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Leon wasn’t sure how he found himself in this kind of situation. He’d scouted abandoned illegal research facilities, infiltrated bio-terrorist groups solo, fought abominations most of the world didn’t know existed, rescued the president's daughter from a parasite infected cult; he didn’t belong at a fundraising gala surrounded by haughty millionaires.
He’s in a suit and tie because he didn’t own a tux, sipping expensive champagne and trying not to pick a loose thread on his shirt cuff.
“As you all are aware, tonight’s auction will benefit those affected by the A-GUA Tanker Incident in New York City.” the auctioneer at the podium reiterated. “Standard etiquette applies, raise your paddle to bid, bids go up in five hundred dollar increments.”
Attendants dressed in black tie, elegant evening gowns and well pressed penguin suits found their places around standing cocktail tables, as well as chairs closer to the platform at the front of the hall. Serving staff in white uniforms flowed through the crowd, exchanging empty glasses for full ones and offering h’orderves on tooth picks.
So many people had been displaced and had lost everything. The anti-viral they’d managed to release worked for the most part. Many people came back from their zombified state caused by Arias’ misguided revenge plot. But many hadn’t.
None of these people witnessed how the city started ripping itself apart. None of them were the boots on the ground desperately trying to stop another Raccoon City. Hell, none of them even knew, in any official capacity at least, it was a new zombie virus! The official release was something about contaminated water tankers. Could he really be angry at that?
Yes, because here they were when a generous tax break was on the table.
It pissed him off.
And how could Leon be here now, delicate fluted glass held in his blood stained fingers, when so many people had died?
The grotesque, twisted monster Glenn Arias had become flashed in front of his eyes. For a moment he wasn’t standing in a grand hotel ballroom made of marble, but a concrete rooftop high above a burning city, crushed in the grip of the man-turned-B.O.W. as spear-like claws made to skewer him in the neck. If Chris and his team hadn’t…he would have… if Chris hadn’t…
He was supposed to be on vacation, drinking his PTO away at an overpriced hotel bar in Colorado. He’d lied to Chris and Rebecca; he did have plans. Drinking, room service, maybe see what the barrel of his pistol tasted like.
He wouldn’t have done it. Sometimes he just needed to stand at the edge and look down to pull himself back from the brink. A reminder of his own inevitability.
A static sensation ran down his spine as Leon realized he’d been staring, teeth grinding together, at a member of the wait staff. He set his half empty champagne flute on their tray, mumbling an apology. Fuck, what was wrong with him?
He needed to find Chris.
The collar of his shirt was suddenly too tight. That, accompanied by a wiggling feeling in his stomach, encouraged him to move from the auction hall to the side hall where a light dinner service had been held. Much of the dining mess had been cleaned away, but guests still picked apart little plates of dessert. He scanned the room for Chris. Leon was there in an unofficial capacity for the D.S.O., at Chris’ request, so where the fuck was he?
There had been no sign of the B.S.A.A. Captain the whole event. Leon wanted a drink, a strong one, but he promised Chris he would “behave”.
“You know I don’t do socials, Chris.”
“Yeah, but you’d be doing this for me. It’ll be good for you to go somewhere that isn’t an assignment or a bar.”
“Wow, Redfield, you almost sound like you care.”
“Of course I care! We’re friends. Just promise me you won’t drink a whole bottle of bourbon."
“No promises. You’ll be there?”
“Of course, Leon.”
“Fucking liar.” He mumbled. Leon wasn’t sure where Chris could be, the auction didn’t have many halls open for guests and with Chris’ stature he would be hard to miss.
A loud BANG shot through the room; something like screaming followed. Leon ducked behind a service cart with overturned glasses. He reached for the gun in his jacket holster, but his fingers met nothing where leather and steel should have been. Damn! Security hadn’t allowed him to bring it in, it was in the glovebox of the rental car. He’d felt naked without it all evening. There was a cake knife in the cart. He could use it in a pinch.
A hundred different possibilities rolled through his mind. There were civilian bystanders he would have to consider, the glasses could be used as projectiles, albeit mostly for distraction, the exits-
The voices from before rose above the din filling his head. It wasn’t screaming; it was laughter. The drunken kind that had people shrieking before tumbling into giggles and guffaws. Someone had popped a champagne bottle. Jesus, fuck.
The backs of his hands tingled with the sudden rush of adrenaline. Leon looked up and made eye contact with the bartender. Shakily, he got up as casually as he could from where he crouched, “Dropped my keys.”
