Archive of Our Own

The fog sat heavy over the mountains, thick enough to swallow the sunrise.

Daybreak should have meant color with soft gold bleeding over the treetops as blue sky pushed back the night, but out in the Arklay range, it was all muted. The light was a dull, washed‑out gray, smothered by low clouds and a curtain of mist that clung to the pines and crawled across the cracked asphalt in slow, ghostly waves.

Leon’s Porsche cut through it, the engine humming low as he wound along the long, narrow mountain road. The forest pressed in on him on both sides, tall trunks fading into the fog and branches dripping with last night’s moisture. Every now and then, the haze parted just enough to hint at the drop beyond the guardrail—steep, unforgiving, and disappearing into white.

His eyes stayed locked on the road ahead, his jaw tight and his knuckles pale against the steering wheel. The world outside the windshield was all shadow and suggestion, but his mind was anything but empty.

Grace’s voice still echoed in his mind. Despite only just meeting her, she had already came off as a quiet, timid soul to him, but before their departure, she had completely revealed a new side of herself. Her voice had become sharp, furious, and hurt even as tears flooded her eyes.

“I wanted to save her! This is all my fault - again!”

He didn’t blame her, though. Not after what happened — what he had tried to do. The way she had begged him and tugged at his arm, screaming at him not to shoot as she tried to lower his gun. The way she lunged herself at the fallen mutated body in front of them, crying and desperately holding onto what the girl once was.

Emily.

That was her name. He remembered it now but it didn’t make his chest feel any less heavy.

He swallowed hard as his fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

He had done what he had to do. He knew that. He’d been trained for it, lived through it, survived because of it. When you’re staring down biological experiments and weapons, it’s always them or you. That was the rule. The ugly, necessary truth.

But knowing that didn’t make him feel any better. Especially when he had taken the shot this time when he knew he probably shouldn’t have. Just like he hadn’t for… her.

Emma.

A heavy sigh fell from his lips.

Maybe he was being reckless?

He instantly replayed every shot he fired — every recoil and every which way Emily’s mutated body staggered. He could have sworn he didn’t hit anything vital. He aimed for non‑lethal zones, even in the chaos.

He prayed he was right.

He prayed she was still alive.

He prayed Grace would have the heart to forgive him someday.

If not, he would live with it and he would never hold it against her.

The fog pressed closer, swallowing the road ahead until it felt like he was driving into nothing. The forest loomed on either side, tall and silent, as if the whole mountain range was holding its breath.

Leon exhaled slowly, the ache in his chest tightening.

Watching Grace with Emily had struck a fond nerve within him. There was something in the way Grace hovered protectively over that little girl. Something in the way she tried to soothe her despite the chaos that tugged at a memory he hadn’t expected. It was almost reminiscent of when Claire found Sherry all those years ago — that same instinctive, stubborn motherly compassion.

Yeah.

Claire.

Leon’s grip loosened around the steering wheel as his shoulders lowered themselves. The fog outside the windshield thickened, but his mind went straight to her and wondering how she was fairing.

He wondered if she was in their bed with Ranger curled against her side for comfort, and hopefully getting some rest. Before he left, she had been coughing terribly. Worse than him. Her breath had rattled and those black veins had crawled across her abdomen and up her arm like ink spreading under her skin.

Raccoon City Syndrome — or at least that’s what Rebecca called it, anyway.

Just like him.

And, without a single doubt, she was probably still pissed at him for leaving. For going on this investigation without any authorization. For going at it alone, even though Sherry was handling him. For going while he was just as sick as she was. 

She had yelled at him that he was being reckless, and she probably wasn’t wrong. He knew that he probably was. He felt it in every aching joint, every numb fingertip, and every pulse of pain beneath his own spreading veins.

But knowing they were sick with the same illness that had already taken so many survivors, he just couldn’t sit still. He needed to know what was happening. He needed to know how to stop it. He needed answers — whether the government was going to allow him or not.

And he needed them before more people died. Before Claire died. Before Sherry died. Even if he himself had no guarantee of making it out alive himself.

The LED dashboard glowed faintly in front of him. Leon checked it with a quick glance and realized it was still early in the morning. Far too early for her, at least. If he called her now, she would be mad at him for two reasons instead of one — still furious that he left, and furious that he was waking her up.

But he needed to hear her voice.

He had a breather in the mission, a rare moment where the road was quiet and he wasn’t shooting at something. He needed to know how she was. And maybe… maybe she’d listen to what he had discovered so far.

