Work Text:
Neither of you say much on the way back home. After all that - reliving a hellish nightmare both of you had shoved as far down as possible and coming out alive for the second time - there was nothing to be said.
You stare out of the window of his Porsche. It's familiar and comfortable, but there's no music playing. For the first few minutes of the drive, there had been, but you don't even remember which of you turned it off.
It would be smart to go to a safe house or something. A shorter drive, for sure. But neither of you are planning on spending the night in one of those. You want to sleep in your own bed. Eat the food from your own kitchen. Use your own damn shampoo.
You sigh heavily. His hand finds your thigh, silently asking if you're okay. You put your hand over it. He flips it over to twine your fingers together properly. He's warm and strong, thumb lazily stroking back and forth over your knuckles and the band on your ring finger.
You don't know who needs it more.
You squeeze his hand. He squeezes back. You stay like that for hours until you finally reach a familiar driveway. The garage door closes behind you with a rattling, electronic buzz. The keys jingle and the lock turns with a click.
You should be exhausted. You are exhausted. But you feel like you've stepped on a landmine and you're waiting for it to explode. You're waiting for it all to come crashing down on you. The little fine print caveat that tells you this was all for nothing.
You shut your phone off completely and leave it by the door with your guns and boots. Leon doesn't question it.
He nudges you toward the bedroom. "You shower first," he offers, ever the gentleman. "I'll try to find something I won't burn."
You hum, but don't comment on the possibility of eating dry cereal, drifting through the house and reconciling its comfort with all the places you've been today. You find yourself instinctively trying to grab your knife when you open the closet. Thankfully, it was already checked at the door. You don't want to deal with shredded clothes later.
You go through the motions: grab clothes, go into the bathroom, start the shower, undress, assess the damage in the mirror (you still expect to find black marks that aren't there anymore), step under the spray. It's too hot, but you don't adjust it. You just let the water wash over you, dampening your hair and washing the surface level of dirt and blood down the drain.
You lose track of time. You wash your hair until there's no more guts and gore caked in. You scrub your body until the skin is raw. The only thing keeping you from lingering longer is leaving some hot water for Leon.
You dry off, avoid looking at yourself in the mirror, and get dressed. The sun is rising, but you're in pajamas. There's nothing the DSO could say that could bring you into work today.
You're half surprised to hear actual food cooking when you step out.
Leon tilts his head as he hears you approach, but his focus is on the eggs he stirs around the pan. "Figured it was about time for breakfast anyway. Here. Saved the mostly unburnt bacon for you."
You stand at the threshold of the kitchen, just staring.
He looks up. "You okay, sweetheart?"
The sun has risen enough to push through the windows of the house. The kitchen lights are off, because there's no longer a need while golden rays pour in to touch every surface they can lay their hands on. It caresses sweetly at his hair. It's much darker than it used to be, way back when you first met him at the police station, but shiny little grey hairs peek out, relatively new and beautiful on a man who never thought he'd survive long enough to have any that aren't from stress.
It's surreal. It feels like you've stepped into a dream.
You're home. Surrounded by furniture you picked out, some of it assembled. Books and knickknacks on the shelves, beside his cd collection and player. A couch that's still holding the impression of the last time you sat in it. Armchairs with blankets and pillows thrown haphazardly over them. Things you've collected to have something soft - something normal - in your life.
And you're both here. Not just you. Not just Leon.
You and he almost always go on missions together - officially assigned or rogue. Maybe it's just a bond that was formed from the horrors you witnessed. The stress of not knowing if the other is okay, facing those biological monsters and beasts alone, is enough to physically wear you down. That fear, that one of you may not make it back even if you're working together, still lingers. It pressed in around you through this 'adventure'. Though, some part of you figured, no matter who went first, the next would follow soon after, consumed by the virus.
But it's gone. And you're here. And he's here.
You're alive.
Oh god, you're alive.
Your knees give out, slamming hard into the tile floor. Your hand slaps over your mouth to try containing the choked, broken sounds wrenching through your chest, tearing open your ribcage to be heard. Leon is there in a heartbeat, bare hands holding onto your arms to keep you steady as he searches for any signs of something being wrong.
His own mind is spinning. Maybe the cure wasn't so perfect. Maybe there's something about it you're reacting to. Maybe, maybe, maybe-
All of them are thrown out the window when you take a deep, shuddering breath and uncover your mouth to whisper, "It's really over?"
Relief hits him hard. He feels the impact against his chest, shattering bone and crushing his lungs. He nods, brushing away hair and tears from your face, all soft and dewy from your shower. "It's over."
A strangled sound rips out of you. You don't care if he's still dirty with blood and dirt, or that he smells like dried sweat and rot. You fall into him, forehead hitting his collarbone, and just let the reality of the situation tear through you.
He wraps you up in his arms immediately, falling to sit back on his ass on the hard floor and pull you into his lap. Your fingers find his beating heart. His massage the back of your neck. "We're okay," he whispers, lips pressed to your head. "We made it, sweetheart."
-
"They're burnt."
"They wouldn't be if someone didn't distract me."
You push the scrambled egg over on your plate. It's nearly salvageable... Sorta. But it makes you smile nonetheless. At least the bacon was mostly edible.
Leon shoves his plate away with a sigh. "I'm gonna take a shower."
You set your fork down and push your plate with his. The porcelain clinks softly. "Can I join?"
"You already had a shower," he points out. Still, as he stands with a soft grunt, he takes your hand and pulls you up with him. "Come on, sweetheart. You can make sure I don't fall asleep standing up."
"What if I fall asleep first?"
He scoffs, shooting you a look. "Then I'll have plenty of time to admire my partner."