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Krauser’s liquor tasted godawful, but Leon supposed that was what made it good.
It made sense, when he thought about how easy it was to get used to drinking the cheap crap on base. Watered down beers, vodka far too strong to be anything but a tool. Leon was half expecting Krauser to fuss about breaking out his good whiskey, about being too generous– same as he did on the last day with the team, before everything went to hell.
But of course he didn’t. Things were different, changed in ways neither of them would acknowledge or touch, and Leon truly felt the extent of his sobriety as the drinks were poured in silence.
When the bottle was set on the table, Krauser sat back. He wrapped a hand around his glass, released a small, overdue sigh, and stared off at something Leon probably wouldn’t- couldn’t- see.
Leon knew better than to wait for idle small talk though, as Krauser’s chatterbox capabilities were unpredictable. So he grabbed his own cup and nursed the drink, slowly, really allowing the bitter to roll over his tongue.
The two of them have been together– or something like that– for just over three years now. Despite that time and all the things that'd happened between, the silences were still heavy. Crushing, to say the least. Leon used it to observe Krauser from his hopeful corner, far away and quiet.
It wasn’t hard to imagine Krauser sitting here, on a bright morning much different from the current moment. Then why was it so hard to believe that one day, he could once again be…
“Looks like you’re enjoying it.”
Speak of the damn devil. Leon’s eyes flitted from Krauser’s fitted collar, his jutting clavicle just beneath, and focused on his face. “Something like that.” he admitted.
“It’s not often I get to drink from your stash.”
Krauser huffed through his nose. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“Yeah? It got you pretty far though.”
At that Krauser brought his own glass up to take a long drink. “Such a smartass. It always amazes me how you're the only person that can’t seem to see yourself.”
He looked at Leon, the pale edges of his scars appearing even more jagged in the yellow light. “You should know flattery is hardly a commodity where we come from.”
In the silence that stretched on afterward, Leon couldn’t think of anything to say. It was a compliment in Krauser’s own way and he knew that, but he couldn’t help but find the words ironic. For a moment it made Leon want to fill the space with all the hurt they've danced around. But what about you? Is what he wanted to say. Can you still see yourself? Do you still want to?
They were just at the edge of his throat, burning; the alcohol doing hardly anything to help them go down, away and into his core where they’d wreak havoc within him.
Something told Leon they weren’t worth putting into the air. That the words were coming from a good place wouldn’t make them any less acidic.
So, the two men sat in silence. Krauser offered to refill Leon’s glass as the amber inside grew scarce.
“I wouldn’t want to take any more from your stash. It’s almost too good.”
The bottle was set down and a low hum rattled out of Krauser’s throat, “You’re welcome to it anyhow. Wouldn’t’ve brought it out if I wasn’t willing to let you enjoy yourself.”
But he didn’t push any more than that.
When Leon looked at those scars— the way they stretched down Krauser’s face, he thought of how frantic he’d been back then, desperate to know if Krauser’s eye was okay. Then he’d remember how selfish he felt, to be poring over his major’s injuries when so many other lives were lost.
Being terrified wasn’t anything new to Leon— neither was tragic, violent death. But for some reason the idea of losing Krauser like that had been… paralyzing. An old feeling that hadn’t haunted him in a long time. It was raw and ugly, like if he’d experienced it again, he wouldn’t be able to come back.
If that was all within him, then it made Leon wonder what might have been going on in Krauser.
Things that wouldn’t be brought up, couldn’t be looked at or even touched for fear of the rest collapsing. For so long after Raccoon City, Leon would rather bite his own tongue off than talk about it. Any of it. Opening up to Krauser took years, cautious comfort and trust and the darkness of loneliness— but it especially took desire. A different kind than anything else required, a longing for closeness no matter how fractured. Even if it meant reliving that day, Leon wanted to feel safe.
In the end he let the words between them go unspoken, because he understood why Krauser didn’t want to hear them… but he also knew, better than he would like to admit, that it wouldn’t help.
Ignoring his heart was never something Leon did well, so he still had to say something. Even if it meant tiptoeing along very thin ice.
“I saw on the fridge,” Leon began, carefully, “the note for that physiatrist appointment. how did it go?”
“Snooping, huh?” Krauser reached for the bourbon to refill his cup before it ran dry.
Leon watched him quietly for a moment.
“I’m worried.”
“Ha—‘course you are, and that’s fine. That’s the last thing to piss me off.”
Leon was just grateful he finally seemed willing to talk about it. That they were talking.
“No change,” Krauser continued, “they tell me I’ll never be able to use it the same again, put me on some routine for the mobility. I heard it all and then some. No use going to them appointments anymore, it’s all verbatim.”
Leon’s eyebrows drew in at that. “No use?”
”You can’t just quit the physical therapy, Jack, what are you even saying?”
“I feel fine,” Krauser gritted out.
“And I’m saying no goddamn PT is gonna put me back in the field, back to the way it was— bring them ba—“ Krauser took a breath too sharp and the words were lost.
“But you already knew that. Yeah… of course you did.”
Leon decided to overlook that, to put that away for a little while. “So you’re going to- what? Let your arm deteriorate? The PT isn’t just for the fight. You’re more than your gun.”
“What do you want me to say, Leon?" Krauser finally met his eyes, and all at once, the anger poured out of Leon in droves.
Under the yellow lights Krauser looked tired, sunken in. Just a moment ago Leon thought he knew exactly what he wanted to say, but now—
“It’s all gone.” Krauser emptied his glass in one go and set it down with more care than what was usual for him. “Nothing else to it.”
Leon stared, speechless, unsure what he could offer that would hold a candle to the bottomless grief in Krauser. From experience, he knew there was very little. When neither of them said anything for a while Krauser stood from his chair, the scrape of the legs against the tile too loud for how quiet it was.
“I’m going to use the restroom.”
he gestured vaguely to the bottle. “Feel free to help yourself.”
All Leon could do was watch his retreating form, his throat tight and his heart a frantic rhythm in his chest. He couldn’t help that same feeling that always sprung up during the worst days of his life- a heavy, suffocating uselessness.
A single drop rolled down the side of the bottle, unassuming and alone.
Leon wasn’t thirsty.