THE HERMIT @ermitanyoh - Tumblr Blog

Title: Save Your Tears (But Hate Me Instead) Chapters: Oneshot Total Word count: 17,544 words Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Rating: Explicit Warnings: MDNI, NSFW Tags Other Tags: Multiple POV, Exes to Enemies to Lovers, Misunderstandings Status: Finish Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Reader

Synopsis: Two weeks before Raccoon City burned, you walked out on Leon Kennedy over a misunderstanding that shattered everything. Years later, as Chris Redfield’s direct advisor, you’re forced back into his orbit.

You can read the fic here or on ao3, enjoy reading! AO3 Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/83529121

READER’S POV

I can still smell the burned gasoline and the rain after the scorching heat from the pavement. Not from the outbreak- that came later- but from the day I left him. Two weeks before hell broke loose, I stood in the doorway of his shitty small studio type apartment, watching him sleep off another late shift. The scent of his cheap aftershave mixed with the downpour outside. I didn’t leave a note. But the only thing I left in our apartment were my old toothbrush, the necklace he gave me for my birthday, and the shattered pieces of my heart, and I vanished into the storm.

He called me love. Even when he was half-asleep, mumbling into my hair.

"Love, you’re cold… come here." His arms, already sculpted from academy training, would pull me against a chest that felt like a fortress.

I believed in that fortress.

Until I didn’t.

The last straw wasn’t the whispered rumors at the police academy about some cadet hanging all over him. It wasn’t even his dismissive, "She’s just a friend, don’t worry about it," when my worry was a living, breathing thing in my throat.

No.

It was a surprise visit.

I’d gotten off my own shift early, picked up our lunch and his favorite terrible coffee, and went to his precinct to celebrate in advance we both knew was coming- his acceptance into the Raccoon City Police Department. My heart was a hummingbird. I rounded the corner to his desk… and there she was.

Perched on his lap like she owned it. Some brunette with a laugh too loud, her hand on his shoulder. And Leon… my Leon. His head was bent over a report, one arm absently resting on the back of his chair, a faint, absent-minded smile on his lips as she whispered something in his ear. He wasn’t pushing her away. He wasn’t uncomfortable. He looked… accustomed.

“See? Told you the forms are easy once you get the hang of it, baby,” she cooed, tracing a finger along the edge of his report with a playful smile. “You’re gonna be the best rookie they’ve ever had. I’m so proud of you.”

Leon didn’t even look up properly, just chuckled that easy, boyish laugh you used to love. “Yeah, just like that- thanks for the help, Jen. You’re a lifesaver.”

The paper cup of coffee cracked in my grip, scalding liquid seeping over my fingers. I felt nothing. I turned and walked out. He never saw me. I was a ghost before I even became one.

Two weeks later, the city had burned.

And in the ashes, I heard through the grapevine- Claire, trying to be kind in a world that had no kindness left- that he’d met someone in the hellscape. A woman in a red dress. Mysterious. Dangerous. Definitely not me, who loves being open when it comes to emotions and security is my utmost priority.

He moved on.

Of course he did.

Leon S. Kennedy, the survivor, the hero, always lands on his feet. Even if those feet are walking away from me.

LEON’S POV

The acceptance letter felt like a ticket to the rest of our lives. Thick cream paper, the official RCPD seal embossed in gold at the top. Officer Leon S. Kennedy. I’d read it so many times on the bus that the edges were already starting to soften. Twenty-one, fresh out of the academy, and everything we’d talked about- our future, a real paycheck, a place where we could finally breathe- was right here in my hands.

I practically ran the last two blocks home, heart pounding with excitement. The key turned easily this time.

“Baby? Love, you won’t believe this- ” I stepped inside, already grinning, a letter held high like a trophy. “RCPD came through. Official offer, start date, the whole thing. We’re really doing this- ”

The apartment was dim, only the soft blue flicker of the TV lighting the living room. She was curled up on the couch, knees tucked tight to her chest, face half-buried in the throw pillow. Her eyes were puffy, lashes clumped together, cheeks flushed and still shiny with dried tears. The sight stopped me cold. She must’ve fallen asleep crying again- probably those damn cat rescue videos she couldn’t resist.

I softened instantly. The letter could wait. She looked so small, so worn out. Quietly, I set my bag down, slipped off my boots, and crouched beside her. “Hey… c’mere,” I whispered, even though she was already asleep. I slid my arms under her carefully, lifting her against my chest. She stirred just enough to sigh and tuck her face into my neck, the faint scent of her watermelon shampoo wrapping around me like always.

I carried her to our bedroom, laid her down gently, and crawled in behind her. My arm slipped around her waist, pulling her back flush against me the way she liked. “Tomorrow,” I murmured against her hair. “I’ll show you the letter first thing. We’ll celebrate properly.”

Sleep came fast, warm and heavy with her in my arms.

The next morning, the air felt… wrong.

Thick, like breathing through wet cloth that clung to my throat. I woke up slowly, the usual soft morning light filtering through the curtains, but everything seemed muted. Colors flatter. The walls of our bedroom felt closer than they should, pressing in. She wasn’t beside me. The sheets on her side were cold.

I sat up, rubbing my face, the letter still folded neatly on the nightstand where I’d left it. “Love?” I called out, voice still rough with sleep. No answer. The apartment was silent except for the low hum of the fridge.

I told myself it was nothing. Just nerves about the new job. Just the weight of everything finally becoming real. But the feeling stuck to my skin like humidity.

I showered quickly, pulled on my uniform shirt, and glanced at the letter again. I’ll tell her tonight, I decided. Come home with her favorite takeout, sit her down, watch that smile break across her face when she reads it. The thought warmed me enough to push the weird tension aside.

Work dragged on. I tried calling her during my break- once, twice. Straight to voicemail. I sent a quick text instead:

Love, picking up your favorite takeout tonight. Got some really good news to tell you <3 Can’t wait to see your face.

When I finally pushed open the apartment door that evening, the paper bag of takeout was warm against my chest- pad thai with extra spring rolls, mango sticky rice on the side, exactly how she liked it. The smell of lemongrass and peanut sauce filled the hallway as I stepped inside, already smiling.

“Baby, I’m home! Hope you’re hungry because I- ”

The words died in my throat.

The apartment was empty.

Not just quiet- hollow.

Her favorite chipped mug was gone from its hook above the sink. The bathroom smelled only of my soap; the sweet watermelon scent that always lingered on the towels had completely vanished. I walked to the fridge on autopilot. The silly doodles she always left on the notepad- little hearts, stick-figure versions of us holding hands, stupid inside jokes- were torn away, leaving only blank paper.

