Chapter Text
His strength was failing him. His body felt as shattered as the foundations of that awful laboratory. His heart pounded as he struggled to stay on his feet and breathe. His whole body ached. The virus was making its way through him—a reminder that even if he survived his battle against Zeno, he was doomed.
Leon knew that if he fell, all hope would be lost.
That's why he stayed on his feet. However, his body began to break down. Every blow he took during the fight left him gasping for breath. His reflexes were dulled by extreme exhaustion, and his mind was clouded by blood loss. He stumbled during one of his turns and tripped clumsily as Zeno struck him mercilessly in the side. He could barely keep up with Zeno's movements. His speed was inhuman.
His foot gave way for just a second, and he had to brace himself against the dusty ground with one hand to keep from falling face-first. The impact drew a low growl from him, not just because of the pain. By now, he could no longer feel anything. He clenched his teeth, trying to pull himself up, but he failed miserably. His breath escaped his lips raggedly and irregularly; each inhalation caused bitter pain in his ribs. He raised his weapon again with a trembling arm, but Zeno continued to move quickly in front of him. Zeno spun and kicked, striking his hand and causing the weapon to fall several meters away.
He looked up for a second to search for Grace. She was in the same spot where he'd left her a minute earlier, away from the platform that was about to collapse into the void.
At least she was safe—that was all that mattered.
"Go," Leon whispered, his voice barely audible. He didn't want her to see him fall.
She clung to the edge of the walkway, digging her fingers deep into the metal railing. She repeated his name countless times. She didn't leave. Leon could see the anguish on her face and the growing pain in her eyes. There was a glimmer of hope that things might turn out all right, but he had stopped believing in that a long time ago. Accepting it was devastating.
He couldn't get up. His body refused to move. Even breathing was painful, and tears began to well up in his eyes. He couldn't control it. He heard quiet footsteps behind him. Zeno was approaching, stalking him like a beast closing in on its prey.
"No, no, no, no, no."
Grace's voice enveloped him for a moment. His heart beat slowly, barely keeping his body up by sheer willpower. Leon swallowed; his throat burned, and a metallic blood taste clung to his palate. The sensation of fainting grew stronger, filling him with heart-wrenching anguish that caused more pain in his chest.
"At least... I could save you."
His eyes remained fixed on her. Grace would be safe. He couldn't let anything happen to her. He heard Zeno snort. The man seemed amused by the whole situation. The man turned and hit him so hard that it knocked the wind out of him for a few seconds.
When he finally realized what was happening, he began to breathe again. He struggled to sit up and rise to his knees on the floor.
He looked up and saw Zeno's gun pointed at his head. His body shook with exhaustion as the virus spread relentlessly through his body. Blood trickled from his lips to the edge of his jaw, warm and dark. Each breath came in gasps, sounding broken as it rose from his throat.
"You can't save anyone," Zeno murmured coldly.
Leon didn't bother to reply; he could barely speak. Was this real, or an illusion? At some point, he would wake up, still wrapped in his sheets, safe beside his husband. The corners of his eyes grew moist again. Nothing was changing. Reality wasn't distorting—only his ragged breathing. Was this the end? His eyes didn't stray from the metal barrel pointed at his head.
Zeno began to pull the trigger.
It was true what they said.
In the seconds before death, a thousand images crowded his mind. Moments deeply etched in his memory emerged like slides, reminding him of every instant of his life. There were painful moments, his failures, and his inner struggle to stay sane amid all the evil that surrounded him. It all started on that first night in Raccoon City, when everything changed for him—for better or worse. Chaotic flashes, cruelly vivid: The rain on the asphalt at night. The empty streets. His new uniform.
He was twenty-one years old.
Marvin. Ada. Claire. Sherry.
Claire, so brave and intrepid. His best friend. Someone who barged into his life without asking permission, as important to him in the years following that event as the sister he never had.
Ada appeared only as a shadow. That uncertainty where mistrust lay, even though the attraction had been evident in the past. A hand that had manipulated him so many times… that it no longer made sense.
And Sherry, so small and frightened back then. Now she was a strong, capable, and determined woman. Like the daughter he would never have.
