Chapter Text
"Get up."
Soft pillow smacks against his face and Chris barely registers it. Between the buzz of his alarm and another hard smack he's still half-asleep and only moves his hand groggily to cover his face when the pillow hits him for the third time.
"Chris, I'm serious. Get up." Lovely voice speaks from behind him and the mattress dips under the weight of another's knee. Somebody leans in and pulls his arm away enough to whisper directly into his ear, "Forty-three."
And with that Chris rises up and scrambles off the bed, quilt a mess between his legs, he hurries to find balance and kick sheets off himself. He squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to remember how to see and differentiate walls from floors and people from furniture.
"Please don't," he blurts out and sees Kennedy drop that poor pillow back on his bed with satisfaction.
Chris doesn't even remember what specifically hides behind that ominous and mysterious "forty-three", but he is lucid enough to know that it has the worst meaning possible, ranging somewhere from 'I'll give you the cold shoulder for a week' to 'forget about kissing goodbye when nobody's looking', so Chris does the most logical thing. He obeys.
"Tell me why do I come home from my night shift and see you still in your bed, officer?" Leon cocks an eyebrow and crosses his arms, standing tall and watching Chris's scrambling for clothing. "How do you plan on getting to the station in time?"
Chris reaches for his pants and pulls them out, not caring about creases and stain on the hems. His uniform is at the station, he just has to look presentable enough to get there and change. He hums as he pulls the pants on by the belt loops.
"Well, maybe a good-looking and kind officer gives me a lift in his super comfortable car, how does that sound?"
Leon huffs at the audacity.
"And why would he do that?" He says, "What does the officer get out of it?"
Chris stretches his shirt and pulls it on, biting his lip. Then he smirks to himself and glances at Kennedy and says with a speck of flirting to his voice,
"Let's say… twenty-two." He grins at the way Leon's eyes widen and he turns around, hands in pockets, shoulders raised, timid blush creeping up his face.
He gulps and then mumbles, barely audible, "I would've done it for less. A cup of coffee, for example."
When Chris reaches under the table in search of his shoes, Kennedy waves his hand vaguely and turns around, not without taking a peek at Redfield's round ass, that's for sure.
"Get ready, I'll wait outside," he says, jingles his keys, and closes the door on his way out. Chris can hear his greeting their roommate and both shuffling in the hallway, Jeremy groggily saying something, and the sound of their kettle coming to life. Chris momentarily thinks to himself that he need to find a way to busy Jeremy for a night, if he's to make good on his promise of twenty-two.
They have a perfect system worked out. Hiding in plain sight, acting as best buds with a secret code to talk about chores and nag each other, you know, bringing back that childhood excitement. They might as well start building pillow forts, which would be admittedly dangerous for Chris's face considering Leon's habit to hit him with these. But their number system works perfectly, never giving out.
Nobody should know that twenty-two in fact means not a promise to take up ironing the other's clothes as a hobby, but a blowjob. A good one. Chris will make sure. If only he could make Jeremy leave… for a couple of hours, simply because Chris knows for a fact that no way they'd stop after just a blowjob. Not when Kennedy's face is so sweet and flushed and red and pleased.
Redfield ties his laces and sighs dreamily.
The drive to the precinct is calm. Rock music is playing quietly in the car, Chris stares out of the window, and Leon drives, too tired to talk. Chris actually tried asking him about his day, but Leon simply brushed it off and said the only thing he was planning on doing was coming home and faceplanting into his bed and turning his mind off until his next shift. So Redfield ended up glancing at him from time to time, just to see how concentrated he was, looking at the road and driving carefully.
When they approached the last traffic light and stop there waiting, Chris finally turns his whole body to Leon.
"Thank you for dropping me off," he says, reaching to stroke the hand lying on the gear stick.
"We're not there yet," Leon huffs confusedly and looks at Chris with a slight smile.
"Doesn't matter. I should've walked myself, actually, and not force you to drive. You look tired as hell, sugar."
"You didn't force me."
"Yeah, I coerced you." Chis nods too eagerly, a playful grin on his face.
Leon snorts.
"Just buy me coffee and we're square."
