trembled with the effort it took to support his weight, his muscles burning hot, while his skin was cold and clammy, slick with sweat. 

He took a deep breath that stuttered its way through his lungs, when the whipping died down and the room was filled with an oppressing silence, the kind of quiet that usually preceded a gunshot, aimed with deadly intent. A tremble ran through him, as he felt someone approach, running their hand along the red welts on his back before kneeling down. They sat so close to him, he could feel the moisture of their breath on his cheek.

“Are you ready to beg now?“

The rough voice of the man with the smile grated directly into his ear. Leon flinched away as much as he could, his knees buckling for a split second, as he tried to readjust his position.

 “Fuck off.“ He wheezed, his voice more quiet than he intended it to be, lacking its bite. 

The other man just chuckled at his insult, running one hand through his sweat slick bangs and pulling roughly, compared to the flaming ache in his back, he barely felt it, shaking his head free distractedly.

“You can proceed.“ His words sounded far away, before the next guard took up the leather belt, wrapped it around his knuckles and layed it into his back. 

The last time he'd been beaten like this was in bootcamp. They'd called it hazing back then, said it would improve the team's morale, 'bonding through shared hardship' was the terminology they used, as if the field marshalls didn't just enjoy abusing their power. He'd been less used to violence then, despite what he went through in Raccoon city.

The severity of it had scared him, the first time it happened. That he had screamed for them to stop had only made matters worse too. People like him weren't supposed to scream, they should be able to just take the punishment and keep walking but Leon had been unprepared and shocked, still new to the life he'd been forced into. 

His comrades had only watched in horror, until Leon's yells ceased and his body gave up, consciousness slipping from his grasp. He'd been out of commission for three days afterwards, running a fever and unable to move. 

He'd been told the violent training would improve resilience, prepare them for the real world but Leon had seen the horrors that awaited him and no amount of training would ever be enough to ease the dread that crawled up his throat and seized his lungs, when he thought of having to go back to them.

He was suffering silently through this punishment, knowing better than to complain, instead he bit his lip, letting the taste of his own blood distract him from the whip of the belt. The next time they asked him to beg Leon was hanging limply in the chains, blood running down his numb arms from where the metal cut into his wrists. Sweat dripped from his chin in thick drops and his breathing was ragged. 

Someone blew smoke into his face again, sneering words barely audible in his dazed mind, he spit the blood gathered behind his teeth in the man's face and grinned scornfully, knowing that it would only earn him more pain but favouring that, instead of dropping his fight and submitting. His provocation was met with a fist to the face that had him fall into the hold of the chains even heavier, hanging freely as his bruised knees searched for purchase on the floor. 

He heard the man curse at him and Leon marvelled for one muddied moment, at how easy it was to set him off, until the same hand came to grip his jaw and throat, shaking his head like he was a ragdoll hanging from a string, making him feel dizzy and disoriented. Fingers pressed into the sides of his jaw, forcing his mouth open and before Leon could process anything else, burning pain exploded on his tongue, the sound of sizzling flesh echoing in his ears, before he made a soft sound of distress and began struggling in his bonds. 

There was ash coating his tongue where the stub of the cigarette was still pressing onto it, with half a mind Leon forced his teeth shut, biting down as hard as he could onto the fingers in his mouth. He tasted sweat, dirt and nicotine all at once, before the hand ripped itself free and backhanded him in retaliation. Leon stumbled from one side to the other, sure that he'd had to have a concussion by now. He let the damp remains of the cigarette fall from his lips somewhere in front of his knees and ducked his head protectively, uneager to repeat the experience.

Whatever was said next was lost on him, startling when he heard the belt whip through the air and gasping when it inevitably came down on his shoulders. Doubt started to trickle down his spine like poison, as Leon questioned how long he could hold out. His brain echoed back the pain racing down his backside, whenever he tried to distract himself with more pleasant thoughts, his resolve was stretched thin in an effort to keep quiet.

His body refused to hold him up anymore, hanging limp and only giving the occasional tremble, as Leon's head hung low, gasping desperately, while he choked on his desire to scream. Anything else was preferable to vocalizing his agony, because it meant they had succeeded in breaking him, because it would paint him worthless in the eyes of his instructors, because screaming never saved anyone, it usually just made things worse.

He couldn't make a sound, they would kill him, the pain was unbearable but it was nothing compared to what they would do to him if they found him. He couldn't scream, not now, not ever. He had to shut up.

“What are you mumbling?!“ They jerked his head back by his hair, repeating a question Leon couldn't hear. He barely even registered what he'd been whispering to himself for minutes now.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up.“

The mantra was streaming from his parted lips in a useless cycle, the hand in his hair letting his head drop onto his chest, before taking up the belt again. His nerves were set alight once more, tears burning in his eyes under the blindfold. Leon was terrified, feeling himself falter.

Leon curled up in his mother's closet, counting the minutes while his father threw another bottle against the wall, yelling for him to come out and face the consequences. He pressed his hands to his mouth and screwed his eyes shut. 

'It will pass', he told himself. 

'He doesn't mean it when he's like that, he didn't want to hurt me, he loves me, I know he does.'

His cheek was still sore the next day, holding his father's hand on his way to school. He told him sorry, told him it was an accident, said that he loved him, he just had to stop being so difficult.

Light flooded his vision, when the blindfold was suddenly ripped from him, Leon's head lolling on his chest, with no strength left to hold it up. He didn't know what changed, that his captors decided to remove it, though when he tried to speak, he only managed a weak rasp, his throat feeling raw and sore. They drew his head up making him face forward, his cheeks felt wet, as did the rest of his body but there was a lump in his throat that told him the moisture wasn't just sweat.

He blinked against the light shining from above, it was brighter in here than he had expected, a whole different set up from the day before. His eyes struggled to focus though, even with the striplight blaring down on him. The first thing he saw was the blood and bile on the floor, undoubtedly from him, though most of his body had gone numb to a point where he couldn't tell anymore where it could've come from. His mouth tasted like rot and the acrid smell stung in his nose nearly worse than the smoke.

Then there were the heeled dress-shoes to his left crushing the remnants of a cigarette on the floor. Leon winced at the thought of having another one of them burning through his skin. At last his gaze fell on the wall opposite of him, devoid of anything apart from an old wooden chair and a shiny new tripod that looked totally out of place in the rundown room. The image blurred before him for a moment, making him blink and squint to shake off the haze that still hovered in his brain. He felt like there were pieces missing, not remembering when exactly he had thrown up. Mounted on the tripod was a camera, its LED blinking red, the lens pointed straight at him. Shock traveled through him, closely followed by embarrassment and then outrage.

“We have no qualms about repeating this as long as it takes for you to meet our conditions. Until then I'd advise you to act fast, because we are not guaranteeing his survival.“ 

The man in the dress-shoes spoke to the camera, holding his damaged face up for it to pick up as well. Leon drew his eyebrows together in confusion, then the red light stopped blinking and his head was released. He sunk into himself, eyes falling shut against his will. He wondered what they filmed this all for. Did they really think sending the DSO proof of his failure would convince them to negotiate? They'd rather let him rot in this godforsaken place. 

“Get him down and back to the cell. We'll deal with him tomorrow.“ The man ordered, stern and practical.

Leon opened his mouth to say something, a string of blood and spit falling from his numb lips but before he could utter anything they were jostling him to unhook his hands from the chain in the ceiling. He fell forward with a groan, the sudden movement setting his shoulders aflame, though when he tried to catch himself, his arms just twitched uselessly and folded at an odd angle as they hit the ground. His shoulder took the brunt of his fall, equally devoid of feeling as his hands and arms. He prayed the position hadn't fucked up his nerves, that the feeling would come back, once there was enough blood in his veins again. Risking a glance at his wrists, he could peek at the bloody abrasions under the manacles, the bed of his fingernails was tinged blue.

Leon would've worried some more, if it weren't for the three men hoisting him up, grabbing him roughly under the armpits. They stood him upright without warning, his ankles bending in unhealthy directions, as Leon failed to control his limbs properly. Blood rushed from his head downwards, his body failing to adjust to the abrupt change in position, Leon wanted to call out, feeling like something was horribly wrong with him and desperate for any kind of relief but before he could articulate anything comprehensible a high whine rang in his ears for one confusing second and then his world went dark.

***

His sleep was long and dreamless and when Leon woke up, he wished he was sleeping still. The exhaustion glued him to the floor and when he tried to push himself up, his arms shook like he was trying to lift an impossible weight, so he resigned himself to a few more hours face first on the ground. At least his hands seemed to have regained most of their feeling and mobility, except for the tip of his left pinky, which was still numb and refused to bend all the way.

He also spared his wrists a quick look-over, filing away the cuts and clotted blood for when he could actually do anything about it. The rest of his injuries he could feel well enough to not have to see to know that it was bad. He didn't think he was bleeding anywhere else, but his legs were still useless and he was well aware that one could be beaten to death, even without leaving as much as a bruise.

The room he was in was dimly lit, long shadows dancing on the wall beyond the bars, Leon fished for the blanket at his back, wrapping the rag spotted with black mold around his still bare torso, he doubted he would get another shirt anytime soon.

They left him for a while, unlocking his cell door only to toss him a cup of water, while they knew he would still be too out of it to pose much of a threat. It took him ages to drag himself towards it and when he did, he was still wary of drinking it, scared his clumsy hands would drop the precious liquid, and suspicious that they had spiked his drink. He had to get some fluids in his system though, if he wanted any chance of surviving for a few more days.

When the cup was empty, Leon was unsure what to do with it, the urge to hold onto it overwhelming and ultimately irrational, but the mere possibility that he could make good use of it, was enough to convince him to shove the metal mug into the farthest corner of the room, burying it beneath old straw and loose dirt.

He'd just settled into the same corner when he could hear hushed conversation farther down the floor, then the quick tapping of heels. Leon froze in his spot, panic swimming sluggishly through his head, his heart stuttering in his chest anxiously. The lights died out and instead a lighter was flicked on. He pressed himself into the corner tighter, his back complaining, at the contact, while he drew the blanket tighter around himself. He was, if not scared, at least nervous and it made Leon livid, the emotion of fear unacceptable. He had no right to be afraid, this was nothing, he had survived worse, so why did he feel so utterly helpless?

This time Leon spoke first, forcing the words, so he wouldn't need to wait in the dark for that smile to glint at him from the shadows. “Your little video won't convince them.“

If he was useless, they would kill him, he knew as much, but if they sent the video to the wrong person they would sweep his disappearance under the rug and all of this would've been for naught. Noone may be coming for him but he could at least make sure these fuckers wouldn't get away either.

“I'm pretty sure it will, I think we made our opinion very clear, don't you agree?“

The man drawled, his chin caught the light in his hand just so Leon could see the gray stubble move while he spoke. Then his other hand came up to light another cigarette. The reek of the smoke made Leon want to gag, the air was already thin with it and he choked on the first plume filling his lungs. 

He hated this man and he hated his smile and he hated his shoes and above all he hated smoking, felt like his rage was ancient and righteous, like he had always harboured this anger deep inside him.

And in that moment Leon also hated Chris, because he wouldn't talk with him, unless there was a cigarette between his teeth and the night was too late for anyone to mind them standing a little too close and yet Leon still went home alone. Only that now, his favourite jacket smelled like tobacco and his fingers were stained yellow.

“That was nothing. “

He hurled the words dripping with venom and hoped the other would choke on them. He was so angry he almost didn't feel the fatigue chaining him to this room more effectively than the handcuffs ever did.

“If you want to repeat today, I'm sure that can be arranged, but for now I need a little something from you.“

He retorted ominously, before sticking the cigarette between his teeth and reaching into his pocket, the lighter was still burning in his other hand, a pinpoint in the dark between them. The man's heels clicked on the ground, as he closed in on him, towering high where Leon had curled himself into the corner, his ankles tucked safely to the side. He kneeled down, bringing their faces close, the fire burning in their shared space, Leon took in his features like a mouse remembered the cat that broke its neck. His eyes roamed his face fleetingly, noting a mole on his cheek, the steel gray of his iris', blonde hair streaked white.

Leon's face must've been agape in shock, frozen in his corner, while the man seized him up, yellowed teeth glinting at him like canines. Shadows hid him again when his hand wandered into his hair, gently picking up a strand between two fingers, then he revealed the scissors in his other palm and Leon jerked involuntarily, slipping from the light grasp he had on him. The man gave a deprecating scoff at Leon's futile struggle, tearing at his hair to crush his head to the wall, balking his erratic movements. Leon made no sound, his lungs rabbiting in his chest as his breaths quickened, he was like a rat in a trap, two seconds away from hearing its own neck snap. He heard the snip of the scissors and the hand left his hair again, only taking that one piece from him, before they were pocketed.

“That didn't hurt now, did it?“

The man mocked, as he stepped back and took a long drag of his cigarette. Leon balled his hands into fists to stem the tremor haunting his joints and grit his teeth against the blossoming pain in his skull.

“Noone will listen, no matter how much you torture me.“

He claimed, partially out of spite, partially because he had a plan, half-formed and stupidly risky but still there and burning with hope.

“They'll have to eventually and if they don't, next thing we'll send is your head.“

He dismissed his statement like it didn't matter, like he didn't need a good reason to hurt him except that he wanted to. Leon eyed the cigarette in his hand warily, he may not like to get his hands dirty but he sure had a temper, he assessed. Impatience could make people dumb too, overeager for fast results, it was a weakness he could use to his advantage.

“It's useless, the people you're trying to reach would rather sweep this under the rug than admit they're being threatened.“

He elaborated, baring a truth that could very easily cost him his life if he didn't play his cards right. The man laughed, hollow and short, his mouth wide open in a way that showed the last row of his molars.

“You're not making a very good point for yourself.“ He boasted, leaning against the row of bars lining his cell and looking down at Leon.

“And you suck at blackmailing, guess we're both bad at what we do.“ He bit back, his wounded pride rearing its ugly head to pant for some phantom imitation of revenge.

“Get to the point.“

He urged him, lazily drawing on his cigarette, the size of it dwindling. Maybe this time it would go out before he could burn Leon again. He just had to keep him distracted for a little while longer.

“I have contacts,“ He stated definitively, before continuing: “I know people who'd be willing to make exceptions, bend some rules.“

He listened to himself talk and even though he knew it was a ruse, his voice sounded so sickeningly hopeful, Leon almost believed himself. He didn't want to insinuate his captor's abuse had worked on him, didn't want to show weakness, even if it was fake, so maybe that was why Leon didn't feel entirely like himself.

“Or they'll swoop down on us and kill us all.“ The man countered, the darkness hiding his expression, yet his tone spoke of distrust.

“Maybe, but the US would do that too, only then there'd be nothing left of your hideout, or the village.“ His mouth worked without him, drawing the lie from a reservoir of truths that could make him fall apart on lonely nights.

Raccoon city flashed in his mind, too many people killed by his own incompetence. If these people really meddled with bio-weapons, Leon had to lead someone he trusted on their trail, to avoid another outbreak like this. Someone who wouldn't just drop a bomb and call it a day. Someone who worked at the BSAA, someone like Chris.

The darkness was thick here, as was the silence that followed his statement, Leon hoping that he was getting through to him, appealing to some sense of community he surmised was important to him.

The man chuckled, “You're pathetic when you're desperate.“

He could hear his keys rattling in the lock to his cell, the creak of the door. He had failed.

“And you're a fool.“ Leon called after him, aversion clear in his voice.

After his cell was locked again, the man turned to him, wrapping his fingers around one rusted bar.

“Well at least this fool stands on the right side of the bars.“ He smiled.

A piece of burning tobacco fell from his cigarette like a single drop of fire, before it faded into the all encompassing darkness. It was the last piece of light Leon saw for another long while.

They followed up on their threat and came back eventually, dragging him into another room where they bolted the manacles to an iron loop in the floor and left him kneeling there for what felt like hours. His knees, already bruised from before, protested at the uncomfortable position but Leon was too tense to make himself sit down fully.

When they came back, they brought a familiar face with them and this time Leon could take in his whole appearance. He carried a clipboard and a pen with him, positioning himself in front of him, while his goons stood beside Leon, looming at his sides menacingly. He shook off the nervousness, trying to focus his exhausted mind.

“You said you had contacts,“

Leon perked up, trying to hide how his heart had started to pound. The seed of doubt he had planted, had taken effect after all. He nodded mutely, waiting for the other shoe to drop, there was always something else, they surely didn't bring him here to just have a little chat.

“I need you to write them down and maybe I'll send a copy to them too.“

The clipboard was placed before him, holding a single sheet of paper, Leon's first instinct was to throw it in the man's face with as much force as he could muster and then wrestle the keys from him. The train of thought was abruptly cut off, when two hands pushed on his shoulders, forcing him to bow down, the other man gripping his right arm and digging his fingernails into his flesh to stick the pen between his fingers, like Leon was too stupid to hold it by himself. He had the all encompassing desire to take the pen and just start stabbing the man before him, but the waxy crayon they had given him was round and dull.

Leon wrote the address of the BSAA headquarters in the US first, avoiding putting down a name. He didn't want to put a target on Chris' back even before he knew of his misfortune. They took his writing utensils away again. The man scanned over what he had written, one eye-brow drawing up critically.

“BSAA, do you think we're stupid? You said you knew people. “

He clicked his tongue, as if he was disappointed with Leon's answer, then he heard rustling behind him, realizing it must've been some sort of sign for the men at his back. His hair stood on end, as he tried not to turn around and see what they were doing, instead he faced the man in front of him, glaring at him as he spoke.

“Excuse my paranoia, but I won't give you any names. Take it, or leave it, your choice.“ 

Anxiety swelled in his chest, as he willed the other to bend under his words but he just looked at him, slightly amused, before his grin suddenly distorted and Leon felt plastic press against his cheeks. When he breathed in, the foil followed the draft of air and sucked tighter against his head.

His mistake was that he was unprepared, taking two deep lungfuls, until he could stem his panic enough to regulate his breathing. They had wrapped the plastic bag snug against his face, keeping any air from going in and effectively forcing Leon to rebreathe whatever was left again and again. It left him taking shallow breaths, instinctively lifting his hands to fight the one’s at his throat, before the chain stopped him, his only option being to prolong the ordeal, until they either grew bored, or he passed out.

It was fine, if he could do this, maybe they would believe he was honest and use his address anyway. Giving away any names to make this easier for him, wasn't something he could do anyway.

He could barely get any air in now, the plastic sticking to his lips and nose before he could take in much of a breath and his head had begun to drone, the sound of his own rapid heart beats so loud in his ears, he couldn't hear the men talking anymore. His chest heaved in despair, his ribs beating against his skin with his rising panic. They still didn't move to release him, the edges of his vision growing dark with every passing second. Leon was convinced they were seriously trying to kill him now, his fingers twitching in his lap, because all his other muscles refused to respond when he tried to move. His brain screamed at him, clawing to stay conscious, while Leon gave a gurgling sound, the last bit of air leaving his lungs, his eyes rolling back in his head, before everything went black.

He woke, gasping, only seconds later, body prone on the floor, while he gulped in the oxygen greedily. His arms jerked against his restraints automatically, before he thought better of it and started to push himself up again.

“Did you rethink your decision now?“

The question swam through his hazy mind, taking him a while to process, until his brain didn't think he was actively dying anymore. He stood by it though.

“No.“ He rasped, the words quiet with his breathlessness.

“Too bad, this could've been so easy for you.“

The man was lying, he was sure about it, this wasn't about some insignificant piece of information, this was about his power-trip and watching Leon crumble, beneath whatever torture he had in store for him. He was barely on his knees, when the bag descended on him again but this time Leon was smart about it, forcing himself to relax, holding his breath in short intervals and breathing slowly.

It bought him a bit more time before the animal instincts kicked in. the sense of utter fear when his body realized it was running out of oxygen, stronger than anything. The space in the plastic bag quickly transformed into a vacuum, keeping him from even attempting to draw air in. He slumped where he sat, pain colouring the background of his consciousness, as he put unwanted pressure on his soles. Though the ache was hard to hear, beneath the stuttering pounding of his heart. They had to let him up for air soon, they had to, they couldn't-

He fainted again, all thoughts blinking out. And then he was back as quick as he’d been gone, on the floor, his head aching and mouth hanging open, his nails digging into the metal at his wrists, rust catching under his nails, though the chains remained locked. He wasn't getting away from here anytime soon. A shudder rocked his frame, his movements slow and sluggish, as he pushed himself up again.

“We just need one name. Come on, what harm will it do?“ The headache dulled the sound of his voice, made it hazy at the edges.

“Liar.“

He wheezed, reminding himself how this wasn't safe, he couldn't give up any names, even if it killed him. He'd rather die than know he'd put anyone else in danger.

