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Leon felt his hands trembling for the first time on the flight back.
At first, he didn't think much of it. It was just a slight, involuntary tremor as he was putting on his tactical vest. He frowned as the cabin lights cast an eerie glow that made him feel nauseous. The rescue team was busy, and he wasn't seriously injured, so there was no need to alert them to anything. He'd spent too many years enduring pain to be alarmed by a single symptom.
But the tremor returned.
And after that, the fever set in.
It was a strange kind of heat, a painful sensation slowly spreading beneath his skin, as if his body temperature were rising from the inside out, burning his insides. His body ached, his muscles were tense, and he was overly sensitive to light. And the constant hum of the plane's engines was beginning to pound in his head with unbearable intensity.
Leon closed his eyes, trying to calm down, and rested his head against the back of the seat.
He had felt that sensation before. It wasn't exactly the same, but it was close enough that a cold, uncomfortable feeling began to slowly twist in his stomach.
Virus.
Infection.
Mutation.
The mission had been complicated. It was a covert DSO operation involving a new experimental strain discovered in Eastern Europe, in a village near the border that was practically abandoned. The new virus was designed to remain dormant for a longer period before showing symptoms. They lost contact with the scientific team before reaching the lab, and by the time Leon arrived at the underground complex, there was already too much blood on the walls to still believe that this would end well.
It had been on display.
He wasn't sure exactly when it had happened; he couldn't remember. But in his line of work, there was no room for a word like probably. Nothing was ever enough to make him feel certain. And Leon knew all too well how those stories began, much to his regret. It always started the same way: cold sweat, low reflexes, fever… as if his body weren't his own.
Memories of Raccoon City came flooding back to him, as they always did when he was too tired to keep the memories locked away where they belonged, desperate to break free. The smell of blood. The screams. The wet sound of Marvin transforming too close…
Over the years, he had learned to live with all those memories; his traumas were always on the verge of overwhelming him. And although he tried to appear strong and self-assured, Leon had never really stopped being afraid.
When he arrived in Washington, the first thing he did was ride his motorcycle to his apartment. He didn't go to DSO headquarters or to the hospital. Nor did he answer Hunnigan's calls. When he arrived, he closed the door as if he were sealing off a biohazard zone. Isolated.
Leon tried to convince himself that he was overreacting, at least during the first few hours. An unpleasant itch ran through his body, as if it were lodged beneath his skin. He took several showers. He compulsively checked his temperature. 39°C. He searched for any visible signs of infection in front of the bathroom mirror, while dark circles marked his tired eyes. He could barely recognize himself.
But after that, his perception began to change.
The artificial light bothered him; it was too bright. Sounds were distorted, as if his mind were beginning to fade away. That terrified him. Every shadow he saw in the apartment made his body react automatically, tense, ready for something that didn't actually exist. Was he hallucinating?
Part of him had already come to terms with the end.
In the early hours of the morning, when the world was still shrouded in calm and silence, Leon slowly slumped against the wall of his room, breathing heavily. The fever hadn't subsided, and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. The trembling returned to his hands. The apartment was completely dark. Only a sliver of light seeped through the crack in the blinds, filtering in like an unwelcome guest. Leon remained motionless, staring at his own fingers as if he expected to see them warp before his eyes.
Turning purple and rotten, with grayish, sickly skin. Purple veins growing and spreading like a vine beneath their skin… The itching, the pain, that sensation of fading away until their mind stopped thinking and they became nothing more than a body moving on pure instinct. To feed himself.
Maybe that was how it all ended.
Leon sighed wearily. After everything he'd survived —all those years on the run from impossible viruses and monsters that should have killed him long ago— it seemed ridiculously fitting to end up dead inside an empty apartment. Alone.
He reached for the nightstand and found his loaded gun in the top drawer. He placed it beside him, close at hand. If things got worse, if it really was a virus, the last thing he'd see in this world would be the barrel of his gun.
He couldn't let anyone get near him. Not Sherry, not Claire… not Chris.
That was the one thought he never wavered on.
He knew they would try to help him. But by then, Leon realized that his infection was already a risk, and he couldn't expose them like that. If he showed any sign of life, he was sure Chris would show up at his door without warning. Knowing him, he'd break in if necessary. The BSAA soldier always ignored protocols, orders, and common sense when someone important to him was in danger. He was that stubborn.