Squinting and grinning slyly, Chris moves his hand from the gear stick to Leon's thigh and strokes it lightly, making shivers run up Kennedy's spine and him straighten up.
"Maybe I can offer more than just a coffee?" He whispers and Leon's cheeks burst with red as he gulps and mumbles something about the green light. The car gets into action and makes a turn.
"Chief hasn't been bothering you, has he?" Chis asks randomly when they park inside the precinct. He's unclipping his belt when Leon turns around and gives him a confused look.
"Not more then usual, why?"
"Nothing." Chris shakes his head. "Just asking. Do I get a good luck peck?"
He points at his cheek and leans closer to his lover, and Leon huffs before looking around and giving him a peck, instantly looking away and acting oh so busy and concentrated. The parking lot is quiet mostly, some people walk near the doors, but their car is hidden in the dark. Nobody would see a thing unless they knew what to look for.
Chris reaches for his bag on the back seat and swiftly kisses Kennedy's cheek when bending over. So suave, so nonchalant. Kennedy roll his eyes but smiles nonetheless.
"Off I go," Chris declares and opens the door, "take care."
Saluting him, Redfield hurries to clock in, a few minutes still left for him. The sweet atmosphere lingers in the car as Leon watches him go and rubs his cheek absentmindedly before starting the car again. He always insisted on parking properly before letting Chris hop out.
A sudden knock on the window makes him jolt jumpily, and he wraps his head around to stare into Marvin's smiley face.
"Lieutenant!" Kennedy exclaims, rolling down the window. He hopes his little scared gulp wasn't that evident in his voice. "Good morning!"
Marvin greets him in return and leans on his car with one hand on the roof. Looking Kennedy up and down and then glancing at his wrist watch, he inquires, "Weren't you sent home, like, two hours ago?"
"Yeah, was giving officer Redfield a ride." Leon answers with a smile. "Can't have our S.T.A.R.S unit late on their shift, you know."
"Very nice of you, officer Kennedy," Marvin laughs and straightens out, patting the metal of the car, "and here I thought you wanted to work some more."
"Sorry, sir," Leon shakes his head funnily, "no overtime for me today."
That gets a jesting click out of lieutenant's mouth and he puts hands on his hips.
"A pity," he says, "you're one of my best. Alright, Kennedy, go rest. I'll tell Chris he should use his own legs to walk sometimes."
Sitting at his desk right before the clock hits the beginning of his shift, already dressed and presenting ready for duties, Chris mentally thanks Leon again and thinks of taking care of his laundry next time Kennedy's uniform starts taking too much space in their shared bathroom. He would do it either way, actually, but Leon insists that if Chris starts evidently taking care of him, it would bee too on the nose, and people would start catching on to their little charade.
At the age of twenty-eight (which, coincidentally, meant 'I love you so much' in their code language, and nothing weird was in pure love declarations coming after sexual propositions, Chris believed) it didn't seem so little. Chris felt himself old enough to know that he's done taking tries and experimenting. He's sure what they have with Kennedy is long-term and serious, and so he treats it that way. Maybe he should really start thinking about buying a place of his own. An apartment, or a house, if he finds a good deal.
He spins on his chair and stares at the wall near his table, the one filled with pictures and certificates. There are photos of his family, his favourite one with Claire looking happy and smiling wide, hanging from Leon's shoulders and pulling him into frame by the tiny string on his party hat. Other pics of himself from different achievements. Some photos Claire sent him the other month.
If the world was a little different, he would take enough polaroids of Leon, being free, being himself, being sleepy, domestic, and lovely, and would hang it all over his living space, leave enough at his workplace, just so every single time he feels bored he looks at his most treasured face and knows that there still is some light in this life. Some reasoning. He can always come back home and look at it and kiss it and love it and cherish it. He can smother Leon with affection, he can embrace him, caress him, touch him, look after him, and do anything and all in between. His beloved, his man, his light.
But the world is the way it is.
And he has to hide behind closed doors, ask Claire to take pictures with both of them, just so he can put it on his wall and say he's doing it because of his sister. He has to devise a damn code system, so now their talks in public resemble a line of computer code. One-zero-zero-one-one. Except for more numbers. And their whole personal email chains now look like someone pressed a reversed num lock key.
