Chapter Text
Helicopter blades cut through the air. Chris helped Rebecca into the seat to the right. The lights were too bright, the blades too loud, for Leon’s oncoming hangover. He still clutched his arm close to his midsection.
Probably dislocated, he thought to himself in a daze. His mind wasn’t all there, as if he were underwater. Belatedly, he heard Chris shouting his name from the chopper with an outstretched hand. Ignoring the hand, Leon pulled himself in with his good arm and fastened himself into a seat.
As the aircraft began its ascent, Leon reflected on his near death experience with a detached sort of clinical analysis. What would he do differently next time? What he will do differently. Next time.
Next time.
Shit. When will it end? It has to end. There has to be an end.
He grit his teeth and tilted his head back to the wall as he shut his eyes tight.
He could feel Chris’ eyes on him, but it seemed irrelevant at the moment.
“You alright Kennedy?” Chris asked, mild concern laced his voice.
Opening his eyes, Leon met Chris’ gaze. He noticed the arm around Rebecca. She was asleep. How long had she been asleep? How long had they been in the chopper?
“Yeah...” His voice cracked over the word, and he sounded dazed even to his own ears. Shit. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I’m fine.” His body ached, he couldn’t move his arm up past the shoulder, and the hangover headache made itself known.
“You sure? That arm doesn’t look too good. And you’ve been making a face for the past ten minutes.”
Damn. Ten minutes.
“...yeah. I think it’s dislocated. I’ll get it checked out when we touch down.” He wouldn’t.
Judging by the look on Chris’ face, the lie hadn’t done much to convince him of his well being. But he had set his own shoulder a few times on different missions, and the rest of his injuries were mild cuts and some bruises. Nothing too serious. He knew what he was doing. Chris let it go. Leon knew he would.
The rest of the ride was spent in blissful silence. Good for Leon’s headache, bad for his spiralling thoughts. We can’t keep doing this. We can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep doing this.
The chopper touched down in Philadelphia soon after and Leon was off. Past the crowd of military officials, medics, and superiors trying to stop him. He heard Chris call after him once, faintly. But Leon knew he was preoccupied with Rebecca, making sure she was alright, physically and mentally. He imagined it, Chris helping Rebecca to the medics, into the ambulance, asking her if she was okay, if she needed anything, a caring expression on his face. A hand on her upper arm. Did she want a glass of water, a protein bar? Did she want him in the ambulance with her?
A flash of jealousy shot through Leon’s chest. Followed by guilt and shame. He said he was fine, Chris believed him. Chris was busy caring for Rebecca. Rebecca, who almost turned into a zombie, a brainless flesh-eating monster, a puppet, not an hour before. The victim of a madman with a twisted worldview and a deadly sense of purpose.
Leon knew a thing or two about that.
Images of black veins, villagers with pitchforks, the dead resurrecting, a charming scientist with a chip on his shoulder, and a scared, young girl.
He shuddered, and not because of the chilly night air.
Shit.
Why is this all coming back now?
The headache suddenly seemed overwhelming. His heart pounded in his chest.
I need to get to a hotel.
Damn B.S.A.A.
Damn Chris for ruining his vacation.
Damn the government. Pushing people to their limits.
Damn the D.S.O.
He massaged the crease between his eyebrows.
Taking a deep breath, he aligned his shoulder and gave it a sharp upward push. A quick pop and a burst of pain cleared his mind.
He sighed in relief. Mind and body.
I need a fucking drink.
Chris helped Rebecca into the ambulance with an arm around her shoulder.
“Are you going to be alright? Do you want me to come with you?”
She just gave him a knowing look and sighed.
“I’ll be alright Chris. I’m a big girl.” She was being strong, but Chris could tell she was severely shaken up. However, people often forgot she was once in the field as well. “Besides, we both know you’re itching to go see if our favourite super spy is dead in a ditch somewhere.”
She was right. Leon had been acting off since they got on the chopper, even before that he supposed, and Chris was worried. He knew that the D.S.O agent was worse off than he was letting on.
Not only that, the state they had initially found him in before the mission had been concerning.
There was no doubting Leon was a powerful ally. His skills were borderline unmatched. They needed him in tip top shape if there was another outbreak, or if another psycho decided they wanted to destroy the world.
“You’re right, but I want to make sure that you’re okay first. Claire would have my head.” He joked. Half joked, he supposed.