He let his head fall back, resting it against the wall. Leon couldn't bear the thought of infecting him because of him. He knew Chris would try to save him if he could.
That's why he didn't reply to any messages after landing in the U.S. As soon as he arrived at the airport, he turned off his phone for hours.
When he finally turned it back on, there was a long list of missed calls piling up on the screen: from Sherry, from Claire… and especially from Chris.
Leon closed his eyes tightly.
He couldn't hear his voice right now.
He wouldn't be able to handle it.
Chris showed up at his apartment two days later, after getting no response to his messages or calls.
Leon had barely slept. His exhaustion had turned into something thick and distorted, a constant fog surrounding his thoughts, and yet he reacted immediately to the sound of the sharp knocks on the door.
By then, the entire apartment had begun to feel strange. Too claustrophobic and gloomy. As if the air had become more unbreathable with each passing hour. The light bothered him, and every noise coming from the street seemed to reach him distorted. There were moments when he swore he heard breathing where there was no one or made out movement at the edges of his peripheral vision. Although he still retained enough clarity to understand that it was probably extreme exhaustion mixed with paranoia.
The fear kept growing all the same. He had seen too many times how the infections began.
It always started with something small, a discomfort easy to explain away. And if he really was infected, if this turned out to be yet another uncontrollable variant, he couldn't afford to get close to anyone. Not Hunnigan, not the DSO. Much less Chris.
The mere thought of exposing him because of him turned his stomach more than the possibility of dying alone.
"Leon."
Even through the door, he immediately recognized Chris's deep, tense voice.
Something inside him snapped.
For two whole days, he'd managed to shut himself off from everyone, clinging to the cold, rational idea that this was the right thing to do. If things got worse, if he lost control or ended up becoming just another biological threat, at least no one would have to see it happen. No one would get hurt trying to save him. The gun had always been close at hand, ready in case the time came.
But hearing Chris's voice on the other side of the door suddenly shook that resolve. A part of him —the most selfish and weary part— had been longing for hours to see him one last time.
Just once.
To remind himself that there was still something human waiting for him outside those walls.
Leon knew Chris Redfield all too well. He knew he wasn't the kind of man who walked away when someone important to him was in danger. He would go in, even if it meant breaking down the door. He'd ignore protocols, risks, and any chance of infection if he thought he could help. And Leon couldn't bear the thought of being the reason something happened to him.
"I know you're in there."
Leon stood motionless in the middle of the living room, breathing slowly as he tried to ignore the uncomfortable pressure building beneath his chest.
"Open the door."
No.
I can't do it.
Chris insisted.
"Hunnigan told me you went missing after the mission. No one has been able to reach you in forty-eight hours. You're not answering my calls, Leon."
Leon slowly rested a hand on the kitchen counter to steady himself. The trembling had gotten worse over the last few hours; it was no longer just an occasional vibration in his fingers, but small, involuntary spasms running through his muscles when he stood still for too long. Sweat dampened the back of his neck despite the cold in the apartment, and his body felt strangely heavy, as if every joint reacted with a slight delay compared to the rest of him.
He'd looked at himself in the mirror so many times these past few nights that he was starting to obsess over every little change. His pupils were too dilated, his eyes too red. The pale tone of his skin. The exhaustion etched into his face. Part of him knew he was probably seeing monsters where there weren't any. But what if it was really happening?
"Go home, Chris."
His voice came out in fits and starts, with a weariness that weighed too heavily on him. The pause on the other side of the door lasted a second.
"No."
The answer came firmly, exactly as he'd expected. Leon let out a dry, exhausted laugh, letting his head drop forward for a moment. Even now, on the brink of a possible physical and mental breakdown, Chris remained absurdly predictable when it came to him.
"Sure. You had to get stubborn now."
"What's going on?"
Leon closed his eyes.
He didn't want to hear that concern in his voice, or get used to it.
"Nothing you can fix."
Chris knocked on the door again, this time harder.
"Leon."
His tone had changed; it wasn't just concern anymore… there was a hint of fear.