Sometimes Chris wants to just drop it all, take Leon, and move somewhere where it's easier to breathe. If it were up to him, he'd declare he's gay and in love right in the middle of the RPD and hand over his badge to fuming Irons and get the hell out taking Kennedy with him. But he would never do this to Leon. This job is where Leon's heart lies and he'd rather die then lose it, especially for such a trivial, stupid, and minuscule thing.
This paranoia's taking a toll on them, Chris thinks. Leon is careful, too careful. And the greater turn their relationship takes, the harder Leon tries to keep it under the covers. Juggles responsibilities and free time more, acts carefully, constantly alert and anxious. For his part, Chris does everything he can to make it appear casual from the outside. Plays his role nicely, nags Kennedy, calls him by his last name, treats him as a buddy, a family friend, a roommate. Hell, it was his plan to be roommates in first place.
Even before they started dating Chris already had his sights set on Kennedy. He admits, that was a little bit intentional. Figuring out how to flirt with someone when you literally can't without risking it all is pretty hard, and having a test drive of seeing Kennedy off-duty, true, and real, getting an average grasp of his inner thoughts, behaviours, ideals was a nice idea. Worst case scenario, Kennedy turns out to be a bigoted douche, and Chris gets a chance to get over him quickly. Best case scenario, Leon is gay, is into Redfield, and is brave enough to ask him out first.
As it turns out, Chris has never been luckier.
He found a place for renting for three people, then searched for a guy nice enough and found one. Jeremy was calm, quiet, and hard-working. Didn't ask a lot of questions, didn't really care about being friends. He himself needed someone who would stay out of his business and promised not to be too noisy, and Chris eagerly agreed. And only then he went up to Kennedy, offering to get on board with that sweet deal. That was two years ago, and now Chris is pretty content with their living arrangement.
He spins back to face his table and knocks right into his captain, slamming his legs into his side and freezing on spot. Wesker stares him down through his shades and his mouth displeasingly curves downwards, as Chris awkwardly smiles.
"Tell me, Chris," he starts, sounding calm and calculated, his tone not wavering, not for a second, "why is that I get complaints about your performance first thing in the morning?"
Chris's eyes widen and he looks up awkwardly and then momentarily points at himself, completely unaware. Honestly, he has no idea what he could've done wrong. Maybe yesterday, but even so, he was on his best behaviour. He had lunch with Leon, maybe bothered him a little before heading home. The boy had a double shift — took it purposefully so they could spend tomorrow together — and Chris brought him extra sweets. Does feeding young officers donuts now count as workplace harassment?
"If I hear one more word about you leeching off officer Kennedy, you can say goodbye to your bonus. Forever."
Jill audibly gasps behind Wesker's back and ducks behind her chair, acting extremely busy the moment captain snaps his head around. Wesker then slowly turns to look at Chris again, stares at him, as if waiting for anything, an apology, or an excuse, but Chris stays in his place, baffled.
"Hope you've heard me." Wesker says then and nods himself when Chris moves his head. "And take these off the wall. They seem to be distracting you."
"Yes, sir," Chris nods and starts looking through the papers brought to him under Wesker's scrutinising gaze and only when the captain does leave and hide behind the blinds and closed door to his office, Chris slumps in his chair and hums tiredly.
There is a rapid touch to his shoulder, and Jill scoots closer on her chair, it's wheels sounding plastic and noisy.
"Hey," she whispers, glancing at Wesker's closed door, "the hell did you do?"
"Like hell do I know!" He hisses and shrugs and shakes his head a little. "I asked Leon to drop me off today, and that was it."
"Weird," Jill muses and leans back on her chair, rocking on it back and forth, balancing herself with a hand on Redfield's table. She drags her eyes away from Chris and looks to the side pensively, and then throws her hands up in the air and pushes herself off Chris's table. Her chair squeaks a little as she slides back to her place. "Maybe Kennedy's done with you and wants a minute."
"I assure you, he's fine." He snickers as he gets up from his place. "You want some coffee?"