The bag was imposed on him again, plastic rustling deafeningly while his own panting echoed off the clear walls. He jerked at his arms, meeting the same resistance as before, unyielding steel biting into his scuffed wrists, before he started throwing his entire body left and right, struggling against the hands that kept suffocating him. There were only seconds left until he would pass out again, he knew that and still, once he started putting up a fight he couldn't reel it in anymore, he thrashed violently for another half minute, choking on his own spit, while his vision blurred and the room started spinning. He could taste the foil.

The headache was splitting his skull when he woke up, Leon's breathing heavy, each inhale slow and cumbersome. He tried to form words but failed, the man before him jerking him upright by pulling on his hair, as he tossed the clipboard at him. Leon took the crayon, if only to have a few more seconds, before they asphyxiated him again. His hand shook with the effort of holding the pen, the movements uncoordinated and lethargic. Nonetheless he managed to scrawl a few letters, giving the first name he could think of that would draw enough attention to tip Chris off that something was wrong.

Leon S. Kennedy

The man took one look at the piece of paper, his face curling in dismay, before he backhanded Leon across the face. The men to his sides took it as their cue to proceed with their torture and he found himself slowly suffocating once more. His lungs felt like someone set them on fire, as they expanded and contracted in an effort of keeping him alive. Leon scrambled frantically to come up with any other name that might sound plausible, any other half-truth he could give to make them stop, while his air ran out and his thoughts were sent into disarray. The only name that came to his panicked mind was Chris and in that moment he wished the man with him, because if he were, he'd know he'd be safe. Because whenever Chris was around nothing could hurt Leon, not when Chris Redfield had his back.

“Try again.“ Someone ordered.

There was spit running down his chin and Leon didn't know where up or down was, as he tried to fight his way into the world of the living. Language came back slowly, his tongue heavy in his mouth, clumsily forming words around one laborious breath after the other.

“I can't-“ He groaned, blinking against the encroaching darkness that threatened to pull him under.

Hands grabbed at his shoulders, bringing him upright, then the smell of plastic was back, filling his mouth and nose instead of oxygen. The only thing that Leon could grasp onto still, was the thought of Chris. A selfish desire at this point, not for him to come and complete his botched job but to have Chris to himself only, saving him from a slow and lonely death. He had no choice in his demise though and to say he was content with dying like a martyr, would be a lie too. Leon might've imagined this end for him many times but his dreams were of other things.

They were of quiet mornings, spent in bed as another body wrapped around him and his sheets smelled of sunshine and laundry detergent, instead of sweat and alcohol. He'd get up early and brew coffee, he'd run errands and make breakfast and be as soft and gentle as the world would let him, taking care of things, making them grow instead of killing them. And above all, he wouldn't be alone, through all the dark nights and days that felt like he'd never survive them, there'd be a hand to hold and a shoulder to lean on. His dreams were, first and foremost, always, about Chris.

But they were just fantasies, a temporary pacifier for a pain so insurmountable, Leon would never burden anyone else with it. He wouldn’t ever have a chance of leading this kind of life, least of all with Chris. They would kill him in this cell, if not today then tomorrow, either way Leon would need to face the fact that all Chris would find of him, if the message ever got through to him, was his corpse. And it wouldn't even be a pretty one.

His eyes rolled wildly in his head, unable to fixate on anything surrounding him, his lips tinged blue, while Leon tried and failed to breathe properly, even with the bag off. The man with the smile though, decided he'd had enough air anyways, lowering the bag over his head again. It was only seconds then, that his consciousness could dig its claws into the fickle concept of reality, before it slipped from him and he was plunged in darkness. He blinked once, twice against a blinding light, feeling his muscles lock up at once, then he was gone again.

They had pulled the bag off, after Leon had stopped moving, standing impassively by his still body, as they waited to see if they had accidentally killed him. An eerie silence filled the room, before one long rattle trembled forth from Leon's throat, dilated pupils rolling under his half opened eye-lids like a pair of billiard balls.

The fragile in-between state didn't hold up long though, because one moment later, Leon's chest arched upwards, his arms bent in a way that would've had him screaming, had he been awake. A breathless huff escaped his blue tinted lips as his chest dropped again. After that Leon's entire body began seizing uncontrollably, his head thrown back, jaw clenching shut and limbs jerking and thrashing, while his abdomen convulsed over and over, folding his entire form in half.

The seizure peaked when Leon's convulsions sent his head bumping against the ground, a cut on his brow speckling his sickly pale skin with red droplets. The spit running from the corner of his mouth equally pink-ish, from where his teeth had ground down on a piece of his cheek. After the seizure had started to die down, Leon's arms and legs twitched from time to time, though the rest of his body had started to relax again, strings of blood pooling under his open mouth, as clarity started to return to his bloodshot eyes.

Leon didn't understand what was happening, or why he was on the floor without his shirt, feeling like a licker had gone to town on his back. Someone he didn't recognize kneeled down to him, readjusted his posture with rough hands and told him to do as he asked. A tremble ran through him and he didn't know if it was due to fear, or exhaustion, though he thought it was probably both. It usually was.

"Major?“ His voice shook, as someone straightened him up and he hated himself for it. 

He was so ashamed he didn't dare to look at the other person, staring at his hands instead. They were bleeding, his fingers swelling at the joints but what choice had he had? It was either this, or they would've hit his head.

“Get yourself to the medic, rookie. Before they teach you another lesson.“

He nodded, gripping the shoulder of the man that helped him to his feet, his other hand clamping his mouth shut, suppressing a pained gasp, the skin at his back protesting the stretch. As soon as he was upright, the support fell away, leaving him swaying on the spot. 

“Go, that's an order.“ Major Krauser repeated himself.

“Yes Sir.“

He slurred the words, expecting another punishment but the other man said nothing, just crossed his arms, roped with muscle. He averted his gaze quickly and set himself into motion.

Suddenly he stared down at a blank piece of paper, a pen in his hand that didn't feel quite right, Ah yes, they wanted a name from him. If only he could remember which one.

***

Leon found himself back in his cell, sprawled on the floor, like someone had thrown him down and he hadn't stirred since. Maybe he hadn't, he wasn't really sure about what had happened after he'd passed out before.

Wasn't there something they'd wanted of him? He scrambled through his hazy memories, trying to remember what had been so important but coming up empty handed. Only the feeling of doom remained, that seemed to linger for some reason. He dragged himself back into his corner, taking the blanket to contain at least some of his body warmth, already feeling cold from the sweat and fatigue.

Wrapped in the blanket riddled with holes, he searched for the cup he'd hidden, overturning the dirt and hay in his little alcove but finding nothing. It being there, shouldn't have been so important but for some reason its disappearance distressed him nonetheless. His gear was gone, his shoes too, even his shirt had been taken and when he tried to stash away anything of value, small as it may be, it kept vanishing as well. Exhausted, he let his head fall against the wall, closing his eyes and breathing deep, relishing in the feeling of sweet oxygen in his lungs. He needed to come up with another plan but for now all he wanted to do was rest. Sleep pulling him under easily.

Chapter Text

A package arrived at the BSAA, small and wrapped in brown packaging tape, the corners frayed and edges bent from the long trip overseas. Chris didn't know why they had called him in just to have a look at it, figuring that the usual safety protocols should've been enough to clear it in the first place. But he came anyway, the stiffness in his muscles from his last mission still making him ache with every step. All for a dumb package that someone had probably forgotten to register after placing an order for something small and stupid, like coffee tabs, or new ball point pens. Nevertheless here he was, sliding his ID over the device at the door and sending his bag through security.

When he came to the meeting room he noticed Nadia looking at him with concern, her arms crossed in front of her chest, as she tapped one foot on the tiled floor impatiently. They exchanged a few polite words with one another, before she explained to him why they thought it was necessary to have him here, reassuring that their usual precautions hadn't found anything suspicious about the package, except that it came from eastern europe and had a strange addressee attached to the label.

Chris hummed thoughfully, steeling himself to find something fucked up, like a pig's head, or a bag of human teeth. Or perhaps, it really was just another forgotten delivery and Chris had watched too many mafia movies. When he glanced at the label though, he froze. His mind stumbled over the name written there in blue ink.

Piers Nivans

He looked up at Nadia, eyes hardening in disbelief.

“What is that supposed to mean?“

He exclaimed, barely dousing the anger that came with the thought of someone using Piers’ name, knowing how much the loss had affected him. It was still, and the words on the package brought it all back. And for what?

“I know, that's why I wanted you here, in case it wasn't just a rogue package sent to the wrong address.“

Nadia had put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it so it bordered on painful. It always helped to bring Chris back to the task at hand.

“Piers is dead,“ He sighed. “this has to be some sick joke.“

Nadia nodded solemnly and handed Chris the scissors to cut away at the layers of tape. He did so, careful not to accidentally damage the contents, though it was an arduous task, since it was almost completely covered, sealing whatever it was inside.

When he could finally flip open the flimsy flaps of the carton, the first thing he saw was a blonde strand of hair, held together by a piece of string, then he recognized the object underneath, an unlabeled disc case, milky white with a blue standart cover inlay. Chris furrowed his brows in confusion, sensing that something was definitely horribly wrong. He plucked the two objects from the box, before picking up the torn pieces of fabric that had been cushioning them. Upon closer inspection they looked less like filling material though and more like the scraps of someone's clothes, the material tight knit and elastic, like some of their combat shirts.

He put the rags next to the other objects, inspecting the bottom of the box for anything else, but there was nothing more to be found. Then he picked up the plastic case again, pushing his thumbs into the side to crack it open. Inside was just a single silver disc, the logo of the brand reflecting on its surface but otherwise looking ordinary.

He glanced side-ways at Nadia.

“Bet with you whatever's on here, we'd be better off not watching it.“ 

He smiled grimly, still wondering what this had to do with Piers, or if they just really wanted to get at Chris for whatever reason. The question of what the hair was about, remained too.

“I'll get a laptop.“ Nadia sighed in defeat, knowing they'd have to take a look anyway.

The video started off strange, a man Chris had never seen before standing in, what looked like, a basement, the harsh light of the neon lamps illuminating the surroundings in glaring detail, there was a chain dangling from the ceiling behind him, though the man spoke as if it wasn't there.

To be exact he didn't mention the BSAA, Piers, or Chris at all, instead talking about the continued occupation of the USA and Russia of the Eastern Slav Republic, holding a long winded monologue about politics and conspiratory theories on what had actually happened there over a decade ago. But then he began shifting the topic to something more immediate, speaking of a trade off between the US and his organization, claiming they had someone in their custody who they knew was indispensable to the government and that they were offering his freedom for theirs.

Chris was beginning to grow nervous, scooting to the very edge of his chair to lean in closer to the screen as four other men entered the room, three of them leading the last one in their middle, as he stumbled behind them, drawn by a set of handcuffs on his wrists. His head swiveled around, disoriented by the blindfold over his eyes. Chris watched in shock as they forced him to the ground, affixing his hands to the chain on the ceiling, realization dawned on him when he noticed the blonde colour beneath the dirt matted hair, saw the cut of his jaw and the arch of his nose, the face as familiar as his own, even without the piercing blue of his eyes.

“It's Leon.“

Chris gasped breathlessly, the name slipping past his lips like a gust of freezing air, halting his lungs, as he watched the scruffy looking, older man rip Leon's shirt to shreds, seeing the panic flicker over Leon’s features for a split second, before he schooled them back into apathy. He only broke his facade again, when he heard the belt being opened, cursing and threatening the people around him, even though it was him who was at their mercy.

Chris didn't want to continue watching, already guessing as to what would happen next. The man wanted to make an example of Leon, send a message to his superiors to force the US government to defer to their demands.

But why did the package arrive at the BSAA then? Were they hoping they had enough influence over politics, to sway them in their favour? Or did they think the BSAA was more likely to try and help an agent that wasn't on their payroll, than the government was to swallow their pride and save one of their own? One way or another it didn't change the fact that Chris couldn't stop the video. He had to see if he could find any clues as to what exactly had happened and especially if there was still hope to get Leon out of this alive.

Chris didn't know what was worse, watching Leon fully aware, biting back sounds of distress for what felt like an eternity, while they beat him and humiliated him, or seeing the moment where his composure broke and he began screaming in earnest, calling out names Chris had never heard before until he realized Leon must've gone somewhere else. Not once had he heard Leon scream like that, not when he was thrown around, or shot at, or had his rib cage crushed. He was an expert in gritting his teeth and pressing on. It was usually more concerning when Leon went quiet, ceasing the quips and snarky comments, then Chris knew something was seriously wrong. But this was a whole other thing, he couldn't imagine being in Leon's stead, no matter how seasoned they both were in their work, torture was a different story.

He pressed the pause button when the sobbing started, Leon making noises that suggested he'd throw up soon, if they wouldn't stop. He really needed to take a breather. Nadia was speechless beside him, as he rubbed his hands over his face, squeezing his eyes shut, even though the image of Leon's face, wet with tears and sweat, was still burned into his retina. Chris felt sick to his stomach, fighting the urge to just slam the laptop shut and throw the video to the wind. How much longer would they keep hitting him?! Chris' jaw was stiff from how he had clenched it since he had pressed play.

“This is, I've never seen something like this.“ 

Nadia stated, exasperated, her eyes wide in shock. He nodded in response, trying to ignore the echo of Leon's voice ringing in his ears. 

“We'll have to call Hunnigan, ask if she knows more about what is going on.“ He reasoned, laying out the next steps, so he would stop feeling overwhelmed and petrified. 

He's known Leon for many years now, the two crossing paths not only through their work but due to Claire too. His sister had told him all about what they've gone through in Raccoon City, how she was sure she wouldn't have made it without Leon. Despite the fact that Chris knew Claire could handle herself, he would always feel indebted to him, glad that Leon was there for her when Chris had failed to be. Unlike his sister though, Leon never really spoke about Raccoon City, shying away from the subject whenever Chris brought it up, a pained look crossing his eyes that usually made him drop the conversation and wonder if Leon hadn't relied on Claire just as much.

And now he was alone, stuck in some basement and half beaten to death, while Chris was sitting in an office, complaining about sore shoulders. He grit his teeth and hit the spacebar with a little too much force, the video continuing where they had left off. They had no time to waste.

Leon did eventually throw up, the sounds of it making Chris cringe in his chair, he heard him utter something, bile dripping from his lips, though the camera's microphone didn't manage to pick it up with any clarity, just a weak rasp that carried the tone of Leon's voice and nothing else. His body hung from the ceiling, swaying gently but otherwise unmoving. It unnerved Chris, to see Leon so still after the thrashing and yelling, his exhausted body having finally given in, his hands purpling in their restraints.

The man stepped back into frame, ripping the blindfold away. Chris saw Leon stir, blinking with glazed over eyes and confusion written all over his face. The man grasped his head, squeezing his cheeks and revealing the black and blue bruises that smattered his jaw and nose, painting the bags under his eyes in an unhealthy lilac. Chris' chest ached at the sight, the need to protect making his skin itch uncomfortably. Leon's deep blue gaze eventually fixed onto the camera, widening infinitesimally, as the man holding him spoke:

“We have no qualms about repeating this as long as it takes for you to meet our conditions. Until then I'd advise you to act fast because we are not guaranteeing his survival.“

It was a warning, a threat. It was his death sentence, if they didn't do something soon. Leon squinted at the camera, creasing his forehead like he wasn't sure what was going on, then the screen turned to black and all Chris saw was his own shocked face staring back at him, his heart pounding in his chest. 

“Fuck.“

Nadia exclaimed, sitting frozen next to Chris, looking to him for orders on what to do. He inhaled deep through his nose, closing his eyes, to clear his head. If he went into this without a proper plan he would just cause more damage, he needed to stay focused, go by the protocols, no matter how much this personally affected him.

“I'll call Hunnigan, you get in contact with Europe HQ, see what resources they can provide on short notice.“

Chris stood up, shoving one hand in his pocket to get his phone, stern gaze fixed on Nadia who just nodded with a similarly harsh expression, before she got up and hurried out of the room, leaving Chris alone with the evidence. The video gave new context to the contents of the box. He looked at the lock of hair, a dull blonde bundle, the string tied into a bow.

Chris remembered the feel of running his hands through Leon's hair, the strands falling through his fingers silky smooth, as he combed it away from Leon's face. He had leaned into the touch, one hand loosely holding on to his drink, balancing on the handrail of Claire's balcony. They'd come out to smoke and yet neither of them had moved to light the cigarettes between their fingers.

For some reason Leon always carried a packet but never a lighter, asking Chris every time to accompany him and always happy to share from his stash, smoking the same brand that Chris preferred. What a happy accident. 

Chris could smell Leon's shampoo on the wind that tousled his hair and blew it back in his face, though neither of them seemed bothered by it, giving Chris another excuse to keep touching the man. He smelled like cedarwood and lime, the scent heavy in the space between them. Leon had glanced sideways nervously, aware that they weren't as alone as Chris might've liked. 

“I like your... face.“ 

He had babbled drunkenly, the first words that had come to mind leaving his dumb mouth, while he unabashedly witnessed Leon's cheeks tinging a light pink. 

“You're an idiot.“ 

He had grinned visibly uncomfortable and Chris wondered once again, if Leon really was as deep in the closet as Claire had claimed, or if beneath Chris' wishful thinking, he was just sad and straight. He dropped his hand from Leon's head, suppressing the urge to tuck a loose piece of hair behind his ear and got out his lighter instead.

He really did need a cigarette.

***

Leon didn't dream in his cell, his sleep was closer to death than actual rest, deep and more often than not forced, the exhaustion permeating every fiber of his being. They had come for him a few times more, tied his head between his legs and left him in the position for what felt like days, beat his feet again when he'd thought that maybe he'd be able to walk by himself, dunked his head in a tub over and over, until he'd blacked out and didn't wake up. They didn't give him a reason on why they continued the torture though and Leon figured after a while, that it wasn't important anyway, he couldn't do anything about it, he just had to bear it, like he did before.

In the few coherent moments he had, somewhere in between sleep and pain, he considered taking an easier way out, instead of waiting for his captors to eventually kill him. He was sure there was no one coming anyway, he'd die alone in this cell, abandoned.

There was some foolish hope left in him though, the childish desire to be saved. The thought that Chris had somehow still gotten the news of his disappearance, incessant. Leon laid curled up in a corner of his cell, eyes half-lidded and watching the shadows on the wall, the lanterns not having been doused for the day just yet. He blinked slowly, trying to distract himself from the ache in his bones and the tremor that was ever present now, hinting at some sort of illness that was eating away at him. His mind circled back to gentler memories, desperate for some comfort.

He was back somewhere in Europe, tightening his winter coat around him while he waited for the bus that would take him back to his motel. It was the end of December and the snow was falling in thick flakes, dusting his hair white, while he waited, freezing under the single street lamp. 

“Already leaving?" A voice called out to him, Chris jogging towards him over the snow covered sidewalk.

Leon nodded, glancing down the empty street in hopes of catching a glimpse of headlights rounding the corner. But the street stayed empty, except for the snow covering the asphalt in a layer of glittering white.

“If the bus decides to show up, yes.“

He really should've rented a car before coming to Claire's Christmas party, he thought, sniffling against the cold. Chris stepped up to him, wearing his own down jacket, a woolen scarf wrapped around his neck that was so long it hid most of his lower face. He could see the crinkle of a smile in his eyes regardless though.

He scanned the schedule next to Leon, checking the time on his watch before saying: “I don't think they'll be driving in this weather.“

Leon grumbled in response, tucking his hands under his armpits, his fingertips were already numb, he couldn't say he'd packed an appropriate wardrobe for this trip, having brought leather gloves but nothing else to protect him against the elements. He hadn't thought he’d be staying this long, assuming he would be pulled out of his impromptu vacation by more pressing matters.

“How does anyone live like this?!“ He complained, already resigning himself to walking to his motel, another shudder running through him.

“That's why I got a rental, I can drive you too, if you want to.“ Chris was unwrapping the scarf from his neck, as he said it, his cheeks a burning red, like he'd been sweating underneath it. 

“No need I just-“ Leon cut himself off, giving a startled sound, when Chris slung the shawl around him instead, his body warmth still lingering in the fabric.

“You just what? Walk?!“ He laughed at him, sonorous and beautiful in the still night air. 

They were all by themselves here, the world silent and empty, Leon closed his eyes, inhaling Chris' scent clinging to the threads and shook his head.

“You know me too well.“ He smiled, too much of a coward to look him directly in the face. 

“How about we go back inside? Warm up and then you can decide if you want to go back to your motel.“ Chris suggested, his hands lingering at Leon's shoulders, brushing away the snowflakes melting into his coat. 