Leon pressed his forehead against the wood of the kitchen island, trying to control the unbearable pressure building behind his eyes. The pounding of his own heartbeat sent a wave of pain up to his temple. He shuddered involuntarily.
"I was exposed during the mission."
After the confession, his voice was muffled by the door and the distant murmur of cars outside the window. Leon leaned his weight further onto the countertop, feeling the pain in his temples intensify, throbbing fiercely. He waited for some reaction from Chris through the door, but the man said nothing. They had both seen so many horrors, lived through so many traumatic experiences, that no further explanation was needed.
Leon could hear Chris's breathing stop for a moment before resuming, slower this time, forced into control. He could perfectly imagine the expression Chris must have on his face right now: jaw clenched, gaze fixed on the door, and mind racing too fast, trying to fix something that couldn't be remedied.
"What symptoms?"
Chris's voice sounded deeper as he asked that.
Leon swallowed before answering.
"Fever. Shivering. Sensory disturbances."
His own words hit him hard. Fear crept back into his mind, flooding it with unpleasant images. Saying it out loud made it sound all too real. What if this was the end for him?
He hadn't mentioned the virus in the conversation, but it was implied. It was like an invisible presence impossible to ignore. Leon could sense Chris's unease from across the room, in that unnervingly long pause. The soldier didn't say a word, nor did he knock on the door again. Leon imagined him mentally piecing together all the mission details, looking for some way to help him. As if there were a solution.
Leon closed his eyes for a moment.
The pain in his throat was harsh and irritating, and his cranium was about to explode. His head was also spinning, trying to remember exactly when he'd been exposed and how much time had passed since then. The mortality rate mentioned in the reports found in that lab also crossed his mind.
But his concentration was too scattered. Thinking about it all only made his headache worse. Besides, a part of him had already accepted the only possible answer. He didn't expect to survive.
Finally, Chris spoke again.
"Open the door."
The request came without hesitation, and Leon let out a shaky exhale. His body felt too hot and strangely unstable, as if the ground beneath his feet had begun to shift.
"Chris, no."
"Let me in."
"You don't know what the hell I've got."
"Then let me help you find out."
Despair rose up in his chest with such violence that it left him breathless for a second. Chris was still close by, as if he were a problem that could still be fixed.
But Leon had already seen too many endings just like his own.
"I don't want you here if this gets worse!"
The voice came out hoarse from the depths of his throat, cracking slightly at the end from sheer exhaustion. He hadn't slept in over 48 hours. The echo of his own words bounced around the apartment as he tried to catch his breath, feeling the uncontrollable tremor run through his hands again.
He could endure the fear, the pain, or even the possibility of dying in there if necessary. What he couldn't bear was imagining Chris watching him slowly deteriorate… or worse yet, getting infected for refusing to leave him.
That was the only thing that mattered. He clenched his hands into fists, his strength faltered, and his legs trembled.
Leon's words still seemed to vibrate off the apartment walls as the air returned to his lungs. Leon breathed heavily, leaning further against the countertop as he tried to control the dizziness coursing through his body in irregular waves. His skin felt too hot. His head felt thick and painfully heavy. His throat was dry, it hurt to swallow, and his body didn't seem to want to support itself.
On the other side of the door, Chris stood completely still. When he spoke again, his voice rumbled, rougher than before.
"Do you think I'm going to leave?"
Leon closed his eyes tightly.
Yes.
No.
Perhaps that was exactly what he needed him to do, because the isolation was starting to feel all too familiar. The constant fear of his own body's reactions and the unbearable suspicion that something inside him was waiting for the right moment to strip him of his humanity bit by bit. Draining his life away, with no hope of recovery. He'd seen too many people go through that process. And every intrusive memory was seared into his mind: Some screamed, others begged… Some didn't even realize what was happening until it was too late.
Leon didn't know how it would end for him. And honestly, he wasn't sure he wanted to find out with someone by his side.
"Chris…"
His voice came out hoarse, broken by exhaustion.
"I'm not going to leave you alone with this."
Hearing those words, something twisted violently inside Leon. A weary sigh escaped his lips. Even at a moment like that, Chris kept drawing closer to him. As if the risk didn't exist and Leon were still simply himself, not a potential biological threat locked behind a single door. He didn't know how to explain to him that he wasn't doing this out of bravery or sacrifice. Nor was it due to one of those self-destructive tendencies Chris attributed to him.
