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Leon's body aches.
That Arias freak tossed him around like a rag doll, squeezing him so hard that Leon could feel his bones shift and crack beneath his mutated grasp.
His ribs are definitely broken and his shoulder's shot. His good shoulder, too.
It hurts and all Leon wants is a drink.
But no.
Stupid Redfield and perfect Chambers had to come scoop him up for some mission. Again.
And now he's injured.
Again.
He really wants that drink. He longs for the way it would burn on the way down, it numbing him from the inside out. It doesn't matter that his shoulder is dislocated or that he has a couple of cracked ribs. It's really nothing he hasn't dealt with before. He can pop his own bones back into place and wrap an ace bandage around his chest later, so he really deserves to go back to his lonely hotel and drink the entire minibar. He doesn't need the BSAA's medical team to look him over. Doesn't need more hands touching him. He's already been groped by a BOW today. He doesn't need more fingers touching him, even if they actually are human.
He grunts, his brows knitted together as a few paramedics crowd him. He shoos them away with the flick of his wrist, a grumble on his lips, "Focus on Doctor Good Hope, would ya?" She needed the attention more than he did, anyway. It sucks to be infected; the aftermath never feels good.
He pats at his chest, feeling for his flask when he remembers that it's empty. His lips purse as he remembers downing the thing on the elevator ride up to that zombie-infected corridor he saw Chris in. It really was just a few measly sips, not nearly enough to get him drunk or even somewhat impaired, but the taste kept him from completely losing his mind during the fight with that man-turned-beast. It probably also helped conceal most of the pain of his injuries, their dull aches becoming more and more apparent by the minute. Each time he shifts, his ribs burn like his blood is laced with hot lava, his shoulder loose in its socket. He is going to set it. He is. All he needs is a glass of whiskey, a sturdy wall, and something to stick between his teeth so that his screams don't escape.
He shudders, closing his eyes for a moment as he anticipates the future pain of popping in a dislocated joint. He's done it before. He's done all of it before, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt. He almost wishes he had just rolled off the side of that skyscraper. Almost. He just needs a moment of silence to calm his nerves. He needs to take a real breath. He needs Chris to stop staring at him from across the room. He needs Chris to stop looking at him with those soft chestnut eyes and to just focus on the medics applying butterfly bandages to his forehead.
Leon shifts on his feet, throat tacky as he looks around the room. It's starting to spin slightly, the lights and noise of everything making him dizzy. He spots the door to a hallway, his mind slow to think.
There's got to be a bathroom in this place. The thought of splashing some water up onto his face sounds good, his skin starting to feel a bit too hot and his lungs searing with each breath now. There's a tiny wheeze to his breath as he flicks his eyes around the room, letting them land on Chris. It's no surprise - the congregation around him. Golden boy over there can't get hurt. Can't be put out of commission. Soon, enough people are in Chris' view that they distract him long enough for Leon to slip out of his chair.
His movements are stilted, but he keeps the whines of pain bottled up in the back of his throat as he slinks through the door to the hallway, quiet as a mouse.
Shuffling down the long corridor, his eyes sweep the walls, the edges of his vision blurry. He's god-awful tired now, his breathing coming out in short puffs of air. It feels like he's forcing it in and out of his lungs, throat still sticky and aching for a drink.
He really needs to find that bathroom, or at least a quiet place to rest his legs.
He stumbles into the wall in front of him, a wheeze rattling his lungs as his eye catches a door to the outside.
How nice. The BSAA have little outdoor gardens. The DSO could never.
Leon huffs and grinds his teeth as he pushes himself from the wall to fall through the door, the cold night's air hitting him so hard that he shivers bodily, his bleary eyes catching a set of benches near the center of the little courtyard.
His lip curls slightly as he shuffles over concrete and literal grass to grab at the iron bench, his one arm still limp at his side. It can wait. It can wait. He really needs to sit, or else the earth might actually flip upside down.
He turns to fall heavily onto the bench, a cough startling through his lips as he crunches in on himself for a moment, his fist curled up at his lips.
He opens his eyes back to the spots of warm blood on the side of his hand, his blue eyes sliding over the red liquid groggily. "Perfect," He sighs out through a wheeze, letting himself lean back into the bench to extend his legs, sliding down so that he's barely even sitting on the bench, his head propped up on the back of the bench as he feels his jacket flop at his sides.
His eyes flit down to his exposed abdomen, his good hand shifting to prod at his side. He winces silently, deft fingers finding a piece of glass lodged between his ribs. "Perfect," he whispers to himself again, letting his fingers wrap around the shard to tug it free. He doesn't make a sound as it slices out of his flesh, blood now weeping from the hole in his side as the taste of copper coats the back of his throat.
How perfect would it be if he bled out here on top of the BSAA's headquarters?
The thought makes him giggle and drop his head back to look at the stars. They blink in and out of the sky, or maybe that's his vision. Leon huffs out a soft laugh, pressing his palm to his side. It twinges at the pressure, but the blood doesn't seem to be pooling through his fingers too quickly.
He'll sit here for just a moment, he thinks.