It sent another tremble through him and this time not because of the cold. Leon hesitated, looking towards the lighted window, behind which people were celebrating, laughing and conversing. Uncertainty overcame his expression, flicking his gaze back to Chris, as anxiety took hold, he tangled his fingers into the moss green fabric.

Happiness always felt a bit too heavy in his chest, like it didn't quite fit in the space he made for it, too big for him to carry. Sometimes he wondered if he was even meant to be happy.

“Yeah, I just think I need a moment.“ He buried his face deeper into Chris' scarf, trying not to think about the people inside the house, or the ones they'd lost since last year. 

“Is it because of Sherry?“ Chris inquired, concern burning in his eyes like embers.

It was because of many things, Sherry being one of them, he didn't think he had quite processed the whole mess in China just yet. His knees felt weak just thinking about it, Sherry, an agent like him and he could do nothing to protect her.

“It's just a lot.“ He didn't know how to put any of it into words. 

The fact that he couldn't look at any of them for too long, the guilt a dragging weight, Claire had relied on him to keep Sherry safe and all he did was get her into the same mess they were in.

“I get it. Last year was...“ 

Chris hesitated, balling his hands into fists, the corner of his mouth pulling downwards. Leon reached for one tense hand, wrapping his own around it and tenderly uncurling his clenched fingers. 

“difficult.“ He concluded, holding on to Leon. 

Whatever it was between them, he didn't dare to name it, settling for contending himself with whatever Chris was willing to give. There was no use in wanting anything more, asking the world for a kindness he didn't deserve. Leon nodded mutely, observing their hands, tangled together, Chris' warmth bringing feeling back to his stiff fingers.

“You're freezing, you sure we shouldn't go back inside?“ Chris asked, even though Leon had the inkling he wasn't making a suggestion.

“You’re right.“ He mumbled, loath to break the moment and leave the quiet of the street. 

As they made their way back to Claire's holiday abode, Chris didn't let go of his hand, steadying him when his dress shoes inevitably slipped on the frozen ground. 

“Actually, I have a little something I wanted to give you earlier.“

Chris halted in front of the door, the porch light dousing them in an orange glow, Leon looked at him curiously, as he took out a small package from his jacket pocket and pressed it into his palm, a sheepish look on his face.

“You didn't have to.“ Leon whispered, blood rushing to his face like he was some hormone-driven fourteen year old. 

“Don't mention it.“ Chris' voice rumbled in the space between them, while he carefully peeled away the wrapping paper, revealing a tiny wooden carving within. 

It dangled from a piece of leather cord, pulled through a hole at the top, Leon turned it this way and that, admiring the details on the small wolf figurine. 

“It's a bit crude, I know. But I thought you'd like it anyway.“ 

Chris laughed, shrugging as he pushed his hands into his pockets. Leon had been so caught off guard by the present, he had forgotten to say anything, he couldn't remember when someone had last gifted him something, just because they wanted to, without expecting anything from him in return. 

“No, it's perfect. I like it.“ 

His head snapped up, smiling stupidly up at the other, who returned it with his own lovestruck grin. They must look like absolute idiots, Leon thought for a split second, before he slung his arms around Chris' neck and pressed his forehead to his shoulder. 

“Thank you.“ 

His voice shook a little as he said it, Chris wrapping his own arms around his waist and nuzzling his nose into his wet hair. It almost felt like love. 

Almost.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, heavy and booted, the click of a rifle being prepared. Leon curled up tighter, trying to cling to the fading memory, mourning a time he would never return to. They were going to shoot him and he'd let them, holding himself still to make the aiming easier, he just hoped it would be over quickly.

"Leon?!" The stomping came to a halt, a voice calling out to him, distress clear in his tone. 

Someone was gripping the bars to his cell, silhouetted by the lanterns still burning down the hall. It should've been dark by now and yet there was someone rattling the door, like they didn't have a key to it. He pushed himself up, the blanket sliding from his shoulders, as he squinted at the figure kicking against the bars of the cell, strong arms holding a machine gun at the ready, the BSAA emblem on his sleeve.

Slowly the pieces clicked, memory and reality a scrambled mess of disjointed impressions, like two puzzles mixed together. The door sprung open and suddenly Chris was there, actually there, not just a ghost of his tired mind, all up in his face, scrambling to pull something out of a satchel at his hips.

“Are you alright?" He asked when Leon still hadn't said a word, too stunned by the sudden rescue to articulate himself. 

“Never been better.“ 

He rasped, his breath rattling in his chest, as he gave Chris a wry grin trying to wave off the state he was in. His eyebrows drew tight as he looked him up and down, eyes hard and stern, taking in the bruises on his face, the filth clinging to his skin.

“Are you sure?" He repeated himself, raising one gloved hand, reaching towards his cheek. 

The movement was too sudden though, too hectic in the darkness between them and Leon flinched away from the touch, unsure if he could take another blow to the head without fainting, realizing too late that it was just Chris, no one else. Their eyes met, the look in Chris' darkened, as he stared into Leon's, his own wide and glassy.

“Give me your hands.“ He commanded, slipping back into his professional mask, grabbing for the lockpicking tools on his lap. 

No time to linger on technicalities, they had to get out of here first. He had freed his hands in seconds, his practiced movements making quick work of the locks, like Chris had done this a hundred times before. When the metal cuffs finally fell away, he hissed in sympathy, as he saw the raw and bloody skin underneath, the scuffing having closed and reopened again and again.

“I didn't know you could pick locks.“ Leon tried to distract, crossing his arms to hide the unsightly wounds, he was pretty sure they would scar at this point.

“I can now.“ Chris stated, sounding grim, as he pulled a piece of cloth free from some backpack he'd been carrying, unfolding the garment to reveal another BSAA shirt, the fabric looking sturdy and thick. 

Handing it over wordlessly, Leon slipped into it in seconds, glad to have something to keep him warm, the cloth hung from him loosely, making Chris stare at him like he saw something Leon didn't. They both jerked around when a dull thudding sound split the tense silence, Chris springing to his feet to look down the hall, cursing to himself.

“Quick, we need to get moving.“ He waved at him, snapping his head between Leon and the door sitting menacingly at the end of the hall, remaining closed, for now.

Despair rose in his chest, as Leon stared at him, struggling to his knees, keeping his hands on the wall beside him to help him balance. 

“I can't-“ 

He breathed, biting his lip as he remembered the pain stabbing through his soles and legs. Walking on the injury would be agonizing.

“What do you mean you can't?!“ Chris sounded tense, almost hissing the words at him, while he fumbled with the radio on his shoulder. 

Leon opened his mouth to explain, wanting to tell him about what they had done to him, but as soon as he grasped for the right words, they seemed to elude him, his teeth clicking shut as he mulled over what to say. 

“I don't know, it just-“ He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to admit being in pain. “It hurts.“ 

He grit out, digging his fingernails into the wall, his left pinky still numb. He was supposed to be able to handle this, why wasn't he able to handle this?! Chris stomped back over, kneeling down next to him to scan his legs for any obvious signs of injury, when he didn't find any he turned back to Leon, laying two heavy hands on his shoulders, holding on tight. 

“Your legs are fine. Listen, I know you're tired but people will be coming after us and I can't defend both of us when I have to carry you. I'll radio for Claire to come our way but until she's here we need to be able to do this by ourselves.“ 

Chris' gaze was intense, like he could will Leon to do as he said, with his thoughts alone. And he could, because Leon would do anything if Chris asked for it, because he was faithful-dumb and idiotic.

“Yeah, of course.“ 

He made eye-contact, struggling to focus on the other's face, with all the adrenaline rushing through his system, realizing he was afraid . Terrified of reliving the pain. 

“Good.“ Chris nodded, grasping him around the shoulders and heaving him up without warning. 

Leon clawed at the other, choking on an aborted cry of pain, as he was set on his feet. The agony that raced up his legs was freezing him to the spot, desperate to just breathe through it for a moment. When Chris pried his hands away from his shoulders, to check the hallway again, Leon almost instantly lost his balance, stumbling sideways until he could steady himself on the wall. Even thinking about moving felt impossible, his bones screaming like they were splintering under his weight alone. He didn't know how he was supposed to make it out of this maze without support.

There was no time for his doubts though, no space for his pain. His molars ground on one another, Leon feeling how a loose tooth shifted under the pressure, before he limped out of his cell, following Chris as he stalked forward. It was torture all over again, digging his hands into the stone wall, grasping hopelessly to ease the pressure on his sore feet, while every step drove more knives through the tendons. Sweat was running down his neck, into the collar of the clean shirt.

When they reached the set of stairs, Leon was close to fainting, his chest heaving with the effort of keeping him up, while he bit his tongue against the distressed sounds stuck in his throat. He leaned heavily on the railing, pausing to collect himself, Chris was already climbing the steps leaving him to trot along. His knees shook underneath him, as he pulled himself upwards, iron grip on the banister. He was halfway up the stairs when he started swaying one foot in the air, as he aimed for the next step. He leaned his weight forward, his arms flexing to steady him, if he fell now, he was pretty sure he'd break his neck and die. But he pushed on, dragging himself upwards, while Chris slowly opened the door at the top and secured the hallway beyond, vanishing out of sight. 

Suddenly Leon found himself alone, his heart beating against his ribcage, like he'd just been dropped from a great height. The fear of Chris abandoning him was irrational, he knew that, but it felt so real in that moment, the pain making him delirious and unstable.

After an excruciating eternity, Leon too, managed to get to the top, leaning heavily against the basement walls, his vision blurring. The only thing still keeping him standing, being the fear of not being able to get up again once he sunk down. 

"Chris?!" He coughed out, his wet hair sticking to his forehead, while he looked around but only found strange shadows. 

He stumbled a few steps forward, wanting to search for him, when suddenly his legs buckled and no matter how much he willed himself to keep standing, his body still fell, hitting the ground mercilessly, hands scraping themselves bloody on the uneven stone. He heard gunshots ringing from not far away, so he dragged himself into a dark corner and pressed his hands over his ears, waiting for some horrible fate to befall him, as he trembled and trembled and trembled.

“Leon, are you alright?“

Chris called out, jogging towards him, blood on his face, though Leon didn't think it was his own. He waited until Chris had reached him to answer, the other already back on his knees, worrying over his pale form.

“Don't leave.“ He gasped out, scrabbling at Chris' forearms, his nails tearing at the tough skin. 

“I'm not, I was just securing our escape route.“ 

He reassured him, his voice gentle and low, taking one of Leon's hands in his and squeezing it, his inhales came quick and uneven and he could see dark spots dancing in front of him. It took all of his energy just to reel in the panic, painfully aware of Chris' eyes on him, staring like he was some wounded animal, before his breathing had leveled again.

“Come on, Claire's not far away.“ Chris smiled at him, moving to help Leon up, which had the other startle and push his hands away. 

“No! Don't-“ 

He nearly yelled, cutting himself off, when his voice broke, shaking with the strain of suppressing the pain dizzying his senses and making his head spin. 

“I can't walk, please don't-“ Don't make me. 

Begging would get him nowhere and still he succumbed to the desperate instinct. Maybe Chris would listen, even though he didn't deserve it.

“God, what did they do to you?“ His hands were holding his face, swiping away his bangs, despite the sweat coating him. 

Leon shook his head, screwing his eyes shut, unable to make it all make sense. They didn't have time for this, why was Chris touching him, comforting him, when they were in the middle of some terrorist hideout?! 

“Do you think you could shoot if I carry you?“ 

Chris shook him out of his stupor, thumbs still brushing over his cheeks, like he was trying to ease out the pained wrinkles on his face. Leon raised a hand to wrap around one of his wrists, feeling Chris' pulse pounding in his veins, equally as quick as his own. 

“'Course.“ He grinned, tension making the expression stiff and unnatural. 

"Good. Good. Perfect." 

Chris repeated, fumbling for his gun, before he pressed it into Leon's palms. The metal was heavier than he expected. It took him a second for muscle memory to set in and grip the weapon like he usually did. 

“You ready?" Came the final question, Leon giving his affirmative briefly, before Chris slid his arms beneath his shoulders and knees and started to lift him easily. 

Suddenly Leon found himself swept off his feet, curled up bridal style in Chris' arms and if he weren't in absolute agony and bone deep exhausted, he may have found enjoyment in it too but as it was, Leon already struggled with holding the gun steady. The nuzzle swayed in his grip, his aim terrible, as he pointed one outstretched arm in front of them, while the other vined itself around Chris' neck, afraid that he would drop him at the slightest disturbance. 

They moved forward like this, Leon light in Chris' arms, the other peeking at him every so often, as if to make sure Leon hadn't disappeared in the few seconds Chris hadn't had his eyes on him. Even though Leon was sure, Chris must feel his muscles shaking against him, no matter how much he tried to keep the spasms at bay.

“You're too thin.“ He stated after they had hurried down the different hallways for a while, Chris apparently familiar with the layout, taking the different turns with confidence. 

“Am I? At least it's less weight to drag around then, I guess.“ Leon shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on the path before them. 

Their survival depended entirely on his marksmanship, if he didn't react quickly enough, it would be the end of both of them and Leon didn't think he'd be able to forgive himself if he got Chris killed. The tremor in his hand wasn't letting up either though and concern washed through his stomach, the acid burning in his throat. 

“Don't say that.“ He clipped back at him, shaking his head like the thought physically repulsed him.

They rounded another corner and before Leon could even think to answer him, he saw something crawling on the ceiling, growling, before its eyeless head snapped towards them. Leon fired several shots in its direction, the recoil of the gun, knocking his wrist back painfully, he couldn't hold his arm steady, the weapon thrown back every time he pulled the trigger, his limbs feeling heavy and weak.

Chris jumped to the side, when the licker snapped its tongue at them, jostling Leon, who was aiming at the scrambling mess, pouncing for them. He fired another five rounds before the gun suddenly jammed. In a panic, Leon pulled at the slide, trying to dislodge the cartridge before the BOW could tear their throats out but he was slow and his hands clumsy, struggling with the weapon, like he never had before. 

Its claws clattered over the stone in a haste, approaching them, closing in. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

In a last ditch effort, Chris twisted around to kick the thing, he heard the licker yowl in pain, flying through the room away from them, before Chris roughly set him on the ground, sliding his rifle back into his hands and taking deadly aim. The licker dropped to the floor only seconds after. Leon just sat there, stunned. The gravity of what just happened slowly dripped through his dumb brain. 

He had failed. They would've both died if Chris hadn't reacted as fast as he did and it would've been his fault. Because he was weak and useless. Because Leon couldn't help but fuck up, over and over, it was like he never learned, it was like he wanted to get punished.

Chris ran back towards him, anger more than obvious in his posture. Leon threw his arms up in defense, the gun laying forgotten to his side. As he braced himself for some terrible fallout. He felt like he was forgetting something important.

“Leon, what the fuck are you doing?!“ 

His voice sounded upset, his gear rattling as he kneeled down to him, reaching for him. Leon flinched away, harder this time, the back of his head hitting the wall with a thump.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry!“

He bowed forward, crossing his arms over his head and gripping his hair tight. He slipped into somewhere else, the shadows dark and fathomless for a moment, his lungs filling with water that spilled over his feverish skin.

A hand touched his back, pulling him up from the depths he was sinking into, back to reality. Chris in front of him, his mouth parted in shock.

“It's okay, calm down, you're fine.“ 

He ran his fingers through his hair shakily, the adrenaline making his muscles clench up. Leon felt pathetic, as he came apart under the gentle touch, latching onto Chris' shoulders in a painful grip, though he didn't seem to feel much of it. 

“I'm sorry, I freaked out.“

He breathed, saliva thick in his mouth, not looking at the other, as his hand continued to pet him in a calming manner. His brain struggled to catch up with what was happening, still stuck on the jammed gun in his hands.

“It's fine, I shouldn't have- I should've come better prepared.“ He sighed, dropping his hand from Leon, to pick up the gun at his side, fixing it with a few smooth movements, while Leon still shook and coughed. 

“Claire should be here soon too, then she can do the shooting and we will do the running.“ Chris ducked a little to catch sight of Leon's face, searching his eyes for understanding.

Leon nodded, swallowing against the nausea that came with his spinning head. They hadn't even made it out of the basement and he was already at the end of his rope, his body feeling like a stone sinking into muddy waters, he barely saw what was in front of him, through all the aching and shaking, his mind always lagging two steps behind. If he could just rest for a little while, maybe he'd be less confused.

“Hey, look at me.“ Chris' voice was close, his warm breath ghosting over his sweat slick skin. 

“I need you to stay awake for me, okay?“

He blinked at the words, not remembering when his eyes had fallen shut, just knowing that he felt incredibly tired. He searched for the vague shape of Chris in front of him, the edges of his silhouette shifting when he tried to keep his gaze focused on him. 

“'m sorry.“ He slurred, lost for words, this was all his fault, he was nothing but dead weight on this mission. 

“It's okay, just do me a favour and keep a lookout, you can do that for me right?“ Chris lifted his chin, his voice sounding more and more irritated.

His eyes racing up and down Leon's figure so fast it made him dizzy. Like he was frantically searching for what was causing Leon to falter so suddenly. He shook his head, pushing the hands away from him. If he let himself fall deeper into the soothing gestures, the adrenaline would be washed from his system in minutes and then there'd be nothing keeping him alert anymore.

Most of his days here, had been spent either high on stress-hormones, or in different states of unconsciousness. Partially because the drop in endorphins usually sent him crashing, feeling the whole severity of the damage done to him. Something similar must be happening now too. They couldn't afford him being out of commission though and so Leon straightened his spine and clenched his jaw. 

“Yeah I can.“ 

He answered ultimately, gripping his own arms to hide the fatigued tremor that was building up. Chris lingered for another long moment, his eyes narrowing as he scanned his pallid face, skin waxy and lips cracked, then he got up and paced up and down the floor, checking the different passageways over and over for anything else coming after them.

Their surroundings stayed uncharacteristically quiet for several minutes, up until Leon's frayed nerves picked up on the sound of quiet footsteps in the distance, tapping fast on the floor, drawing near them. He gestured to Chris, pointing in the direction of the sound, making himself small on instinct, he didn't have a weapon anymore and was too weary for melee combat, the only thing between him and whatever was approaching them now was Chris. He stared at the corner from which he could hear the threat coming. Then two voices echoed in the room at once, one staticy and muffled the other loud and clear.

“Chris, I should be at your position any time soon, where are you?“ Claire panted into her radio, rushing around the corner and running straight into her brother, who had been guarding the exit.

Relief washed through Leon like a tidal wave, as he saw her, glad that the noise hadn't been from another licker, ready to claw their guts out. 

“Oh my god, I nearly shot you!“ She exclaimed, her words accompanied by harsh breathing, she must've been running for some time. 

“Glad to see you too.“ Chris laughed in response, though the quip fell flat with how agitated he shifted his weight around, fumbling with the trigger of his rifle.

“Look who I've found.“ 

He gestured to Leon, who was still huddled against the wall, observing the interaction while trying not to let his nerves get the better of him. He had yet to ask why, of all people, Chris had brought his sister, instead of anyone else who was actually employed by the BSAA and wearing more protective gear than a leather jacket. 

"Leon!" 

She called out his name, like she was surprised to see him and maybe she was, cause not long after, she said:“Jesus Christ you look like shit.“ 

She had walked over to him and gotten down to eye-level, taking in what Chris had scrutinized before too. 

“Tell me about it.“ 

Laughing the concern off, he shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, there was only so much worry he could take in a day and he thought Chris had exhausted his capacity more than enough already.

“So what's the plan now? What did you need me to come here for?“ She turned back to Chris, who explained their predicament to her, while Leon followed the exchange as best he could, watching Claire's forehead slowly crease in worry. 

“How far did you say again, until the rendezvous point with the Osprey?“ She bit her lip, nervously looking between Chris and Leon, his legs stretched out in front of him and back pressed to the wall, his shoulders trembling from holding himself upright. 

“They said they'll pick us up at town square, it shouldn't be too far from the building, we just have to make sure we get no BOW's snapping at our heels.“ Chris ducked under the strap of his rifle, holding it out to Claire as he explained. 

His sister nodded back at him “Sure, okay. Piece of cake.“ 

She took the weapon, holding it securely in both hands. 

“And you're sure you want to carry him? I could also try to-'' She began, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. 

Claire didn't have trouble defending herself, Leon was sure of that but to put the weight of two other lives on her shoulders was a whole other thing. Though Chris just shook his head at her, stepping closer and whispering something in her ear that Leon couldn't pick up. He didn't know if he should be angry at the secrecy, or worried, though neither emotion really registered in his brain, leaving him with the bitter taste of acceptance.

“Just give me a gun and leave me.“ He called out to them, his head lolling to the side, as he held out a hand expectantly. 