It was fear.
Pure, exhausting fear gnawing at his insides.
Fear of opening the door and seeing Chris's expression change as he began to recognize the real symptoms. Fear that he would get too close and try to hold him back if he lost control. Fear that he would end up infected simply because he had never known how to walk away from the people he loved.
Leon knew how much Chris meant to him right at the moment when he most needed to push him away.
"If I start turning…" the sentence broke off just a moment before he could pull himself together "I don't want you to be the one who has to see it."
Hearing those words wasn't pleasant. He knew Chris cared about him… they were friends. But what he implied in that sentence meant more than Leon wanted to say out loud.
The silence between them was deafening. Leon felt an unpleasant emptiness growing inside his chest, threatening to overflow. Anxiety had always been a painful companion. For a moment, he even thought that maybe Chris had finally understood. If he assessed the situation logically, he would leave. Perhaps the soldier would contact the BSAA, or the DSO, and let professionals handle the disaster before it got worse and everything went to hell.
They would take him to an isolated place. A cold, gray room where they would keep him locked away until his inevitable end came, without putting others at risk. Or they would put a bullet between his eyes. That was the most logical outcome.
Then he heard a metallic clang against the lock, and Leon looked up immediately.
"Chris."
"Step away from the door." His calm voice was alarming.
"Are you crazy?"
"Probably."
Another sharp impact echoed through the apartment.
Adrenaline surged through Leon all at once, despite the exhaustion he felt in his bones. For a moment, his body reacted on pure instinct, his muscles tensing as he tried to react in time. He looked around for escape routes, possible weapons, or simply to keep his distance. But the trembling in his legs persisted, weakening him. His muscles ached, the pressure in his head wouldn't let up, and his throat felt raw when he swallowed.
"Chris, don't come in!"
The door gave way a few seconds later; a loud thud echoed through the room, making the walls shake.
Chris appeared from the other side, breathing heavily from the effort. His short hair was tousled, as if he'd run his hand through it repeatedly. His set expression revealed something Leon had rarely seen: fear mixed with restrained fury. As if he were straining to maintain control that he didn't have.
Even so, he advanced toward him without hesitation. That made Leon's blood run cold. There was no hesitation in his movements, and Leon instinctively stepped back immediately. He didn't want to infect him.
"Don't come near me."
Chris ignored the order as if he hadn't heard it.
"I told you not to come in."
"And I told you I wasn't going to leave you alone."
"I could infect you!" Leon shouted desperately.
He could feel panic beginning to spread rapidly like an ivy over his exhaustion. His thoughts were becoming erratic. Air wouldn't reach his lungs, and every attempt to breathe caused pain in his chest. He tried to steady his trembling body against the countertop as Chris kept advancing, closing the distance. As if he didn't care about catching whatever Leon had in his system.
"You think that's going to stop me?"
The reply exploded from his lips with such intensity that Leon froze, unable to react.
Chris was breathing heavily, too upset to hide it, and his eyes betrayed his worry. Leon was surprised to realize that this anger didn't stem from recklessness. Nor from carelessness. Chris's reaction stemmed from fear, from spending two whole days surely imagining the worst possible scenario while Leon had vanished without a trace.
"Of course I care if you're sick," he continued, lowering his voice to almost a whisper, though the tension still cut through every word with overwhelming precision. "And of course I'm afraid. But I'm not going to stand on the sidelines, listening to you ready to die alone, as if you meant nothing to anyone."
His words left him speechless. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe. Leon had spent years convincing himself of exactly that: that it was easier to disappear alone. No one should have to deal with him when things got worse, and sooner or later, he'd end up becoming another tragedy impossible to save.
But Chris was there, looking at him as if the idea of losing him were unbearable.
Leon felt something begin to slowly break inside him. A barrier he had imposed on himself so long ago that the mere idea of letting it fall terrified him. Air began to fill his lungs again, little by little.
"Chris…"
"Don't ever do this to me again," Chris's voice trembled slightly. Those warm eyes looked at him with a devotion that needed no words to explain.