“I’m fine Chris. Just tired.” She really was, he noticed. The purple under her eyes was more prominent than it usually was. Late nights in the lab would affect anyone’s sleep, but she looked exhausted in the ambulance. “Go make sure our guard dog is okay.” She gave Chris’ shoulder a light shove.
She said it in a joking manner, but he cringed internally. Leon had earned a reputation around the B.S.A.A as the government’s dog. The D.S.O’s bitch, they called him. It was never a compliment.
After a quick wave goodbye, and a promise that he would check on her as soon as possible, Chris began his search for the elusive Leon S. Kennedy.
Leon stumbled into the nearest hotel he could find, booked himself a cheap room for the night, and asked the receptionist where he could find the hotel bar. Seconds later, so it seemed, he found himself with an open bottle of rum and a half empty glass in his good hand.
Glancing up at the single TV, he noticed the infected, the violence and destruction. Damn. Of course it would be the headlines. Breaking news and all.
The footage cut to a clip of Chris blowing up one of the virus trucks, then the dogs. Leon turned his attention back to his glass, tipped it back.
He barely felt the burn. All that mattered to him was the quieting of his mind, and the numbing of his body.
The alcohol didn’t do much to slow his racing thoughts. Spain didn’t seem to want to leave his mind, and the disaster of his last mission plagued his thoughts as well.
Ever since Racoon City, his life seemed to consist of one tragedy after the next. No time for rest, no time for recovery. It took its toll. Recently, his limited time off was filled with alcohol and not much else. Claire invited him over for dinner occasionally. However, whenever he accepted, he felt like an intruder. Her happiness, her peace. It was hers. He was no idiot. He knew that his mood hung over any room he occupied, infecting it. He didn’t want that for her. Didn’t want that for Sherry. Didn’t want that for Ashley. Didn’t want that for Chris.
Damn Chris.
Chris, who saw the same death and destruction, but walked away seemingly unscathed. Leon hadn’t had many one-on-one interactions with the man, but whenever he attended dinner at Claire’s, they would share a smoke on the porch, or a bottle of wine.
Leon couldn’t help his curiosity for the older man. How was he the perfect soldier, the perfect saviour? Pushing forward despite all the pain and loss. Leon could admit to jealousy; however, admiration was a more appropriate word.
Enough.
The bottle was almost empty by the time the bartender kicked him to his room, allowing him to bring the rest of the alcohol with him.
He stumbled his way to his room on the second floor, taking in the run-down hallway, the cracked wallpaper, and the dust covered floorboards.
So much for a nice vacation.
His room wasn’t much nicer, but the dusty sheets and mouldy odour would do the trick in his drunken haze.
Just a place to crash, recuperate.
I’ll be gone by noon tomorrow.
Damn it Leon. Where the hell are you?
Chris had been wandering the streets for at least an hour now, with no luck. Philadelphia was a big city, but given the state of the other man, Chris doubted he would have gotten far. However, every bar he poked his head into was empty, or closing for the night.
He rounded a corner and a neon hotel sign caught his eye. It appeared dingy and run-down.
There?
No. Leon was tired and beat from the operation, but he wouldn’t stoop this low. He was a government agent. He could afford a nicer room than this. Right?
A hunched back and an empty bottle flashed through Chris’ mind.
He walked through the creaking door without another thought about it.
The receptionist eyed him wearily as he approached the desk.
“Can I help you sir?”
He supposed the scepticism was warranted given the state he was in, covered in blood and bruises.
“Yes. I am looking for a man who may have checked in here earlier tonight.” He began to explain to the man in front of him. “Blonde, injured?”
The receptionist’s eyes widened as a strange look crossed his face.
“Yes, we had someone matching that description arrive a while ago.”
A beat passed before Chris broke the silence impatiently.
“Well? What room? I need a key.” He knew he sounded annoyed. It had been a long day. A long week.
“Sir we can’t do that. If he’s expecting a guest he should have let us know.” The man still had that mildly judgemental look on his face, but he appeared more bored than anything.
Damn.
“Can you call the room or something?” He knew he was being rude, but he had taken too long already. Worry gnawed at his gut.
The receptionist just sighed and reached for the landline in front of him. A few clicks later, he held it to his ear. Waiting.
“Yes hello?” The bored tone of voice did not match Chris’ growing anxiety. Could this guy be any less urgent? “Yes there is someone here asking about you.” There was a pause before he rolled his eyes and scrunched up his nose.