He didn't actually want them to forsake him and he didn't actually want to die but his hope of getting out had dwindled even before Chris had arrived and if his life was the price for their survival he'd gladly pay it. He was nothing more than a liability now anyway. 

“Absolutely fucking not! Do you think we came all the way just to give up?!“ 

Chris stepped around Claire, towering over him, six feet of all muscle and stubbornness. But he didn't understand, saving him wasn't the operative here, wasn't what was actually important. 

“I thought you came to stop the BOW's? That was the point of sending you the package...“ He trailed off, his hair falling back over his eye as he cocked his head in bewilderment.

“That was you?!" They burst out in unison, looking at him in disbelief, before the realization slowly dawned on Chris, a scowl settling on his face. 

“Hold on, you really think sending me that video would convince me to go after the BOW's, instead of looking for you?!“ That was not the reaction he had expected. 

He honestly thought the other would have a bit more understanding, maybe even appreciation for his resourcefulness, but if he put it that way, it just made the whole thing sound really dumb and dangerous. 

“Goddammit Leon, it even had Piers' name attached and you believe I'd just let you die, first chance I get?!“ 

Huh ?! 

That was new information. How would they know about Piers? Either they had connections stretching to Lanshiang, or he had- 

No, that can't be, he wouldn't do that. 

He stumbled over his next words, his jaw stiff and tongue heavy in his mouth, making words difficult: “I wanted you to do your job, you know, p-protect people, save the world and a-all that stuff.“ 

How could that not have been clear? Leon didn't understand, he obviously wasn't someone who got to be protected. He was the kind of person to fend for himself with a sharp stick and one bullet to his name. All of this felt backwards, it made his head ache.

Chris and Claire gave him a look, like he was out of his mind, laced with pity that made his skin crawl. He didn't need pity. From no one. 

“I'm going to get you out of here either way, now stop making a fuss.“ 

Coming back to his side, Chris bent down to get a grip on Leon's body again, ignoring his offended grumbling. Before he heaved him up though, Chris paused for a moment, looking at Leon, his gaze softening. 

“I'm going to lift you now, okay?“ He checked in, waiting for him to respond before his muscles tensed and Leon felt his body leave the floor. 

Where he had been long limbed and unwieldy before, now he felt very small in Chris' arms, his body lax and his head resting heavily on the other's clavicle. He could feel the vibrations of Chris' voice as he spoke again. 

“Leon? I want you to hold on to my vest and no matter what happens, do not let go. Can you promise me that?“ 

The words carried a severity with them that didn't leave room for questions, so Leon complied, wrapping his fingers around the edge of the vest between Chris' shoulder and chest, while his other arm rested limply on his stomach. 

“Yes.“ He breathed in response, feeling Chris' heartbeat pulsing under the protective gear. 

Absently he registered the request as a sort of grounding technique, giving Leon the reassurance that Chris was there, that he wouldn't go anywhere, as long as he held on. 

“Good. Let's go.“ He heard him say, before they set into motion.

***

Chris held Leon bundled up in his arms for the second time today and he really didn't like how this rescue mission was turning out. The man had lost way too much weight in the one and a half weeks it took to get to him. Ever since Chris had found him, he became more and more worried. Leon was twitchy, distracted to the point of being absent and probably injured, even though Chris had hoped at first that he'd be able to walk it off, until they could meet up with Claire. But he'd seen how that had gone for them, ultimately worsening his condition and draining even the last bit of colour from his face. Now Leon layed tucked in his arms, shivering against a cold that wasn't there, while his skin was burning hot. All that Chris felt he could still do for him, was try and keep him awake and make sure he didn't die on him.

They were nearing the exit of the basement, when Chris had to jump behind cover, pressing himself behind a corner wall that was just big enough to hold both his broad frame, as well as the length of Leon's legs. Narrowly avoiding a spray of bullets aimed for the three of them, his sister took to the task of keeping their enemies at bay, singling them out one by one, while always ready to duck back behind the brick wall. 

The sounds of gunshots filled the room, the explosions ringing in his ears. It made Leon stir as well, though Chris was unsure how much the other was still aware of. His hand pulled urgently on his Kevlar, while he buried his head farther in Chris' chest, giving a low whine, like he was scared of something. He felt a pulling sensation in his chest, as he watched Leon cringe, the need to protect him so strong, it was only comparable to how he felt towards Claire.

And to think Leon had intended for him to just let him die in his cell. It still drove him up the walls, because he knew he hadn't been wrong to expect it. Hunnigan had told him about the DSO's rescue policies, causing him to lose his goddamn mind for a straight two minutes, he couldn't believe the government would treat Leon as so expendable, not after everything he'd done for them.

But here they were, equipped with the bare minimum, glad they could at least get an osprey on site, for a less than legal rescue mission. After the room was cleared, Chris and Claire ascended the last set of stairs to the ground floor of the hide-out. He squeezed himself through the narrow space one step at a time, careful not to fall back down again, or worse yet, drop Leon. Near the top Chris risked a look at him, his hand was still grasping onto him loosely, though his eyes had fallen shut again, a pained look creasing his forehead. Chris pressed his body a little closer to him, as he followed Claire through the door.

The room beyond was a mess, one wall caved in from some sort of impact, or explosion they must've overheard, while being so deep beneath the earth, the cold wind whipping through the room and blowing dust in their faces. Overshadowing the howling of the wind though, was the familiar groan of zombies, idly traversing the broken floorboards before they noticed their entrance and started yowling. 

"Run!" Claire just screamed, firing his rifle into the mob of zombies and pushing at his shoulder to make him go. 

Chris worked on instinct, dashing through the room towards the open front door. Leon was clawing at his neck now, his whole body tensing, as he started a panicked mumble, Chris couldn't understand properly, over the banging of gunshots. He just made it out, when he whipped back around to see his sister following him, throwing away the empty magazine and jamming a new one in. She slammed the front door shut behind her, even though it was probably futile to do so.

They descended the front steps together, trudging through a thin blanket of snow. Claire kept close to his side, her weapon raised and ready. Strangely enough, the streets were quiet though, the BOW's staying clear of the village, like something held them back. He could still hear them inside the mansion they'd fled from and despite one wall of the building having mostly collapsed, not a single one of them set a foot on the outside. Maybe the cold was keeping them at bay?

The wind whipping against them was frigid, howling in the narrow alleys they passed. In his arms, Leon had stopped squirming, his hand back at the seam of his kevlar. He could feel him tremble again, the cold probably not helping with his current condition. To say Chris was worried would be an understatement, ever since watching that video, there'd been nothing else on his mind, it had nearly driven him crazy. Leon was more than just a friend, he'd become family, to both Claire and him, though he wasn't sure anymore if the other was even aware of that. With how he'd talked earlier, it seemed like Leon had not expected to ever leave this place again. He adjusted his grip on the other man, hoisting him a little higher before picking up his pace, the sooner they got out of here, the better.

Halfway to their meeting point, he could hear Leon whimper again, his hand on the vest starting to slip. 

“Hey, none of that. Hand on the vest, we're nearly there.“ He ordered him, like he would his fellow soldiers, if only to get through to him. 

The fingers that slipped beneath the seam were ice-cold, even through the fabric of his shirt, but at least Leon had heard him in whatever daze he was in. A few steps further, he began to cough, his breath wet and rattling in his throat at the following inhale. He had sounded like this before too, though thankfully there hadn't been any blood so far. Still, it unnerved him. Then there was a voice, quiet and exhausted but still there, Chris looked down to see Leon stare back at him, eyes blinking slowly and distant, like he was somewhere else.

“Are we- Is everyone safe?“ 

He asked, looking lost, his lips slightly parted and glistening with spit. Chris could feel a lump forming in his throat. All of this was wrong, Leon should never look this pale. 

“Yeah, we are. Just have to reach the helicopter and then we're all gonna be fine.“ He reassured him, his voice tight. 

Leon sighed deeply, the last bit of tension draining out of him. Chris shot him a worried look, alarm bells ringing, as he saw his eyes roll and his head tip back, the hand on his vest loosening, until it dropped at last. Chris looked to his sister, panic thrumming through his veins, as Leon laid still, even the shaking having ceased at once. He dug his feet harder into the ground, quickening his steps, sweat beading down his own forehead the longer they'd been moving. Up ahead he could already see the Osprey lowering down on the cobblestone of the town square. Gritting his teeth, he pushed all thoughts away, focusing solely on finishing the mission, he just had to reach the helicopter and then this nightmare would be over. Leon would be fine, he was always quick to bounce back.

They had a stretcher ready, when they had finally climbed inside the vehicle, the field medic they had brought with them, strapped Leon down the moment Chris had let go of him. Before he could do anything else though, he was pulled away, the figures of Hunnigan and the medic obscuring his line of sight. Claire pressed him into a seat, buckling herself in next to him, before handing him a pair of headphones. He tore his gaze away from Leon's prone form, to nod at his sister in appreciation, clamping on the headphones and speaking into the microphone.

“Subject secured, up we go back to homebase.“ The helicopter lifted upwards at his command, the town shrinking beneath them.

Chapter Text

Leon only remembered glimpses of his rescue after they had met with Claire, all of them filled with fear. The gunshots that rang around him, the screaming from rotten throats, the pounding of his own heart and boots on stone, all the while he was unable to do anything to help, or at least defend himself. And then everything went quiet at once and Chris said that they were save, even though it was freezing and he didn't know where he was anymore, but he trusted Chris and if he said he was save, then Leon believed it, so he let himself relax, loosened his grip on his self-control and let go.

In the hospital in Europe the doctors had said something of pneumonia and early kidney failure, they had talked to him about dehydration and medication, but Leon could barely retain any of it, the words slipping through his fingers like sand. He told them about the pain and when they shook their heads and looked at him in pity, he told them again, repeating over and over that something was wrong, that 

'no, he couldn't take a shower, because his legs didn't work' , and 

'no, he didn't need sleeping aids, he needed pain relief'. 

But they didn't seem to listen, instead they ran check ups and blood tests and x-rays without gaining any more insight.

At least they'd provided a small plastic stool, so he could shower sitting down. The dirt and grime of days in captivity turned the water black, his skin stinging when the hot spray washed through his wounds but Leon was just glad to have it off of him, scrubbing himself down roughly.

He was even more confused at the fact that apparently Hunnigan had decided to return to the Eastern Slav Republic to join the rescue mission. It was strange to see her outside of her formal wear, stepping into his hospital room in a black turtleneck and a dark pair of cargo pants, a gun holster still strapped to her chest. Leon wasn't sure how much time had passed since they'd gotten him out, but the fact that Hunnigan still thought it necessary to keep a weapon on her, had him on edge again. He sat up more, adjusting the angle of the hospital bed to seem less exhausted than he was and gave Hunnigan a tiny smile that she didn't return.

“Glad to have you back in one piece.“ She said, adjusting her glasses and stepping a bit closer to his bedside.

The more he looked at her the more details he picked up, the dark circles under her eyes, the nervous biting of her lip, her nails digging into a stack of papers she was holding. It struck him as strange, to see her so clearly uncomfortable, when she usually was level-headed and calculating, this could only mean that whatever came next would be bad.

“Glad to not be stuck in that basement anymore.“ He tried to humour her, sounding more disgruntled than he intended to. He blamed it on the exhausting day. Or was it days?

“They told me you'd have to stay until your blood levels are normal again but otherwise you'd be fine in a couple days.“ She cut to the chase, not one for smalltalk, usually Leon appreciated her blunt nature but right now, he wished for some light conversation.

“Still feel like I've been hit by a truck though.“ 

He laughed, rolling his shoulder absent-mindedly, they had wrapped most of his torso in bandages to keep the salves in place, though apparently he'd been lucky enough to not have more than swelling and scratches. For some reason that only served to frustrate him more, where was that damn pain coming from then, if all he had were some bruises?!

“That is to be expected, you've been gone for a week and a half, you're lucky to be alive.“ 

Her voice was matter-of-fact and Leon was glad she had given him a definitive time-frame, his own sense of time loose and crooked. Leon wasn't sure what Hunnigan would think about him if he'd just admitted that freely. Although he couldn't say he felt particularly lucky.

“I know. All thanks to you I guess.“ 

He formulated the sentence carefully, hoping she would just nod at him. The DSO didn't rescue their lost agents but why else would Hunnigan be here?

“Not exactly. You know I don't have the authorization to instigate these kind of missions, I fear you'll have to leave your gratitude with Captain Redfield.“ 

She was clinical in her admission, keeping herself still. Next to his hospital bed stood a chair with metal handles and white seat cushions and yet Hunnigan hadn't made a move to sit, as if being in his presence made her uncomfortable.

“What do you mean?“ He lowered his voice, irritation welling up, only kept at bay by his own exhaustion, he was used to getting fucked over and betrayed left and right but he had always considered Hunnigan to be on his side, no matter what.

“When the proof of your...“ She mused over the words, her fingers tightening around the stack of paper in her arms. “detention reached the DSO, they decided to regard the mission failed and send no further backup.“

Leon took a deep breath. That, he'd already known about. His next words were filled with desperate hope, hadn't Chris said they'd come for him and not to complete the mission, wouldn't that mean Hunnigan had done the same?

“But you refused right? You convinced them to at least give you permission to investigate, didn't you?“

Her gaze was hard, meeting Leon's own, blue irises framed by burst veins and purple skin. She didn't say a word, just looked at him, like he already knew the answer.

She hadn't done a single thing.

“Alright then...“ He mumbled. 

He should just accept it, he was in no position to expect any difference from her. In the end, it was just orders and Leon had been aware of what orders would be given, should he fail. And he did fail, tremendously.

“I'm risking a lot just being here, officially I'm on leave.“ 

She explained but it only served to rile him up more, even though rationally there was nothing to be upset about. This was just the way things were in their business.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat, trying to get rid of the suffocating feeling before he spoke again. “Why? The BSAA has it handled apparently, why go through the trouble then?“

It sounded like an accusation, but Hunnigan didn't react to it, didn't lash out at him.

“This isn't an official operation of the BSAA either, the US would've never allowed that, we had to do this as discreetly as possible.“

His mind worked to take in the information, put it in context of everything that had gone down the past week, he shook his head in order to sort through his thoughts.

“So it was just Chris and you?“ He concluded, swiping at his hair that hung in his eyes and tickled his skin.

“And Claire.“ She added. “She insisted.“

Leon smiled grimly, averting his eyes to look at his hands, balled in the sheets on his lap, Claire was intent on risking her neck and even though Leon was thankful she'd been there, he didn't know if he could've forgiven himself, had anything happened to her.

“Great...“ He sighed, he really wished his survival hadn't hinged on his friends' willingness to put their lives on the line.

“Don't give me that. Does it matter how we got you out? Point is that we did and even more important, that we don't rouse any suspicion from here on in either.“ She raked a hand through her hair in agitation, setting Leon's head straight again.

She was used to his moods and frustrations at this point and she wasn't having any of it anymore, there was no use in indulging his woes, when she needed him to get his work done. And it usually worked on him too, if he could actually do something and wasn't confined to a bed, because his body was fucking useless.

“And what is that supposed to look like?“ He stared back at her, searching her face for emotion but finding her calm and collected again.

“Well first we have to get back to the US, I will try to handle your return to the DSO, while you lay low and recover. Sound good?“

“Sounds vague.“ He retorted, getting the feeling that she was keeping something from him, obfuscating the details to avoid being asked questions she wouldn't be able to answer.

“Well it will have to do for now.“ She shrugged, thumbing through the papers she was holding, ignoring his staring while she searched for something.

A tense silence settled over them for a minute, while he waited for her to proceed with her business, or just leave him to sleep. It had gone dark outside hours ago and most of the lights in the windows of the building opposite of the one he was in, had snuffed out as well. In his room, the overhead lamp still shone, bright and cold, though Leon could already feel himself dread the darkness.

“Is that all?" He asked, impatiently, eyeing the dose of sleeping pills the nurse had left for him.

“Not quite, we still need to debrief the mission, go over the evidence you could gather before you got caught.“ At last she pulled a few pages free from the gathered documents, placing them on top before pulling out a pen from her pants pocket.

Leon considered arguing with her for a split second, wondering if saying he was tired and in pain would be enough to lay her off until tomorrow but ultimately cast the thought aside, he'd been enough trouble already and why should he get to rest while her, Chris and Claire had to do all the work?

“Do you want to at least sit down for that?“ He gestured at the chair, feeling the heaviness in his limbs return the longer he remained upright. Hunnigan wordlessly took a seat, resting the papers on her thighs instead of the bedside table but Leon decided not to mention it.

“You told me you had copied some data, do you still have it?“ She shot her first question, sending Leon reeling. He thought about if he’d been carrying anything with him after he had woken up in the cell, but couldn't even remember copying anything in the first place.

“No.“ He clipped, drawing his eye-brows tight. 

Hunnigan hummed to herself, eyes skimming over the page in front of her, ignoring him.

“Do you remember the location you were investigating? Any significant landmarks, or a street name? We've had hints it was near a factory but you've never mentioned its make-up, once you found it.“

What was she talking about? 

Hadn't he been in the same building they found him in before the kidnapping? Leon tried to piece together an image in his head of how he had crept through long hallways with metal doors and creaking pipes, but all that came to mind was the musty basement instead.

“I'm not sure, I thought it was all the same building, wasn't it?“ He asked, rubbing his thumb over the bandage at his wrist, Hunnigan was still not looking at him.

“Is there anything else then? Names you've come across, any affiliates they might've had, or plans on how to use the BOWs?“ The tip of her pen rested on the paper, leaking ink and Leon scrambled to find answers.

He remembered nothing. It wasn't just the details that were hazy, it was like someone had erased the whole memory. If Hunnigan wouldn't be asking about it, Leon would've believed it never happened, whenever he tried to conjure up some vague image of the lost place, all he got was the basement he'd been stuck in, the feeling of heavy chains on his wrists and an ache in his legs. He shook his head, patting at his hair, feeling like the touch of it alone was irritating.

“I don't know.“ He breathed out, clenching his jaw, a slight headache building up in his sinuses.

“What do you mean, you don't know?“ 

Hunnigan raised her head, to fix him with her gaze, exhausted and exasperated. She probably had every right to be angry at him but that didn't change the fact that Leon's brain wouldn't cooperate, hours of his day just gone, blank like the pages in front of her.

“I don't- I just can't remember.“

It was like Hunnigan had opened a door that had nothing but the vague feeling of dread behind it. His shoulders rose defensively, as he wracked his brain for even the tiniest piece of information, anything to prove to her and himself that he was fine.

“Are you serious?"

Her voice was stern and hard, not aggressive, Leon kept reminding himself of the fact over and over, his exhausted mind slipping too easily into defense. He nodded at her, not knowing what to say.

“Well that complicates things.“ She thought out loud, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.

“Maybe I just forgot, maybe I just need a little time for it to come back?“ He suggested, unsure if his reasoning made sense but what choice did they have?

“Yeah, perhaps it's just that. I'll tell the doctor they should check for a head injury though, maybe they've overlooked something.“ She clicked her pen once, tucking it back in her pocket and standing up, apparently that concluded their conversation for today.

“Yeah.“ He mumbled, doubting that another examination would yield any different results.

They said their goodbyes, Hunnigan telling him she'd be checking in on him tomorrow. Right when she was about to head out the door, Leon called for her briefly again.

"Hunnigan?”

She turned around, one delicate hand on the door handle, he could hear footsteps from the hallway outside.

“Is everyone okay? Noone got injured?“ He asked, his eyes nervously flitting over her attire but finding nothing that would indicate she'd been hurt.

Hunnigan nodded at him warmly. “Don't worry, everything went smoothly.“ 

Then she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Leon to rest.

He took the sleeping pills on his nightstand, swallowing them down with a sip of water from the glass the nurse had provided him with. It made him nervous to just have it there, out in the open where he couldn't make sure no one would take it from him. But that was a silly thought, wasn't it? He was in a hospital, they wouldn't starve him here, would they? Leon cast the anxious thoughts aside, pulling the blanket up high to try and find some rest.

***

He slept almost too long, the effects of the pills lasting well into midday, so much so, he had trouble keeping his eyes open, once a nurse had woken him up to give him his medication for the day. He still felt a little drugged up, when Chris and Claire knocked at his door, peeking inside to find him on his side, drowsily tracking the snowflakes falling outside his window. The doctor had said they would come back once he was fully awake, no use checking for a head injury when Leon was half-asleep. He turned his head, when he heard them stepping in, carefully putting pressure on his back.

“Morning.“ He greeted, trying to focus his eyes on the two of them.

“Morning to you too,“ Chris laughed, closing the door and shaking his head. “Even though, It’s a little late for that.“

Leon blinked at him a bit dazed, looking back at the clouded gray sky, the world gloomy and dark, no matter what time it was.

