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Leon was gone. You had awoken one morning, eyes still filled with sleep, and your body stiff. Your hand subconsciously reached out, searching his side of the bed for the familiar warmth of your husband, only to be met with cold cotton sheets. In an instant, you were awake, all but falling out of bed as you fumbled for your robe. Perhaps he had just been called into work early? This wouldn’t have been the first time you had awoken alone.
“Leon–?” You had called out as you tied the fabric around your waist. You made your way to the kitchen. The coffee pot was empty. No dishes in the sink. His briefcase was still slumped on a dining chair. Your heart stopped beating when you saw a note pinned to the fridge. You were unable to stop the tremor that started in your hands.
I have to find a cure for Sherry, and for you. I’m sorry. I love you
You read the note again. And again. And once more – in case the words changed. They didn’t. The dread grew like lead in the pit of your stomach, nausea curling in your gut as it dawned on you that Leon was worse for wear than he had led you to believe. You remember the first time you noticed those strange black bruises on his body. The two of you had been getting ready for bed one random weeknight not too long ago. He’d been hunched over the bathroom sink, brushing his teeth, and as he had leaned forward to spit, his greying, dirty blond hair parting, you saw it, like rot on his skin.
“Jesus, is that a rash?” You had asked, reaching up to touch the strange markings. Leon looked up, a smudge of toothpaste on the corner of his mouth as he curiously examined his neck.
“Must be–” he mused, catching your hand and bringing it towards his lips as he placed a gentle peck to your knuckles. “I’ll get it checked out after work tomorrow,” he promised.
“I don’t know, honey, it looks pretty bad. Maybe you can call out?”
He shook his head, “Can’t, not tomorrow at least. There is a strange death out near Green Oak, the team and I gotta check it out.”
He must have been able to tell by your pursed lips and furrowed brow that that wasn’t an acceptable answer, as he immediately tugged at the waistband of your pajama pants, pulling you flush against him.
“Hey, don’t worry, love, it’s just rash. They’ll give me some funky-smelling ointment, and in a few weeks it’ll clear right up,” he says, cupping your face, and he presses a minty kiss to your forehead.
“Fine, right after work, promise me?”
“I promise.”
Leon had kept his promise, or so you thought. He had returned home late that evening, a little white pharmaceutical bag in his hand as proof. He’d complained about the feeling of the greasy medicine as he had applied it to his rash.
“Damn stuff is thicker than cement–” he huffed, massaging it into his skin.
“Let me,” you had offered, only for Leon to immediately take a step back.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it, hon,” he crooned, voice suddenly softer.
“Fine, but next time you come home from a mission, you better not go asking for a neck rub,” you huffed, feigning annoyance. Leon chuckled, the laugh quickly turning into a cough.
That had been the night before you had awoken to an empty house.
He’d been gone for a week.
For seven days and seven nights, you had been in a constant state of anxiety. You had called his work, even gotten hold of Sherry, but no one could tell you where your husband was.
“I’m sorry, I really am–” Sherry had sympathized over the phone. “I think this was something Leon wanted to go at alone.”
“His note had your damn name on it, something about a cure – Sherry, please, I need to find my husband! If he’s sick…” You trailed off, feeling yourself get worked up again.
“Hey, it’s okay. I mean, this is Leon we’re talking about! He’ll come home, I promise.”
You couldn’t tell if she was lying to you or not, but you couldn’t be mad at her. After a mumbled thank you, you hung up, and the silence of the house rang in your ears once more.
It had become a nightly routine of yours to come home from your job, flip the porch light on – as the October evenings meant it got dark out early– uncork a bottle of wine, and sit on the couch and wait for your love to come home. And every morning as you awoke, mildly hungover, you felt a piece of your heart shatter as you turned the porch light off.
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Leon was exhausted. It was the kind of tired he could feel in his bones that made him feel older than he was. Leon had been exhausted his whole life; it was something he could deal with. What he couldn’t deal with, however, was another night spent away from you. Hope pumped through his veins as he turned left onto his neighborhood street, the silver ring on his finger glinting from the passing street lights. He brought the ring to his lips, kissing it as he turned the Porsche into the driveway. You’d been so mad when he had returned home from the dealership, parking the expensive car and flashing you a cheesy grin.