Leon pressed the voice command button on his steering wheel and the soft chime sounded.

“Call Red,” he said clearly, despite the tiredness in his voice.

The system responded, crisp and clear. “Calling Red.”

He waited as the phone rang — once, twice, three times — until the call finally connected.

“Hey, you…” Claire’s voice came in low and sounded rough around the edges. She sounded like she’d been awake for a while already, and sounded like she was fighting to muster whatever strength she could find to sound normal.

Leon shook his head to himself, a faint breath of disbelief slipping out. She hadn’t changed much over the years. She was incredibly stubborn to the bone. Always trying to be the strong one. Honestly, that was one of the many things that he loved the most about her.

“I’m surprised you actually answered,” he teased, deciding to press his luck with her because he couldn’t help himself.

“Yeah, well, you better pick your words wisely. I’m still rather pissed off at you…”

Leon laughed softly under his breath. There she was — his fiery redhead.

His mood lightened just a little the moment her voice had came through the speakers, even if she was angry with him. He let that warmth settle for half a second before he decided to push his luck even more, because that was what he always did, and in some why, shape, or form she always let him get away with it.

Eventually.

“Would a gorgeous woman like yourself really stay that mad at her husband for at least calling to check on her?” he asked, his tone soft, but absolutely laced with menacing intention.

On the other end, he faintly heard the sound of her palm smacking her forehead, followed by a quiet, reluctant chuckle. It pulled a smile out of him instantly. He knew her tells. He knew her rhythms. He knew exactly which words got him in trouble and which ones got him out of it, and Claire Redfield-Kennedy could never stay mad at him for long, even when she wanted to.

“You’re an idiot,” she muttered.

“I’ll take it,” he said, still smiling. “At least I got you to laugh.”

The fog rolled across the road in slow waves as he drove, the forest pressing in on both sides. For a moment, the world felt a little less heavy.

But he sobered quickly.

“In all seriousness though… how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice still low.

She exhaled, the sound rough and tired. “Could be better,” she said. “Could be worse.”

He could picture her perfectly—wrapped in one of his old shirts like always with a blanket around her shoulders, her hair messy with Ranger curled up at her feet to keep her company, and stubbornly pretending she wasn’t as sick as she was.

“I’ve been up for a while,” she continued. “Just… couldn’t get comfortable in bed. So I’m in the living room, drinking some coffee, and trying not to cough into my mug.”

Leon’s chest tightened. He could hear the strain in her voice, the way she fought to sound normal. The way she tried to stay strong for him even when she hardly had the strength to spare.

He kept his eyes on the fog‑covered road, but his thoughts stayed with her—alone in their living room, fighting the same illness crawling through his own body.

“You’re more used to having me there,” he said quietly, almost fondly. “Makes it easier for you to get comfortable.”

There was a soft pause on her end. He definitely wasn’t wrong there. As of now, they had only been married for eight years now, but had been together in a serious relationship for eleven. She’d be lying to herself if she said that she hadn’t grown used to him being beside her. His own warmth had always warmed her and soothed her in a way she never expected.

She always found it harder to sleep without him next to her — not difficult, but just harder. As if reality was purposely trying to tease her in the worse possible way that his presence was only a gift that could easily be taken away.

Then, barely above a whisper, “…Yeah. You’re right on that.”

And for a moment, the silence between them felt like the only thing holding him together.

“Anyway, how are you holding up,” she asked him after a moment.

Leon didn’t hesitate. He never lied to her—never sugar‑coated, never softened the truth. Not with Claire. Not when she could hear it in his voice anyway.

“Still the same,” he said quietly. “Coughing… a lot, and the markings are spreading. My left hand is starting to go numb, and —”

He hesitated for a moment, not really feeling sure if he should mention it or not, but when it came to it, he knew better than to keep secrets from her. Mostly.

“— And, uh, started vomiting blood as well…”

Claire fell silent and it fell heavy —the kind where her fears finally started to line up with reality. She had a gut feeling and she had warned him. She had told him that she felt like him pushing himself like this would only make the infection progress faster. She’d suspected it from the moment he packed his gear.

She didn’t want to think about it.

She did not want to imagine him getting worse.

She did not want to imagine him reaching the next phase.

She did not want to think about her husband — her best friend and the one person she trust more than her own brother — quickly fading in front of her as the clock kept ticking.

But now she had to.

Her voice finally came through, soft and strained. “Leon…”

She couldn’t bring herself to finish speaking.

She honestly didn’t need to.