I opened the closet with a shaking hand. Her side was bare. Hangers rattled emptily. No clothes. No shoes. No necklace she never took off. The little jewelry box I’d given her for our anniversary- gone.

No note.

No text.

No call.

Just the low buzz of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic outside.

The takeout bag slipped from my fingers and hit the floor with a soft, greasy thud. Noodles and sauce spilled across the tiles like evidence of a crime scene. The acceptance letter, still folded in my jacket pocket, suddenly felt like lead. I stood there for what must have been an hour, maybe two, staring at the hollow spaces where her life used to be.

How had I missed it?

Last night- she’d been crying when I got home. Puffy eyes, wet cheeks. I’d assumed cat videos. I’d carried her to bed without asking. This morning the air had felt thick, wrong, suffocating… and I’d brushed it off. I hadn’t noticed the missing mug when I made coffee. Hadn’t registered the silence. Hadn’t seen the empty hooks, the cleared surfaces.

I’d been too busy thinking about the letter. About the future. About us.

The fortress I’d been building in my head- for both of us- collapsed inward with a silent, crushing weight.

That night I ended up at a dive bar three blocks away, staring into the bottom of a whiskey glass. The amber liquid burned, but it couldn’t touch the confusion, the raw betrayal twisting in my gut. Why? What the hell had I missed?

A familiar, too-sweet perfume cut through the haze. My coworker slid onto the stool beside me, the one my girl had worried about more than once.

“Oh, Leon… all alone tonight?” Her voice was soft, pitying, with something sharper underneath. “She never did appreciate you, you know. Always so sensitive. You deserve someone who actually sees how special you are.”

Her hand landed on my arm, fingers squeezing with easy familiarity. Her lips hovered too close to my ear. “I’ve been right here the whole time.”

The realization hit like a gut punch. I’d told her- casually, stupidly- about the little worries my girl sometimes had. I’d brushed them off as paranoia. She’s just a friend, love. Don’t worry about it.

But here she was. Sliding into the space my girl had left like she’d been waiting for it to open.

I shoved her hand away harder than I meant to. “Don’t.” The word came out raw, gravelly. “Just… don’t.”

I left money on the bar and stumbled out into the rain. Cold drops mixed with the hot sting on my face. Shame burned hotter than the whiskey. I’d fucked up. I’d lost the best thing I’d ever had because I was too blind, too focused on the shiny new badge and my own excitement, to see the signs right in front of me.

Raccoon City came for all of us soon after. The outbreak turned the streets into hellfire, zombies and nightmares spilling out like poison. It burned everything clean on the outside.

Inside, it changed nothing.

And in the middle of that chaos, a flicker of red appeared in the gloom.

Ada Wong.

Silk the color of fresh blood, sharp mind, sharper instincts. A survival instinct that matched my own. She had a way of tilting her head when she analyzed a problem- calculating, curious- that sent a phantom pain straight through my chest every single time.

It reminded me of her.

It wasn’t moving on.

It was haunting.

Until six years later… when the past finally caught up again in the hills of Spain.

SIX YEARS LATER

CHRIS’ POV

I recruited her for a reason.

She had a mind like a scalpel- sharp, precise, and never afraid to cut deep. She stayed cool under pressure, even when the field lab was shaking from nearby explosions or the air reeked of fresh BOW residue. Her background in biomedical research wasn’t some clean lab-coat theory; she’d gotten her hands dirty in the field, calibrating serums while Lickers screeched in the distance. She was an asset. The kind of asset that kept my team alive.

What I didn’t sign up for was becoming a fucking marriage counselor for two ex-lovers with the emotional intelligence of live grenades.

I barged into the briefing room without knocking, my boots heavy on the concrete floor. The air inside was already thick with the low buzz of the holographic projector.. I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the familiar knot of tension that always formed when I had to play referee.

“Leon’s here for the intel handoff,” I said, doing my best to sound stern and captain-like, the voice I used when I needed people to fall in line. “DSO overlaps on the Omega strain. Play nice, Doc. He’s the best field asset we’ve got, and you’re the only one who can calibrate the drone payload in real time.”

I watched her reaction like a hawk. Her whole body tensed the second I said his name- shoulders tightening under her tactical vest, fingers gripping the tablet a fraction too hard. Her face stayed carefully neutral, a professional mask firmly in place, but the tablet nearly slipped from her fingers. She caught it at the last second, knuckles whitening around the edges.

Why does this shit always happen on my watch?

“Exes,” I confirmed, exhaling through my nose as I leaned against the doorframe. “Yeah, I connected the dots last week when your Raccoon City survivor file crossed my desk with that little red ‘personal entanglement’ flag. Heard some stories from Claire and Sherry. Ancient history, right?”

She forced a smile that looked like shattered glass- tight, brittle, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. “Ancient. Buried. Irrelevant.”

Ten minutes later the door opened again. Leon Kennedy walked in like he owned the air itself- same scuffed leather jacket from the academy days, hair a little longer and tousled from the chopper wind, stubble sharper, eyes colder than the Arctic strain. He didn’t glance her way at first. Just crossed the room in that effortless stride, shook my hand with a firm clap on the shoulder, and dropped the encrypted DSO drive onto the table like it was nothing.

“Omega Plagas,” he started, voice clipped and professional as he projected the briefing hologram. The blue light flickered across the table, casting sharp shadows on everyone’s faces. “Neural hijack window down to ninety seconds. Pack coordination upgraded- hosts now use basic flanking tactics. DSO lost three agents last month in the village outskirts. Full autopsy reports attached. The parasite is adapting faster than anything we saw in Spain.”

I glanced at her. She kept her eyes locked on her own tablet, fingers dancing across the interface, pulling up her CRISPR sequence overlays. I saw the tiniest twitch in her jaw- but her voice stayed steady as steel when she cut in.

“ViraMed’s retroviral inhibitor targets the parasitic RNA directly,” she said, calm and clinical. “We’re looking at a base-pair mismatch vulnerability at the 47th locus. Aerosol dispersal via modified drone can saturate a thirty-meter radius in under thirty seconds, provided the host cluster is contained. I’ve run six simulations. It should neutralize the neural rewrite before full pack coordination kicks in.”

Leon’s gaze finally snapped to her. His jaw flexed, a muscle ticking visibly under the stubble. “Advisor.” Flat. Measured. Like she was a mildly inconvenient footnote in the mission brief.

“Agent Kennedy.” She matched his tone with sweet venom, tilting her head just slightly. “Still letting the government issue you that discount cologne? Or did Ada pick it out for you this time?”