The bartender made no comment and Leon tried to ignore the way his eyes followed him across the room. He needed a drink now, badly. His heart hadn’t stopped pounding. He hadn’t really promised Chris he’d stay sober, but for some reason Leon didn’t want to disappoint him. He could be left on his own for a bit and have self control. Maybe if he just held a drink it would trick his head into thinking it was getting one, then when Chris got there he wouldn’t be disappointed. He wasn’t about to turn around and walk back to that bartender though.
Leon reached for his flask. He hated how the thing had become a security blanket. It was just something to cut that hard edge till he could get back somewhere private; Chris didn’t have to know.
Except his back pocket was empty, and so was the inside of his jacket except the car keys. No, he couldn’t have forgotten it.
The frantic rush at the motel, fighting with the clothes iron because how did his suite pants get that wrinkly? He could see it in his mind sitting on the nightstand. Fuck.
It was just a flask, he didn’t really need it. It would be fine then Chris would get there and he wouldn’t have to think about all the people looking at him and what if something happened and he couldn’t even protect them because his hands are shaking and the noise in his ears was distracting and the wiggling behind his sternum made his stomach turn and-
“Sir, are you in need of assistance?”
His head whipped up, fringe falling over his face. He’d found his way to a smaller side hall, away from a majority of the party. His back was against the wall, hands on his knees. A member of the hospitality staff stood a few paces away, hands behind their back, looking him over with a quirked brow.
Leon straightened and cleared his throat, swallowing down the taste of acid. “Uh, yes. Actually, I was just looking for the restroom.” He was hyper aware of how disheveled he looked and tried straightening his jacket.
They took a moment to contemplate him, but ultimately pointed Leon in the right direction with a list of instructions. “Are you sure you’re alright, sir?”
Leon tried to give them a reassuring smile, but he was sure it looked more like a grimace. “Yeah, thanks. Just a little warm in here.”
Before they could probe any further, Leon followed the direction they had pointed out. These older hotels weren’t as open and many of the service hallways were tucked away from guest areas and could get confusing.
He walked down a deserted hallway, footfalls muffled by the thick carpet on the floor. Which door was it? Did they say the first or the second archway? Fuck, he couldn’t remember. He took a right and continued what might have been for laundry service. He could smell detergent and clean sheets.
He was pretty confident he shouldn’t be down here.
What if he ran into someone? How would he explain how he ended up this far from the auction hall? What if he couldn’t keep it together long enough to ask for directions again?
He thought he heard his name called from a distance as he tried a door. Locked.
Leon couldn’t breathe. He tried desperately to suck in air but the vice around his chest tightened. His heart felt like it was trembling against his ribs and he couldn’t breathe!
Further down the hall, another locked door. He gasped around the panic wriggling up his throat. Fuck fuck FUCK!
Why was this happening? Why couldn’t he have one goddamn moment where he didn’t feel like he was shaking apart at the seams? A stinging sensation prickled his eyes and he tried another door further down the hall.
Almost giving up on the sticky handle, he wrenched it down and threw his weight against the over-painted wood. It gave, swinging into a dark room and almost dropping him to the floor. Without looking any further, Leon slammed the door back shut and braced his sweaty forehead against it.
His own gasping breaths filled the quiet and his face was tacky and wet. Fuck, he was crying?
Thoughts stopped making sense under the ringing in his ears. His lips felt numb and he became aware of an awful twisting sensation under his diaphragm.
Stepping further into the dark space Leon grabbed at the knot of his tie and wrenched it from around his neck. He fought his arms out of the sleeves of his jacket and flung it off his shoulders. Sharp pain shot down to his finger tips from his right shoulder, the one dislocated from being thrown around by Arias.
The top buttons of his shirt were popped loose next. It helped alleviate the reflex to gag around nothing, but the tightened in his chest made his stomach lurch.
Fumbling with a light switch by the door, the room was some sort of utility closet. As Leon’s eyes adjusted to the influx of cold lighting, he saw a sink on the far wall big enough to fill a mop bucket. Shelves stacked with fresh linens and towels lined the wall.
Stumbling over to the sink, he fumbled with the cold water faucet. He went to shove his hands and forearms under the stream and cursed at his still buttoned shirt cuffs. The damp fabric made it difficult for his numb shaking fingers to push the little buttons through the holes.
Cuffs opened and shoved up to his elbows, Leon hung his head, hands and forearms under the stream of cold water, and tried to breathe. Just like Claire showed you, come on. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Leon’s breath hitched again and again, losing count as he tried so hard to get it under control.
He was so tired. He hadn’t been sleeping before Chris and Rebecca had picked him up in Colorado, he didn’t sleep through the shit show in New York, and he had only caught a few hours since.
