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chris redfield's biggest fight
Chris stood in Claire’s sun-drenched backyard, tongs in one hand and a cold beer in the other, feeling unusually domestic. The smell of charcoal and lighter fluid already hung in the air like a promise of good things – or total chaos. With him at the grill, the odds were never great, but today he had extra motivation not to screw it up. His husband was watching.
“Chris, you sure you don’t want me to take over the meat?” Leon called from the table, that familiar smirk firmly in place. Sunglasses perched on his nose, sleeves rolled up, looking far too smug for a man who had promised “no commentary” twenty minutes ago.
“I got this,” Chris grunted, waving the tongs like a challenge. “You just sit there and look pretty.”
Leon’s grin widened. “Careful. If you keep calling me pretty, I might start to think you married me because you actually like me.”
Claire laughed from the deck steps, arranging plates while Sherry folded paper napkins into little cranes. “You two are disgustingly cute. It’s been two years and you still act like newlyweds.”
Sherry smiled. “Well, I guess that means we now have two love-struck idiots who might mess up the barbecue.”
“Hey!” Chris protested, but he couldn’t fight the warm flush that crept up his neck. He loved this – family, friends, and the simple silver band on his finger that still felt new even after two years.
Jill wandered over from the cooler, two fresh beers in hand. She bumped Chris’s shoulder with easy affection. “Need backup, big guy? Or should I leave you and your husband to your traditional Redfield-Kennedy chaos?”
“Traditional,” Leon echoed, amused. “That’s one word for it.”
Grace lowered her sunglasses from her lawn chair, watching the exchange with quiet amusement. “I still can’t believe you two managed to get married without one of you accidentally blowing up the venue.”
Chris set the beer down, carefully this time, and focused on the grill. Burgers, sausages, vegetable skewers for Claire, and corn on the cob for Sherry. Everything looked perfect so far. He flipped a burger with maybe a little too much flair. It spun once in the air and landed with a satisfying sizzle.
“Not bad,” Leon said, standing up and wandering over. He slipped an arm around Chris’s waist from behind, chin resting briefly on his broad shoulder. “Though if you launch one into the neighbor’s yard, I’m claiming dibs on the insurance payout.”
Chris leaned back into the touch for a second, the solid warmth of his husband grounding him. “You’re supposed to be supportive.”
“I am. Supportively waiting for the fire department to show up.” Leon pressed a quick kiss to the side of Chris’s neck before stepping back, earning a playful swat from the tongs.
Sherry sighed. “You’re being mean again, Leon.”
“Well, he’s not wrong,” Grace answered with a bright smile.
"That's some thin ice, young lady!" Chris said, pointing with the barbecue tongs at Grace.
The afternoon sun warmed Chris’s back as easy conversation flowed around him. Claire teased her brother about the time he tried to “help” with Thanksgiving and nearly set the kitchen curtains on fire. Leon chimed in with dry commentary, occasionally shooting Chris that fond, knowing look that still made his chest feel tight in the best way. Chris was so caught up in the banter – arguing with Leon about who had the worse aim during their last joint training exercise – that he didn’t notice the disaster brewing until it was too late.
A gust of wind sent a few napkins fluttering from the table, and they landed directly on the grill. Flames erupted with a sudden whoosh, licking higher than they should.
“Holy shit!” Chris yelped, lunging for the grill lid. In his haste, his elbow knocked over the beer bottle. Liquid hit the hot coals. The fire roared upward, bright orange and angry. For one heart-stopping second, Chris imagined explaining to the neighbors why he had burned down his sister’s house during a perfectly normal cookout.
“Chris!” Claire shouted.
“I’ve got it!” Leon was suddenly right there beside him, calm and efficient as always. Together they yanked the fire extinguisher free. Chris fumbled the pin; Leon helped twist it out. White foam exploded across the grill in a dramatic cloud while the flames died with an indignant hiss. Smoke curled lazily upward. A half-charred sausage lay pathetically on the grass as if it had lost a fight.
Silence fell for half a second.
Leon then inspected the meat – now just charcoal on the grill – and then let his gaze wander to Chris, who was staring sheepishly at the grill.
"Do you think this is still edible?" Leon asked. Chris's head turned toward Leon in slow motion, with a look that could have killed his husband.
Then Sherry burst out laughing, bright and infectious. Grace covered her mouth, shoulders shaking. Jill leaned against the railing, grinning. Claire just sighed the sigh of a long-suffering little sister.
Leon wiped foam from his sunglasses, looking at Chris with pure amusement. “Hey, at least the fully cooked food isn't affected.”
"Too bad Rebecca couldn't see that!” Sherry laughed so hard now, she had to hold her stomach.
Chris stood there, extinguisher still in hand, shirt splattered with foam and charcoal smudges on his cheek. “I hate all of you,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it. His ears were burning red.
“You love us,” Leon corrected, stepping close again. He reached up and brushed a thumb across Chris’s cheek, wiping away some of the mess. His voice dropped softer, just for him. “And I love you, even when you try to cremate dinner.”
The simple words, said so casually in front of their friends and family, made something warm and steady settle in Chris’s chest. He huffed a laugh and pulled Leon into a quick, one-armed hug, careful not to get foam on him. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too, smartass.”
They gathered around the table, the grill now safely cooling under a layer of extinguisher foam. Chris sat with Leon pressed warmly against his side, Jill across from them trading stories with Claire. Sherry and Grace were deep in conversation about some new video game. Leon’s hand rested casually on Chris’s thigh under the table, thumb brushing small circles; a quiet anchor.
“You know”, Leon said between bites of slightly singed corn, “for a guy who can wrestle a Tyrant bare-handed, you really struggle with basic fire safety.”
“Next time you’re on grill duty,” Chris shot back, pointing a fork at him. “And you have to wear the embarrassing apron that says ‘Kiss the Cook.’”
Leon’s eyes sparkled. “Only if you promise to do the kissing.”
Jill nearly choked on her drink. “Ugh, you guys really are disgusting!”
“Disgustingly married,” Claire agreed.
As the sun dipped lower, turning the sky soft gold and orange, they moved to the fire pit Leon had safely started. Marshmallows were roasted the proper way – no grill disasters involved. Chris watched Sherry carefully turning hers golden, Grace laughing at something Jill said, and Claire snapping a sneaky photo of the whole group for Rebecca.
Leon leaned against him, shoulder to shoulder. “Good day, hm?” he asked quietly.
Chris looked around at their weird, wonderful family – because they all were family for him – and felt a deep contentment settle in his bones. “Yeah. Real good.” He bumped his knee against Leon’s. “Even if I almost burned the whole place down.”
“Wouldn’t be a Redfield-Kennedy event otherwise,” Leon said, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.
Later, under a sky full of stars, Sherry demanded a rematch of Thirty-One. Chris lost spectacularly, mostly because Leon kept distracting him with little touches and whispered teasing.
As the evening wound down, Chris stood at the edge of the deck with Leon’s arm around his waist, watching everyone pack up leftovers. Claire hugged him tight. Sherry tackled both him and Leon in a group hug. Jill clapped his shoulder with a knowing grin.
Grace grinned too. “Thank you for today. I'm going to pick up Emily from her friend's house now, and then I'll dream about how Chris almost went up in flames.”
Leon laughed and waited until they were mostly alone, then turned Chris toward him. “Hey. Thanks for grilling. And for almost setting the yard on fire. Makes life interesting.”
Chris chuckled, pulling his husband close. “Anytime. As long as you’re here to save me from myself.”
“Always,” Leon promised, and kissed him slow and sweet under the porch light.
It wasn’t a perfect barbecue. But it was theirs, and that was more than enough.