I couldn’t help it- I pinched the bridge of my nose so hard I heard cartilage creak. The room felt ten degrees colder. “Jesus Christ. Save the reunion tour for after the briefing. We’ve got a village full of mutated cultists waiting.”

The meeting dragged for forty-three excruciating minutes. The air in the room felt thick, charged, like the moment before a storm breaks.

When I finally stepped out for a secure satellite call, the silence I left behind was heavier than any BOW I’d ever faced.

- - -

It started small after that. Passive-aggressive notes appended to reports.

‘ -Per Agent Kennedy’s simplistic strategy, one might consider basic perimeter security…’

‘The Doctor’s theoretical model fails to account for actual combat kinetics…’

Then it evolved into “accidental” meetings in the hallways.

“Redfield needs you to review this,” Leon would say, shoving a file at her.

“Tell him to use the internal messaging system like a big boy,” she’d reply, retracting her hand so the file dropped between them.

“I’m not your messenger.”

“And I’m not your secretary.”

I finally snapped after finding Piers playing middleman for the fifth time in a week- running back and forth with folders like a damn courier while looking increasingly exhausted.

“Enough!” My voice boomed in the conference room when I finally dragged both of them in. The walls seemed to vibrate with the force of it. “You two are grown adults. Professionals. Start acting like it! Communicate directly or I’ll bench you both from joint ops. I don’t care how brilliant either of you is- this bullshit ends now.”

I should have known better.

I rubbed my neck again, already regretting every decision that had led to this moment. I recruited her to save lives. I brought him in because he was the best at what he did.

Instead, I’d accidentally invited a goddamn war into my base.

And the worst part? Deep down, I still believed they belonged together. Two survivors who had lost everything in Raccoon City, still carrying pieces of each other whether they admitted it or not.

But right now, they were a powder keg.

And I had just handed them the match.

LEON’S POV

Acting like an adult? Fine. I could play that game.

I saw her in the lab through the observation window, laughing at something Piers Nivans said. The sound carried faintly through the glass- bright, genuine, the kind of laugh that used to be mine. Her hand rested lightly on his arm as she leaned in to point at something on the tablet screen, her smile warm and easy, eyes crinkling at the corners. That smile. The one I hadn’t seen in six years. The one that used to light up our tiny apartment when I came home late with cheap takeout and called her “love.”

It felt like a knife twisting slowly between my ribs.

Piers was saying something that made her laugh again, head tilting slightly, the way she used to do with me when I told a stupid joke. The green-eyed monster in my chest roared louder than any BOW I’d ever faced. I turned away before I did something stupid, like punch the glass or storm in and drag her out.

So when the next joint briefing rolled around, I was ready.

The conference room smelled of stale coffee and the faint ozone from the holographic projector. I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, watching her present her latest virology findings on the Omega strain. She stood at the front, confident and composed in her tactical vest, holographic charts spinning in the air in front of her. Her voice was clear, professional, every word precise.

“Fascinating theory, Doctor,” I drawled the moment she finished, my tone lazy and cutting. I let the chair creak as I leaned forward, eyes locked on hers. “Pity field agents have to deal in reality. Must be nice up there in your ivory tower, running simulations while the rest of us bleed.”

The room went dead silent. Every head turned. Even Chris, sitting at the head of the table, froze mid-sip of his coffee.

Her eyes, the exact color I once loved watching darken with desire- flashed to mine with lethal precision. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

“My ‘ivory tower’ has saved more agent asses than your trigger-happy version of reality ever has, Kennedy,” she fired back, her voice sweetly venomous, each word dripping with controlled poison. She tilted her head, a small, dangerous smile curving her lips. “Or did you forget Madrid already? The one where my ‘theory’ identified the parasite vector you were about to walk straight into? You’d have been another shredded corpse if I hadn’t flagged it in time.”

I felt the hit land, but I didn’t let it show. Instead I smirked, slow and mocking. “Madrid. Right. Where you spent the entire op cozying up with the support team while I was the one actually pulling triggers. It must be nice to play hero from behind a screen.”

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table. “At least my ‘screen’ doesn’t come with a body count attached to every bad call. How many agents did you lose last month because you ignored the data and went in guns blazing? Remind me.”

The air crackled with tension. Piers shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Rebecca’s eyes darted between us like she was watching a live grenade pin get pulled. Even Jill, usually the first to crack a joke, stayed silent.

I leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping low. “Careful, Doc. Keep talking like that and people might start thinking you still care what happens to me.”

She laughed once, sharp and bitter, the sound cutting through the room like broken glass. “Care? The only thing I care about is making sure your ego doesn’t get the rest of us killed. Again.”

Chris finally cleared his throat, the sound loud in the sudden quiet. “Enough. Both of you. Save it for the field.”

But it was too late.

The war was officially declared.

From that moment on, the BSAA base became our trench system. Every hallway was a no-man’s-land. Every briefing was a battlefield. Passive-aggressive notes appeared on reports like landmines. “Accidental” collisions in corridors turned into barbed exchanges. The crew watched with a mixture of horror and fascination, the betting pool swelling with every new skirmish.

And through it all, that knife in my chest twisted deeper every time I saw her laugh with someone else- especially Piers.

Because deep down, I knew the truth.

I had never stopped loving her.

And she had never stopped hating me for it.

READER’S POV

He started it.

The petty shit.

It began with him “accidentally” spilling his coffee across my freshly printed genome report- right over the color-coded section detailing the Omega Plagas’s neural hijack mechanism. The dark liquid soaked through the pages in seconds, ruining hours of meticulous work. I spent three painstaking hours in the lab reprinting, re-annotating every base-pair mismatch, and color-coding the charts again, muttering curses under my breath that sounded suspiciously like his full name. “Leon Scott Kennedy, you absolute bastard…”

So I retaliated.

During his next live-fire simulation, I may have had a quiet word with the range master. His prized Silver Ghost was loaded with blanks for the first magazine.

The look on his face when his shots did nothing but click uselessly against the holographic BOW was priceless. The furious, bewildered turn of his head, his sculpted jaw tight with shock, blue eyes scanning the observation room until they locked onto mine behind the one-way glass. I gave him a small, innocent wave, lips curved in the sweetest smile I could muster.

Jill Valentine caught me in the hallway afterward, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

“You changed his ammo.”

“He started it,” I said, shrugging as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

“You two are going to get someone killed.”

“We’re just… communicating.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Communicating with blanks. Brilliant.”

He escalated.

Two days later, he hacked the training room’s lighting system so the strobes kicked in like a migraine-inducing rave every single time I stepped inside. The flashing lights were hell- disorienting, nauseating, turning every movement into a strobe-lit nightmare. It took the tech team days to fully restart and secure the system. I walked in mid-morning for a scheduled session, froze mid-stride as the lights began their seizure-inducing dance, then flipped him off directly through the glass with both hands while the crew lost their collective shit in the control room. Piers was wheezing. Rebecca was filming. Carlos was howling with laughter.