“Sir?” He sighed. “Sir I didn’t catch that.” Another pause. “Sir. Are you there?” He hung up the phone with a sigh.
Chris couldn’t take this guy anymore.
“Well?” He couldn’t keep the annoyance from his voice this time.
“I could barely hear him. He sounded half asleep. Come back tomorrow.” He yawned and turned back to his computer.
Chris was dumbfounded. There was no way he was leaving. He waited there for the man to notice him again.
Without looking up from the computer, “You aren’t leaving, are you?” When Chris didn’t respond and made no move toward the door, the man rummaged through a drawer for a moment before tossing Chris a small key. “Whatever man. I don’t get paid enough for this. Just… I didn’t give that to you ok?”
Chris waved him off before storming up the stairs. In his haste, he barely heard the man yell the room number after him.
Did the phone ring?
Did he answer? He couldn’t remember. All he knew at that moment was the bottle at his lips and the knife in his pocket. It dug painfully into his thigh, grounding.
He sighed and let his head fall back against the wooden headboard of the creaking bed. He could fall asleep like this. His mind a welcome buzz of cotton. Blissfully empty for once.
Sluggish, he noticed a clicking noise to the right.
The door, he thought, shit.
The undead. Umbrella. His superiors? Cultists. Any and all reprieve from his spiralling thoughts vanished in an instant.
His heart pounded in his chest, his breaths came in short and shallow, but the clouds in his mind kept him from acting swiftly. Clumsily, he reached a hand to the knife at his thigh as the door creaked open.
The phone. Did he call someone? Was it the D.S.O?
An attack. His brain screamed at him to move, to get off the bed. To fight.
He couldn’t. His hand fell back down to the side.
Pathetic. Useless.
A lump formed in his throat.
The next thing he knew, hands grasped his shoulders, the injured one protested. A soothing voice was saying something, but it sounded far away. He tried to say something in response, but his tongue refused to shape the words.
In his haze, a figure materialised in his vision. Splotches of grey, blue, and brown took the shape of a vaguely familiar face.
“... Chris.” Leon wanted to say more. How did he find him? How did he get here? Why did he find him.
It must have shown on his face, as Chris answered his unasked questions.
“Damn it Kennedy. You really freaked us out.” Leon tried to flinch away from the words and the hands on his shoulders. “Shit, sorry. You injured your shoulder didn’t you. Damn liar. Why don’t you just let people help you.”
Leon struggled to process the words, but as Chris’ hands began to take off his shoes and remove his jacket, he began to put up a fight. As much as he was able to in his current state.
Chris shushed him gently and reached for the now empty bottle in his opposite hand. By this time, Leon was thoroughly exhausted in every sense of the word. With a sigh, he leaned back and allowed Chris to manhandle him into a more comfortable position.
After removing Leon’s jacket and shoes, Chris disappeared for what felt like an eternity. He began to panic at the sudden absence, but soon Chris returned. Holding a glass of water, and a wet cloth.
“Here you go bud. I bet you’ll be grateful in the morning.” Chris smiled warmly as he set down the glass and wiped the dirt, blood, and grime from Leon’s face. His other arm came to rest on Leon’s bicep. It remained.
Leon tried to thank him, but it came out as a quiet groan. Tears stung his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.
He was fine.
But Chris’ thumb gently stroking his arm felt unfairly pleasant.
“Alright. I’ll check on you in the morning alright? Get some sleep.” Chris said quietly as he made to stand up.
Leon’s hand shot up to grab hold of Chris’ arm.
He didn’t let go.
What.
What was he doing? Chris glanced down, eyebrows raised, but eyes still soft. A beat passes. Then another.
Pathetic.
He let his arm fall in shame, turning over to face the wall instead of Chris’ gentle, caring expression.
Before he could spiral any farther, he felt the hand return to his arm, and the weight return to the edge of the bed.
The presence of another person usually put Leon on his guard, unable to relax. However it was comforting in his current state, and he let the rhythmic stroking of Chris’ thumb lull him into sleep.
For now at least, he could let his thoughts of the endless vicious cycle that was his life drift to the back of his mind. Drink, fight, kill, fight, drink, repeat.
He’ll deal with it in the morning, the next day. And the day after. And the next.
Or I’ll be gone by noon tomorrow.