A broken sigh escaped his lips; he couldn't hold it back.
USTRATCOM. Krauser. Spain. Luis.
The following years were no better. Orders: Training. Missions that never ended when he returned home. He saw the faces of people he had saved. And the faces of those he couldn't save.
Zeno's finger tightened slightly on the trigger.
He closed his eyes and felt a slight burning sensation beneath his eyelid.
It wasn't all darkness and blood. There was also redemption. Love. But that didn't make it any easier. In fact, it was even more painful.
"I'm sorry."
His whisper was barely audible amid Grace's desperate screams. In that final moment, he could focus only on a promise he hadn't been able to keep: Broken vows. The ring in his pocket now weighed heavily on him.
A tense first encounter. Then years of loyalty. A wedding. A home.
Chris Redfield.
They were both standing near the kitchen counter. The sun shone down on them. The corners of their lips turned up into warm, tender smiles. It was a peaceful breakfast. Their bodies were close together. It had taken them a long time to reach this point, after years of uncertainty and denial. But their love blossomed in the face of adversity, despite their stubbornness.
Leon swallowed hard, lost in his thoughts.
Chris.
The name wouldn't come out of his mouth.
His hand clenched with little strength. He longed to wear the ring again. But he had put it away ever since the dark spots had begun to overtake him. He needed to see it. He needed to feel it against his skin once more. Neither of them wore it during missions. They'd once argued about it in hushed tones in the quiet of their home. It was safer to keep it until they were together again.
But the pain of that broken promise tormented him.
Come back.
I'm sorry.
Leon had smiled arrogantly, brushing it off.
I always come back, don't I?
Chris hadn't smiled.
He no longer felt any pain. He didn't feel anything. Only a chill ran through him, like icy fingers dragging him into the darkest depths of his soul. He heard a gunshot and a woman's distant scream.
With his last breath, a vivid memory flashed through his mind. Chris's gaze. As if he had known from the beginning that Leon wouldn't keep his promise.
Leon felt the first tear slide from the corner of his eye.
It trickled down to his chin, mixing with the blood he had lost. He didn't cry out of fear of dying. He had lived almost his entire life knowing that his end would come sooner rather than later. It wouldn't be pleasant or peaceful. He cried for the door to his home that he would never walk through again. He cried for Chris's hand that he would never find in the darkness again. He cried for the unmade bed, the cold coffee, and the unanswered messages. He cried for the void he would leave behind after he was gone. He cried because he had survived Raccoon City only to end up here.
But what tore him apart the most was failing to keep the promise he'd made to his husband.
I'm sorry, Chris.
His last breath trembled on his lips, and his body fell limply backward. After that, there was no more fear. There was nothing. Now, his wedding band was just a ring hidden in a pocket.
Forgive me.
The coffin was empty. They hadn't been able to retrieve Leon's body from the rubble. Chris wasn't able to look for very long at the funeral, either. Although his body was present, his mind wasn't. His gaze remained lost on the horizon, staring at the vast expanse without really seeing it.
He couldn't bring himself to say a single word during the entire ceremony. His sister took care of everything, from the preparations to the most difficult decisions after the funeral. Empty. A closed casket with no body to say goodbye to, topped with flowers and a folded flag. The name engraved on the plaque didn't seem real:
Leon Scott Kennedy-Redfield.
He felt his legs tremble. Was this real? That name, that grave—they belonged to his husband. Just thinking about it tore open the wound in his heart that was still bleeding. It was his fault. He hadn't made it in time to save him. If he had gone after him sooner, he would have caught up to him.
Then he wouldn't be standing in front of that coffin.
Throughout the entire ceremony, his mind remained scattered, praying that he would wake up. This had to be a nightmare. One of those that would make him wake up sweating and terrified, but then his husband would hold him close and offer words of encouragement. It had to be a mistake. A DSO member would show up any moment and give him an absurd explanation—anything. He needed something to cling to so he wouldn't lose what little sanity he had left. Before he knew it, the eulogy had ended, emphasizing years of service, sacrifice, and courage.