Chris caught us mid-shade war in the armory two days later.

I was jabbing a finger into Leon’s chest, voice sharp. “You are a government-issue manwhore with commitment issues, Kennedy. You always have been.”

He had me backed against a locker, not touching, just looming close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off his body, his breath brushing my face. His eyes were dark, dangerous. “And you’re a hypocritical ice queen who runs the second things get real. Still running, Doc?”

It was Chris who had the brilliant idea to force a reconciliation.

He locked us in the observation room after the latest debrief, voice booming with frustration.

“Observation room. Two hours,” he ordered, the deep, world-weary dad-sigh of a man who’d survived more apocalypses than birthdays. “Work it out or I’m writing you both up for conduct unbecoming a professional. Talk it out. Don’t come out until you’ve resolved this juvenile crap.”

The door hissed shut behind us. Soundproof walls. One-way glass. No escape.

We lasted eleven minutes before the first metaphorical punch turned physical.

He shoved. I shoved back harder.

Like hell we’re gonna ‘talk it out.’ I was ready to piss him off until he begged for mercy.

But then his mouth crashed into mine- teeth clashing, tongues battling, six years of missing him so hard it felt like the T-Virus eating straight through my ribcage. His hands shoved my vest up, palmed my breast through the thin shirt, and I winced in unwanted pleasure when he pinched my nipple hard enough to make me gasp. I moaned into his mouth like I hated how good it still felt, how perfectly his body still knew mine.

The intercom crackled overhead: “Time’s up, lovebirds. The door’s opening.” It was Carlos’s voice, laced with barely contained amusement. “Try not to kill each other… or do. Either way, make it quick.”

We sprang apart like guilty teenagers, lips swollen, breathing ragged, my hand still halfway under his shirt. Chris opened the door, took one look at the scene- disheveled clothes, flushed faces, the unmistakable heat still crackling between us- and muttered, “For fuck’s sake, you two are worse than Jill and Carlos on a bad day.”

We left in shame. Luckily for me, he didn’t follow. He stormed off in the opposite direction, leaving me alone with the echo of that kiss burning on my lips.

Until it was past ten.

I was in the food pantry, making jammed bread on a slice of stale toast, happily eating it with my ugly ass mug- the one from our first anniversary that still judged me silently for what had happened earlier in the observation room. The second the door clicked shut behind me, the air turned to static.

“You think this is funny?” Leon snarled, pacing like a caged tiger, boots heavy on the tile floor. His hair was still slightly messy from the earlier chaos, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped.

“I think you’re a hypocrite,” I shot back, our eyes locking as I licked jam residue slowly from my fingers, deliberately provocative. “You get to play the wounded party when you were the one with a groupie in your lap back in Raccoon?”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“My eyes worked perfectly fine!”

He stopped pacing, looming over me. Five foot Eleven of coiled, frustrated muscle in a black turtleneck that did nothing to hide the breadth of his shoulders. The familiar scent of him- clean sweat mixed with gun grease and something uniquely Leon- invaded my senses. Old memories, dangerous and warm, surged unbidden.

“You left without a word,” his voice dropped, raw and cracked. “You didn’t let me explain. You just… decided I was guilty.”

“You were!”

“I was stupid!” he roared, the force of it making me flinch. He saw it and his face softened, raw agony flashing in those blue eyes I used to drown in. “I was a naive rookie who didn’t know how to handle a clingy colleague! I didn’t cheat on you. I would never have cheated on you.”

The truth in his words hit a chord that had been rusted shut for years. Before I could process it, before I could fortify my walls again, his hands were on my face- calloused thumbs brushing my cheeks with surprising gentleness. And his mouth was on mine.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was a clash- a claiming, a punishment, a desperate reunion. All the months of anger, longing, and bitterness poured into that kiss. His tongue demanded entry and I gave it, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer against every sane instinct. He tasted like coffee and regret and home. My body, a traitorous thing, arched into his, feeling the hard planes of his chest, the undeniable proof of his strength and arousal pressing against me.

The door opened.

Claire Redfield stood there, frozen, a bag of chips in her hand, eyes wide as saucers.

I shoved Leon back with all my strength, the spell breaking with brutal suddenness. The sound of my palm connecting with his cheek cracked through the room like a gunshot. “Don’t you ever touch me again,” I hissed, my voice trembling with rage and something far more dangerous.

I fled.

Claire fled.

And by lunchtime, the entire base knew.

JILL’S POV

I slid into the seat across from Piers and Rebecca in the mess hall, coffee in hand, grinning like I’d just won the lottery. The betting pool notebook was already open on the table, scribbled with odds and dates in messy handwriting. An empty ammo box sat in the center with a strip of tape slapped across it that read “MAKE-UP POOL” in bold black marker.

“Ten dollars says they fuck within the week,” I announced, dropping a crisp ten into the box with a satisfying clink.

Piers leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief as he counted out his bills. “I give it two days, max. The way they glare at each other in briefings? That’s foreplay with extra steps. Plus, I’m tired of running messages between them like a damn mailman. My legs are killing me from all the extra laps Chris is making us do because of their drama.”

Rebecca snorted into her protein shake, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Hate sex in the armory. I saw the fresh hickey on her neck yesterday- she tried covering it with a tactical scarf like we’re all blind. Amateur hour. And honestly? As the medic, I’m sick of stitching up the tension headaches they’re giving everyone. The whole team’s on edge.”

I leaned back, propped my boots on the table, and laughed loud enough to turn a few heads. “Locked-room special in the observation deck. They either kill each other or fuck. I’m betting on both, in that exact order. Chris is gonna regret playing referee. But let’s be real- those two are family. The world’s dark enough without them carrying six-year-old ghosts. If I can win the pool and get them back together, it’s a win-win for morale.”

“Twenty in a month,” Josh said pessimistically, sliding his cash in. “They’re too stubborn. But I’m in because the tension is messing with our training scores. I need them focused, not sniping at each other over comms.”

Sheva dropped a crisp twenty on top. “Kennedy’s office. Pre-mission. I’m tired of watching two of our best assets waste energy on this bullshit instead of the actual BOWs.”

Carlos Oliveira wandered over from the coffee station, arms crossed, that signature smirk on his face. “You degenerates are betting on Kennedy’s love life? Count me in- fifty on the supply closet during the next joint op. I’ve seen the way they circle each other like cats in heat. The pool money’s gonna fund the good whiskey for the next team party.”