Seeing him like that, Leon's last wall crumbled, leaving him completely defenseless. Chris Redfield never wavered; he never flinched at anything; he was a solid, steadfast wall. He never faltered in front of him. And yet, there he stood, his eyes fixed on Leon as if he were about to lose something priceless. Terrified from the very moment Leon stopped answering his calls. As if those two days had been a nightmare, imagining him dead. Or something worse.
"I didn't want to drag you down with me," Leon finally admitted, exhausted to his limits. His whole body ached. The vulnerability in his voice was impossible to hide this time.
Chris let out a brief, bitter laugh, shaking his head, without looking away.
"Leon… I've been dragging myself along with you willingly for years."
Leon felt an unexpected sense of relief upon hearing this. A wave of comfort washed over him, making his heart beat faster. Before he could respond, Chris moved closer to him again. His reflexes were compromised, and he couldn't react as Chris's firm, warm hands gripped his arms firmly.
He had been isolated for so many hours, trapped in his own mind, that this closeness felt vague and strange to him. But Chris was there, real and as solid as he remembered. Too close, firm... solid. A sense of security washed over him, as if the worst were already over. The warmth of Chris's hands penetrated the fabric of his shirt. It was comforting. It reminded him that he was still there. Alive. He belonged to the real world and not to the paranoid spiral in which he had been trapped since the mission ended.
"You're not infected," Chris murmured, holding his gaze with a desperate intensity that made him shudder to his very core. "You're exhausted, you haven't slept in days, and you've probably been surviving on nothing but alcohol and coffee for too long. You've got too much trauma piled up, Leon."
Leon opened his mouth to protest, but Chris cut him off before he could.
"This might not be the best time, but... I'm in love with you."
The world seemed to stop at that very moment, freezing everything around them.
Leon held his breath for a moment. It took him several seconds to process that confession; his skin prickled, and an involuntary tingling sensation spread through his stomach. It wasn't unpleasant.
He had imagined many things while locked up there. Several times he'd thought he'd die alone on the apartment floor, losing all control of his body. He'd even imagined the DSO arriving too late and finding nothing but yet another victim of a dangerous new strain.
But that? Never.
Not even in his wildest dreams had he imagined hearing those words come out of Chris's mouth, with such raw, devastating sincerity that it brought down all his defenses.
Chris swallowed hard without taking his hands off him. For the first time since Leon had known him, he seemed completely unable to hide what he was feeling.
"So, you can hate me later for putting it this way if you want," he continued in a lower voice. "But I'm not going to stand by and watch while you destroy yourself out here all alone."
Leon felt all the tension built up in his body and all the fear rooted deep inside him begin to crumble. The inner wall that had once been solid and impenetrable was falling apart brick by brick, like a cracked structure that had been held up for too long by sheer willpower.
Chris closed the small distance between them and pulled him close to his chest. He wrapped his arms around him before Leon could pull away again. But he was too tired to keep running. His body stopped fighting. The warmth of Chris's embrace penetrated him deeply, reaching the darkest depths of his being. Pressed against his chest, he could hear Chris's heart beating strongly and feel the breath on his hair. It was so solid and real that he made no move to pull away. Feeling the constant pressure of his strong arms, which refused to let him go, warmed him from within.
For the first time since his return from the mission, the trembling in his hands disappeared completely.
Leon slowly closed his eyes.
For two whole days, he had prepared himself to die alone. He didn't mind losing himself in silence, as long as he didn't drag anyone else down with him. But Chris was still there, holding him as if he were still worth saving. Him. Chris, with his big heart, had told him he was in love with him.
Leon swallowed hard before raising his arms to return the warm embrace. He let out a shaky breath against Chris's firm neck before murmuring, his voice hoarse and on the brink of collapse.
"You shouldn't love me this much," he whispered with weary honesty.
Chris pulled back just enough to look him straight in the eyes.
"It's a little too late for that."
Leon, still trembling inside —though now for a completely different reason— ended up letting out a small, broken laugh against Chris's chest. Finally, he refused to push him away. For the first time in years, he felt that perhaps there was still something resembling a home waiting for him at the end of it all. Warm. Lasting. A love that could overcome anything.
The End