It had been at least a week, he was pretty sure.
The cold water kept Leon from spiraling further into the black hole opening in his chest. Stupid Chris. Of course he would stand him up. Is that what this was? Had Leon been stood up? It wasn’t a date, it was work! Why was he so angry, why did Leon feel…betrayed?
A loud banging broke him out of his head. “Leon? You in there?” Speak of the Devil. Before Leon could pull himself together and dry off, a large weight threw itself against the door. The sound of too thick paint squeaked as it flew open, and Chris fucking Redfield almost ate tile. Leon was too dumb to react other than gape at the other man.
Chris stood up straight, looking surprised. Brown eyes met Leon’s and Chris smiled sheepishly, “Sorry, I thought it would be locked.”
Cold water was still running over Leon’s exposed wrists and forearms, but Chris’ spectacular appearance was enough to almost pull him out of the panic he was in. “Chris, what the fuck?”
The B.S.A.A. Captain pulled at the collar of his dress shirt, knocking his bow tie askew. “Sorry, man, I tried to get your attention but you were in a hurry. Get bored and decide to do some laundry?”
Leon blinked, “I’m the one with the sarcastic commentary, not you.” He turned off the tap, trying to control the shaking in his hands, “Got lost trying to find the men’s room. These old hotels are like mazes, huh?”
Chris tossed him a towel from one of the shelves. “Yeah, makes sense.” Chris said. He paused, eyeing Leon, “A little underdressed, aren’t you?” Leon bristled, “Didn’t have time to rent a tux.” he mumbled, rolling his sleeves back down, “I don’t make a habit of packing one when I’m supposed to be on vacation.”
Chris’ lips curved into what could have been a grimace. “Look, I’m sorry to have put this on you-“
The sudden spike of anger that rose hot in Leon’s chest should have scared him, but he was already teetering on the edge of something dangerous. “You’re a liar, Chris. I came here because you asked me to and then you weren’t fucking here! Who does that to their ‘friend’?” Leon knew the last part was unnecessary, but under his panic he was furious. “For fucks sake, Chris. I haven’t even had anything to drink because you asked me not to! I’m out here rawdogging this dinner charade and you’re doing who knows what!”
Leon’s vision was blurring, but he could see the way Chris’ cheeks flushed. He glanced away, not wanting to see how the Captain’s face would twist into something ugly right before he would start yelling.
What he wasn’t expecting was a soft “I’m sorry, Leon.”
Watery eyes snapped back. Chris’ expression was open in a way he hadn’t seen before. Was it pity, sadness, or regret? He couldn’t tell. Chris visibly swallowed before continuing, “Some paperwork kept me late and there was traffic. I tried calling, but it went straight to voicemail.”
Leon realized then he hadn’t checked his phone at all that evening. Slapping at his pockets he found them empty. A beat of silence passed between them. “I think I left it in my other pants. At the motel.” God, Leon was as stupid as they came.
Feeling thoroughly cowed, Leon bent to reach for his jacket. “No, I’ve got it.” Chris plucked it up off the floor first. “Sit down and take a minute. Where’s your sling?” When Leon just glanced away in response, Chris rolled his eyes, “Do you want to permanently damage your shoulder?”
The sling was also back at Leon’s motel. He knew it was childish, but he didn’t want anyone to see him like that. Like this.
There was a low metal table presumably used for folding towels and sheets. Leon shuffled over to it and sat on the edge, the toes of his shoes a few inches off the floor.
The Captain sighed, slinging Leon’s jacket over the crook of his arm and leaning against the utility sink across from where Leon sat, only a few feet between them. “Want to tell me what all this is about? It’s not because I was late. I am sorry, though.”
Leon pressed his lips together, willing the wobbly sensation to go away. After a moment, eyes on the floor, he mumbled “Nothing happened.”
Because nothing had happened, not really. What, he got a little anxious when something changed? A loud noise spooked him? What was he, a little old ladies chihuahua?
Leon scrubbed his hands over his face, pushing his bangs back while pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes till he saw spots. His skin was tacky with dried tears. God, he hoped the light was low enough for Chris to not notice. “Nothing happened, Chris.”
He heard Chris scoff. “Well, this is a whole lot of something to go with your nothing then. You normally check out the hotel laundry room?” He folded his arms. Leon couldn’t decipher what Chris was thinking; brow furrowed, corners of his mouth slightly downturned. Disappointment? Probably. Chris was a straightforward guy, and Leon was beating the bush to death.