To Chris, they were clean, empty words. His husband's death had been anything but clean. He had suffered in silence from an illness that began consuming him months ago. Chris hadn't been able to do anything to help him. A heart-wrenching pain pierced his chest. His swollen, red eyes began to well up again. He tried to hold back the tears, but he couldn't. They were all standing beside him: Jill. Claire. Sherry. Jake. Carlos. Rebecca. Barry. Hunningan. Helena...and a few other members of the DSO whom Chris didn't recognize.
Chris felt them all so far away that he couldn't speak.
He just wanted to disappear.
His room was dark. The truth was that the house had been shrouded in an eerie silence ever since he returned. It was oppressive, as if this place were no longer his home. He didn't dare open his eyes. Wherever he looked, his memories tormented him with images of what was lost. The place that had once been vibrant and bright now felt dead. Just like his heart.
He'd lost track of time. He didn't know if it was day or night — or if it mattered. He had kept the curtains drawn ever since he learned that Leon wouldn't be coming back. The air was stale and filled with the smell of tobacco. He'd barely eaten anything. The plate of food Claire had left before leaving for the funeral was still untouched on the table. Untouched. He wasn't hungry.
He couldn't sleep.
He sat on the carpet with his back against the edge of the bed. A cigarette hung from his lips. He barely smoked it, and it burned down slowly. The smoke swirled in front of him like a dance macabre. The ash fell to the floor, but he no longer cared. The room felt oppressive, as if the shadows were closing in to suffocate him. In a way, he didn't mind stopping breathing.
He didn't dare open his eyes. Knowing he would never see Leon there again—in his home—was tearing him apart inside. He could still see Leon lying on the bed with his crooked smile that always disarmed him. Or near the closet, looking for an old shirt to steal. He could even see him near the window, insisting Chris to smoke there—he didn't like the smell of tobacco.
A stifled sob died in his throat, desperate to escape. He needed to hear Leon's voice again.
Everything there reminded him of Leon, from the biker jacket that now hung forgotten on the back of the chair to the book he had started reading several months ago, which was face down on the desk they shared. The cell phone charger plugged in next to the nightstand.
Their shared life had been cut short without warning, shattering every memory and glimmer of hope.
Chris finally became aware of the cigarette in his mouth, drawing in a deep breath until the smoke burned his throat. He closed his eyes tighter, holding back the tears begging to fall. Another stifled sob got stuck in his throat. After a minute, he stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette in the full ashtray.
He lit another one right away.
He remembered that Leon hated it when he smoked like that.
Leon didn't always say it outright, but Chris knew it. When he was stressed or overwhelmed by intrusive thoughts, he'd light cigarette after cigarette, even if he couldn't finish them. It had always been that way. Ever since that fateful night at the Spencer mansion. Thinking about it filled him with terrifying anguish. How much time had passed since then? So many years of struggle, so much ground covered through darkness and loss, until he found him. Leon was his light in the darkness. Only to have him snatched away like that.
He remembered how Leon would sneak up behind him, take his cigarette from his lips, and take a drag just to annoy him, a memory that still brought him pain. Of course, Leon would always wrinkle his nose in disgust.
"This tastes like shit," he'd say.
And Chris would always reply the same way, with a smile.
"Then don't steal it from me."
Leon would smile sidelong, that cynical, beautiful smile that drove him crazy. And it made him feel completely in love.
"Someone has to save you from your bad habits."
Chris closed his eyes tighter.
The memory remained etched in his mind. Just like all the others. Everything reminded him of his husband. He spent the whole day trying not to think about the last few months, when Leon could no longer hide his illness.
He'd lost weight. He had trouble moving and would brace himself against the countertop when he thought Chris wasn't looking. It took Leon a few seconds longer than usual to get up from the couch or bed. Chris remembered Leon quickly closing the bathroom door after a coughing fit. It was an ugly, wet sound. From that point on, he could no longer hide it.
The infection had begun to spread exponentially. Leon feared it was contagious, so their physical contact was reduced to light caresses and hugs. Fleeting kisses. At first, Leon attributed the change to fatigue. Then he blamed the stress of working so many hours. But his physical decline was too obvious for that to be the cause.
