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The rooms swims into focus as Leon's eyes flutter open, the sterile white ceiling and walls disorientingly blank. The room around him certainly isn't his own, and it takes him a long, confused few seconds to recognize it as a hospital room. There's a curtain to his right and a solid wall to his left, monitors hovering around his bed like mechanical guards. He frowns. He can't quite remember why he's here, and a glance down at his body reveals only the IV line trailing into the back of his left hand and the papery blue hospital gown he's been dressed in.
His arm is strangely heavy when he tries to lift it, fingers prodding clumsily at the lone gauze bandage in the crook of his elbow. An attempt to sit up sends him sprawling back against the pillows with a gasp, hand clutched uselessly over the radiating ache in his ribs that means something there is broken. Great. Leon does his best to stop himself from wheezing, but he's trembling by the time the pain finally fades, the meat of his bandaged left thigh panging in solidarity. His entire body feels like it's just been run through a meat grinder, and the fight leaves him embarrasingly quickly. He's just about to try and prop himself up on an elbow again when the door swings open, revealing a disgruntled-looking Major Krauser, cardboard coffee cup in hand. Leon blinks.
"Major?" he rasps hesitantly, and Krauser is at his side in an instant, settling into the chair beside the bed that barely allows for his bulk. He sips his coffee, leaning back to stare at Leon as he crosses an ankle over his knee.
"At ease, rookie. How are you feeling?"
"What happened?" Leon asks slowly, struggling against gravity. His body seems intent on staying limp against the mattress no matter how hard he tries to control it, and propping himself up with a trembling arm succeeds only in intensifying the agony in his chest. He's sweating, neck prickling with the effort, but something about the critical gleam in Krauser's eye makes him want to prove he can do it. Irritation sparks somewhere in the fog clouding his mind.
"Mission went sour," Krauser drawls, sipping his coffee a second time and making a face. "How much do you remember?"
"I---" Leon breaks himself off, fingers curling uncertainly in the blanket draped over his legs. The answer is not much, but Leon scans his spotty memory. There was... something about an ambush? Blood. Shouting. It's hard to think through the haze urging him towards sleep. He shifts his weight, glancing down at his thigh where it's outlined by the blanket. His voice catches in a cough, throat dry. "I was shot?"
"Mm. Nasty one, too---nicked a fucking artery." Krauser inclines his head, eyes narrowed. He picks up a glass of water and offers it to Leon, who can only stare as Krauser guides it into his hand. By the time his neurons click together, Krauser is already helping him lift it to his lips, a flush of warmth blossoming over Leon's cheeks. The water is cool, though, relieving, and his embarrassment is soon forgotten in sheer relief. He sighs as Krauser places the cup back on the bedside table, blinking drowsily. A sudden thought occurs to him, and he sits up quickly, ignoring the agony that flares through his body.
"Was anyone else...?"
"No." Krauser shakes his head, rising from his seat to push Leon back down to the bed. "Just you, rookie. Don't get all worked up, you were the only one caught in the crossfire."
He watches Leon frown, lip curling in what could be either distaste or a strange little smile.
"I'm surprised you're so calm. You were damn near close to losing your leg, kid." He observes Leon for a moment, sharp eyes flicking over his face before spearing his leg and IV with a series of glares in quick succession. "Of course, they've probably got you doped to the high heavens, huh? Wouldn't want you writhing around like a wounded animal."
His tone is raspy, amused, and Leon waits for the condescension to follow. No doubt he'll say Leon's soft or sloppy for getting in the way of a bullet. Except, it doesn't come. Krauser reaches out to pat his shoulder, gently rubbing circles into his bicep.
"You'll be out of commission for a couple weeks. You're lucky you're still alive."
"Oh." Leon's voice is strangely small, a sudden wave of exhaustion washing over him. He lets himself sag back against the mattress, the click of the IV pump sending something heavy through his limbs. "But---shouldn't I...?"
Leon trails off, whatever he'd been about to say suddenly out of reach. He scowls, frustrated, but Krauser just chuckles lightly. His thick fingers work their way into the divot of Leon's shoulder, massaging the bit of muscle that's never been the same since Raccoon City. The sensation is comforting, and Leon lets his lips fall slack, eyelids fluttering as he relaxes into the touch. There's something still nagging at him, something about completing his training and protecting Sherry, but Krauser's steady gaze on his own as he gently unravels the knot of tension in Leon's sore muscles is enough to drive away the anxiety.
"Just rest, rookie. Heal up, first." He grins, darkly amused and steadying all at once. "The only bruises you should be worrying about are the ones from getting your ass kicked during sparring. These ones aren't quite part of the training regimen."
Leon smiles sleepily, eyes already closed. "Right. I'll keep that in mind when I get the upper hand."
Krauser laughs, hand tightening around Leon's shoulder before he slides it up towards Leon's jaw. Something tucks a strand of hair behind Leon's ear, rough, callused fingertips dragging over the fragile skin of his cheekbone. It might be his imagination as he slips off to sleep, but he thinks a warm palm cradles the side of his face, breaking through the haze of numbness descending over him. A thumb strokes his temple. His eyelids flutter one last time, admitting a hazy outline of Krauser's familiar shape, and then he's out.