The fear in her silence said everything.

Leon heard it instantly. He felt it in the way her breath caught, in the way she didn’t try to argue this time, in the way she didn’t try to scold him again. He didn’t blame her, because deep down, beneath all the stubbornness and determination he displayed, he feared it too.

But he couldn’t let that fear show. Not to her. Not now.

“Hey,” he said softly, steadying his voice even though his chest felt tight. “I’m going to figure this out.”

“And I still think you’re being reckless…” she managed to breathe out finally.

“I know.” He cut her off gently. “But I’m not stopping. Not now. Not when we’re running out of time.”

Her voice wanted to crack, but she tried her best to swallow it down. “Leon… you’re dying.”

“So are you.”

He could hear the way her breath caught sharply and involuntary. Then the faint, wet sound of her coughing into her sleeve, trying to smother it, trying not to let him hear it too much, because she wasn’t just coughing — she was fighting it. Fighting the burn in her lungs. Fighting the fear that came with every breath that didn’t feel like enough, and Leon felt something inside him twist, because she was trying so hard to stay composed for him when she could barely hold herself together.

He sighed reluctantly.

“Claire, we can’t deny the truth any longer. That is why I’m doing this,” he continued. “For you. For Sherry. For every survivor who’s already fallen. I’m going to bring an end to this.”

He meant it. Every word. Calm, stern, resolute — the tone he only ever used when he needed her to believe him, and she knew he meant it.

On the other end of the line, he heard a faint shift — the soft exhale of someone trying to smile through exhaustion. A bittersweet curve of her lips he could picture perfectly. There he went again, playing “hero.” She normally would have teased him for it if she could, but she knew better. He hated that word — “hero.” He hated it just as much as her brother did.

Leon and Chris had spent their entire adult lives risking everything day in and day out trying to save whoever they could, whether a person deserved saving or not. They had made their peace with the fact that not everyone could be saved. They’d carried the weight of those losses for decades.

All they ever wanted was for this hellish nightmare to end — to stop the cycle, to give people a chance to live in peace, and Claire felt the same way. She always had held the same convictions as them.

Even now, sick and exhausted, she understood exactly why Leon was doing this — why he had to. Why he couldn’t just sit still while the same illness crawled through their veins. Why he wasn’t going to wait around for the government to give him the clearance he needed to pursue this. Still, the severity of the situation had not made her feel any better. The stakes were much higher now.

Her voice finally came through, soft and tired, but warm in a way only she could manage.

“…Yeah,” she murmured. “I know.”

The fog outside his windshield stayed thick and unmoving, but Leon could hear Claire’s breathing shift—just slightly—when he let that quiet moment settle between them. He knew she was waiting for him to say something real. Something important. Something he hadn’t told her yet.

He exhaled slowly.

“…There’s something else I need to tell you,” he said.

Claire let out a tired, skeptical hum. “This ought to be good,” she muttered, absently petting Ranger’s head as the dog trotted over to her.

“Yeah. You’re not going to believe where I’m driving to.”

“Alright, hotshot. Where are you going,” she inquired as he went to take a sip of her coffee.

Leon hesitated for half a second before answering.

“Raccoon City.”

As her coffee mug hovered just below her lips, she went still. Literally still, as if her entire body locked up at the sound of that name. That name alone carried so much weight. It was the place where everything started for them. The place that literally made them. The place that absolutely broke them. The place that was now trying to kill them one final time.

Things were starting to get more serious than she originally thought.

When her mind finally came back online, her voice came out thin, close to a whisper but not quiet, and slightly sharp.

“…Why are you headed back to Raccoon City?”

Leon kept his eyes on the fog‑covered road. “During my investigation, I met someone. A woman—an FBI Intelligence Analyst named Grace Ashcroft.”

Claire blinked, confused. “An FBI analyst? Leon, why the hell is an analyst in the middle of this? Analyst don’t even go out in the field. They aren’t trained.”

She wasn’t wrong.

He kept one hand steady on the wheel as Claire’s question hung between them, the fog outside rolling past in slow, pale waves. He didn’t waste time though. He didn’t soften it. He didn’t try to make it sound less insane than it was.

“Victor Gideon,” he said plainly. “I was tracking the trail of one of Umbrella’s last T‑Virus researchers. Turns out he’s working under The Connections now.”

Claire’s breath caught—barely audible, but he heard it. She had remembered her brother mentioning that organization’s name before. It sounded to her like this organization was really starting to become more apparent as of late.