Chris had wanted to believe it. He really did. He wished that Leon was right and that it was nothing more than accumulated fatigue. However, when Chris discovered the truth, the fear that had been building for months turned into an overwhelming pain. He didn't get angry at Leon for lying to him. Leon was always trying to protect him. Chris knew that and could understand it. He would have done the same. Besides, Chris loved Leon unconditionally, as he had promised in his wedding vows.
In sickness and in health.
Even with his broken parts.
What was unforgivable was that Chris had wanted to believe it because facing the very real possibility of losing him was too much to bear.
At first, he refused to accept it. He couldn't lose him. Seeing Leon wake up drenched in sweat and attributing it to nothing more than a fever now made Chris feel sick to his stomach. Everything began to go downhill when Leon's hand started to shake. When the first dark spots appeared on his skin, Chris knew it could only get worse.
He still felt a twisting pain in his chest when he remembered Leon standing in front of the mirror one morning, staring at his reflection with empty eyes. Chris found him there, motionless, as if he were counting the changes in his body. That terrified him.
Leon, his husband and the strongest, bravest person he knew, was fading away before his eyes.
"I'm fine," Leon had said without taking his eyes off his own reflection.
"Don't lie to me."
Leon gave a small, weary smile.
"Chris… I'm sorry."
Chris's eyes snapped open. The room was still there—dark and oppressive with a stale tobacco smell.
Without Leon.
He ran his hand through his hair, scratching his scalp with his fingernails. He couldn't stand it. What was he going to do now? How was he going to climb out of the dark pit he'd fallen into? As he lowered his hand, his eyes fell on his wedding ring. The band that had sealed their union—their love—now seemed to mock him.
With you, I no longer want just to survive.
I want to come back and stay with you. To live.
You are my home.
A heart-wrenching pain pierced his chest. This time, a sob roared from the depths of his being and burst from his lips. He clenched his fists tightly without taking his eyes off the ring. His vision blurred with tears. They hadn't even been able to recover his body. The entire facility had collapsed under thousands of pieces of debris, and Grace's report was definitive on the matter. He thought he'd feel better after talking to her, but he didn't. Leon had fought until he had no more strength left; his life had been snatched away by brutal, ruthless hands. He'd saved Grace's life. Chris raised a hand to his eyes, trying to stem the tears that wouldn't stop falling. His husband had always been such a compassionate soul, so human.
They had taken him away.
They had taken his happiness away.
His reason for coming home.
The love of his life.
His reason for living.
The cell phone vibrated on the bed.
Chris ignored it, still lost in the suffocating torment that consumed him. His body seemed to float, detached from anything physical. His mind kept racing.
The phone vibrated again. And again.
Then it started ringing, but Chris didn't move.
Claire's name lit up the screen. She was calling persistently and relentlessly. She had called many times since the day of the funeral. Jill had called, too. So had Sherry. Rebecca sent a message or two. Hunnigan had sent another message.
Chris hadn't answered any of them. He couldn't.
He couldn't bring himself to speak without falling apart. Every time he tried to speak, a heart-wrenching anxiety overwhelmed him. He wasn't ready to accept it; saying anything might make it more real. It was already too painful.
The phone stopped ringing and the screen went dark after a few seconds.
Chris lowered his head and rubbed his eyes with his fingers. They stung and felt swollen. He hadn't slept in days.
The phone vibrated again.
Claire again.
Chris clenched his jaw.
He didn't answer.
The sound echoed several times and continued for the rest of the afternoon. Or was it night? Chris didn't know. Before he knew it, it had stopped. For a few seconds, there was only suffocating silence.
Then, another message came in.
Chris turned his head toward the cell phone lying on the bed. He didn't open it, but he could see the first line on the screen.
"Chris, please."
He reached for the phone, clenching his fingers around it so tightly that he considered smashing it for a moment. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He knew his sister was just worried, but he wasn't ready to talk to anyone, especially not Claire. She knew him too well. She knew he wouldn't settle for empty platitudes. She wasn't going to tell him that Leon was in a better place or that grieving was just a matter of time. She wasn't going to tell him that time heals all wounds. She wasn't going to tell him any of the lies that people and psychologists spout when they don't know how to handle someone else's pain.