"Yes, please. But think about it— you bother him on his break, go to lunch with him, then he comes home and there you are! Can't blame him for wanting a break."
Picking up his wallet from the table, Redfield rolls his eyes and walks over to her to slant towards her on the way out and pat her on her shoulder.
"Jill. You just have no friends. And that boy from the store doesn't count."
"Maybe I just keep quiet. Afraid you steal them and treat them like our poor Kennedy. Boy can't catch a breath." Making a face, Jill says and spins on her chair, hands propped behind her head. Chris flips her off when walking out of the office.
Them being friends with Leon isn't much of a secret to anybody. The whole precinct knows, the coffee stop he orders drinks at knows, their landlord knows, surely one day the whole Raccoon City will know if they don't start keeping to themselves more.
But sue Chris for wanting to live his life to the fullest and give his boyfriend princess treatment. His whole life he's been running around and giving things up for others, and he loves that. He loves to take care of his sister, he loves to spoil her, to teach her how to protect herself and do her best, and he thinks himself a good teacher, thank you very much. And he might be unruly and love to do things his way, but he has never been anything but generous and kind, so this one and only thing he's allowed to have, he takes for himself.
Every single time, every single lucky moment he finds he takes by the reigns. This is the only greedy thing he can do. And, also, the only way to repay Leon for his bravery.
He orders coffee for himself and Jill and stands aside, looking inside his wallet. Under a flap onto which his personal information is plastered he keeps Leon's rookie pic. It's several years old now, and is kept there in secret, stolen from Kennedy's work drawer. Three years ago Chris picked it up to know who that new boy was supposed to be, but got caught up in action and forgot to return it, and by the time he found it in his uniform when doing the laundry, it was too late to bring it back. They've probably printed out another one right after they lost the first picture, so no big deal.
And when they've been already dating, for a month or so, Chris rediscovered it in his stuff and put in his walled in that small plastic pocket. Kennedy, barely legally allowed to drink, still smiles at him with these bright eyes and his soft face from the picture.
The cashier calls him up to pick his order, and Chris pushes his wallet deep in his pocket.
It still amuses him when he recalls the day Leon confessed to him. This was one and a half months since they've been roommates. They've gotten out for drinks, just the three of them: Redfield, Kennedy, and Jeremy, always too tired and too busy, but suddenly free that one evening. They've set their sights on a night club and hyped themselves up when Jeremy offered to chat up girls.
Whoever picks up a girl first, takes the apartment for themselves. The other two suckers have to stay outside and wait for an "all-clear, get your asses home" call.
And to tell the truth, that day Chris was praying that Jeremy got laid. It would not only busy him for a while, but also give Chris a valid reason to pull Leon out of the club and get him loosened up. Something was going on between them lately, and it got the best of him. He could not shake the feeling that Leon was avoiding him, and couldn't come up with nothing smarter than to avoid him in return.
That's why he planned on cornering the guy and sorting his deal out. He was going to be a bigger person and buy him a drink, then swallow his feelings and pride and get this over with. One thing Chris hoped for was that Kennedy hasn't caught on his feelings, and if he has, he was not weirded out. Chris could deal with a sprinkle of homophobia and gradually losing their friendship, but if he were to be shut sown completely, he would crack.
Just a little. Just momentarily. But fall apart, slowly, gradually, until one day he wakes up with a scar on his heart and decides to just go on with it. He can be happy in another life.
That night he followed his roommates closely, acting ludicrous and patting both guys on their backs, pumping Jeremy up and laughing along, jesting that Jeremy should just come up to the first hot girl he sees and talk to her. And it was fun and jokes until Jeremy went and did it. And both Redfield and Kennedy got locked out for the foreseeable future, which rounded up to two hours tops. They ended up sitting on the swings and drinking soda, because Chris's head was in splitting pain and the thought of another drop of alcohol made him want to throw up.
With fresh and chilly air around his mind cleared up enough for him to swing just a little, metal chains rattling quietly with every move. Kennedy, on the other hand, was giving it his all, going forward and backwards, his hips still slim enough to fit in the seat. Chris remembers himself thinking how those hips would grow with constant running and maybe even whistled. They weren't talking. Sat in relative silence, sipping from their cans and rubbing sleepy eyes from time to time. Both speechless until Chris spat out something about Leon's dislike of touching others.
