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The city lights pass by in a blur. At this time of the day, when most people are already tucked in bed, the highway lanes appear more spacious than they actually are, with few cars still venturing down the road.
Light and shadow both dash across Chris’ solemn face. With a steady grip on the wheel, he shifts his car slightly to the side, following the direction toward the exit. There is nothing but silence within the confines of the car. For a while now, the only sounds drifting around him are the humming of the engine and the soft breathing of a certain someone riding shotgun at his side.
Chris skillfully brings the car to a halt at a traffic light ahead, the stop following the deceleration can barely be felt by those sitting inside. As he waits for the color to turn green, he quietly looks to the passenger seat.
Leon has fallen asleep since who knows when; his shoulders vaguely rising and falling in a fixed rhythm, and his head slightly slumped.
Another mission, another battle, all because a few people who have too much money and power in their hands, once again, are pushing their selfish desires with no regard for humanity. Three whole decades, though the people have changed, the same greed and blind ambition remain.
And this man now sleeping soundly beside him had to throw himself into hell once more, all while carrying with him a “scar” from the past, both a medal of honor and a curse serving as proof of his hard-earned survival.
Considering everything he just went through, to be able to have a little shut-eye on his way back home feels like too little of an appreciation for a person who has saved humanity times and again by putting his own life at stake.
“Good work, Leon.”
Chris wants to tell him, but fears that he may wake the sleeping beauty — who looks more like a seasoned gladiator than a dainty princess. The corners of his lips rise slightly into a subtle smile. He reaches out for Leon, wanting to brush his fringe away to get a better look at his face.
But a different scene suddenly flashes before his eyes.
Of the same person he is watching, in the same position, sitting slumped with his eyes closed, but soaked in blood and injuries, blackened scabs spread across half of his body and face, no longer breathing.
Chris quickly pulled his hand back, spooked and frightened out of his wits. When he thinks his heart is just about to leap out of his chest, however, the scene in front of him instantly returns to normal.
Of a weary DSO Agent, Leon S. Kennedy, sleeping in his car, somewhat wounded but alive.
***
The prolonged stop eventually rouses Leon awake. No longer cradled by a steady ride after falling asleep from one, his body feels slightly disappointed, involuntarily searching for that comforting sensation. He blinks several times, looking out of the window to find out just how far he’s been shipped off while unconscious. To his surprise, it is nowhere strange or dangerous, but the familiar sight of his home.
“Huh, we’re already here? Why didn’t you wake me–?”
He turns around, only to find the chaperone responsible for driving him home is sitting still next to him, face buried into his arms on the wheel. Both confused and concerned for the other man’s unusual behavior, the veteran DSO Agent reaches out to him, tapping his broad shoulder.
“Hey, Chris, what’s wrong?”
Chris lifts his face, a small red mark can vaguely be seen on his forehead — proof that he’s been staying in that position for quite some time. He doesn’t say anything, and his expression is hard to read beneath his beard and mustache. Seeing Leon’s hand on his shoulder, he lets out a little sigh and takes that hand into his, softly squeezing Leon’s fingers.
“...You’re still worried about it?” Leon observes his silent gesture. “I told you Elpis worked well. I’m totally virus-free now.”
He throws in a little joke.
“If you don’t believe me, shall we have a wrestling match now and see how I toss you to the curb?”
“Getting cocky, aren’t you?” — He had expected Chris to continue their banter with something along that line. This time, however, the elite Hound Wolf Squad’s captain doesn’t laugh along with him.
Chris keeps his hand wrapped in his palm; eyes staring at Leon’s now mark-less skin.
“...I got to talk a little bit with the young lady,” he says, eventually.
“Grace?”
“Yeah.” Chris’ voice is quiet and somewhat hoarse. “She told me you guys were cutting it close. That you were already on your ‘last legs’ when she managed to turn up Elpis and get you the antivirus.”
“Aww, come on. It wasn’t that bad.”
“Leon.”
There is no jest in Chris’ voice, but neither is there anger or any hint of frustration. The look in his eyes is difficult to describe, but Leon has known him for far too long that he requires no further explanation to understand what the other is feeling.
Still, before he can open his mouth, Chris already beats him to it.
“My bad. Hearing you went alone with that old virus flaring up got me overthinking.” He lets go of Leon’s hand. “I shouldn’t be pestering you with this when you just returned.”
“Listen to yourself. Age must be getting to you.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“Who, me? I’m as fit as a fiddle.” Leon waves his hand. He looks at Chris, then sighs. “Alright, I admit, I got a bit careless this time.”
“Just a bit?”
“Fine. A lot.”
Chris chuckles.
“But this kind of fight is sometimes unavoidable. You know this as well as I do, Chris.” He continues. “If you were in my position, I bet you would’ve done the same thing.”
“I know.” Chris slowly leans back in his seat. He touches Leon’s hand once more, but does not take it into his, only rubbing the small, shiny object wrapped around the other’s finger — an identical one with his own. “It’s just that I’ve lost too much, Leon, and the numbers keep increasing. All this time, I keep wondering: Will your name end up on that list?
The same thought has frequently crossed his mind, as well, Leon thinks to himself, and he knows that none of them has an answer to this. So he pats that large hand and gently squeezes it in his own, hoping that this quiet gesture can soothe the other man somehow.
“I’ll be more careful from now on,” he says. “Of course, I hope there won’t be a next time. But if there is one, I’ll find my way back to you.”
He smiles.
“I promise.”
Chris does not answer immediately. Nevertheless, Leon observes a subtle change in the other’s face. He can feel the look in Chris’ eyes softening.
“...I’ll hold you on to that,” eventually, he replies. “But even if you can’t, I’ll search and dig you up from whatever hellhole you’ve jumped into…just like today.”
For some reason, Leon finds his answer both amusing and charming. He won’t tell this man to his face, of course, and resorts to just shaking his head with a chuckle.
“Well, glad that the feeling’s mutual. Thanks for driving me home.” He opens the passenger door. But just as he puts one leg out of the car, the DSO Agent stops and turns back to look at his chaperon. “Wanna drop by and get some tea before you go back?”
“Just tea?” Chris raises one brow.
“If you prefer something stronger, I can provide that, too.” Leon shrugs. “But that’ll require you to stay after drinking, Mr. Redfield. Can’t let you drive home while intoxicated.”
This time, it’s the BSAA Captain’s turn to shake his head and chuckle.
“Fine. I’ll take you up on that.”