Claire wasn't like that.
She was going to say his name as if he were still alive. Chris wasn't ready to hear it. He couldn't fall apart like that because he was already so broken inside without him.
The phone rang insistently for the third time, and the ringtone was starting to grate on his ears.
Overcome by a mixture of anger and weariness, he answered this time. But he didn't say anything. He remained silent on the line. On the other end, there was a brief intake of breath, as if she hadn't expected him to answer. Then Claire began to speak.
"Chris."
He closed his eyes.
That was all.
His eyes filled with tears again as he tried to stay strong and hold it together, but he failed miserably.
Hearing his name in his sister's voice, tinged with broken concern, shattered him completely. He pressed the phone to his ear and stared at the beige wall of his bedroom. There was a rectangular shadow where a photograph had once hung—one that Leon had taken down weeks ago. He said they both looked terrible in it. Chris never put it back up.
"Chris, I know you're there."
He swallowed hard.
He couldn't answer. A lump was growing in his throat. He held a cigarette between his fingers; it burned away with every heartbeat. His nose was stuffy, and his mind was dull. A heavy, uncomfortable sensation clouded his head.
He heard Claire take a deep breath.
"You don't have to say anything, Chris. Just...just stay on the line with me for a moment, okay?"
Chris closed his eyes tighter.
No, he couldn't. This wasn't right. Nothing was right.
Neither of them said anything. Chris heard a noise on the other end. Maybe Claire was moving around her house, trying not to break down. He felt guilty for worrying her. She had lost a friend, too—she was part of the family. He could picture her with red-rimmed eyes and a pale, sad face, trying to talk to her stubborn brother. She had cried silently beside the empty coffin. Chris hadn't hugged her. In fact, he didn't even remember if he'd looked at her.
He couldn't remember anything.
The guilt kept growing, threatening to overwhelm the little stability he had left. If he had any left at all.
He hadn't been able to protect his husband.
He wasn't a good brother, either.
He no longer had any reason to keep fighting.
"You haven't eaten, have you?" Claire said finally.
Chris let out a humorless laugh—more like a dry snort.
"I'm not hungry," he said. His voice was rough and hoarse from disuse. His throat hurt.
On the other end of the line, Claire was silent for a moment, as if hearing him speak were both unlikely and painful.
"I figured as much."
"Then don't ask."
Chris regretted it the moment he said it. It wasn't fair. Claire didn't deserve any of that, but he had nothing left to give. He had no patience left. He no longer had the strength to be anyone's older brother. He was exhausted from always taking care of others and felt defeated in a way he'd never felt before. His gentleness and comfort had disappeared.
It had all disappeared with Leon.
Claire didn't hold it against him, though.
"I don't want you to be alone," she said sincerely.
Chris squeezed the cigarette between his fingers, bending it tightly.
"I'm at home."
"You know that's not what I mean."
He looked around. His house. Home. Their home.
The word cut deep, like a knife.
It had taken them years to get there. First, there was Chris's apartment. Then, Leon started leaving a few things there when he spent the night. Then a drawer. It grew to half a closet. Then came a key. This led to a conversation about moving in together after a difficult mission. Finally, they left that small apartment and bought a house.
Their home.
For Chris, it wasn't just a house. It was Leon walking into the living room with a bag of groceries because Chris had forgotten to buy them. It was arguing over who would sleep on which side of the bed on their first night there. Home was being together, snuggled up on the couch watching a movie until they fell asleep.
Home was a promise spoken in a broken whisper.
Come back.
Chris leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He felt so defeated that he could barely breathe.
"I can't do this right now, Claire."
"I know."
"No, you don't."
He unfairly spat out the words again. She didn't deserve to be treated that way. But his heart could only beat with every memory of Leon. He remembered lying on the bed, tangled up in the sheets beside him. Sitting on the couch, looking at his phone, while Chris watched a hockey game. On the kitchen counter, talking about motorcycles while Chris made breakfast.
Everything revolved around him.
But he was gone now.
Chris ran a hand over his face. He felt remorseful, but the pain was too much.
"I didn't mean that."
"It's okay."