“You’re insane, you know that, right?”
He had shrugged, “I woke up today and thought a midlife crisis could be fun, plus the steering wheel is heated.”
“Unbelievable–”
“Hey, if I’m paying two grand a month, the damn thing better have heated everything,” he had exclaimed. The look on your face had him momentarily concerned your head was going to explode; however, after letting you take it for a spin, you’d come to like it too.
Leon puts the car in park, idly fiddling with the ring as he glances out the window, breath stuck in his throat. The porch light is on, and he wonders, despite the late time, if you're still awake. The walk to the front door feels longer than the past week of his life, and the doorknob feels heavier than Requiem as he pushes it open. The air smells the same, the lived-in clutter of your shared life together, and even though it’s only been seven days, it feels like a lifetime.
You're curled up on the couch, a half-drunk glass of Cabernet on the coffee table. Your brow is all furrowed, and Leon can see your eyes twitching under your eyelid. He swallowed hard, watching your sleeping form as he slowly sat down next to you, afraid to take his eyes off you, lest you disappear.
He takes a deep breath, feeling his heart race as the past few days wash over him like a fucked-up slide show. The bodies, the death, the monsters, the villains, the same old tired song and dance he had long ago perfected. The sickness, the rot that had taken root in him and been the only detractor, and Leon thanks God that he had met Grace, wouldn’t have been able to make it back home to you without her. It wasn’t until Leon wiped away a stray tear that he realized he was crying. As the adrenaline he’d been running on finally depleted, Leon tries to accept the fact that he almost died.
Death wasn’t something that scared Leon; hell, he’s raised a gun to his temple and placed a finger on the trigger before. He’d been tempted to end a life that he’d felt hadn’t belonged to him; the feeling he wasn’t worthy of surviving had eaten away at him for so long. At first, it had been for Sherry; the thought of her finding out about his suicide was what had made him lower the gun at first. As she grew up and he had found himself swallowed up by his failures, he had aimed the gun at himself once more.
Then, he had met you. Leon chokes back a sob as he can’t imagine his life without you; hell, he’d already be dead without you. As the virus mutated into the final stage, the terminal stage, he hacked away at enemies while coughing up blood. It had been your voice guiding him home. It had all been for you, and Leon would walk through hell again if it meant returning to your loving arms once more. With a shuddering breath, he hesitantly reached out, the formally infected hand now free of the rotting bruise, as he brushed a stray lock of hair out of your face.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, not wanting to wake you up. He’s still covered in blood and filth, probably reeks like sewage. You stir ever so slightly in your sleep, a low whine leaving your mouth as you readjust. Leon smiles, taking in your beauty as he rises to his feet with a groan, wiping at his eyes one last time as he scoops you up bridal style in his arms, carrying you off to bed. He gently tucks you in, pressing a kiss to your forehead before making his way to the shower.
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You awake to the sound of birds chirping outside your bedroom window. You blink slowly, not remembering crawling into bed. You feel the presence of another, and with a hesitant hand, you search for that familiar warmth – and you find it. Leon’s eyes flutter open at the feeling of your hand on his chest.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he grumbles, voice rough from sleep.
“You came home.”
“I did,” he confirms. You stare at him, eyes drifting to his neck, free from those strange bruises. Leon catches your gaze, shushing you gently as his arms wrap you in a tender embrace. "It's okay now, sweetheart, I’m okay now."
'You left me, ' you whisper, tears in your eyes. "You left me without saying goodbye. I was so scared something had happened to you." Leon's heart clenches at the tremor in your voice, and he peppers your face with kisses.
"I did, and I'm so sorry, but it's over now. And I’m not going anywhere, ever again,” he promises. His lips meet yours in a kiss, his lips soft and gentle, and you find yourself melting against the man you love.
“You have to tell me what happened,” you declare as he pulls away. Leon huffs a laugh.
“Yes, ma’am – after coffee.” You roll your eyes at him, but smile nonetheless as you slide out of bed, slipping on your robe as the two of you make your way downstairs to catch up over coffee. As you pass by the front door, you almost forget. You flip the porch light off, not needing it anymore.