"What do you mean?" Kennedy asked then, still swinging, making it difficult for Chris to focus, having to turn away and cover his eyes with his free palm.
"I've noticed it lately, you keep dodging me." He said, taking another sip, "So I thought you hated touch, or it's my hugs that are uncomfortable. Sorry if that's true."
"I don't hate touch," Leon refuted and stopped his swinging, his running boots leaving tracks on the sand under. He then tilted his whole body to touch Chris on his shoulder, proving his point. "See?"
Chris smiled at it then and nodded, and Kennedy let go of him, grabbed the chains again, and resumed his swinging, Rustle of the swings filled the distance between them.
"Alright." Chris peeked at Kennedy through his fingers and mustered enough willpower to finally face the problem head on. "Can I ask you something?"
"Shoot." Leon answered, sounding completely lost and distracted.
"It's about what's going on lately." He tried to look at him, but kept getting dizzy, so he reached out to try and stop him mid swing. Leon then proceeded to collide with him and slip out the seat, falling onto the ground, catching himself mid-fall, and spilling his soda all over his shirt. Chris held onto his arm, saving Leon's knees from kissing the dirt and getting scraped. "Fuck. My apologies."
He helped Kennedy sit back down and finally noticed the dazed look on his face and how limp his arms and legs appeared.
"You're still drunk?"
Leon shrugged indifferently and tried to swing again.
"Please sit still, it's important."
"Okay. What's going on?"
Chris took a deep breath and straightened out in his uncomfortable seat. "Am i making you uncomfortable?"
Leon blinked comically slowly. "What?"
"I can understand if I'm being annoying, but you'd have to tell me yourself."
"Chris, why the hell would you be annoying?"
"You tell me, you've been avoiding me for a week!" His hands flew up and his can sprayed soda on the back of his palm, so he had to bring it up to his face and lick it off. "It's just… I get it. I know I can be annoying sometimes. And I'm constantly around, I mean, at work, at home, I guess I'm clingy, so I'm not surprised you think I'm too much."
Leon kicked his foot slightly and butted in, "You're not too much. If you were, you'd know."
Then he took a moment and opened his mouth. Then closed it, and opened again.
"Lately it's been— shit. I just think we got too close."
Redfield saw that coming, and that's why he pep talked himself in the mirror before going out. He swallowed and breathed in, nodding understandingly, but Kennedy continued.
"Being too friendly feels weird. I like you, you're good, I'm glad we're friends and all, Chris." He said definitively. "But isn't it weird? Maybe they're all used to you being so open to everyone around, but me? I'm in a rocky position. I still have to prove that I deserve it every day. I have to fight for it, I have to give it my all. I'm but a new kid."
"Not so much. You've been here for a year."
"And? I'm nothing more than a rookie to everyone. Any day can be my last day on the force if I'm not on my best behaviour." He tried to take a sip of his soda, but the can was empty so he disappointingly set it down and rocked himself on the swing, looking to the side. "I have to prove I can do more. Be useful, because just doing my duties ain't enough. Do you know how long I dreamed of it? And even though it's not all nice— I still want it."
They sat in silence for a second, Chris recalls hearing Leon say something about "not all that glitters is gold" and then stare at the clouds before holding tight to the swings chains and walking several steps behind before raising his feet and flying forward, going past Chris with a gush of wind.
"You should care less about things like that." Chris said, following his movements with serious expression on his face.
"Like what?" Leon asked, rocking and going faster and faster. "Authority? Ain't that why you got kicked out of the army?"
"I left."
"A-ha," smirked Kennedy.
Chris rolled his eyes, yet kept looking at Leon. He remembers his hair flowing around, swishing side to side, definitely getting into his eyes. His face so focused, so pretty under the yellow glow of streetlights.
"But I'm serious. You don't have to put yourself in the mould, just so people can appreciate how professional you can get. Y'know, guys at the station can sense when people are faking something, they're policemen, for god's sake." The words came out surprisingly steady, bizarrely honest to Leon. "If you want to joke with others, just go and do so, what the hell is stopping you?"