"It's not okay. Nothing's okay, Claire. Absolutely nothing."
"No," Claire admitted, her voice breaking at the end. "I'm sorry."
This completely knocked him off balance. She didn't try to lie to him or sugarcoat it. It was raw and direct. She loved him, too.
Leon hadn't just been Chris's husband. He'd been family in a thousand ways. He was a beautiful, constant presence in their lives, even when he kept his distance at first. Claire met him on the worst possible night when they were too young to understand how much it would haunt them and the baggage they'd carry because of it. Sherry loved him like a father. Jill respected him for everything he fought for. Rebecca trusted him. Even when Leon insisted on shouldering the weight of the world alone, as if it were a personal debt, they had all learned to read him.
But it was Chris who saw him fall apart in private. He noticed how Leon hid his hand when it trembled. Chris was the one who found him sitting on the bathroom floor at three in the morning. His skin was gray in the light, there were black marks on his body and blood at the corners of his lips.
He heard his voice, low and weary, say:
"Don't look at me as if you're already losing me."
Chris knelt down in front of him, running his thumb over his bruised lips.
"I can't lose you, Leon. Please."
Leon didn't answer; he covered Chris's hand with his own.
Chris closed his eyes again.
Memories flooded in, one after another, each more painful than the last. He couldn't fathom how much pain and suffering his husband had endured to spare him worry. That led to their final goodbye. Leon didn't say a word. He left early in the morning without warning.
Chris realized it too late. Leon had taken a travel bag containing his weapons and the jacket that Chris had given him for their last anniversary. Chris called Leon a thousand times, hoping for a response. Leon finally called back later, after he had already returned to Raccoon City.
Leon was still strong, but he was thinner. Even though no one else would have noticed, Chris had. Chris had last seen Leon on a brief video call. Leon had dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was pale. But his eyes were still the same. They looked tired, but that beautiful sparkle was still there in the deep blue.
"Give me your coordinates," Chris had said. "I'll go right now."
For a moment, Chris wished he could give an order. But Leon wasn't a member of his squad. It would have been easier if he had been.
Leon looked at him with an odd calm, but there was sadness in his eyes.
"I need you to be on the other end of the line, Chris. In case I fail."
That froze him completely. Fail? What the hell was he thinking?
"No, Leon. Please."
Chris had felt rage then. It was a useless rage directed at everyone. At the DSO. At the BSAA. He was angry at Umbrella for starting all of this. He was angry at every lab they had encountered along the way. At every incompetent superior who called pure abandonment in the middle of a mission a 'sacrifice.' At Leon for continuing to say yes.
And at himself for not finding a way to stop it.
His mind was still overwhelmed, remembering every detail. Every moment suffocated him a little more.
"Promise me you'll come back," Chris said.
Leon raised the corner of his mouth slightly.
"Chris…"
"Come back. Promise me."
In that moment, Leon didn't look like the weary agent or survivor of Raccoon City he once was. Neither he was the man who had learned to joke with death so that it wouldn't get the better of him. He was just Leon. His husband. He was the man who sometimes woke up with a start after a nightmare, taking a few seconds to remember that he wasn't alone anymore.
"I always come back, don't I?"
As Chris remembered this, he felt the lump in his throat tighten even more. He'd wanted to tell him that it wasn't enough. This time, he needed to hear it for real. If he could go back, he wouldn't leave him alone. He'd watch over him so that he wouldn't leave. Or he would go with him. He should never have left him alone.
Never.
He had died because of him.
Chris let him go.
"Chris," Claire said on the other end of the line.
The sound of his sister's voice snapped him out of his trance. He returned to the present with a pain so raw that it nearly doubled him over.
"I shouldn't have left him alone. I should have watched over him. Day and night."
Claire exhaled slowly.
"You couldn't have stopped him."
"I didn't do enough."
"You knew him."
"That's exactly why."
"Chris. . ."
"I watched him die over the course of months, Claire."
The words slipped out, choked, from the depths of his throat. He couldn't hold them back any longer.