Chris wandered over last, nursing his own black coffee, pretending not to listen. But I caught the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He quietly slid a hundred-dollar bill across the table. “Leon’s office. Post-mission. Someone’s gotta keep you degenerates honest… and if it gets them talking again, even better. The team can’t afford this distraction forever.”

The table erupted. “Cap’s in?!” Piers choked on his drink. Rebecca high-fived me so hard my shoulder popped.

I winked at Chris. “Told you they sounded like a divorced couple in every briefing. This is better than reality TV.”

Deep down we were all rooting for them. The world was dark enough without carrying six-year-old ghosts. But damn if watching them wasn’t the best entertainment the BSAA had seen since the last outbreak.

The pool grew fast. Every interaction was scrutinized like a live BOW autopsy. Did he just “accidentally” brush against her in the hall? Did she just steal his lunch from the fridge again? Verbal sparring over comms during a low-risk recon mission? That was worth an extra five bucks from the spectators. The ammo box was already half-full by the end of the week.

- - -

The crew’s motivations ran deeper than money. After Raccoon, Leon and you were family- survivors who’d lost everything and still showed up every day. The constant tension was bleeding into ops, lowering morale, and making everyone’s jobs harder. The bet gave them an excuse to meddle, but the real drive was getting two of their best assets (and friends) back on solid ground.

The gym locker room smelled of sweat, chlorine from the pool next door, and the faint metallic tang of gun oil that clung to every BSAA operative’s skin. Piers and Sheva had “accidentally” double-booked the base’s only private shower stall- the one with the decent hot water and actual privacy curtains- for Leon and you right after a brutal joint training run.

Piers’s motivation was simple: he was exhausted from being the unwilling messenger and genuinely liked both of you. “They’re wasting energy on this instead of the missions,” he’d whispered to Sheva while forging the schedule. “If a little forced proximity works, I’m all in. Plus, I’ve got fifty riding on this.”

Sheva’s reasons were more tactical. “After the outbreak, we all lost people. These two deserve a second chance. And if it clears the air, our team runs smoother.”

You arrived first, towel slung over your shoulder, hair still damp from the rain outside. Leon showed up thirty seconds later, shirt already half-unbuttoned, scowl firmly in place.

“What the hell?” you snapped the moment you both reached the stall door at the same time. “This is my slot. Piers sent me the schedule.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed. “Funny. Sheva sent me the exact same time. Move.”

You didn’t budge. “Personal hygiene first, Kennedy. You smell like you rolled in Ganado guts. Again.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from the woman who used to steal my shampoo because hers ‘smelled like a chemistry lab explosion,’” he shot back, voice rising. “Step aside before I make you.”

“Make me?” You laughed, sharp and bitter, stepping closer until your chests nearly brushed. “You couldn’t even make a decent cup of coffee back in Raccoon without burning it. Now you think you can order me around? Typical. Still the same rookie who let some academy skank sit on his lap while I brought him lunch.”

The shouting match escalated fast, voices bouncing off the tiled walls and carrying two floors up to the command level.

“You’re the one who vanished without a word!” Leon yelled, voice echoing. “No note, no call- just gone! And now you act like I’m the villain every time Ada’s name comes up?”

“At least Ada doesn’t pretend to be ‘just a coworker’ while she’s practically riding your thigh!” you fired back, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Time management, Kennedy. You clearly never learned it- always letting other people take priority.”

The argument devolved into a full-blown debate about who deserved the hot water first, who took longer to shower, and whose “personal hygiene routine” was more of a biohazard.

The crew outside could hear every word.

Rebecca winced. “That’s… not going according to plan.”

Leon emerged first, hair wet, towel low on his hips, wearing a blue-ball-induced scowl that could curdle milk. He slammed the locker door so hard the hinges rattled and stormed off without looking at anyone.

You followed two minutes later, towel wrapped tight, cheeks flushed with anger rather than anything else. You flipped off the entire group waiting in the hallway. “Nice try, assholes.”

No fucking. The pool stayed untouched.

- - -

The motor pool was quiet except for the low hum of generators and the occasional drip of rain from the overhang. Josh had “lost” the key to the only available vehicle for the supply run to the satellite facility, forcing you and Leon into the same armored jeep for a ninety-minute drive through winding German backroads.

Josh’s motivation was pure team survival. “The tension is tanking our training scores,” he’d muttered while hiding the key. “If they’re stuck together for an hour and a half, maybe they’ll hash it out. Or at least stop making the rest of us miserable.”

The interior smelled of leather and the faint trace of Leon’s cologne. You sat in the passenger seat with your arms crossed, tablet open on your lap for “work.” Leon gripped the wheel like it owed him money.

The first thirty minutes were pure icy silence.

Then you broke it. “You drive like you’re still a rookie trying to impress the academy girls. Slow down before you hit a pothole and we both end up in a ditch.”

Leon’s jaw tightened. “And you criticize my driving like you’re still the one who refused to let me drive your precious old clunker back in Raccoon. Remember that? Or did you conveniently forget everything except how to hate me?”

You reached for the thermostat and cranked it up. “It’s freezing in here. You always ran cold and never cared if I was comfortable.”

He immediately reached over and cranked it back down. “It’s a tactical vehicle, not a damn spa. You always ran hot and never cared if I was sweating my ass off.”

The near-physical altercation over the thermostat turned into a full-blown argument. Your hand slapped his away. His hand slapped yours back. The jeep swerved slightly as he tried to keep one eye on the road.

“Watch where you’re going!” you snapped.

“Maybe if you stopped acting like a backseat driver I could focus!” he growled. “And turn that garbage music off. You still listen to the same playlists from 1998?”

You unplugged the radio entirely. “Better than whatever country crap you blast when you think no one’s listening.”

Ninety minutes of barbed silence broken only by those sharp jabs. No fucking. When you finally arrived at the satellite facility, both of you stormed out in opposite directions. Josh got a play-by-play via comms and groaned the entire way back to base.

- - -

The after-mission debrief room smelled of sweat, gunpowder residue, and the strong black coffee Rebecca had brewed for everyone. Jill, in a moment of pure desperation after the latest failed sabotage, had spiked two mugs with a mild herbal aphrodisiac she’d “borrowed” from the med bay- non-regulation, but “perfectly safe in small doses,” she’d insisted to the crew.

Jill’s motivation was a mix of money and genuine care. “The pool’s at eighteen grand, but more than that, I hate seeing them like this, they deserve better. One little push can’t hurt… right?”

You and Leon were the last two left at the table, both exhausted from the recon run. Jill slid the mugs across with an innocent smile.