“Can't everyone be an early bird like you.“ He quipped, rustling beneath the sheets to try and push himself up.

“Did they give you something?“ Claire clocked his unusual behavior, like she'd seen it one too many times, as she came to stand at the window, leaning lightly against the frame.

“Mhhm,“ He nodded. “just for sleeping, though I think it's still not out of my system yet.“

He'd pushed himself up into a sitting position at this point, adjusting the pillow at his back to ease some of the pain. It still hurt if he moved his shoulders too much, though he already felt better than the day before.

“Looks like it.“ She smiled at him with pearly white teeth, her eyes lingering a bit too long on his lax posture that was so uncharacteristic, the slouching almost looking wrong on him.

“How are you feeling though? You kinda scared Chris for a second the other day.“ She joked, shooting her brother an amused look, even though that didn't ease out the crease of worry between her brows.

“She only says that to distract from herself.“ 

Chris' voice rumbled from his left, his arms crossed and a grin wrinkling his face. Leon watched the small crow feet at his eyes, a warm feeling spreading through his chest.

“If that makes you feel better, sure.“ 

Claire shook her head, as she watched Chris settle into the only chair in the room. It lowered him down to Leon's eye-level, who was stifling a tired chuckle at the friendly banter.

“Whatever.“ Chris retaliated, before he brought his attention back to Leon, smiling at him in a way that made his heart stop for a beat.

“How're you doing, did you have anything to eat yet?“

He shoved the fuzzy feeling down, over a decade of hiding still so deeply ingrained, it almost came as a reflex.

“I'm fine, I just think I missed breakfast.“ He said offhandedly, even though he could feel how empty his stomach was.

“Do you want to go out and eat with us then? Probably better than hospital food anyways.“ Chris offered, the sentence sounding just a little bit rehearsed.

Leon hesitated, his gaze wandering absently to the foot of the bed. Walking had already been a challenge, when Chris had gotten him out of the cell and he wasn't sure if it'd be any better now. He’d basically slept through the day before as well, the cocktail of medication they’d given him, once he’d showered, knocking him straight out.

“It won't be long, we know a place nearby that's decent enough.“ He continued, when he saw Leon's troubled expression.

“I don't think Hunnigan would appreciate that.“ 

He argued, trying to avoid explaining the persistent pain. If the medical professionals didn't deem it necessary to do anything about it, then what would the difference be with them? It would probably pass on its own anyway.

“Come on, Hunnigan could use the break as well and you still need to eat.“ Chris extended a hand towards him, readily offering excuses for him.

He peeled back the covers carefully, his hands clumsy with sleep, before he took Chris' palm in his and let him pull him off the bed.

The moment his feet hit the floor, Leon knew he'd made a mistake, his only support being Chris, who yelped when Leon suddenly stumbled and grasped onto his shoulder, as his legs threatened to give out under him again. It wasn't as severe as it had been the days prior but it still brought him back to those dark hours in his cell. Leon shook the thought off vehemently, realizing that Chris was now holding onto his hips tightly, steadying him, while he cursed under his breath.

“You okay?"

Chris' hands on his hips, the smell of aftershave and cheap body wash surrounding him and his sister in the other corner of the room, watching the awkward interaction. Leon's cheeks flushed at once, as he struggled to get ahold of himself, stepping out of Chris' grip and supporting himself on the bed's railing instead.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I just need a minute.“

He didn't look at them, hating how the whole situation made him feel weak and inept, he just needed to push the pain down and ignore it. It was fine, nothing was broken, nothing needed fixing, so he should be able to get over it.

He slid on the pair of shoes Hunnigan had provided him, together with a duffel bag filled with new clothes and his passport. To have something between his soles and the ground already helped ease the discomfort, though he still felt clumsy moving in the heavy footwear. Chris and Claire entertained themselves while he got ready, opting for light conversation, though he could still feel their worried eyes on him, his shoulders tensing under the weight of their attention.

They took the elevator down to the main entrance, which struck Leon as strange, considering how strategically Chris usually avoided them, though he didn't mention it, maybe they were all a bit too exhausted to bother with taking the two flights of stairs from their floor. One way or another, Leon was grateful for every step he didn't have to walk. His mirror image stared back at him in the reflection of the lift, it was the first time he really got to take in his appearance, the gaunt cut of his cheeks, barely recognizable under the bruising that smattered his face, while his pallid skin only served to make him look more ghostly. His eyes were still the same deep blue as before, though the more he stared at them, the stranger he felt, like he was losing himself in the reflection, slipping away into the haunted expression he wore.

On their way to the café, Leon tried to keep his countenance in check, while he walked close to any wall or hip height object they came across, hovering his hand just shy of touching, ready to catch himself should he falter. It felt unusual to just walk outside after what felt like an eternity locked away, his whole body put together all wrong, his limbs hanging from their sockets at odd angles and movements halted and stiff. It trapped him all over again, barely able to reach the little café without stumbling over his own feet. He may be able to walk through the pain for now, but could he run? If everything went to shit, if they tracked him down to take him back, could he handle himself?

He stared at the menu like it had offended him, lost in thought as he reread the same three items listed there. He probably looked strange to Claire and Chris, who had stacked their menus to the side.

The place was warm and bright, decorated with plants and soft pillows and smelling of freshly brewed coffee. A welcome change to the clinical scenery of the hospital and the dark winter sky.

“Do you know what you want?“

Claire asked, with that tone of her's she only ever used on people who were too scared to function. But Leon wasn't scared, they were just having breakfast.

“Yeah, I think so.“

He nodded, placing the laminated flyer on top of the others and giving her a wry smile. The back of his neck was damp again.

The waiter came not soon after, jotting their orders down on a paper notepad, Leon ordered coffee and a bacon and egg sandwich more out of impulse rather than appetite, though he didn't think he'd care much in the end anyway, as long as he got something in him. After the waiter was gone and a tense silence settled over their small nook, Leon shifted on his seat again, adjusting his legs sideways to get the pressure off his feet, his ankles bent uncomfortably, though he couldn't care less about the resulting ache in his joints.

“So how do you know this place?“ He asked, for lack of a better topic.

“Terra Save had a conference not far from here, on my way there I had an accident with the rental, nothing serious but the hospital insisted on keeping me for a few days and this was the only place nearby with free wifi.“ She laughed at the end, like she'd told the anecdote many times before and maybe she had.

“You were in a car crash?! When?“ He stuttered, a little lost for words, this was the first time he heard about it, though Chris didn't seem fazed, leaning back in his chair and nodding along to her story.

“That was ages ago, I'm not sure.“

“It was around 2006, the year where my hair started graying for good.“ Chris added matter of fact, pointing at a streak of white at his temple like it would prove his point.

“What a loss for the world, I bet no one will date an old and withered man like you now.“

She teased, distracting Chris from the memory with the humour she carried so easily. It was astounding time and again, to see her so light-hearted when Leon knew the same hell they'd seen.

He fell silent afterwards, listening as Chris retold the story from his perspective, how he had gotten a call in the middle of the night from an unknown number, how Claire had assured him a hundred times that she was fine, before telling him the whole truth. It left a bitter aftertaste in Leon's mouth that he couldn't even shake off with the coffee, after the waiter eventually brought it to their table.

At the time this had happened, Claire and him had not been on speaking terms. So of course she hadn't called him to let him know she was okay, she had never called at that time, never picked up the phone either, when he did. She'd been stubborn to hate Leon as long as it took her to accept that he wouldn't give her a reason as to why he couldn't give her the chip. He still felt like he owed her one though, even though he knew he could’t.

“Do you want another coffee?“ 

Chris' question shook him out of the memory, the plate and mug before him empty. He really should head back to the hospital soon.

He shook his head before following it up with a hasty: “Ah, no thank you.“

Chris nodded in acknowledgement, crumpling his own napkin in his hand and dropping it with the crumbs on his plate.

“Leon, are you sure you're okay?“ The question seemingly came out of nowhere, Claire's sharp gaze tracking his face like she was reading a particularly complicated book.

“What? How do you mean?“ He acted like he didn't know what she was talking about, hoping she would let him keep some dignity.

“It's been two days Leon, no one expects you to be fine after two days.“ She had aimed and hit the bullseye, her hands folding on the table, as she bent forward.

Leon sighed deeply, rubbing his hands over his face, pressing into the bruises a bit too hard. What did she expect him to say? Did she want him to catalogue every piece of him that ached, or was this merely rhetorical?

“Of course not but it's nothing a bit of medication can't fix.“ He didn't feel like smiling but did so regardless.

Maybe he should feel happy, or at least relieved to be sitting in a quaint café with his friends instead of hanging from the ceiling by his wrists but relaxation never came easy to him.

Must be because he'd always been so goddamn ungrateful.

Claire looked at him with pity in her eyes, boring her gaze into him like she was dissecting his thoughts with her mind alone.

“You have a limp.“ She hit the nerve that had had his whole system alight. “You have to admit there must be something causing it.“

He wanted to curl up and die, he'd rather walk the whole way back on broken glass, than admit he had a problem. But they had him right where they wanted him, didn't they? Stuck in a cozy place that had all his defences down, well fed and caffeinated. God, how he hated having friends sometimes.

“I know.“ He let his head fall into his hands.

“They've tortured me Claire, guess it kinda fucked up my legs.“ gesturing vaguely at where his knees vanished under the table top, Leon opted to stare at the empty space between the siblings.

“Didn't they check that over at the hospital?“

Claire looked at him like it was a shocking discovery, prompting Leon to turn his head away fully. He didn't want to be talking about this, shame burning in his cheeks.

“For all they said, it might as well just be phantom pain. I'll get over it.“ He said offhandedly.

“Sounds like bullshit, if you ask me.“ Chris interrupted, crossing his arms in front of him, his eyes dark with anger. 

“They should know better than that, we've given them the rundown of what happened.“ He continued, offended for him, as if that was the first time he'd been confronted with medical neglect.

“Does that matter? They've already done their tests and didn't find anything, they can't treat something that isn't there.“

He repeated what he'd been telling himself already, he was surprised they'd even given him sleeping aids at all, knowing how the DSO valued him being on call at any time. They couldn't have him spaced out on prescription meds, even if he was in med-bay.

“Why do you make excuses for them?“

Because it was easier that way, he wanted to say. If he'd be upset about every little violation of his rights, instead of pushing through and surviving, he'd be dead by now.

“There's obviously something wrong either way, anyone who isn't a total dimwit can see that.“

“What do you want me to do instead? Whine about it and ask you to drag me around again? No thank you.“ Shame was flaming in his face, the only emotion that had stayed after panic and gratefulness had washed away, he hoped he wore it like anger though.

“Hell, I would be complaining if I were you, they should've given you a wheelchair, or at least crutches.“ The picture flashed in his mind, made Leon shake his head, ridding himself of it.

Instead he hissed:“I don't need you to tell me what I should and shouldn't do, I can take care of myself fine.“

“Alright, calm down.“ 

Claire raised her hands placatingly, ignoring her fuming brother at her side, instead focusing on Leon. Acting like he was a growling dog, backed into a corner. 

“We're not saying you can't but Chris is right, they can't have you walk around when you're in pain.“

Leon scoffed, the sound of it harsh and sudden. 

“Maybe at the BSAA they can't.“ He said it low, almost in a whisper, almost like a secret being shared.

If they knew how often he'd repeated this same exact situation then- 

But what then? They couldn't do anything about it either way, there was no one coming to save him.

“What is that supposed to mean?“ She had inclined her head curiously, her eyebrows drawn tight, lips parted as if to say something.

“Nothing, let's leave. Hunnigan's probably waiting.“ He cut her off, before she could ask too many questions, pushing himself up on the table's edge.

He rose slowly, carefully, trying not to look like he was hurting. Chris and Claire were quick to follow his suggestion, slipping into their jackets and waving at the waiter to pay the bill.

“Alright.“ Chris stepped next to him, catching a glance at Leon's lingering hand on the back of his chair. He felt off balance after sitting down for so long.

“At least let me help on the way back?“ Chris' palm raised up to his chest, offering relief.

Mercy. The word echoed, followed by the distinct feeling of being undeserving. Leon slid his hand into the other one's, putting not as much weight on him as he would've liked to.

“You will not pick me up.“ He said sternly, clinging onto the scraps of his pride he had left, flush still prominent on his bruised face.

“I would never.“ Chris smiled, easily leading them outside while Claire paid their bill.

Once outside in the fresh winter's air, their boots stepping into the wet puddles left by melted snow, Chris carefully raised Leon's arm to wrap it around his shoulders, closing in flush to his side to put his other hand at his waist.

“That okay?" He asked, after he had gently coaxed Leon into the position, his face now so close to him, he could smell the coffee on his breath.

“Yeah.“ Leon turned his head away, the cold stinging his burning face, the blush spreading down his neck and under his shirt collar.

Chris' support thankfully got some of his body weight off his feet and eased the pain, making the walk back to the hospital less grueling and unsteady. When Claire exited the establishment, he could practically feel her stare, which wandered from him, over to Chris, who was patiently matching his pace. She didn't mention it though, just covered his opposite side and struck up conversation with her brother instead.

The press of Chris' hand on his waist was firm and grounding, pulling his focus towards the warm body next to him and away from his own that ached and refused to function properly.

Ultimately they did not find a head injury and neither did the memories make a reappearance in the week that followed but at least they agreed to provide him with a clunky wheelchair and a pair of crutches, after another conversation with the doctor that overlooked his treatment and the seething figure of Chris Redfield at his back.

This had Leon being carted around by Chris and Claire more often than not, which had the both of them thoroughly entertained, while Leon would've rather dug himself an early grave. After a while though, he figured that the both of them were just desperate to do something that made them feel productive, while they waited for him to get clearance that he was ready to fly again.

Hunnigan, always the reliable handler, managed to procure documents for him for the flight back to America, just before she had to head back herself, returning from her impromptu vacation and leaving him in the trustworthy hands of Chris and Claire until he was scheduled to follow.

Chris was called off soon after, back onto another job, or rather an official job. After getting the call he apologized to his sister and him over and over. 'It's okay', he reassured, not understanding why he made such a fuss.

The next morning Chris was gone and only then did he realize how much he had depended on him. But people like them never had time to linger, Leon understood that better than anyone, used to living out of a backpack if he was lucky. With or without Chris, not much had changed.

They got the green light from Hunnigan a few days after, airplane tickets sent to Claire's phone. The plane would take them to New York and even though Leon should be relieved to be able to get home, all he felt was anxiety. The drive to the airport was two hours and then they'd have to find their gate, surrounded by an amount of people, Leon was hardly used to, when all he'd known for two weeks was an empty basement and the confines of his hospital room.

His skin crawled when they finally climbed out of the compact Clio, Claire had rented, pushing through the double doors into the main foyer. Leon had both hands gripping the handles of a pair of crutches, a bag slung over his shoulder that held a handful of clothing items, the paperwork he'd need for the plane and his medication for the rest of the week, adding a packet of low dose ibuprofen to the mix, now that his kidney values were normal again.

Claire pulled a silver trolley behind her, hardshell and secured with a lock, her auburn ponytail swinging behind her as she walked briskly through the crowd. Leon tried to keep up, which on any other day wouldn't have been much of a problem, but as it was he was struggling, unused to walking with the crutches. The pain in his legs had simmered down to a dull ache, if he wasn't up for too long. Bearable but still annoying.

“Our plane should be at Gate B15.“ Claire double checked their ticket, comparing the information on it with the screen, before nodding to herself and walking off to their terminal.

Meanwhile Leon tried not to bump into any other passengers that hurried through the giant foyer, dragging their suitcases behind them. He kept close to Claire, lingering just behind her left shoulder, though he was less well coordinated than her, with how swift she weaved between the people streaming towards them. Walking with the crutches sucked, but walking without them would suck even more, so Leon pulled himself together, he'd had to convince Claire he'd be fine on crutches in the first place, her already trying to figure out how to bring the wheelchair on the plane. Having some independent mobility back was already an improvement to his situation.

The check in went smooth enough, Leon showing his set of papers to the man behind the desk unflinchingly. He knew they were forged but had enough trust in Hunnigan's skills and resources that he hadn't been nervous. The airport employee nodded at them and slid the papers back over the wooden desk, before handing them their boarding tickets and pointing Claire towards the luggage check-in.

After they passed security, there was nothing more to do than wait, Leon sitting abandoned on a plastic chair, his crutches leaning against his legs and bag resting on his knees, as Claire was off to get them both coffee. It felt strange to pass security without an attache-case filled with weaponry and a government warrant ready to wave in the security guard's face. This time he was nothing more than a civilian on his way back to The States.

Without at least a handgun at his side, Leon felt naked and on edge. There were so many people around them, packed tight in the extensive space of the airport, it would take only one BOW for the whole place to become a miniature version of Raccoon City and then they'd be stuck here, unable to defend themselves, with Chris and Hunnigan an ocean away.

“Here you go.“ Claire held the paper cup in front of his face impatiently, waiting for Leon to get his head out of the clouds and take it from her.

“Thank you.“ He took it between both of his hands and set it on top of the bag on his knees, his gaze still focused on some piece of dirt on the horribly patterned linoleum floor.

“Care to share what you're racking your brain about?“ She shrugged casually, blowing on her cup, plastic lid in the other hand.

He didn't really want to voice his thoughts, not wanting to trigger Claire's own paranoid streak with his hypervigilance but he was also too tired-out to dodge her prodding, his legs already protesting after the hours of standing around waiting, or shuffling through the overfilled airport.

“Do you remember Harvardville?“ Was all he said, feeling the heat of the cup burn his palms.

“This is not the same, you know that.“ Claire shook her head but didn't look at him, taking an experimental sip of her coffee.

It was easy for her to say that, he thought. She hadn't been repeating Raccoon City for decades, but Leon also didn't want her to, signing his life away had been his decision not her's. It was unfair to expect her to understand, when he had never bothered to explain.

“Right. I don't take public flights often, maybe it's just that.“ He mumbled distractedly.

His palms came away blotchy and red, nevertheless he lifted the cup to his lips, sipping on it. The coffee was bitter, no sugar, no cream. Leon wrinkled his nose at the taste but didn't say anything about it, opting to hold it for a few more minutes, watching the steam rise and dissipate.

“Of all the airports I've been to, only one had zombies, I think that's a pretty good track record.“ Claire explained, a grin playing on her lips, eliciting a soft chuckle from Leon, before they fell quiet again.

He didn't want to think about what would've happened if STRATCOM hadn't sent him in for the rescue mission. He'd been ordered to get the government official out but the moment he saw Claire and that child, he knew he'd disobey orders, if it meant they both got out unscathed.

“You know I'm useless at the moment, I don't know what-“ He cut himself off, lacking the words to properly explain.

The details of his torture were nothing she needed to know about anyway. He slung his hands tighter around the cup, tucked his pinky under the other fingers to bend it all the way. His hands shook more often than not these days and sometimes he felt like Claire might be right, maybe there was something wrong with his brain.

“You're not at work Leon, so just take the time to rest for once. It's okay to be useless.“ She flashed him another smile, even though her eyes looked kind of sad now.

Leon had the feeling she didn't quite get what he meant, that he couldn't protect her if something happened. He shook his head, guilt heavy in his throat, he'd been able to push through most other injuries, so why did he struggle so much with this one? And what would the DSO do if he turned out to be unfit for the job? They couldn't just discharge him after all, his contract wouldn't allow it.

He felt a hand suddenly touch his shoulder, small and warm. It took him way too long to tear his eyes away from the nothingness he was staring into, to glance at Claire, her forehead lined with worry again. He swallowed heavily, as her hand slid over his back, drawing him towards her until his shoulder bumped against her chest. She held him like this, easy and painlessly, like Leon was the kind of person one touched with gentleness, like he’d never been supposed to be wounded as often as he had.

“Have you asked Hunnigan about therapy?“ Her mouth was close to his ear, the words carried by the heat between their skin alone.

He didn't look at her, just bathed in the contact, starving for it. At the end, he shook his head mutely, knowing that even if he wanted to, the DSO would never allow it. It was one thing to speculate between superiors about an agent's mental health and a whole other to have them in treatment. It usually meant they wouldn't be coming back to their previous position and that was nothing the DSO could afford with him.

“You know my brother's been infatuated with you for a while now,“ She began and it made Leon's heart skip a beat, he went very still in her arms.

“don't tell him I said that to you, but it's true. You should've seen him after he watched the video, he nearly ran himself into the ground trying to organize that rescue mission.“ Her hand dropped from his shoulders, curling into her lap, as she sunk deep into thought.

Leon looked at her fully now, brows furrowed, the bustling around them nearly forgotten. She was still smiling but it looked more habitual than genuine.