"I saw him lose his strength, yet he pretended he could handle everything. I saw him wake up with a fever and tell me everything was fine. I saw him hide the blood coming out of his mouth. I saw how hard it was for him to breathe most days. And still, I didn't realize he was slipping away. I didn't watch over him or take care of him the way I should have. During that last phone call, he looked at me as if he needed me to trust him one last time.
His voice broke at the end.
Chris covered his eyes with one hand, but it was no use. The tears came all at once, uncontrollable and heart-wrenching. He didn't want to cry in front of Claire, who was listening to him fall apart until he was completely shattered.
"He promised me he'd come back," he whispered between choked sobs.
He heard Claire hold her breath. When she finally spoke, her voice was broken, too.
"He tried."
Chris clenched his teeth tightly.
No.
He couldn't bear it.
He couldn't imagine Leon like that: crawling and bleeding with the ring in his hand, perhaps. Or maybe the ring was in his pocket. The thought of Leon considering coming back when there was no possible solution left tore him apart. Thinking of him. Leon alone. Defeated.
Leon dying alone.
Chris jumped to his feet as if he needed to move or break something. The phone almost slipped from his hand. He walked over to the window and flung it open. He needed air. His chest rose and fell heavily as he gasped for air that wouldn't come. The cool night breeze welcomed him for a moment.
"Don't say that, damn it."
"Chris..."
"Don't say that as if it would fix anything."
"I'm not trying to fix it."
"Then what the hell do you want?"
The question came out harshly, on the verge of desperation. Chris heard a small, muffled sound on the other end, as if she had also stepped away from the phone for a moment.
"I want you to stay here," she said at last. "That's all. You're my brother. I don't want to lose you too."
Chris's eyes widened; tears still streamed down his cheeks. That was the reason he hadn't wanted to answer. Claire always found the exact crack to break through his walls. She knew him all too well. She'd been there before—through other griefs, other losses, and those difficult moments that had shaped them since childhood.
His parents.
Piers.
Leon.
But Chris didn't have anything left to give her. Not even that promise. He felt so empty inside that it made him feel strange. It was as if his body weren't his own.
"I'm tired," he murmured.
"I know."
"No, Claire. I'm…" He stopped himself, searching for a nonexistent word. "I'm so empty."
Hearing the word reminded him of a coffin, which brought him crashing down in a way he'd never felt before.
He pressed a hand to his chest. His heart was beating erratically. He looked down and saw his ring again. Leon hadn't come back. Nothing of Leon had truly returned—just a cold confirmation. A report. A grave without a body.
The world kept turning around him, oblivious to how shattered he felt.
"I can go," Claire said. "You don't have to let me in if you don't want to. I'll sit on the other side of the door."
"No."
"Chris, please."
"Don't come."
"I'm not going to leave you like this."
"There's nothing you can do, Claire."
"I can be with you."
Chris shook his head, even though she couldn't see him.
He couldn't bear the thought of her waiting on the other side of the door, crying silently and trying to be strong for him. She had lost Leon, too—her best friend. Her brother-in-law. The father of the daughter they'd adopted together in Raccoon City that night.
He didn't want her to see him like this. Broken. Powerless. Completely defeated.
"Chris, listen to me," Claire insisted, her voice trembling at the end. "Leon cared about you. He loved you more than anything. I know that hurts right now, but he wouldn't want you to—"
"Stop! Don't you dare continue."
"No, listen to me. I'm not going to let you go through this alone."
Chris took a deep breath, but it turned into a broken moan. He brought his hand to his mouth and clenched it so hard that it hurt. The phone was still pressed against his ear. Claire said his name again, but he didn't hear her. Chris remained mired in his own despair. The world had become empty and hollow, a place where darkness and Leon's absence were devouring him.
He couldn't bear to hear her talk about how much Leon loved him anymore.
He didn't want to go on without him.
"I'm sorry, Claire," he said, barely audibly.
She fell silent. Maybe she understood, or maybe didn't.
"Chris, don't hang up."
The desperation in her voice pierced him painfully. Chris closed his eyes. His hand trembled around the phone.
"I can't. Forgive me."
Then, he hung up.
I can't promise you a peaceful life. We've never had one.
But I promise to come back to you, whenever I can.
And when I can't… I'll fight until I can.
Wait for me, Leon.