You took a sip first. Your eyes widened. You immediately spit it back into the mug. “What the hell is this? It tastes like someone mixed cough syrup with regret.”

Leon took his sip at the exact same moment and spat it out too, glaring at you across the table. “Did you just try to drug me, Doc? Because that’s low, even for you.”

You slammed your mug down. “Me? You’re the one who looks like you slipped something in mine! Still trying to get your way after all these years?”

The accusation flew back and forth, voices rising.

“You think I’d waste my time drugging you when I can barely stand to be in the same room?” Leon snarled.

“Funny, because you sure as hell didn’t mind when that academy skank was on your lap!” you shot back.

A joint complaint was filed to Chris within the hour- both of you storming into his office, mugs in hand, demanding an investigation into “suspicious beverages.” Chris pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it looked painful.

Jill watched from the hallway, wincing. “Well… that backfired spectacularly.”

No fucking.

The crew got chewed out, the pool swelled even larger from the sheer chaos, and the tension on base grew thicker than ever.

LEON’S POV

Watching her work was its own kind of torture.

The temporary field lab was a converted warehouse on the edge of the infected zone, its walls lined with humming portable containment units and flickering monitors. She moved through the contaminated section with that graceful caution I remembered too well- gloved hands deftly handling sample containers, eyes focused behind the clear visor of her hazmat hood as she carefully pipetted viscous black fluid from a Regenerador tissue sample into a vial. The overhead lights cast sharp shadows across her face, highlighting the determined set of her jaw and the small furrow between her brows when she concentrated.

Piers was her shadow, covering her six with professional precision, leaning in close to hear her quiet instructions over the comms. “Piers, tilt the sample tray thirty degrees- yes, like that. I need a cleaner cross-section for the RNA sequencer.” Her voice was soft, patient, the same tone she used to use with me back when we were still building something real.

A unit. A partnership.

A surge of something ugly and green boiled low in my gut, hot and vicious. When a group of Regeneradors shambled around the corner- pale, fleshy horrors with exposed regenerative cores- I didn’t wait for Piers’s order.

“On your left, Nivans!” I barked, shoulder-checking past him maybe harder than necessary. My rifle kicked against my shoulder as I opened fire, shredding the first creature in a spray of black ichor and shredded tissue. “Keep up.”

I saw her glance back through the reinforced glass, a frown visible behind her visor. Not concern for me. Annoyance at the disruption.

“Eyes on your own sector, Kennedy,” Piers said tightly over comms, voice clipped with irritation as he repositioned to cover the gap I’d created.

“Just making sure the science team doesn’t get eaten,” I retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm as I put another burst into the second Regenerador. The creature screamed, its flesh already knitting back together until my shots found the core.

Later, during extraction under heavy fire, she stumbled on a pile of rubble, boot catching on a jagged piece of concrete. Piers was there instantly, catching her elbow with a steady hand and helping her regain balance.

“Easy, Doc,” he said, voice warm and reassuring. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m fine, Piers, thanks,” she replied, breathless but genuine, offering him a small, grateful smile that hit me like a gut punch. That soft tone- the one reserved for people she actually cared about- was directed at him.

The word “fine” in that tone, aimed at someone else, was the match that lit the fuse.

Back at the temporary base camp, the air still thick with the metallic scent of blood and gunpowder, and the distant rumble of thunder, I cornered her by the decon showers. The area was dimly lit, steam rising from the hot water units, the sound of running water masking most conversations.

“You and Nivans seem awfully cozy out there,” I said, voice low and edged as I stepped into her space. “Laughing, touching arms, calling him by name like he’s your personal bodyguard.”

She didn’t even look at me at first, just continued scrubbing her arms under the spray, water cascading over her tactical gear. “You and every female agent with a pulse seem cozy, Kennedy. What’s your point?”

“My point is you’re working too close,” I growled, stepping closer until the spray misted my jacket. “It’s distracting. For the mission.”

She finally turned, eyes blazing behind the damp strands of hair clinging to her face. “The only distraction here is your pathetic, juvenile jealousy. You lost any right to care about who I work closely with the day you let that bitch sit in my place- on your lap, while I stood there with lunch and your stupid coffee like an idiot.”

Her words landed like bullets. I flinched, but pushed back. “That was six years ago. You vanished without a word. No explanation. Just gone.”

“And you moved on fast enough,” she shot back, voice sharp as a scalpel. “Don’t pretend you didn’t. I think I need to make a vaccine to cure your delusion, Leon. Because clearly you’re still infected with the idea that you have any claim over me.”

She shoved past me, shoulder bumping mine hard enough to sting, leaving me standing there with water dripping from my jacket and frustration burning in my veins.

That night, in the cramped quarters of the forward camp, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and recycled oxygen, I found her alone reviewing data on a ruggedized tablet. The anger between us had cooled to a simmering need, raw and electric.

I pushed her against the soundproofed wall of the supply alcove, my body caging hers, one hand braced beside her head. “You still want me,” I growled against her lips, feeling her heart hammer against my chest. “You wouldn’t get so angry if you didn’t. Admit it.”

She didn’t fight the kiss this time. She met it with equal fury, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling just hard enough to sting as our mouths clashed- teeth nipping, tongues battling for dominance. The kiss was messy, desperate, six years of unresolved heat pouring out in every gasp and bite.

My hand slid down her body, cupping her through her pants, feeling the heat there. I was rock-hard and aching for her, pressing my hips forward so she could feel exactly what she did to me. “Tell me you don’t want this,” I rasped against her neck, sucking a mark just below her ear.

For a moment she arched into me, a soft sound escaping her throat- then she went still. Her knee came up, not hard enough to hurt, but precise and deliberate, pressing into my thigh and creating just enough space to slip free.

“Blue balls are your color, Kennedy,” she whispered, voice husky and mocking as she ducked under my arm. She straightened her shirt with calm precision, picked up her tablet, and left me standing there in agonizing, frustrated silence, chest heaving, cock throbbing painfully against my zipper.

I slammed my fist against the wall once she was gone, the sound echoing in the empty alcove. The frustration was a living thing now- hot, heavy, and nowhere near resolved.

READER’S POV

The satellite lab was a concrete tomb carved into the hillside, all sterile white walls and the low, constant drone of cooling fans fighting the Spanish heat. Fluorescent strips buzzed overhead, casting everything in a sickly pallor that made the glowing monitors feel like the only living things in the room. I was hunched over the main terminal, lab coat sleeves pushed up to my elbows, neck-deep in scrolling genetic sequences. Dominant Plagas strain- its larval hooks burrowing into the host’s central nervous system like barbed wire. I’d isolated a thermal vulnerability in the early stages; if Leon could hit the nests with sustained fire, it might buy him the window he needed. Hunnigan’s back-channel patch had been a godsend- local security cams flickering in a grid across my secondary screen, grainy but functional.