"Yeah, let me just go and hug my male friends. And get close and all. Have you seen my face? They already treat me like a kid, no need to give them more reasons to never treat me like a man."
Chris grimaced and barked out a laugh. "Do I not look like a man to you then?"
Kennedy shrugged then. And Chris went on.
"I want to bring Jill coffee, I bring her coffee. Barry invites me over for a drink, I fucking come over. Jeremy asks me to pick his laundry up, I pick it up. I do stuff because it's just stuff, Kennedy. I wanna come downstairs and hang at your desk and shake you when you get too serious, I do it. Nobody says shit to me. And before you say we rank different, I did it when I myself was a rookie. Because that's what I am." He spoke sternly, staring Kennedy down with a frown on his face. And even if Leon tried to appear unaffected, in the yellow light his eyes shone as he struggled to keep gazing at some point in front of him. And Chris actually pitied the twenty-two year old kid in front of him when he said, "And I don't stop being a fucking man just because, I dunno, Irons says that men who smile are lesser, for fuck's sake!"
"You think I don't want it? Don't want to be a part of the team? I tried to, got told I'm over-eager. And I've tried again, but—" he gulped, "Some things are not for me. I just can't."
"There is no such thing as 'can't', Leon."
With soft creaking the swings lost the momentum and soon stilled. None of the men said a word.
"Not in this world. Everything is a 'can't'."
"What is?"
"Everything!" Leon roared, bending forward and gripping his hair desperately. Redfield remembers staying in place.
"Give me an example."
"Fuck you mean an example!? I said, everything! I want to hug you, I want to have inner jokes, I want to watch that TV show you keep talking about, I want to walk up to your office and bother you now, but I can't! That's not how the world works. I can never hold hands with anyone, can never truly be myself, can never know anyone, can never show them what I am, because that's not how the world works, and all I can do is play by it's rules, whether I like it or not."
He takes a shaky breath.
"Because society doesn't like guys like me. They sense that something's up and they get pitchforks."
"You're being ridiculous, Kennedy. What is there to sense wrong about you? You're a nice guy, one of the kindest I know."
"It's not about that."
"Then what is it about?"
A hiccup before a shaky breath, and Kennedy spun to face him, the chains above him rattling with his rapid movement. He got too close, his baby blues wide open, determined, and he's in Chris's face, smelling like alcohol and soda and fear.
"I can't do this any more." He hissed, rattled the chains again, moving even closer. "Do you like men, Redfield?"
His tone's accusing, blaming even, and it went right under Chris's skin like a snake's bite. He glared at Kennedy in return, at his bristled, defensive look. And he thought back to all they've had before. At how careful Kennedy was with everyone, how caring and sweet he was to people when he thought nobody he knew was looking, how tense he got when people joked about gays and girls, when he himself nagged him about his ex-girlfriend, and how apprehensive Kennedy was at the idea of sharing changing rooms and touching others.
That's why Chris got closer and spat out proudly, with a smile, nearly growling, "Yeah. And so what? Scared?"
Leon's face dropped, and his eyes widened as he moved away, and in that expression Chris finally saw that rookie returning. The sweet and kind, a little scared of everything new, but so willing to learn. A little star of a boy, the one they brought over to their office for introductions. 'That's our newest addition, Leon S. Kennedy. Just so you're aware.'
The same Leon S. Kennedy that was now in front of him, eyebrows raised in worry, shoulders brought up, body tense and careful. He couldn't move, couldn't say a thing, just stare at Chris's stoic, serious face with his wide, wide eyes slowly getting watery, until Chris broke eye contact first and leaned away. Kennedy deflated in a second and sniffled hard, flinching at his own sound.
When Chris turned around, Kennedy did as well. And started snivelling. Chris remembers side-eyeing him and biting his lip nervously. Fuck, alcohol was still circling through them, that really wasn't the right time to discuss anything of that nature. Now the one he likes so much was crying quietly on his right, and Chris couldn't do anything because every word would criminalise him more.