“That's where the both of you are very similar I think. You both believe you have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and that there's no one who could bear some of the burden with you. It's stupid, really and it nearly killed Chris, more than once. I don't know if you remember what happened in Edonia but...“ 

She paused, like it was suddenly hard to speak, prompting Leon to touch her elbow in a comforting gesture, his whole body tensed in anticipation, trying to figure out the point she was trying to make.

“He was gone, Leon, six whole months and they found him wasted in a bar, not remembering who he was. And then Piers died and everything got so much worse.“ She had to take a steadying breath then, swallowing and swallowing against the lump in her throat.

Leon remembered after China, the empty casket funeral he'd been invited to, where he watched Chris in the front row, standing stiff as a board in a black suit. He hadn't cried then, waiting until the coffin was lowered down and most of the attendees had dispersed, before he ducked behind a row of trees. Even then, he'd made no noise, just standing there, one hand covering his eyes. 

Leon had made his footsteps loud, giving him a chance to elude him and grief in private but Chris had just remained at his spot behind a broad willow tree. Gingerly, he'd settled beside him, the moment feeling delicate and elusive, another stolen memory, hiding in broad daylight like fools.

Chris hadn't moved, hadn't even as much as trembled, just covered his eyes and waited for the feelings to pass. Leon was the one to reach out, he intertwined their hands, squeezed it in hopes it was reassuring. He'd never gotten good at funerals, even with all the practice his job provided. 

Chris had turned towards him after a long while of standing in silence, the murmur of voices far away, being the only sound reaching them under the canopy of leaves. He had pressed his forehead to his shoulder, into the crook of his neck and stayed there, breathing slow and shallow.

Claire had driven Chris to his flat later in the day, after that Leon only knew her three day stay had extended into a two week one, which ended with the worst phone call Leon had willingly participated in and Chris going to see a shrink.

Back in the present, Claire's voice was filled with determination.

“I don't want that to happen again, to none of my friends but I know that's nothing I have control over, so I'm asking you instead. I need you to take care of yourself and if you can't do it for you, do it for Chris.“

His hand fell away from where it had been rubbing soothing circles on her upper arm, stunned by the conclusion and still stuck in the memory of that 3 A.M. phone call. She'd been crying on the stairs of the fire escape right outside Chris' living room window, while Leon was miles away cleaning up the mess Simmons had left.

“It's not that simple.“

It was all he could say, explaining being too complicated, when they were still sitting in a public gate. His gaze fell on his knees, the bruises under his pants were fading, turning green and yellow.

“If it were easy I wouldn't ask you to do it.“ She stated, her tone unrelenting.

“I'm sorry I worried you.“ The apology came suddenly, guilt so heavy in his stomach it made him nauseous.

He was trying, he really was, or at least he had been, but he wasn't good enough, fucking up again and again and now he had one more thing to complicate everything even more. He could feel the anxiety already, festering with some new memory he would struggle to push down and away.

“Then ask for help if you need it.“ Her hand was like a leaden weight on his shoulder, squeezing the muscle there.

“I'll try.“ Was all he could say. 

He'd already asked for so much, knowing that he was supposed to die in that basement, now living on borrowed time.

“That's a start.“ She nodded, going back to drinking her coffee and leaving Leon to ponder.

He hummed quietly, before getting out the package of ibuprofen and taking one, washing it down with the scalding beverage. They still had an hour to kill before they were supposed to board the plane and the pain was already creeping back into his joints.

In the end Leon's paranoia was proven wrong and the airport remained calm and peaceful, while they boarded their plane. Most of the flight, Leon spent dozing in his seat, taking another two painkillers to chase the remaining aches away, though sleep still eluded him, the noise of the surrounding passengers enough to startle him out of it.

In the Hospital they'd given him sleeping aids for most of his stay, they were working wonders to drag him deep into unconsciousness, keeping the dreams at bay, with his brain too exhausted to make him wake up screaming. But the prospect of being without them again was not something he was looking forward to at all, he could already feel the unwanted memories edging back in, demanding attention.

They landed in New York in the middle of the night, Leon's whole body aching, as he followed Claire to the conveyor belt, his own bag already slung over his shoulder and crutches thumping on the shiny stone floor. Even at night the airport was busy and Leon tried to stay out of the way the best he could, as Claire waited for her luggage to arrive.

They searched their way out together too, and when they finally set foot on the enormous parking lot, Leon was ready to call himself a cab and see Claire off to wherever she would be headed next. She seemed to have different plans though, urging him along the rows of parked cars, until she seemed to spot something in the distance, quickening her step at once. Leon hurried after her, the bag bouncing against his hip, as his knees shook under his own weight. He gritted his teeth and ignored it, patience wearing thin, as his body decided to work against him again.

A figure stood in the distance, wrapped in a jacket that bunched up and bulked their silhouette. Leon squinted into the darkness, watching the cookie cutter shadow raise one arm to wave at them, to which Claire responded with her own flailing of limbs.

“Hey, Chris!" She shouted over the distance, shaking him out of his thoughts.

Suddenly Leon felt even more queasy than before, nervously shuffling on his crutches in an effort not to stumble and make a fool of himself. Claire swiveled her suitcase around in a fluid motion, twisting it to a stop, before she let herself fall into her brother's arms.

“Thank you for picking us up. If I'd have needed to take the train now, I would have perished.“ 

She gestured dramatically, combing a hand through her tousled hair, the ponytail having been abandoned, ever since they'd settled on their seats in the plane.

“Anything to keep my favourite sister from meeting her early demise.“

Leon could only guess to the smile that spread on Chris' face, with how the shadows moved over it, the dim light of the streetlamp not quite reaching his features.

“I wouldn't have expected any less from you.“ Claire playfully tugged on the scarf Chris was wearing, before they both turned to look at him.

“Did Hunnigan let you know about her arrangements?“ Chris asked, matter-of-fact.

“No, not really.“ Leon shook his head.

He'd just been glad they'd arrived without complications, deciding he'd find himself a cheap motel once he was in the city, pay with the cash Hunnigan had left him and contact her in the morning through a burner phone.

“She'll probably get to me tomorrow though.“ He continued, adjusting his grip on his crutches.

“Actually, she thought it'd be a good idea if you stayed at my place for a while, said it would raise the least suspicion, since you can't really use your card for anything at the moment.“ Chris explained, his voice calm and collected.

He and Claire scrutinized him, like he'd bail on them at any second and Leon got the suspicion that there was another reason for why they had picked Chris' flat. Maybe because Hunnigan didn't trust him to be alone already. Judging by how Claire and Chris were looking at him, they didn't either. Leon didn't know whether he should appreciate the concern, or be offended by the patronization, but frankly he was too tired to argue with them right now.

“You sure you want me to crash on your couch?“ He laughed to dissipate the tension that had suddenly filled the air between them. “I've been told I'm a chatty sleeper.“

Leon shrugged, a self-deprecating grin stuck on his face. He'd made it sound like a funny quirk of his and not the result of vivid nightmares. Nowadays he seldomly slept with anyone around, opting to lightly doze instead, if he was traveling with someone else, wanting to avoid any unwanted attention, or prying questions.

“I shared a room with Claire, I think I'll manage.“ Chris waved him off, stepping around his sister to get closer to him, looking him up and down, like he was searching for something.

“He's acting like he was any better.“ Claire retaliated, holding her hand out expectantly and saying: “Keys please.“

Chris pulled the keyring from his pocket without a second thought and dropped it in her outstretched palm, after which Claire unlocked the trunk of the car and started to lift her suitcase inside. Simultaneously Chris had taken to fiddling with the strap of Leon's bag, slinging it carefully over his head, to get the weight off of him.

“It's not that heavy, I can just-“ Leon began, though Chris didn't let that hinder him from going through with divesting him of his luggage.

“Let me do this for you anyway.“ He murmured, holding Leon's crutch upright, as he pulled his arm out of the bag's shoulder strap.

The care and focus with which he was looking at him, sent a shiver down his spine, unused to this kind of attention. A strange feeling welled up in his throat, making it hard to breathe, as his eyes flitted over Chris, who was placing the bag next to Claire's luggage, before closing the trunk again.

Chris and Claire were very similar in the way that they were good at caring for others, making them feel safe, loved even. It more often than not showed Leon what he lacked in himself, unable to reciprocate the affection how he wanted to, because everytime he tried, he felt like he was drowning.

“Thanks.“ He ducked his head, as Chris rounded the car back to the driver's side, before he got in the backseat himself.

The moment they started driving, the exhaustion of the trip came back full force, making him shiver in the cold interior of the car. He wanted to just close his eyes and sleep but he knew they still had at least an hour, until they would arrive at Chris' flat and he knew he should've already been rested enough from his nap in the plane. So he took to watching the lights of lampposts and cars alike pass by in a colourful blurr, his temple leaned against the window, as he let the mumbled words between Chris and Claire wash over him.

At some point, Chris wrestled the scarf from his neck and threw it on the backseat, it was the same one he'd worn at Claire's private christmas party, dark green and way too long. Leon buried his fingers between the threads, feeling the warmth still caught in the fabric, before he quietly twined it around his own neck, breathing deep and steady.

Arriving in Chris' flat, they collectively decided to head straight to bed, Claire claiming the only sofa for herself, stating that she couldn't sleep next to Chris' snoring. Which left Leon with choosing between Chris' double bed and the floor. He stood around undecidedly for a while, Chris' scarf still dangling from his neck, before the latter had pity on him and told him he was fine with sharing.

This is how they both ended up squeezing themselves under the queen sized comforter. Leon dressed in a borrowed shirt and a pair of boxers, while Chris had ditched the shirt as well, radiating heat through the sheets. Outside of the bedroom he could hear Claire rustling around in her suitcase, the living room light streaming in from under the door and casting a faint glow over the floor. Next to him Chris was turning to his side, fixing his dark brown eyes on him. Leon looked over hesitantly, waiting for the other to say something.

“How are you feeling?“ Chris broke the silence in the worst way possible, his eyes big and shiny and hopeful.

“I'm okay, how's the mission been?“ Leon tried for a distraction instead.

In truth he was exhausted, in pain and on edge, dreading the moment he'd need to close his eyes and actually try to sleep. With Chris at his side nonetheless. But that would be a concern for later, at the moment the last thing he wanted to do was talk about his feelings.

“Too long.“ Chris grumbled, dragging one hand over his face, rubbing over the bags under his eyes.

The worry lines came back almost instantly, creasing it in the way Leon had become so familiar with. It made him want to reach out and touch his warm skin, trace his fingertips over the hills and valleys of his face, until he'd have mapped out all of it. And no one would be around to interrupt them either. Nervousness curdled in his stomach like spoiled milk.

He couldn't do it.

“Tell me about it. Feels like it'll never stop sometimes.“ He laughed strained, trying to disguise the despair that clung to the words.

Instead of looking at Chris, as he said it, Leon turned on his side, rustling under the sheets for a moment longer than was necessary until he was fully settled, facing the other under half-lidded eyes.

“Hunnigan told us roughly about your last mission.“

His tone sounded grave, like the memory pained him and more wrinkles appeared on his forehead, tempting Leon to run his hand over them and brush them away.

“That was a messy one, even for my standards.“ Sarcasm coloured his tone, humour coming easier than sincerity.

With all the horrible missions he'd been on, this one was the first that left him incapacitated enough he couldn't even drag himself out of the chaos, though Leon wasn't about to admit that to Chris of all people. He'd spooked the BSAA's golden boy enough for a good while already and he didn't want to contribute anymore to the premature graying that he was already suffering through.

“I'm sorry.“ Chris' gaze dropped from Leon's blues to the gray bed sheets, gnawing on his lip. “I should've gotten you out sooner.“

An expression of guilt overcame him suddenly and it made Leon's breath stop. A lump formed in his throat, swallowing against it, grasping for words.

“No that's not-“ He broke off, breathless in his haste. “That's not what I meant.“

He bit his bottom lip, staring at the loosely curled fist Chris had placed between them. Pale scars stood out on the bronze skin and Leon yearned to feel the callouses on the pads of his fingers in his. The lump grew bigger, choking, robbing him of words and air.

Speechless, speechless, speechless.

“You're still using the crutches.“

Chris sounded mournful, his eyes searching for the walking aids leaned against the bedside table, the dark almost swallowing them whole, before his eyes went distant, unseeing.

“It's just for the pain, I barely even need them anymore.“ Leon tried to sound reassuring, even though he knew he was lying.

As much as he didn't want to rely on them, his legs didn't seem to want to cooperate. Today had shown that once again, which was more than frustrating, infuriating even.

“I can't imagine what must've happened to-“ 

Chris choked on the sentence, his hand curling tight, as his muscles went rigid, jaw locking. He could practically hear his teeth grinding on each other.

“You know I've been prepared for this. Compared to STRATCOM training, this was nothing.“ Leon reached out carefully, resting the very tips of his fingers against Chris' skin, as if by accident.

He wasn't lying about the training, as much as he wished he was. They did have units for torture resilience and by their definition, Leon should've been fine. And he was, no matter his personal feelings about it, because he hadn't given up any vital information and he had taken everything they did to him and he hadn't complained, or begged, or screamed. It was just hard to draw old knowledge from training sessions he barely remembered, the memories old, like mold eaten photographs, hazy and covered in blood. The voices distorted and stretched thin between past and present.

Stop screaming. Focus. Don't you dare cry. Take it like a soldier. Noone will come to save you, so you better man up quickly.

“Don't say that.“

The touch of Chris' hand over his sent a wave of shock through him, adrenaline spiking high in his throat, before he realized he was still in Chris' bedroom. He reeled to take his mind off the vague memories and focus back on Chris, the other suddenly feeling a world apart from him.

“Leon, I saw the video, they nearly-“ The man struggled for words and everything inside him just wanted him to stop talking. “they almost killed you.“

He shook his head, not wanting to hear it. 

“You underestimate me.“

Killing him would've been a mercy and mercy wasn't something Leon deserved.

“I'm serious about this.“

Chris' eyes had regained their clarity, glinting at him from the dark, as he tightened his grip on Leon's hand, fully engulfing it with his. His palms were large and warm, the touch electrifying, distracting him from old woes.

“It's over now Chris, you and Claire got me out, remember? I'd be dead otherwise.“ Leon elaborated, feeling like Chris could use the reminder, turning his hand, palm up and curling his fingers around him.

“Yeah, I'm just shocked we had to in the first place.“

They held eye-contact for some tense moments, silent thoughts passing between them like the smoke of a cigarette, poisoning the moment like it always did. Leon's eyebrows drew together in an expression akin to confusion, while the lump in his throat made his voice wheeze on the way out.

“I tried. “

He withdrew his hand from Chris', missing the touch already but not feeling like he deserved the simple comfort.

"What?" Chris gaped, equally perplexed.

“I nearly made it out once, that's when I sent Hunnigan the distress signal but...“ He scrambled to explain, let Chris know that he tried, he tried.

He never thought anyone would come for him but he had tried nonetheless, even though it hadn't been enough.

“I failed.“ The admission tasted like lead on his tongue, making Leon wish for a little bit of dignity left for him.

“Oh...“ Chris exhaled, gears turning in his head until something clicked.

“No, no, Leon, I didn't mean you. I'm talking about the DSO. Why did no one of them come for you instead?“ Distress painted his tone, desperately wanting to make Leon understand.

Chris grasped at his curled hand, pulling it towards him and wrapping his fingers around his palm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The point of contact had his whole body alight, thoughts racing through his head. Chris was upset for him, about something Leon had already known, when he signed the contract, had endured over and over on all the missions with insufficient gear and no backup. It'd become normal for him, as normal as learning to live around a broken bone.

“It's not important, government stuff and such.“

Tears stung in his eyes and it terrified him. He couldn't keep doing the job he did, if he was already breaking down about inconsequential stuff like this. It didn't matter that it wasn't fair and it didn't matter that it upset Chris. He'd had to accept the reality for what it was long ago and he wasn't about to stop, only because someone else was distressed by it. Maybe it was dark enough that Chris wouldn't see.

“You say that but-“

Chris' hand reached out, hovered in the air, Leon ignoring the tremor that shook it.

“God, we nearly lost you. I don't know what I would've done.“

He touched his cheek, running his thumb over his cheekbone in soothing circles. Leon's eyes fluttered closed and his shoulders relaxed. Chris sounded so sincere, his heart ached, wanting and wanting, desperately, greedily, hopelessly.

“I'm fine now though, you can stop worrying.“ Leon leaned into the touch ever so slightly, breathing through parted lips.

“I'm glad you are.“

He shivered, when the hand on his face glided down to his shoulder and over his back, drawing Leon near effortlessly, him giving in easily to the gentle push. They laid face to face, breathing the same air, as Chris pressed his forehead to Leon's, eyes closed peacefully. Leon didn't stir, just took in the smell of sweat and aftershave and let his body fall slack in the embrace.

Leon woke up hours later, shaken from sleep by a nightmare he couldn't quite grasp onto, except for the sensation of bone crushing fear, paired with a burning heat on his face. When he sat up in bed though, there was nothing chasing him, no one coming for him, just the loud snoring of Chris who laid belly down on the mattress, hugging his pillow and having almost completely escaped their shared blanket. 

And of course, there was the darkness that he now stared blindly into, blinking to make his eyes adjust to the pitch black. His chest was heaving quietly, the collar of his shirt clinging to his neck uncomfortably, damp with sweat. He fumbled for the crutches at the bedside, catching them by the handles when they slipped from the nightstand and started falling sideways. Once he had steadied his grip on them, he pushed himself up, hobbling out of the room towards the kitchen.

He passed Claire in the living room, sleeping soundly curled up on the couch, with her legs tangled in the sheets. The darkness was broken only by the shine of the street lamps outside, cracking through the flimsy curtains and casting a single ray of cold light on the floor. Leon hurried into the kitchen, closing the door behind him with a soft click, before flicking the switch, his hands trembling. The overhead light illuminated the small kitchen with sudden intensity, the orange light blinding him, until his eyes had adjusted.

The light revealed a small kitchen unit, a sink to the left with a single countertop next to it, that had a microwave tucked into the corner. On top of the fridge stood a small electric oven, collecting dust. Apart from the kitchen, there was another open shelf, holding an assortment of dry ingredients and spices, across from it. Next to the balconet window stood a small table, it looked as unused as most of the rest of the flat, except for the ashtray on the corner, the remains of a few cigarettes piling inside.

Leon went to open up the glass door, before sinking down on the single chair next to the table. The winter air was freezing, blowing through his wet clothing with ease and chasing shivers through his body, making his hair stand on end but he couldn't bring himself to care. The fresh breeze put his mind at ease, reminding him he wasn't trapped in a basement anymore and that he could leave whenever he wanted.

After a while, he went to the sink and filled up a mug with tap water. Then he just sat there, holding on to the cup and watching the water ripple slightly. He doubted he would be able to fall asleep if he went back now, so he stayed for a little while longer, just keeping this little piece of freedom close.

Chapter Text

Claire left soon after and things quickly turned more complicated than they had to be, Leon realizing that he had no idea how to share a living space with someone else, after years of getting used to being alone most of the time. It ticked him off more often than not, feeling like he'd have to keep his guard up, even though he knew Chris was safe to be around. It'd be unfair to compare him to people like Simmons, who had revelled in the power they'd held over him, or to Krauser, who'd been just as eager to use him, once he'd figured out Leon was an easy target. Just a dewy-eyed rookie, who was scared out of his mind.

But despite him knowing that, and reminding himself, everytime Chris unexpectedly entered a room he was in, Leon still froze, when the glass he'd gotten from the kitchen slipped through his fingers and shattered on the floor. The nerves in his wrist had suddenly flared up with pain, his pinky and ring finger relaxing against his will and now there was water all over the floor, running beneath the couch and soaking into Chris' nice rug. The shards littering the ground around his feet, glittered translucent in the morning sun.

“You okay over there?“ Chris yelled from the kitchen, door ajar and the smell of coffee slowly creeping through.

Leon flinched, eyes fixed on the mess he'd made, freaking out for no reason at all.

He needed to clean it up, before he saw.

He couldn't move, there was too much glass, he wasn't wearing shoes and his crutches leaned on the coffee table, if he moved he'd probably fall but if he didn't-

He'll be angry, because he told him dozens of times not to break stuff. When would he learn? Why did he always make him do this?

“Leon?“ Chris peeked from the kitchen door, scanning the room for the source of the sound.

When he found Leon standing glued to the spot, surrounded by water and the remains of a cheap glass cup, he stepped into the room.

Too late, too late, too late.

His mind screamed, as he tore his eyes from the ground to pin them to Chris, like he would jump him at any second. When the man walked closer still, Leon jerked backwards, dragging his socks through the puddle. His feet protested the movement almost instantly, twinging and making his knees go weak. He lost his balance for the fracture of a second, flailing on the spot.