Then the courtyard feed snapped into focus.

Stone arches loomed under a bruised twilight sky, ivy choking the ancient masonry like veins. Flickering torch scones threw jagged shadows across uneven flagstones slick with moss and old blood. And there he was.

Leon.

Alive. God, he was alive. His shoulders carried that familiar weariness- jacket scuffed and dusty from whatever fresh hell he’d crawled through- but the panther-like grace was still there, every step deliberate, boots scraping softly as he scanned the perimeter. The faint stubble along his jaw caught the firelight; his grip on the handgun was loose but ready, blue eyes narrowed against the gloom. He looked… older than the boy who used to pull me into his chest with a sleepy murmur. Harder. But still him.

And with him… her.

The woman in red. Ada Wong. Silk dress clinging to her like liquid shadow, heels clicking with effortless poise across the stone despite the ruin around her. Dark hair framing a face that could cut glass, lips curved in that trademark smirk. Legend made flesh- every whispered story from the Raccoon City survivors, every classified file I’d never been cleared to read. She moved like the night itself had given her permission.

I couldn’t look away. The audio feed crackled to life, voices tinny but clear through the patched mic.

Ada tilted her head, that knowing glint in her eyes catching the torchlight. “You know, Leon, for a government boy you sure know how to crash a party. Or is this your idea of a reunion? All this chasing me across Spain… I’m starting to think you missed me.” Her voice was velvet over steel, teasing, intimate in a way that made my stomach twist.

Leon shook his head, a low chuckle escaping despite the tension in his frame- shoulders not rigid like they’d been with me in that last BSAA briefing, all clipped professionalism and avoided eye contact. This was different. Wary, yes, but familiar. Like two predators circling the same territory and remembering the old rules. “Ada… always with the games. We don’t have time for this. Saddler’s got this place crawling. You really gonna make me ask twice?”

She stepped closer, close enough that the hem of her dress brushed his boot. That smirk deepened. “Time? Darling, we make our own. Besides…” Her gloved fingers lifted, brushing something- dust, a stray thread, whatever- from the collar of his jacket. The touch lingered a heartbeat too long, casual and intimate all at once, the kind of gesture that spoke of shared nights in darker places. He didn’t pull away. Just looked at her, something unspoken passing between them in the flickering light. A history written in bullet casings and half-truths.

The stories were true. Every single one.

A pain, sharp and clean as a scalpel to the sternum, sliced right through me. Deeper than the day I’d walked out of that precinct with his favorite coffee scalding my fingers and her laugh still ringing in my ears. Deeper than the silence after Raccoon, when Claire’s careful voice over the radio had told me he’d found someone in the ashes. This was confirmation. He had moved on. With a spy. An enigma. A woman who matched him step for step in the dark where I had only ever offered light- steady hands, open files, the stupid belief that love meant safety.

My breath fogged the edge of the monitor. The lab’s chill sank into my bones.

Then Ada’s gaze snapped upward- sharp, knowing- straight toward the hidden camera lens mounted in the courtyard’s far arch. She couldn’t possibly see me. But she did. A slow, unfriendly smile curved her lips, the kind that promised she’d already catalogued every weakness in the room. She murmured something low to Leon, too quiet for the mic to catch fully, but I caught the tail end: “…your little guardian angel’s watching again. Cute.”

Leon glanced away, jaw tightening, but Ada just laughed under her breath- soft, mocking. And then she blew a kiss. Direct at the lens. Red lips puckered, playful and vicious, like she was daring me to flinch.

I slammed the laptop shut so hard the hinges protested. My hands shook like I’d just pulled the pin on a grenade. The mug on the corner of my desk- the chipped, faded “World’s Best Rookie” one he’d shoved into my hands with that boyish grin on our first anniversary, back when we still believed in fortresses- sat there like a taunt. Coffee dregs sloshed inside. I gripped it until my knuckles went bone-white, the ceramic warm against my palm, the stupid little chip in the handle digging into my skin.

Love, you’re cold… come here.

I could still hear it. Still feel his arms. Still taste the rain on that last night before I became the ghost.

But I did my job. Because that’s what I did. Always the one left in the rear, always the scalpel in the dark.

I yanked the laptop open again, fingers forcing themselves steady. The feed blinked back to life. I patched the data through- courtyard coordinates, minecart route overlay, Plagas thermal vulnerability highlighted in red across his HUD. My voice on the encrypted line to Hunnigan came out calm, professional, the shake buried so deep even I almost believed it.

“Echo One to Roost. Target confirmed, courtyard grid 47-alpha. Tactical packet en route- minecart escape vector locked. Tell him to hit the larval nests hard and fast. He’ll make it.”

I saved the hero.

Again.

The screen went dark. The mug sat there, silent. And somewhere out in the ruins, Leon kept moving- panther grace and all- never knowing the hands that steadied his path were the same ones that used to hold him like the world still made sense.

- - -

The BSAA field lab was quiet in the late afternoon hush. Sunlight slanted through the reinforced windows, catching on rows of sterile glassware and the soft blue glow of monitoring screens. The air carried the sharp, clean scent of ethanol, bleach, and the faint metallic undertone of recent specimen work. I stood at my workstation, gloved hands steady as I adjusted the focus on the microscope, studying the latest tissue sample from the Spanish outbreak. The Regenerador cells were still trying to knit themselves back together under the inhibitor- slow, stubborn, but dying.

I didn’t hear her approach. Ada Wong moved like smoke.

She appeared at the edge of my peripheral vision, leaning casually against the sterilized workstation as if she owned the entire facility. A ghost in a tailored crimson pantsuit that hugged every curve with dangerous elegance, red scarf draped loosely around her neck like a signature. Her dark hair was perfectly tousled, lips painted a deep, knowing red. She looked completely out of place among the tactical gear and hazard suits, yet somehow completely at home.

“Doctor,” she purred, voice low and velvet-smooth, carrying that faint accent that made every word feel like a secret. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

My fingers tightened on the focus knob, but I didn’t look up. The slide blurred for a second before I forced it back into clarity. “Get out.”

Ada let out a soft, amused laugh, the sound sliding over my skin like cool silk. She didn’t move. Instead, she traced one perfectly manicured nail along the edge of the workstation, leaving a faint smudge on the otherwise pristine surface.

“He still talks about you, you know,” she continued, unfazed by my hostility. “In his sleep. Very… instructive. The way he says your name- soft at first, then desperate. Like he’s reaching for something he can never quite hold.”