"You're still drunk?" He asked, repeating himself and glancing at Leon. Kennedy rapidly nodded many times, too many times to be sober, and Chris patted his shoulder, giving him his soda. "Finish it up, I don't care."
"Thank you." Mumbled Kennedy then and took a big swig. And then vaguely gestured, "Me too. That's why I can't— now you understand, don't you?"
"I don't. There is one thing, hiding a part of yourself. And forcing your whole self to hide, mutilating your life when it just began, that's a whole other issue. Look, you're just twenty-two, that's barely even anything. I'm twenty-six, you think I know what to do? I don't. And you're twenty-two. Your life just began. Fuck, when I was twenty-two, I got kicked out of the army."
"You said you left."
"I did."
Kennedy huffed out a laugh. "Whatever."
"All I'm saying is, don't let this job consume you. Live your life, you can always do something else. And if any bitch comes your way to tell you that you're wrong for being what you are, you mess 'em up, okay? Know that I'm on your side."
Another friendly patting on his back, and Kennedy fell apart again, breathing deeply, careful not to cry once more, squeezing the can in his hands before sniffling one more time.
"I'm into you. That's why I avoided you." After that, Chris's hand disappeared from his back. Kennedy shivered with the loss of contact. "I really like you, and it's getting harder to ignore, because I want to have you, but I can't, and you're so fucking attractive and always around, I literally can't catch a break."
Chris sat beside him silent, and Kennedy swallowed his fears for the first time since forever. He swiftly got up on his feet, head getting a little dizzy, and announced he was taking a walk.
And to this day Redfield still remembers seeing him go, so prideful, stronger than Chris ever could be and getting up on his feet to try and catch up with Kennedy, take him by the hand and follow him until Leon got the wrong idea and asked him to stop messing around. Chris remembers refusing to let go, telling him what he thought of before that. Everything else is a panicky blur in his mind that he only vaguely recalls. There was Jeremy's call an hour later, and they went home, and spent another week waltzing around before getting left home alone for a night — turned out Jeremy's girl took a liking — and finally sorting things out. Getting official.
Official. That's their number thirteen.
For some reason this simple word means so much to Redfield. He mumbles it sometimes when distracted, he whispers it to Leon when intimate, he barks that number when they fight over something stupid and he has to remind his boyfriend they're in this together.
And when he feels like there is nothing left, or leaves another homicide scene, or sees dead people, mauled by dogs for crossing the wrong men, Chris returns to the station, walks up to Leon's table even if he's not there and leaves a sticky note with a bunch of numbers on it. Thirteen is one of them.
Sometimes he writes a small five, just so Leon knows he misses him. And on good days he adds a twenty-three with a bunch of question marks. 'Wanna go all in tonight?'
Which is radically different from thirty-two, which is asking Chris to top. Sometimes he thinks they overuse this one, but if it comes from Leon, how can he say no?
The day goes on well. Chris bring coffee back, hides from Wesker for a moment, jokes with Jill, and answers Rebecca's questions about a crossword Barry gifted her before he took sick leave a day before. They try to track down the motive in the 'woods murders' case, and Chris honestly feels like losing his mind. He scans the documents again, comes up to the map stretched out on the table nobody took at the back of the room, and looks at it at different angles, and it seems futile, and he feels miserable, that's until his cellphone buzzes with a new SMS and it's screen lights up on his table. He snaps his head around with pencil stuck in between his lips and asks Jill to look at who was the sender.
"One sec," she says and reaches across the cubicle to grab the phone, "oh, it's Kennedy."
"What does he want?"
Chris knows his boyfriend wouldn't text him anything personal without using their code, especially because of how often Redfield couldn't just walk over and see the message for himself. And, of course, because captain Wesker was a disciplinary freak who held a weird grudge against Kennedy and any interaction Chris had with him. There were times when Albert physically removed Leon from the S.T.A.R.S office, grabbing him by the hand and pushing him out the door, when he was in a particularly bad mood. There were times when he looked happier then ever — that meant a slight rise to the corners of his mouth and an open door to his office — and so he just glared at Kennedy though his blinds until he felt uncomfortable enough to leave. There were times when Wesker babysat his goddaughter, mostly just letting her wander across the S.T.A.R.S. office and sit quietly in the corner, and those times were the only times Kennedy was welcome.