Leon continued, his voice low and even. “Gideon has a huge interest in Grace, and from what I’ve gathered so far… Grace is tied to something called Elpis. It keeps popping up in every file, every encrypted message, and every dead end.”

Claire blinked slowly, trying to process. “Grace is… tied to it? How?”

“I’m not sure. Which is why I’m heading into the city after her. None of this makes sense, but if I can find her, then hopefully I can get some answers.”

He shifted his grip on the wheel, the leather creaking under his fingers.

“But Grace isn’t just connected to Elpis. She’s… important somehow. A ‘key,’ maybe. Something Gideon needs to obtain Elpis, and he’s taking her to Raccoon City.”

Claire went quiet again—this time not out of fear, but out of dawning realization.

Leon exhaled as the fog continued to swallow the road ahead. His voice steadied, low and certain, despite sounding tired. “So I’m headed there now. To find Grace. To figure out what Elpis is, why it matters, and put a stop to whatever Gideon has planned.”

Claire’s breath caught — barely audible, but he heard it.

“And if I find anything about what’s happening to us…” His voice tightened. “I just pray it’s something useful. So no more survivors have to die from this.”

Claire closed her eyes, her hand curling weakly into Ranger’s fur. She knew and hated how fast his own condition was now progressing. She hated that she could hear it in his breathing, in the strain behind his words. Just by how tired he already sounded. She hated that he was out there alone, pushing himself harder than his body could handle.

Yet, that was Leon to his very core. His own selflessness was his own curse and blessing. He would always put his life on the line for anyone and everything, regardless of who they were and what they had done to him, and he would do it without expecting the same in return.

But despite it all, deep down — deeper than she dared to admit — she couldn’t help but to fear that this time around he wasn’t coming home after this.

And she hated it even more that she was not there with him.

She would’ve pushed through her own pain, her own coughing, her own veins burning underneath her skin just to watch his six. Just to keep him safe. Just to make sure he didn’t fall alone.

But still, like always, he had been adamant.

He needed to do this himself, and she hated that too.

Yet, she knew why he did — why he always went on his missions alone. Aside from being skilled enough to do them on his own, he just never wanted anyone to get hurt or die under his watch or command. She knew he had learned that the hard way once before when he lost his entire squad. It was a guilt he didn’t want to keep repeating. So he always went alone.

Leon’s voice softened, but the steel beneath it didn’t waver. “I don’t care what it takes to find out the truth,” he said. “Whatever it takes… I’m not going down without a fight.”

His breath shook — not just from his illness, but from emotion.

“And whatever it takes… I’m coming home to you.”

“Leon…” Claire’s throat tightened painfully.

She hated the words she was about to say next. Hated the reality behind them. Hated that she had been trying to force herself to make peace with it ever since he walked out the door.

“You can’t promise that…”

The silence between them stretched heavily.

Then, his answer came from somewhere deeper than bravado, a line that carried the weight of every choice they had ever made together.

“I’m promising it anyway.”

Her breath caught as her eyes started to sting while her heart tightened within her chest. It wasn’t his tone that broke her — it was the honesty behind the words. He wasn’t trying to be brave or soften the blow. He was just admitting to an impossible hope that he was desperately going to believe in.

“Claire, if I can get one last request out of this life… one last choice that is mine alone,” His voice dropped to something raw, something unguarded. “I want to take my last breath next to you.”

Claire’s eyes closed as a single tear slipped free before she could stop them.

“So one way or another,” Leon whispered, “I’m making my way back to you.”

She did not speak.

She couldn’t.

Because twenty‑eight years of surviving hell together had built something unbreakable between them, and hearing him say those words felt like her heart was being pulled in two directions at once.

Love.

Fear.

Hope.

Grief.

It all tangled together as she held the phone tighter, wishing she could reach through it and pull him back home and into her arms.

The moment she opened her mouth to say something, she felt a sharp sense of pressure in her stomach that made her grimace. Her mouth started to salivate, but the pressure suddenly moved up to the back of her throat. She threw her hand up to her mouth quickly, and started to fall into a coughing spell.

A violent, tearing coughing.

“Claire?” Leon’s voice sharpened instantly as panic started to cut through the calm demeanor he had been forcing himself to maintain.

Her coughing didn’t stop.

It only worsened.

He could hear Ranger in the background—whining, his claws clicking against the hardwood as he stayed by her side, worried and restless. Claire’s breath hitched, broke, then dissolved into another harsh fit that made Leon’s stomach drop.