“Don't move.“ Chris held out a hand placatingly, hurrying into the hallway, to retrieve his boots.

Leon held himself very still, taking deep breaths, as he pressed his nails into his palms to keep himself from trembling. His nervous system was on high alert, throwing him into fight, or flight, for no reason other than that he'd made a mistake and his brain was drawing parallels where there really weren't any.

Chris came back, heavy shoes stomping over the tiles towards him, as Leon just followed his movements, watching the hands at his side, while he came closer. The glass crunched under his weight, before Leon tensed his jaw, staring up at the man with a strange mixture of fear and acceptance. Whatever happened now, he'd deserve it.

“Is it okay if I pick you up?“ He asked, his hand coming up slowly to touch his biceps, no strength at all behind the contact.

Leon had trouble prying his mouth open to answer, trapped in the automatic response, as if he'd forgotten how to not be twelve and terrified. At last, he nodded mutely, letting Chris lift him into his arms and carry him to the couch. After setting him down, he went off to get a dustpan and broom, beginning to sweep up the shards, as Leon sat hunched over on the sofa, head between his knees to keep himself from hyperventilating.

He wasn't exactly sure where the sudden panic had come from, the memories so old by now he rarely thought about them anymore and yet they had still tripped him up, because his world was out of joint and he felt entirely at the mercy of someone else's kindness.

“Are you okay?" Chris asked again, it felt like it was all he knew how to ask these days and Leon wasn't sure how to feel about it.

He nodded again, because he knew he'd be breathless if he tried to speak. When he sat up, his chest still felt wound too tight, every inhale too shallow but he just pressed his knuckles to his knees and forced himself to keep breathing through his nose.

“Did you hurt yourself?“ Chris' voice was low, measured, as he sat on the other end of the couch, just cocking his head at him curiously.

It was impossible to tell, his skin feeling slightly numb to the touch, Leon drifting somewhere outside himself.

“I could've cleaned that up.“ He swallowed against his closing throat, his mouth parched.

Chris shook his head, the corners of his lips drawing downward, like he was grappling with something complicated.

“Don't worry about that, the important thing is that you didn't get injured.“ His eyes drifted over him, searching for anything obvious but finding nothing.

Chris looked like he was utilizing every ounce of self-control he had, keeping his muscles relaxed, his voice quiet and calm. It helped Leon to find his speech again, realizing that Chris wasn't asking rhetorically.

“I'm okay, I think.“ His voice came out rugged, barely audible but still there.

Leon took a deep breath, absently rubbing at the sting in his wrist, before carefully flexing his hand. He could feel Chris' eyes on him without looking, watching as his fist opened and closed repeatedly, his pinky still refusing to bend at the joints.

“Do you want to talk about what happened then?“ Chris changed the subject, his features schooled into a mask of serenity.

Even considering it sent a sensation of unease through him, it was so long ago, it shouldn't matter anymore and it hadn't for a long time, the old habits rearing their ugly heads just now, because they liked to wash up like garbage on the beach, when everything else had been said and done, reminding Leon that at his core, he was a fundamentally broken person.

He shook his head, shame hot in his face, though Chris didn't seem to mind, sitting through the pregnant pause, considering his own thoughts.

“Can I touch you?" He asked, holding out a palm for Leon to take.

The breath hitched in his throat involuntarily, an exhausted shiver following it. Instead of answering, Leon reached out with his own, lightly sinking his hand down on Chris' and waiting for the ceiling to cave in above him. When nothing of that sort happened, he let himself be pulled closer, settling his head on Chris' shoulder, as the other tucked Leon's knees onto his thighs.

“Do you know that this is easily the tenth set of dishes I'm going through?“ He began, running his fingers through the hair at the nape of Leon's neck.

Leon just smiled tiredly, words too hard to even consider and Chris took it as his cue to talk enough for the both of them. He recounted the way Claire used to throw fits after their parents had died, Chris too young to take care of a pre-teen but doing it anyway.

“Some things just have to go, if you want your baby sister to have a childhood.“ 

He said, telling him of the fine china that had been thrown against the wall a week after the funeral, no regret in his tone, just fondness and a certain kind of sadness that tinted the whole story in melancholy. Chris hadn't understood at first, thinking Claire did it just to piss him off, until he'd smashed the first piece of tableware himself and felt the relief that it flooded him with.

“My dad would've killed me, if I'd done that.“ Leon chuckled, as Chris spoke elatedly of the week they'd spent eating from paper plates.

The arm around his shoulders tugged him a bit closer, gently making him sink further into Chris' embrace, pressing his ear to the top of his chest and relishing in the slow heartbeat he heard thudding steadily.

“I've never heard you talk about your father before.“ The vibrations of his voice traveled through his ribcage, feeling like the purr of a cat against his temple.

Leon closed his eyes and imagined breaking the peace he'd held for decades, letting Chris know and in turn risking rejection. Would someone who had lost their parents so early on, understand how much he resented his own?

“There's nothing worth knowing, he died when I was still in the police academy, drove himself against a tree or something, I don't remember.“

His words were poison, bitter in his mouth and spit out in disdain. He curled tighter around himself, counting the seconds that passed in silence but Chris didn't give any indication of shock, or repulsion. Instead he brushed the bangs out of his face, lightly scratching his nails over his scalp, the touch coming easy to him, while Leon just let him, unsure how much he was allowed to indulge and settling for just taking whatever Chris was willing to give.

“I'm sorry about that.“ Chris' empathy sounded genuine, sending a shiver through him, as something in his chest melted and burned, radiating outwards.

“Don't be, it wasn’t much of an emotional affair anyway.“

Talking about his father's death was easier than talking about his life, the grief of having lost his father simpler than the mourning over his childhood.

“Leon, I understand it's none of my business but I want you to know that no matter what happened, it's nothing that you are to blame for.“

His words were an iron rod through his stomach, his brain refusing to process them and instead repeating them back at him over and over. Everything inside him revolted at the insinuation that without the blame, there was also no control, leaving him under someone else's knife again, wondering what about him, made them so eager to take the cut.

Wordlessly Leon shifted in Chris' arms, pulling on the leg of his sweatpants until it slid just over his knee. Right below the seam was a collection of pale circular scar tissue that left divots in his skin, the edges irregular where the stub had been twisted. He was used to the sight by now, the wounds long healed and the marks barely visible anymore, if one didn't know where to look and yet his hand still traveled subconsciously to the new burns at his neck, healing well but still dark and reddened.

Leon said nothing more, the words feeling too big to fit into their small moment, as Chris' fingers skimmed up his leg, brushing through the hair at his calf and coming to rest on his knee. His thumb stroked over the smattering of scars once, twice, then his chest ballooned with a deep breath.

“Shit.“

Chris didn't demand an explanation, didn't need more context, or pushed him to talk about it, digging for more gory details. He just let Leon hurt quietly and stayed close, combing his fingers through his hair and sheltering him in the circle of his arms. It felt like something in his chest knitted itself back together in that moment, the quiet company mending a wound that had been left to fester for too long. 

It was an ugly scar and it would probably always be this way but knowing that someone else could look at it and not shy away, made it easier to live around it. Tearing it out of himself had not been an act of bravery, accompanied by big words and grand gestures but doing it like this got the job done just as well, it was out in the open now and Leon was lighter for it.

***

Chris quickly realized that Leon S. Kennedy was more of a mess than he'd anticipated, the fact that he'd been tortured piling onto a long list of triggers that Chris couldn't even hope to keep track of. The only good thing was that he at least got him to talk from time to time, the shattered glass being the first of many cumbersome conversations between the two.

Living together – as two people who had both seen too much shit go down, not to be paranoid – wasn't always easy, it demanded of them communication skills that had been tragically neglected all their life. Chris reminded himself often, that it was all just temporary, no matter if they got along or not, Leon would be moving back to his flat sooner or later. It kept the hope at bay that flickered to life in their better moments, when Chris started to imagine never coming home to an empty apartment anymore.

Something he'd learned early on, was that Leon hated it, when Chris smoked inside, leaving the room faster than his injuries should've allowed him, or tearing open the windows, before he stuck his head out into the freezing air. So despite itching to ask him about it, Chris kept his peace and instead made a habit out of keeping his cigarette breaks confined to the kitchen, bundling up in his winter jacket and letting the smoke get carried outside with the draft from the window.

That was until they ran into each other one night, Chris having been woken up by one of his nightmares again and deciding it wasn't worth tossing in the sheets about it.

He'd dreamed about Piers a lot after China, the content of his nightmares always the same. Him, trapped in an escape pod and Piers on the other side, his face being eaten up by the infection that spread and spread and spread and melted his features into something else, until he startled from sleep, sitting upright in bed, sweat standing on his brow in thick droplets.

They had ceased for a while, therapy helping to make his life bearable again, as he acquainted himself with the concept of talking about his problems, instead of drowning himself at the bottom of a bottle. But now that Leon was with him, they had started up again. Maybe it was because the name on the package had kindled a hope in him that he was falling out of just now, or maybe it was because every other night he could hear Leon one room over, blabbering in distress until he ultimately screamed himself awake.

It was one of those nights again, when Chris sat in front of the metal railing of his balconet, sucking in a long draw of his cigarette and breathing in the heavy smoke, focusing on the pleasant sting in his lungs. The sky was clear today, showing what little stars were visible through the heavy light pollution of New York. He'd left the lamps off then, just staring towards the horizon and musing over their situation.

Thinking of the fact that Leon still seemed to struggle with some lingering pain, even though he never outright said it. It was obvious in how he moved, still relying on the crutches to get around and taking to holding most of his dishes with both hands, like he didn't trust himself to not suddenly drop them. Chris saw all of that but hadn't mentioned it yet, wanting to give Leon enough space to process it on his own first, until he'd be ready to ask for the help he needed. Though with how things had been going, Chris feared that Leon would never reach out.

Behind him, the door to the kitchen opened quietly, the glow from the living room backlighting Leon in the door frame, one hand heavily braced on the crutch, as the other held onto the door handle. They both didn't say much, just clocked each other, before Chris went back to finishing his cigarette. 

The smouldering bud moved through the air like a firefly, as he lowered it from his lips, to rest his hand on the balcony and he could see the catlike glint of Leon's ocean blue irises tracking it, like it was a weapon. He shuffled through the distance between them regardless, coming to a halt in front of the sink, pondering.

“Looking for something?“ Chris asked, when Leon had stopped moving for a while.

He'd left the door open, after he'd entered, which shed enough light inside to let him watch the other, as he flexed his hand experimentally, looking at Chris like he'd barely registered him being there.

“I thought I...“ He trailed off, rubbing at his eyes.

They had deep shadows beneath them, the skin not bruised anymore but still dark from sleep deprivation, it worried Chris, everything about Leon worried him these days. What'd happened to him was horrible, frightening Chris just by being a witness to it, but Leon acted like it was barely a nuisance, more annoyed with the persistent effects on his health than anything else. Chris knew it was a facade, he'd seen it break once before when Leon had frozen in the middle of his living room and looked at him like Chris would bring the wrath of god down on him. Fact was, Leon had some incredible coping mechanisms that any therapist would have a field day with. But whenever they stopped working, Leon fell. Hard.

“Where are your mugs again?“

His face scrunched up in consternation, his hair falling over the right side of it, as he turned his head towards Chris.

“Upper left.“ He clipped, pointing one finger at the cabinet above Leon's head.

Maybe it was the late hour which had Leon so out of it that he forgot the simple set up of Chris' kitchen, or maybe he was still stuck in his head after a nightmare. One way, or another Chris could only guess. He watched Leon swing open the cabinet door and draw a ceramic mug down to the counter, where he filled it in the sink, while Chris flicked ash into the glass tray beside him, blowing more clouds outside his flat.

Leon chugged the contents of the first cup in one go, before refilling it and carefully positioning it in the hand he seemed to prefer at the moment. He just turned to walk back out the kitchen, before Chris said: “You need to turn the water off.“

The patter of water hitting the sink was jarringly audible in the silence that followed, Leon turning soundlessly on his heel and slowly closing the faucet. The lapse of memory had been small and yet it unnerved Chris, like so many of the other things he'd been observing in him. It was undeniable that Leon hadn't left that basement unmarked, no matter how much of a brave face he put on.

While he still stared down the faucet like it had personally offended him, Chris was overcome by the sudden urge to keep him near for a little while longer.

“Do you want some tea?“

Leon turned back to him, a flicker of amusement crossing his face.

"Tea?" He asked, like there was some joke Chris hadn't caught yet.

He just shrugged, Leon looked in need of something to soothe his nerves and he wasn't much different either, the cigarette only doing so much in terms of chasing away the lingering anxiety.

“I'm not going to bed anytime soon, so I thought we might as well.“ He explained half-heartedly.

“You didn't strike me as the tea drinking type.“

Leon shuffled on his feet, looking like it pained him to stand much longer and Chris had to think about the vague reason he'd given them before, pointing to the torture as the obvious cause but never detailing what exactly had happened to him. It was his right of course, even when it bothered Chris to be left guessing.

“I'm really not but I have some around here I think.“

Chris got up to rustle around in the shelf that kept all kinds of non-perishables. Behind a torn open package of penne pasta, he had almost forgotten about, he found two cardboard packages that both had a sticky layer of dust on top.

“Fine, found anything good?“

Looking down at the boxes, he read the label to Leon out loud.

“I've got camomile, or peppermint.“ He shook the packages in the air, rattling the individual tea-bags inside.

Leon made a face like he was seriously considering the choice, eyes darting around to probably assess how old they already were. Chris wasn't sure either, but he really couldn't bring himself to care at that moment, as he watched a dimple appear on Leon's cheek with the faint smile that settled on his face.

Cute.

His mind provided, unhelpfully and then:

Oh no, the bastard's cute.

“Camomile then.“ The words brutally tore Chris out of his internal revelations and he remembered where he was.

Of course Leon was cute, he'd always been, Chris was well aware of that, even before today. That damned Christmas party of Claire's had cemented his crush irrevocably. Seeing the absolute glee on Leon's face when he'd unpacked the present – shitty as it was – had been the best thing that had happened to Chris that year. He wasn't sure he had ever quite recovered from it.

“Okay, cool.“

He fingered two bags from the packaging and set them back on the shelf, ignoring the dust that begged to be cleaned. In the low light, he squinted at the paper to find out how long to steep the tea, before he sat the bags on the counter.

“You can sit down, I'll get another chair.“ He gestured at the single seat, still standing in front of the open window.

Then he glanced at Leon, dressed down in sweatpants and a shirt, bandages circling his wrists and peeking out from beneath his collar. Goosebumps made the dark hair on his arms stay on end and he could see how he tried to suppress a shiver. 

He dragged the chair to the opposite side of the table and closed the window, before turning away to the countertop to get a mug for himself. His collection of dishware was small to begin with but especially his cups and mugs had been dwindling ever since Leon had been staying with him.

After filling his own with water and placing it in the microwave to boil, Chris turned around to Leon to ask for his next. The moment Chris had reached over the table to pick it up though, Leon's hands had tightened around it automatically.

“Leon, you want to try and sun steep in the middle of winter?“ He laughed, pulling on the rim of the cup again more earnestly.

This only made Leon hold on stronger, bordering on obsessive, his expression taking on something between confusion and distress.

“This one's for water, not tea.“ He explained slowly, his mouth struggling to form the words, like that made any of this make sense.

"Okay? Sure, I'll just get you another one I guess." He relented.

As if on cue the microwave chimed and Chris turned away from him, to dump a tea bag in the water. He settled for giving the first cup to Leon, since they were both drinking the same tea anyway. While his own cup was circling its rounds in the microwave, Chris used the time to get another chair from the living room, picking up a blanket off the couch on his way.

Walking back to the kitchen, he nearly tripped over the assortment of glassware and ceramics that populated the direct periphery of the sofa, two placed under the coffee table, one at the head and foot of the couch respectively, while another sat in the small space between the armrest and the wall, barely fitting into the space. That explained his missing dishes, though it only served to raise more questions. Usually Chris was the messy one, though none of the cups were particularly dirty, each filled at least half-way with water, even their positioning seemed strategic.

Reentering the kitchen, he set the chair into the empty spot at the table, before unfolding the fleece blanket to gently drape it around Leon's shoulders, who had taken to pressing his palms to the warm outside of the mug and staring at the water changing colour, as the tea steeped. He flinched only a little, at the sudden contact, before drawing the blanket tighter around him and nodding in acknowledgement to Chris.

Chris averted his eyes, instead focusing on fixing up his own tea. Their shared history was like a leaden blanket, weighing down any spare moment they could catch into something melancholic and temporary. When he sat across the man he had doted on for so long, his heart ached once again, Leon looking impossibly small, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, with lines of exhaustion ageing his face beyond his years.

“You need sugar for that?“ He asked, gesturing at the steaming mug.

“No, thanks.“ Leon answered simply, raising it to breathe in the aromatic steam and take an experimental sip.

"You okay?" Chris didn't know where to start, so he kept it simple, hoping Leon would be honest.

“Yeah, just-“ The air halted in his lungs, like it'd suddenly been cut off.

He waited for him to continue but Leon just averted his gaze, biting his lip with one incisor, poking the soft flesh beneath its sharp edge.

"Have nightmares?" Chris completed the sentence, wishing he could reach out and stroke one hand over his cheek, tugging the lip from his teeth gently.

“Nothing new to be honest, it's just a little much, with being stuck here and everything.“

Leon took a long sip from his tea, while Chris kept his nervous fingers busy by moving the bag up and down and watching the yellow colouration spread in the hot water. When Leon looked back at him expectantly, Chris searched for the right thing to say.

“You're not trapped in here, you know that right? If you want to go out just take the spare keys.“

He'd shown Leon where he kept them, when he first came here and assured him they were his for the time being. But so far he hadn't made a move to actually leave the flat and Chris was too busy with work to think much about taking him places.

“I would, I just don't know what I'd do if I got...“ Leon hesitated, biting his lip a little harder. They were wet and turning a darker shade of red.

The tips of his ears flushed a tender rose colour and Chris would've found it endearing if he wouldn't be anticipating the end of his sentence.

“stuck somewhere.“ He ended, looking pointedly away.

It took Chris a second to fully comprehend what he was implying, glancing at the crutch that leaned against Leon's thigh, ever present now. Leon valued his independence above all. Which he'd stubbornly insisted on, more than once. Slow to trust and even slower to rely on someone else, despite it being the more rational choice. With his loss of mobility, a rather essential part of that independence had crumbled. Chris could only imagine what that must feel like.

“Because of your legs?“ He stated bluntly.

Leon swallowed heavily, like he tried to push down on a lump in his throat, then he nodded, still not looking at Chris, having found interest in the bad paint job of the table they were sitting at. Shame burned on his face and it was a fire all in its own, emanating its own light. All Chris wanted to do was douse it. Wrap Leon up and suffocate the flame that had ignited the feeling in the first place.

“We should really look into getting you a proper physicist soon. I can ask at the BSAA if they know a specialist for torture survivors.“ He offered, hoping he would agree and let Chris help.

But nothing was as easy as Chris wished it to be. Instead Leon perked up the moment the word 'torture' had left his mouth, all colour draining from his cheeks and for a horrible second he looked just like when Chris had found him in that cell, pale as death, eyes wide.

Until suddenly Leon shook his head, opening his mouth to speak:“It wasn't torture, technically speaking.“

He was right, technically . 

The UN defined torture as having to be carried out by a public official, or assigned by one, which both didn't apply to Leon's situation. Chris knew that, it had been one of the first arguments on the basis of which, Chris had tried to get backing by the BSAA in Europe, only to be told that the reasoning wouldn't hold up, if the law got involved. It still made him want to punch a wall but instead he took a deep breath.

“I know but-“

“That means there's probably no legal grounds to get a specialist involved. My insurance won't pay for that either.“ Leon cut him off, eyes fixed on a spot between them and face hardened into a grimace of stoic acceptance.

“What's your plan then, just waiting until it'll solve itself, or what?“

Chris could feel the anger bubbling up in his chest, sharpening the edge of his words, though he knew it wouldn't do them any good, if he lost his cool right now. Taking a few more deep breaths, that didn't help as much as they should, Chris bridged the silence that had followed his question.

“Does it really matter if it fits the definition?“ He reached one hand towards Leon's, who was still holding onto his mug for dear life.

Then he continued: “It was still abuse, there are people out there who can help with that.“

Leon flinched again, hunching his shoulders towards his ears, as he made himself even smaller. Instantly, guilt joined the mix of emotions raging in his chest, remembering the sensation of the scars beneath his fingers. The divots that now looked small on Leon's thighs but that he knew should've never been there in the first place. He suppressed the shudder that wanted to run through him at the memory.