Turns out, to Wesker forcing Kennedy to help the girl with her homework seems to be a more respectful duty than being a police officer, and Chris generally believes Leon doesn't mind.
Leon is good with children. And Wesker has enough authority to overrule any other command and sign Leon up for babysitting his goddaughter. Something weird hides behind his rule of never letting Sherry out of sight and always having someone accompany her everywhere she goes in the station, but Chris doesn't really want to dig deep. Wesker is paranoid, that's not a secret to anyone, and maybe this girl's parents are freaks as well and fear something happens to her. But their precinct's building is old and has a bunch of secret passages and random things all over, so, maybe, Wesker is right about having someone as much a stickler to the rules as Leon following Sherry around. She's fifteen now, if Chris remembers correctly, and he recalls Claire being a rebellious menace at that age. He knows what sweet-looking girls can do if they're pissed enough.
Jill reads the message to him out loud,
"He says, 'it's three tonight, maybe thirty-two? If you do good on twenty-two. By the way, fourteen, and buy groceries if you don't wanna starve. Five, five, five.' That's it." Chris nods and thanks her, mumbling something under his breath. Jill puts his phone back on his table and sighs, "The more I know you, Redfield, the less I understand how the hell you two are even communicating."
Redfield muses, tapping his pencil against the map sprawled out in front of him. "Practice, Valentine. Practice."
"A-ha, right." She gets up from her table and walks over to him. "But seriously, how do you even understand each other?"
"Y'know, it's like an inside joke. You just know it."
"Alright, so what did he mean by that thirty, twenty, five-five-five?"
Chris rolls his eyes, but responds, lying through his teeth, "He's saying I owe him for a ride and better bribe him next time. Also our neighbour is out tonight, so he hopes I have my keys since nobody would open the door in case."
Jill blinks, looks at him incredulously, and then clicks her tongue. "That's crazy. I would've just texted that out."
"It saves time."
"Whatever." She shrugs. "Did you find anything?"
They keep racking their brains over the case until lunch, and after it they continue, looking lost and exhausted, and Chris finds himself sighing solemnly and taking breaks to gaze at his photo wall longingly just to shake his head and come back to trying to make sense out of whatever scarce connections may there be between victims. As soon as it starts to begin feeling hopeless, Wesker slams his door open and barks out their names.
"Valentine, meet lieutenant Branagh downstairs, they seem to have found another body. He'll take you to the crime scene."
Jill frowns and nods, starting to pack what she needs and pulling her beret on. Wesker gives her a folder with victim's profile and looks over whatever she and Chris came to during the day. He hums, furrowing his eyebrows, then picks up a couple of notes to look over by himself and spins on his heels, walking in the direction of his office.
"Chris will take over the documents."
"Yes, sir."
"And, Chris?" Wesker stops right before his door and raises his chin, not even looking at Chris properly, simply speaking in his direction, nothing more, "What did I say about pictures? I feel like I see Kennedy's face more often than productive work from you."
Chris's lips pull into a thin line as soon as Wesker's door is shut and blinds are closed and he comes up to his wall grouchily. Carefully he pulls small pins out and takes his photos down, Claire's high school graduation now lays on the table, then a picture from Leon's birthday comes right on top. Another one with his sister and boyfriend. another of just himself, another with his family. He puts them in a small folder he finds in his drawer and hides there. He rolls his eyes at Wesker and slides the drawer closed.
Before he gets back to work, Chris opens his cellphone and rereads Leon's message, smiling a little, then typing in a response.
'32? OK. 16? 555'
Since Jeremy's not home this evening, they could really get this fun going. Phone buzzes with a new message. A sweet and delicate 'Not 16. 15.'
Well, if Leon wants them to occupy his room and leave Chris's mess out of it, so be it. As Chris slips the phone into his pocket, he visualises Leon setting up his bed, pulling quilts and pillows from Redfield's room and waiting for him so domestic and soft. Chris sighs dreamily as he always does when he thinks of Kennedy.