“Claire—Claire, hey—babe—Claire!” His voice rose, tight and frantic as he began to worry. “Talk to me!”

But all he heard was her struggling to breathe.

On her end, Claire pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the coughing, but it didn’t help. Her chest burned, her ribs ached, and when she finally pulled her hand away, that was when she seen it.

Blood.

Her palm was covered in it as her hand trembled.

Stunned, she stared at it with narrowed eyes, her breath trembling as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. More blood smeared across her skin. Her heart hammered, not just from the coughing but from the realization she’d been trying to avoid.

Her illness was now progressing.

And faster than she wanted to admit.

Leon’s voice cracked through the speaker again, louder this time when she still didn’t hear her voice. “Claire!”

Claire blinked a few times, forcing her breathing to slow. She didn’t want him to worry, despite knowing that he already was. He had enough on his mind. Enough weight. Enough fear. She couldn’t add more to it—not when he was already driving straight into danger.

“I’m fine,” she managed, her voice thin and shaky. “I just… had to catch my breath a bit.”

Leon didn’t believe her. Not completely, but his shoulders lowered slightly when he heard her voice come back through to him.

She knew he didn’t believe her, but she said it anyway because she needed him focused.

She needed him steady.

She needed him alive.

Claire steadied her breathing, wiping the last trace of blood from her mouth. She didn’t want him hearing the tremor in her chest. She didn’t want him focusing on her pain. She forced her voice into something level, something meant to anchor him.

“Leon… don’t worry about me,” she murmured, pushing him away with a quiet force. “You need to focus on your mission.”

He heard the protection in her words and let it land. He didn’t argue with her. He didn’t press it. He accepted it because he knew her well enough to understand that this was her way of protecting him. Even while alone and scared, she meant to shield him, because that was how she loved. The acceptance settled over him like armor, sharpening something inside him rather than dulling it.

Her strength — even now while it was brittle — tightened something in his chest.

Claire drew in a slow breath, steadying herself. The strain was still there, but her voice carried something firmer now. A realization coming from a place of conviction.

“Leon… I need you to listen to me.”

He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t fill the silence. He just listened — the way he always did when she shifted into that serious tone.

“Protect Grace,” she said. “You need to get her the hell out of there.”

Her voice tightened, not from pain this time, but from empathy. “I can only imagine how scared she must be. Whatever Gideon wants with her… she doesn’t deserve to be caught in the middle of it. No one does.”

Leon’s fingers curled around the steering wheel, slow and deliberate. He could hear the sincerity in her voice — the way she was already extending her compassion to a woman she had never met.

“And if anyone can figure all this out… I know you’ll be the one to do it. You always have had a way of doing so, and with Sherry handling you, I don’t see why I should have any doubts.”

His shoulders slowly started to relax hearing the certainty in her voice now. It may have taken her this long but he was starting to feel thankful that she was at least starting to ease out of her anger over the situation.

“And babe…” Claire continued, softer now. His eyes shifted to the center console, realizing her change in word choices now. She was speaking from a much deeper place.

“I trust you.”

Those words hit him harder than any coughing fit, than any amount of fear, and more than any ache in his own body. She wasn’t just saying she trusted him to survive — she was trusting him to see this through to the end, even while he was falling apart and potentially knock on death’s door.

She was choosing hope even if there wasn’t much hope to be found.

“So you better come home alive,” she added, a faint edge of her old fire slipping through. “Because if I start feeling even a shred of doubt, I’m not afraid to send Chris after your ass.”

Leon huffed out a breath — not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. Something in between. Something that belonged only to her.

Her threat wasn’t a joke.

Her trust wasn’t casual.

Her request wasn’t small.

She was asking him to save someone else despite the fact that he was dying.

She was asking him to come home even though she feared he wouldn’t.

She was asking him to keep fighting because she finally understood why he had to.

And Leon felt every ounce of it.

“Hell, don’t think I won’t come for you myself.”

Leon actually let out a laugh — quiet, warm, the kind that slipped out because it was her. Because even sick, even scared, even coughing blood, Claire Redfield was still threatening to come drag him home herself.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured, amusement softening his voice. “But respectfully, babe… I’d rather deal with your brother. He’s nicer to me.”

Claire gasped — dramatically, offended in the way only she could pull off. “Excuse me? I am not that bad.”

Leon’s smile widened, the sound of her indignation hitting him right in the chest. “You nearly killed me that one time when I crashed my bike.”

“I did not!”