Chris misses Leon's departure from the room, the dark-haired man gone in the blink of an eye. He opens and closes his eyes tiredly as people surround him to ask questions, but he knows Kennedy didn't get checked out by medical. He really can't have his friend walking around with a dislocated arm, so he presses himself up and between the people as he sheepishly speaks, "Need to use the restroom. I'll be back."
He exits the room through the same door Leon did, his eyes scanning the halls as he decides which way the idiot agent would go. It isn't a hard decision, a red dot in the grey carpeting catching his eye from a few feet away.
His brows twitch. He doesn't remember Leon bleeding, at least not from anything considered a minor scrape. He knew the guy had a fucked up shoulder, but anything else wrong with him was hidden beneath that black jacket.
Chris curses under his breath as he stalks toward the small dot of blood to glance down the corridor, his brows closing together in a worried scowl as he catches more scattered patches of crimson. The spots on the carpet grow from small dots to larger splotches until finally Chris sees what he suspects to be Leon's blood on the metal doorframe to the outdoor courtyard.
He quickly shuffles through it, still in all of his gear and covered in dirt and grime from that fight with Arias. A quick scan has his eyes snapping to the agent lazing on one of the benches, his head hung back. "Leon!" Chris calls out, his heart jumping in his chest when Leon doesn't move.
He sprints over to him, breath coming out in a huff as he skids to a stop in front of Leon's body, his hands immediately reaching out for Leon's face to pat at it, calling out frantically, "Leon - Leon, god dammit -"
Leon gurgles something annoyed, one eye peeking open to whoever disrupted his impromptu nap. "Redfield," He murmured, though his words must have been slurred by the look on Chris' face. "How di- y' find me?"
Chris shakes his head, voice irritated and concerned as he slips his fingers down to check Leon's pulse, his other hand falling down to move Leon's lax one to the side, "You left a trail of blood."
"Oh," Leon breathes, his eyelashes fluttering. He hadn't even noticed. Must be his age, he muses inwardly with a curl of his lips.
Chris bites back a snarky reply as he catches sight of the deep laceration cut through Leon's shirt. His pulse is a bit elevated, and it isn't hard to put two and two together based on the glinting piece of glass stained red at Leon's side. Chris leans forward to wrap his palm around Leon's wound as he chides, "Are you fucking stupid or something? Why didn't you get checked by medical?"
It came out harsher than he intended, his back arched as he applies pressure to Leon's wound. Leon has the audacity to loll his head up to look at what Chris is doing before sighing with a half shrug, his other shoulder still not back in its socket as he murmurs, "Dunno. Thought maybe I'd bleed out here. 'S nice."
Chris clenches his teeth, closing his eyes as he dips his head to control his anger. It's now completely clear to him, Leon's reckless actions on the roof of that building. The man is asking for it, asking for something Chris doesn't even want to think about.
"Not tonight," Chris seethes through his teeth, cupping Leon's side harder.
Leon winces as he pouts. "I thought -" His voice squeaks out, "Prince Charmings were supposed to be nice?"
Chris can tell Leon's fading out of consciousness with the way he barely has his head propped up, his blue eyes droopy with what Chris is going to assume is a concussion.
"Not this time," Chris mumbles, shifting his other hand to his vest. The good thing about still being covered in his tactical gear is that he can radio down to medical. He clicks on the communicator befofe speaking into it, "Can we get some medical personnel out to the courtyard? Leon decided he'd rather bleed out here."
Leon giggles at that, his smile lopsided. There's a quick click-in response before Chris raises his eyebrows down at Leon's stare. Leon clicks at his teeth, still wearing a lousy smile, while Chris releases his hand only for a moment to quickly sit next to Leon on the bench, his hand finding Leon's side again. He hates the wet warmth he feels there, but the wound doesn't seem to be getting any worse.
"Just let me die," Leon whines out unexpectedly, not moving an inch as he dips his head in Chris' direction.
"What? No." Chris immediately replies, grabbing at Leon's shoulder to keep the other in place. The comment was alarming. Extremely alarming.
"No fun," Leon grunts softly, his upright body swaying as he looks at Chris with a weak scowl. His faculties must not all be in tack, because he sinks his head down to pillow it awkwardly on Chris' shoulder while he whispers, "Please?"
Chris shivers. He doesn't like this side of Leon. He's caught glimpses of it since he saw him drinking his weight in alcohol at the bar. "No," Chris manages, using his free hand to pinch up at Leon's chin as he looks down into his eyes. "No dying allowed."
Leon withers, melting from Chris' grasp to tuck himself into the older man's side as he relents, "Then how about a drink?"
Chris shuts him down immediately. "No alcohol either."
"S' so stupid," Leon mumbles, weaseling himself closer to Chris. Chris relents to wrap a careful arm around Leon's back, holding the man close as he nuzzles into Chris' shoulder with a sleepy murmur, "Then keep me warm, at least."
Chris can only sit there, keeping Leon's blood in his body with his palm pressed to Leon's side, his expression grim. What's he to do when Leon's like this?