When Leon had first told him, an overwhelming fury had seized his chest like someone had placed a dying star in its center, making him feel like his rage was expanding in an impossible heat and then collapsing to a pinpoint that sucked any other emotion into its vortex. But at the time, he'd known if he showed how upset the story made him, Leon would've withdrawn into himself. So he'd kept it far away from him, pouring all the love he'd had into comforting him instead, until Leon had calmed down again.

“It wasn't- I-I'm not some victim. They've trained me to handle torture and they've made very clear what to do when the situation arises.“

Leon tripped over his own words, stressing 'victim' and 'trained ', like it physically hurt to admit it and it mortified Chris, imagining what he must've meant by it, what other horrible confessions might still lay buried under decades of silence.

"Did they? Do you seriously think you can prepare people for that?"

Chris couldn't keep himself from grasping for Leon's hand, covering the back of it with his, both now wrapped around the cup still steaming with their tea. Torture resilience training was bullshit, mostly just an excuse for governments to not provide appropriate mental health resources when it did happen.

“I didn't talk.“ Leon argued like that changed anything.

He'd bared his teeth defensively, eyebrows lowered in anger, like he was offended at Chris' assumption that he'd break under torture. It was a false conclusion, the thing Chris was getting at being that it must've damaged him either way, no training in the world good enough to prepare someone for that kind of trauma.

“They didn't interrogate you.“ He reminded him gently, seeing something like realization take hold on his expression.

Had he forgotten that?

“It doesn't matter.“ He jerked his hands away, pressing them into his lap instead.

“Hunnigan told me I've broken protocol either way, agents who have fallen into enemy custody and cannot guarantee their return without cooperating with their captors, are to exterminate themselves, it's basic ruling at the DSO. I didn't do that and if anyone finds that out-“

His mouth dropped open but the words ran dry, leaving him gaping like a dying fish. Leon's shoulders trembled when he sucked in a shuddering breath through parted lips and the longer the silence persisted, the more concerned Chris grew.

"Leon?" He asked, reaching over the table to touch his shoulder, the other looking like he wasn't really there.

The contact shook Leon out of it, twitching under it until Chris hurriedly withdrew himself again. Leon ground his teeth so hard, Chris could hear them creaking under the pressure, before he began speaking again, each word pressed from clenched teeth.

“I can't get treatment. I can't press charges. I can't even take up the mission again. I'm basically useless until I'm fucking healed up, after which I'm supposed to act like nothing ever happened.“ 

His voice sounded wet, desperate, helpless and a thousand different things and yet Chris found not a single good thing to say to comfort him.

“I'm so sorry.“

It wasn't enough and he knew it. Chris was just one person, even though he loved Leon unapologetically, his love would never be great enough to take all of the pain from him, like he so desperately wanted to.

“Don't fucking be.“ Leon snarled in a way an abused dog did that was being pet for the first time in its life.

“I am though. It's not fair to you.“

He placed both of his hands on the table, tracking the twitch in Leon's brow as he processed Chris' words. Accepting one had been mistreated was sometimes worse than living with a sort of self-imposed sense of guilt, he'd found. The illusion of having had at least some minor control better than having to accept that one had been at the mercy of someone else.

“It rarely is, isn't it?“ He said, more defeated than angry, his shoulders hanging just like the fringe of his hair, that draped half of his face in cold shadows.

Chris sipped on his tea pensively, the stale taste not helping in easing his urge to smoke again. The conversation was complicated beyond what he could confidently handle, Leon's issues being as layered and intertwined, as a very shitty puff pastry and yet he tried to anyway, setting his mug down carefully, the clink of the porcelain on wood soft and calming.

“No, you're right. But we can try and make it.“

He searched for Leon's eyes, his gaze full of some hidden turmoil, before it flickered away from Chris' prying and dropped towards the lukewarm tea, just sitting there.

“Let's start with getting you to a doctor, I can look at what we can do insurance-wise tomorrow. That alright with you?“

Leon buried his nose in the mug, drinking less than would've been appropriate for the time he spent with it tipped back.

“I suppose.“ He mumbled, as he sat the dish back down, which was all the answer he needed from him.

His chest deflated, as he released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, dragging a hand over his burning eyes. He should probably go to bed but after their conversation he felt even less ready to.

“I think I need a smoke now, don't you?“ 

He laughed nervously, snapping the pack of cigarettes open and shaking one out.

He offered it to Leon, already flicking open his lighter and igniting it but the other just sat there, staring the cigarette down like it would burn him at any second.

“No I-“ He knew he made a mistake even before Leon could stutter his way through the next syllable, one of his hands absently wandering towards a strip of bandaid on his neck. “Chris, can you maybe- not right now?“

He pocketed both the lighter and the package quicker than he'd even pulled them out and instead pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck, I'm sorry that was stupid.“

Ask the guy with the cigarette burn marks if he wants a smoke, great idea.

Across from him, Leon drew the blanket tighter around his shoulders, his knuckles white from clenching onto the fabric.

“Don't worry about it, it's fine usually.“

Chris said nothing more, nervous fingers grabbing for his tea and draining the last of it, as he waited for Leon to decide if he wanted to talk about it.

“They used to smoke in the cell at night. They left it pitch black for a few hours, so I assumed it was night at least.“

Leon spoke in short bursts, trying to control his breathing, as he visibly struggled with putting words to the images that flashed before his eyes.

“The smell of it woke me up most of the time, because it meant I wasn't alone. There was someone in the room with me and-“ His voice faltered.

Chris noted the nervous tick, how Leon circled his wrist with his other hand, stroked his thumb over the bandage, before pressing his nail into it. Drowned in the blanket, he sat curled into himself, his chest moving rapidly, breaths coming faster than they should.

“A-and I still- Sometimes I still wake up and for a moment I just know, you know?“ Leon's voice wavered, the muscles in his neck twitching with the urge to check behind him and ease the paranoia.

Chris understood the feeling too well, thinking back to his gun that sat in the bedside drawer, like it was the only thing guaranteeing a full night's rest. So he just nodded, worn down by the too late hour, that weighed on him the longer he had to watch Leon fall apart. When he saw the other dig into his wrist even harder, he decided to pry his hands apart, holding onto his cold fingers, as he stroked a thumb over his knuckles.

“I can guarantee you that most of these thoughts are not true. You're safe here. I promise I'll make sure of that.“ Chris squeezed his hands, with all the devotion of the years he'd spent yearning to have him close.

The urge to simply protect was all-encompassing and he knew that he'd fallen hopelessly for the man working through an anxiety attack in front of him. That he'd do anything, if only it meant Leon would feel a little more at peace.

When a full body shiver wracked his frame, Chris took it as a sign that he wouldn't be calming down anytime soon. Leon's hands tightened around his own, squeezing the joints to the point where it ached, but Chris didn't let that bother him, clinging on, as he got down on his knees in front of Leon's chair and looked him deep in the eyes.

“I know it's easier said than done but you are not alone Leon and I promise, I promise, I will not let anything hurt you again.“ Chris' heart raced in his chest, searching for a reaction on Leon's face.

He hadn't said it, not out loud at least, but it was threaded between every interaction, every conversation and every friendly gesture the two of them had shared in the years they've known each other. Chris loved Leon, no matter how much it tore him apart, he couldn't stop loving him.

When Leon slipped from his chair and wrapped his arms around Chris' chest, he thought for a moment that his thoughts must've been so loud, Leon had heard them too and then he felt the staccato rhythm of his breathing against his neck, before Leon whispered back.

“I'm sorry, I'm such a handful.“

Chris slung his arms around Leon's shoulders and back, balling his fist in the fabric of the blanket and threading the other hand through his hair, holding Leon's shaking body impossibly close.

“It's okay, you're never a burden to me.“ He breathed against the shell of his ear, before he took the rest of his courage and pressed a kiss to Leon's temple.

Claire came to mind in that moment, talking to him about codependency, how easy it was for him to get lost in the other once he committed himself to them. But Chris was not in his twenties anymore, believing he could fix everything and everyone. He was well aware that Leon wasn't perfect, wasn't just waiting to be saved by him, that loving him would be its own kind of labour but Chris was content with that. They could work it out somehow, he was sure.

***

Chris kissed him, Leon repeated it in his head over and over.

Chris kissed him and let him sneak under the covers with him afterwards. Chris kissed him and didn't mind Leon hogging the blankets for the rest of the night. Chris kissed him and could still look him in the eye come morning.

Chris kissed him.

And Leon wanted to be happy, wanted to take handfuls of whatever luck he'd been graced with and stuff himself full with it as long as he was allowed to, but his life had never been that easy. A kiss didn't fix his aching body, or silenced the voice in the back of his head, telling him he didn't deserve it, it wouldn't stop the nightmares, or distract him from the fact that Leon's brain was leaking like a sieve.

It was mostly small things, slip-ups that he didn't notice at first but which piled up over time.

Like the army of cups he had collected in the living room, some out of the compulsive desire to not have them taken away, most because he constantly forgot where he'd put them.

Other things, like forgetting to turn off the light in the bathroom, leaving the sink running, or the window open, even though it was freezing outside.

Then there were more important things, like Hunnigan coming to a nearby café to rope him into her carefully crafted plan and him forgetting, until he'd received a very pissed off call from her, before he was running down the street, crutches skipping over the pavement and bag haphazardly thrown on one shoulder. His mistake had nearly caused them to have a concerningly public argument, Hunnigan stressed from weeks spent planning that he'd nearly poured down the drain, while he was irritated by dealing with the fucking pain that still wasn't going away. An appropriate explanation eluded him, as she'd asked what his excuse was, if he'd started drinking again. He could just shake his head, the bed of his fingernails itching for the rest of their meet-up.

Much like the pain, his streak of missing appointments continued when he'd spent the whole day cooped up in Chris' flat, instead of going to the specialist, who had freed a spot specifically for him that day. After that he'd taken to writing the most important stuff down, despite his pride reminding him that he'd never needed to before. But he just couldn't trust his brain anymore.

He'd already been aware that there were holes in his memory, details about the kidnapping he didn't remember, or had repressed. And he was mostly okay with that, used to the blank spots that trauma tended to leave. He had enough nightmares already and he didn't need another horrible thing to add to the pile. But these newest developments started to concern him, when even the simplest of things were too much to keep track of.

It felt like after the incident a heavy cloud of fog had settled in his mind and no matter how much he tried to shake it off, it kept following him around, sitting in the back of his head until something would set him off and he'd suddenly be swallowed by it.

Sometimes it only took moments, seconds where everything blurred, voices distorting into garbled nonsense, until other sounds surfaced, the echo of distant memories that washed over him for the blink of an eye, before they vanished again.

Other times he'd be gone for hours, coming to with no recollection of what he'd been doing for that time. It reminded him of how he'd felt in that cell, caught between exhaustion and unconsciousness, unable to stay awake but too scared to fall asleep.

Chris had called it dissociation, after he'd pulled him from the open kitchen window, holding the bud of a cigarette he'd been planning to smoke. What should've been five minutes had turned into an hour, at the end of which the tips of his fingers had been blue and his skin was so cold every touch of his had burned like melted iron. He'd asked him what had happened, but Chris had simply said: 

“Nothing, you just stood there.“

When it wasn't stealing hours from him, when it was just lingering in the background, making thinking harder than it should be, it stole the details, made him into a fool who couldn't exist without burning what he cooked and searching for words he knew were at the tip of his tongue. It made him stumble through life, more than the injuries had, having him feel like he was drowning in shallow water.

“Leon?“ A hand touched his.

Leon hummed in acknowledgement, letting the other wrap his fingers around him and pull him from the handrail of the bridge they were standing on.

They went out today, after his botched doctor's appointment, Chris bugging him about it until he relented and went with him to a park nearby, even though the sun was already setting and the night was forecasted as bringing more snow to the city. He didn't remember how long they'd been at this part of the park already, maybe he'd spaced out again?

“How's the pain?" Chris asked, concern in his eyes.

It was always concern these days, Chris had kissed him but now he was acting like Leon had turned into a Fabergé egg and it made his skin crawl when he thought about it too hard. Leon wasn't the kind of person who people bothered to save. Chris told him otherwise, though his doting only served to amplify the idea that he wouldn't be able to save himself anymore either.

“I'm okay, let's just keep moving.“ His voice was rough from disuse.

He turned to lead the way, down the arched bridge spanning over an artificially constructed creek and around the adjoining lake that had a thin layer of ice already covering its surface. But Chris kept holding onto his hand, letting him stray no further than the length of his arm, before he fell back into step beside him. They rounded the shoreline of the lake, pebbles rolling under his shoes, as they traversed the gravel path and Leon caught himself holding onto Chris' hand a little tighter. He'd left the crutches in the flat today, hoping to trick himself into ignoring the ever present dull ache in his feet, that didn't seem to quite pass, no matter how well his other injuries had healed.

“I'm sure Dr. Bailey will have another free spot next week, just call her tomorrow.“ Chris interrupted his train of thought.

The sun was setting somewhere behind the buildings towering in the distance and casting their long shadows all over the streets that wound between them. The park was darker than it should've been at this hour but the light was barely reaching them in their little valley, only the pink and orange of the soft clouds stretching across the sky telling them of the sinking sun.

Leon muttered something in response but didn't say anything else. The walk around the lake was accompanied by the soft coo of a pigeon, sitting in the bare branches above them, everything else was still, winter having frozen the place into an unmoving painting.

“I can also take a day off work next time.“

Leon made a sound of disagreement that he hadn't meant to express this openly but the thought shook him out of his stupor at last. He shook his head, slipping his hand from Chris' with a haste he'd only known from Krauser.

“No. By all means I can go to the doctor's on my own.“

Krauser's hands under his shirt, the humidity making sweat stand on their skin, lips on his, on his neck, his collarbone. His belt buckle jangled and the voices outside of their tent rang in his ears like they were right next to him, then a palm pressed over his mouth, while Krauser's body pressed close to his. Leon let his eyes fall shut. Scared, always scared to get caught.

“Of course, I'm just-“

Chris spoke again and Leon thought: Krauser never made him feel like this.

“I'm not weak. Stop being like this.“ He bit, old feelings resurfacing.

He blamed it on the pain, on the fact that he was tired and cold, all because Chris dragged him out here, all because Chris wouldn't leave him alone.

"Like what?" Chris caught him by the sleeve, under the bare bones of a maple tree.

Its leaves cracked under the tip of his shoes, as he stared at him, all wide eyes and parted lips, looking like he didn't know why Leon was upset. Something that had been frozen his entire life, melted whenever Chris laid a hand on him, or spoke to him softly and patiently. It didn't sit right with him.

Krauser had never been like this, all his touch was firm, none of his words were reassuring. He'd taught Leon how to survive , how to hold his own with a gun, with a knife, with his bare hands, how to keep his head on straight when blood loss, or exhaustion, or panic muddled his reason. He taught him how to take the training and the punishments and how to survive being gay in the military, during a time that didn't allow much deviation from the norm.

Krauser would've never even considered saving Leon, he'd put too much effort into enabling him to save himself.

“Stop being so overbearing!“

He hadn't meant to yell, but he did, because Chris made him feel weak and helpless and that was intolerable, because no one was going to come for him and if Leon was too pathetic to help himself, he'd be a dead man walking.

Chris shifted uncomfortably, one foot brushing through the leaves, then the other. The hoarfrost crackled and broke apart.

“I'm sorry.“ The hurt in his voice was choking him, making Leon regret ever having opened his mouth.

Krauser had never apologized.

“I care about you a lot Leon. Claire keeps telling me to stop being so overprotective too, but I can't help it sometimes.“

Chris was very different from Krauser, Leon realized. Of course he was, but recognizing a love that didn't leave him at least a little bit ruined was still foreign to him. Especially when it was all he'd known for a long time.

“I just want you to be okay and if that means I should stay out of the way, then I will.“

Chris' face was flushed but his eyes were dark and sad, the usual hazel deepened by the blue hour of the evening. He didn't make a move to breach the distance between them though, tucking his hands away into the large pockets of his down jacket.

Overbearing was one word to describe him maybe, protective would be another, much kinder, way to put it. Caring would also be true, or loving if Leon could bear to think it.

“Don't.“ He huffed out a breath that sounded more like a gasp than a sigh.

His eyes dropped to the ground, with its weeds growing between the rocks. He shook his head again, trying to breathe around the expanding feeling in his chest struggling to make enough space for it, now that he let himself acknowledge it.

“Please don't leave.“ He rubbed at his face with shaking hands.

“Are you sure? I can imagine you're probably sick of me by now.“ Chris laughed quietly, stepping back into Leon's space and tracing his fingers over the cut of his jaw, brushing over the stubble.

“I need you, I know I shouldn't but-“ He broke off.

It was the closest he got to admitting he loved him. Him and Krauser had never said it at all, but Leon had still felt it, even worse when he was left with no other choice but to drive the knife into Krauser's chest.

“I'm so tired of acting like I don't.“

Wanting things had never been painless for Leon, he'd wanted to be loved by his father but he had never been capable of giving him that, then he'd wanted to keep Sherry safe and until Simmons he really thought he'd at least done that. He'd wanted a lot of things throughout his years at STRATCOM and later the DSO, sometimes it was a vacation, other times he'd just wanted to die. It was never achievable, it was never easy and it was always bound to end in disaster. So when Chris came into his life, Leon had sworn to keep his desires to himself.

It'd been a losing battle from the start.

“I need you too,“ Chris brushed his thumb down the spot where his jaw and ear met and let it travel to his throat, his pulse thrumming under it. 

“you're important to-“

He didn't get any further, before Leon grasped onto the moss coloured scarf he was wearing and raised himself onto his toes to meet him halfway, as he pulled him down into a kiss. It was overwhelming and messy, Leon stumbling backwards, when Chris held his face with both hands, pushing against his mouth insistently. His back hit the maple they've found shelter under, the first snow on the branches falling down on them.

The air was freezing around them but all Leon could feel was the heat radiating from Chris, as Leon pressed into him close, closer. Squeezing his eyes shut, as adrenaline washed through him. 

Chris was kissing him, in public, like he'd done it a thousand times before, none of the hurried anxiety on his lips, like he'd known from people like Krauser. If Chris told him he wanted him, Leon would believe him without question.

They broke the kiss moments later, though Chris didn't let go of him, pressing his forehead against his and taking deep breaths, as Leon counted the worry-lines on his face.

“We should've done this way sooner.“

He smiled like a weight had fallen off his shoulders and Leon couldn't stop himself from clasping his chin and kissing him again.

“I'm sorry it took so long.“ Leon whispered because he didn't trust himself to speak aloud.

He was still working through the last few weeks, while simultaneously trying to convince himself that it was okay to have this. He was allowed to let himself feel loved and safe and believe that nothing horrible would happen to twist this spark of happiness against him.

“We're there now, aren't we?“

Chris smoothed the bangs out of Leon's eyes, tucking them behind his ear, as his gaze traveled over his face, flushed from kissing and the wetness of tears burning in his eyes.

“Are we? Do you really want to-?“ Be boyfriends, partners?

Saying it out loud felt like a silly thing to do, the uncertainty of what Chris wanted them to be exactly, having him go still for a second.

“You know I'm not...“ Stable, healthy, good enough for you. “easy.“

He settled on the less drastic alternative, searching for something like doubt in Chris' eyes, who wasn't holding his face anymore but instead rested his hands under the lapels of his coat. It only served to elicit a laugh from him, his shoulders shaking with the force of it, while Leon was fascinated with the way the corners of his eyes creased.

“You think I am?! Leon we've seen so much shit, we're allowed to be a wreck of a person sometimes.“

His hands clenched into the fabric of his coat, as he spoke, before leaning forward to kiss him on the forehead.

Soft. Leon didn't have another word to describe it, Chris' lips were soft on his skin, the gentle pressure reassuring and warm.

“I'm a wreck most times though.“ His voice was broken, rough at the edges, as he tried to hide the tears rolling down his cheeks.

Everything felt raw, his body a wound that ached for all of the terrifying things that had happened to him. Leon let himself feel it, the fear of drowning in it growing small with every second that Chris spent collecting the drops sliding down his face, drying his cheeks as often as it took for Leon to shiver through the emotion.

When Leon opened his eyes again, Chris was still there, his rough palms holding his head again. He took him by the wrist, lowering them and entangling their fingers with each other, the sight of it making warmth pool in his stomach.

“I'll take you, wreck or not. I'll take you if you let me.“

Leon tightened his grip on Chris' hands, the cold stung on his skin but he knew he'd be fine with Chris around, as long as he was there, nothing could touch him. It wouldn't be easy, it wouldn't be perfect but it would be the beginning of something and he wouldn't be alone throughout it. There was someone at his side, who said that he wasn't going anywhere, even when Leon wasn't everything he'd wanted, all of the time.

“I will.“

Leon smiled.