But he didn’t even know how to begin talking. “Yeah, sorry dude, everything was too loud and I really needed you like some sort of emotional support animal. That’s why you found Special Agent Leon Scott Kennedy crying in a closet.”
“Come on, Leon, give me something. I’m not a mind-“
“It was too much, Chris! Everything is too much, all the time!” Leon snapped, slamming his hands down on the table, “and when I needed you, you weren’t there! It’s a cycle, and I delude myself into thinking each time will be different, that maybe you’ll stick around when I need you for once.
“But I’m the stupid one because if I had just had my phone on me it wouldn’t have escalated this far and I wouldn’t have thought-“ he stopped, choking on the lump in his throat threatening to gag the truth from him.
Chris’ voice was so, so soft again, “Thought what, Leon?”
Leon sobbed. Shame engulfed what little anger was left. “That you’d decided I really wasn’t worth it.”
He sat there, staring at his hands in his lap, too much of a coward to look Chris in the eye. Leon didn’t think he could stomach the disgust, the way his upper lip was probably turning up into a scowl, his nose wrinkling. He willed the floor to swallow him up, or to wake up sweaty and groaning in his own bed, sheets twisted around him like snakes, nightmare already running cold in his mind. The pair of polished shoes stepping into view went unnoticed.
Leon jolted slightly when a large, warm hand touched his arm. It slid up his shoulder to his neck, and then firm but gentle fingers in his hair pulled him forward to rest his forehead into a solid chest.
“Leon, take a breath.” Chris’ voice rumbled. Leon could feel it. Like a cat’s purr. His other hand pressed slow circles between Leon’s shoulder blades.
“You can breathe for me, can’t you?” Leon tried again, but it was more of a desperate gasp. “If anyone on this earth can understand even a little of what you’re going through, it’s me, Leon.”
Bright white spotlights: “We have use for someone with your particular set of skills.” If only Chris knew. But he couldn’t know the failure Leon was.
He sobbed harder. “I’m so tired, Chris.”
The hand rubbed in firmer circles, “Okay, okay, it’s okay…”
After a few moments, when it was apparent Chris wasn’t backing off, Leon allowed his hands to leave his lap and wrap tightly around Chris’ middle. He pulled him impossibly closer, as if his presence could make the rest of the world fall away. Not even the scratchiness of his tux jacket was enough to let go.
The longer Chris held him, while he cried and struggled to count breaths, the more something inside him slowly started to click back into place. It could have been a few minutes or an hour before Leon felt himself come back to his body, chest loosening and stomach no longer threatening to turn inside out.
They stood like that, Chris rocking them gently from side to side. Slow and soothing. Leon’s stuttering breaths evened out even with his face shoved into Chris’ shirt. Leon thought he smelled nice. Mostly like clean laundry, but under that was a warm scent that was just Chris. How did he describe it? Not quite musky, but just clean skin and masculine.
Oh boy, he needed a drink.
“You think you can clean up and head back out there?” Chris’ voice cuts through Leon’s thoughts. He pushed Leon off his chest and carded his wayward bangs out of his eyes. Leon hoped the warmth rising in his face wasn’t too noticeable. “Yeah, yeah, I think I’m okay now.” he coughs.
Chris gives him a lopsided smile, “Good, I think you’ve earned one drink. I’ve got Darrin at the bar, so he’ll get us something going.”
Leon frowned. “Who?”
“Darrin! He’s one of my guys. Have a few of them posted around just in case anyone tried anything tonight.” Chris shook Leon’s jacket out before offering it to him. “He’s how I knew to follow you this way; said you didn’t look too good.”
Embarrassment rose up in Leon’s gut. “Damn, ain’t that convenient.” Chis claps a hand on his good shoulder, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll get some food, some drinks, then we’ll get you to bed. You look like shit.”
Leon lets out a phlegmy laugh before clearing his throat noisily, “Alright, fine.” He hesitates, “can you maybe…not mention this to anyone?” He can’t quite meet Chris’ eyes again.
He does see the little upturn of the corner of his mouth, his eyes squinting in a curious way, “Yeah, man it’s no problem” he takes a step back so Leon can get back on his feet. “Just promise me something.” Leon can’t help the way he freezes, coldness draining down his limbs to his finger tips. Chris continues, eyes are boring into Leon’s, “if you’re ever…like this…again, promise you’ll call me?”
Leon lets out a little breath, “I promise I’ll try.”
Chris nods an acknowledgment, fighting with the laundry room door handle. “I’ll take what I can get!” Leon pulled his suit jacket on, trying his best to smooth out the fabric. Chris jangled the door more aggressively.
He paused after a few seconds and turned to Leon, “I think the door’s stuck”