“You absolutely did,” he countered, still laughing under his breath. “You were so mad at me for wrecking my bike that I thought you were going to bury me in the backyard.”

“Yeah, which I had to fix for you, by the way.”

“Because I nearly broke my leg,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Yeah, because you were being reckless and stupid!”

Leon shook his head, still smiling. “See? Chris is much nicer.”

Claire scoffed, but he could hear the smile in it — that soft, stubborn, unmistakably smile of hers that always made his chest loosen, even now. Ranger’s collar jingled faintly in the background as she shifted, probably rolling her eyes and probably trying not to let him hear how much she loved hearing him laugh.

Leon breathed out slowly, letting the warmth settle in his chest — a moment of light in the middle of everything dark.

Because even now, even sick, even terrified, she was still Claire.

And he was still hers.

The fog never once lifted. If anything, it felt like it only thickened — a pale, unmoving wall that made the world feel suspended in time, but as Leon drove deeper toward the city limits, shapes began to emerge through it. Ruined silhouettes. Collapsed roofs. Hollowed‑out homes. The bones of a place that had died long before either of them had.

He slowed the Porsche without meaning to, leaning forward in his seat as a familiar structure took shape on the left side of the road.

“Wait, is that really…?” he murmured under his breath.

Claire perked up immediately growing curious. “What? What are you looking at?”

Leon exhaled, staring through the fog at the stripped, skeletal remains of an old gas station. The sign was gone. The pumps were broken down. The windows were blown out, but the shape and the outline of it was unmistakable.

“I’m in front of the gas station we first met at,” he said quietly. “It hardly looks like it once did.”

Claire didn’t sound surprised. “I honestly don’t doubt that.”

Leon kept scanning the area, eyes tracing the cracked pavement, the rusted metal, the overgrown weeds pushing through concrete. Then something boxy, familiar, and impossibly still standing caught his eye.

His breath hitched. “No way…”

“What?” Claire asked, leaning forward instinctively even though she wasn’t there.

“My old jeep,” Leon said, stunned. “It’s still here.”

He stepped on the brake a little harder, letting the car roll to a slow crawl as he stared at it. The paint was gone. The tires were flat. The frame was rusted to hell, but it was upright. Recognizable. A ghost of the man he used to be.

Claire’s voice sharpened with sudden hope. “Hey, then is my bike still there, too?”

Leon scanned the lot again, his eyes moving over every patch of broken asphalt and over every pile of debris. He wanted to find it. He wanted to give her that small piece of their past back, but after a long moment, he frowned.

“Sorry, babe… I don’t see it anywhere.”

Claire huffed — frustrated, but not surprised. “I had a feeling. Still… I loved that bike.”

Leon smiled faintly as his eyes lingering on the jeep still. “I know you did.”

The fog curled around the ruins like a memory refusing to fade, and for a moment, the two of them sat suspended between the past and the present — between who they were and who they had become.

Leon let the silence linger for a moment until he eventually eased his foot back onto the gas, the car rolling forward as the fog swallowed the gas station behind him.

“Hey, I’m gonna let you go for now,” he said softly. “I need to check in with Sherry. See if she found anything else on Elpis for me.”

“Yeah, I understand. I’m just… glad you at least called.”

“I’ll always call.” He said fondly as his chest warmed, but he hesitated for a moment before asking her one last time — not out of doubt, but out of love. “You sure you’re alright?”

Claire’s condition seemed to be worsening, despite her not saying anything. He could hear it in her breathing, the faint strain she tried to hide, but she didn’t let it show in her voice.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, steady but soft. “Hey, let Sherry know I’ll call her myself soon.”

Leon nodded even though she couldn’t see it. “Yeah, I’ll let her know. She’ll be happy to hear from you.”

He was about to end the call when Claire’s voice cut back in quick and sharp. “Leon—wait.”

He froze. “Yeah?”

“Promise me one last thing.”

He exhaled, bracing himself. “What’s that?”

“Promise me you won’t wreck your new car.”

Leon blinked, then let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. “Claire…”

“I’m serious,” she insisted, even though he could hear the smile threatening her voice. “I know your track record all too well.”

Leon opened his mouth to argue — to defend himself, to point out that he wasn’t that bad — but he stopped halfway through the inhale, shaking his head with a helpless smile.

“Fine,” he said. “I promise I won’t wreck it.”

“Better not.”

A beat passed — warm, quiet, full.

“I love you,” Claire whispered.

Leon’s chest tightened, but his voice stayed steady. “I love you, too. I’ll see you soon. Promise.”