My blood turned to ice. The microscope slide suddenly felt fragile in my grip. I finally lifted my head, meeting her dark, amused eyes. “Get. Out.”

She tilted her head, studying me with the calm curiosity of a cat watching a mouse it hadn’t decided to kill yet. “A word of advice, from one woman who’s kept Leon Kennedy’s attention longer than most: if you want to keep a man like him… you can’t just be sweet. You have to be a puzzle he can never solve. A riddle wrapped in danger and mystery. Something that keeps him chasing even when he knows he shouldn’t.”

She pushed off the desk with fluid grace, the crimson fabric of her suit whispering as she moved. Her heels clicked once against the tile floor.

“But you already lost that game, didn’t you?” Her smile was small, sharp, and cruelly knowing. “You gave him comfort. Safety. Love. And Leon… he’s never known what to do with something that doesn’t try to kill him or slip away in the night.”

Ada turned toward the door, pausing just long enough to glance back over her shoulder. “Tell him I said hello. Or don’t. Either way, he’ll still think of me when he closes his eyes. Old habits die hard.”

She vanished as silently as she had appeared, slipping through the lab door like a shadow dissolving into sunlight. No footsteps lingered. No door slammed. Just the faint scent of her perfume- something expensive, smoky, and dangerous- lingering in the air like a taunt.

I didn’t cry.

I stood there for a long moment, gloved hands still resting on the edge of the workstation, staring at the blurred slide beneath the microscope lens. The Regenerador cells continued their futile regeneration attempt on the screen, slow and pathetic. My chest felt tight, hollow, as if someone had scooped out everything soft and left only cold, clinical numbness behind.

The hatred that had been simmering for six years flared hotter, brighter, sharper than before. Not just at Leon anymore. At myself- for still caring. For still letting the ghost of what we had twist the knife every time someone like Ada reminded me that I had never been the puzzle he couldn’t solve. I had been the safe place. The home. And Leon had never known what to do with home.

I pulled off my gloves with deliberate, mechanical movements, dropping them into the biohazard bin. My hands were steady. My face was calm. But inside, something hardened into ice.

When I finally left the lab that evening, I didn’t look back at the workstation where she had stood.

I went numb.

And I decided I was done entertaining anyone’s games- crew, Leon, or otherwise.

CHRIS’ POV

She filed her Spain report with mechanical precision.

I watched her from across the table as she slid the neatly bound folder toward me - pages perfectly aligned, every section labeled, every chart cross-referenced, every recommendation typed in crisp, professional font. Flawless. Clinical. And utterly dead behind the eyes.

The rest of the team had already been dismissed. The conference room felt too large, too quiet, the overhead lights casting harsh shadows across the scattered maps and empty coffee mugs.

“Doctor,” I said softly, once the door clicked shut behind the last person.

She didn’t look up immediately. Her fingers lingered on the edge of the folder for a second too long before she finally met my gaze. “It’s all in the report, Captain.”

“Not that.” I leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping lower. “Leon. Ada Wong.”

Her composure cracked for a single second - a tiny flinch at the corner of her eye, so minute that only someone who had been watching her closely for months would notice. Her shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly beneath the tactical vest. Then the mask slammed back into place, smooth and impenetrable.

“I saw them,” she said flatly, voice devoid of emotion. “In Spain. Near the castle ruins. It’s fine. It’s nothing new. Just… confirmation.”

“It’s not fine.”

“It has to be.” She stood up abruptly, spine straight as a rifle barrel, chair scraping back with a harsh sound against the floor. Her hands smoothed down the front of her vest with deliberate calm. “Because the alternative is falling apart, and I can’t afford that. Not with the work we do. Not when there are still people out there who need these serums to survive. I don’t have the luxury of breaking down over a man who never chose me in the first place.”

The words landed heavy in the quiet room. I could see the exhaustion etched into the fine lines around her eyes, the way her fingers trembled just slightly before she clenched them into fists at her sides. She looked smaller than usual - not physically, but like something vital had been hollowed out.

I exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of my neck. “You don’t have to carry this alone, Doc. We’re family here. You, me, the whole damn team. If you need to talk - really talk - my door is always open.”

She gave me a small, brittle smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Appreciated, Captain. But I’m fine. Really.”

She turned and walked out, boots echoing down the hallway until the sound faded completely.

I sat there for a long moment, staring at the closed door.

Then I stood up, jaw set, and marched straight to the mess hall where the usual suspects were gathered - Jill, Rebecca, Piers, Sheva, Carlos, and Josh - still whispering over the betting pool notebook like it was sacred scripture.

The ammo box sat in the center of the table, half-full of cash.

I didn’t raise my voice at first. I let the silence stretch until every head turned toward me.

“This ends NOW,” I said, voice low but carrying the weight of every apocalypse I’d survived. The room went dead quiet. “You are agents of the BSAA, not soap opera spectators. The next person I hear placing a bet, spreading a rumor, or trying to ‘help’ those two is on latrine duty for a month. I will personally assign the shifts. And trust me - I know every disgusting corner of those bathrooms.”

Jill opened her mouth, then wisely closed it.

Piers looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. Rebecca quietly closed the notebook.

Sheva raised her hands in surrender. “Message received, Cap.”

Carlos just smirked, but even he didn’t argue.

“The box of money disappears. The whispers stop. The looks, the jokes, the ‘accidental’ setups - all of it. Done.” My voice rose just enough to shake the walls. “They’re not entertainment. They’re our people. And if I catch any of you treating them like a sideshow again, you’ll wish the BOWs were the worst thing you had to deal with.”

The box vanished within seconds. The whispers stopped. The notebook disappeared into a drawer.

But the looks didn’t.

I caught them in the hallways - quick glances, knowing smirks quickly hidden, quiet murmurs that died the moment I walked past. The tension didn’t vanish. It simply went underground.

And somewhere down that same hallway, in Leon’s office, I knew two broken people were trying - in their own messy, painful, explosive way - to put themselves back together.

I just hoped they didn’t burn the whole base down in the process.

LEON’S POV

It was past eleven.

The base had fallen into that deep, exhausted quiet that only comes after a long day of training runs and mission prep. Most lights were dimmed to emergency levels, casting long shadows down the corridors. I was still in my office, chasing down a paperwork demon - the final Spain addendum that refused to write itself - when the words started blurring on the screen. My eyes burned. My neck ached. Caffeine was the only solution.

I pushed back from the desk and headed for the pantry, boots quiet on the tiled floor. The hallway was empty, the only sound the distant hum of the generators and the faint tick of cooling metal from the armory.

I pushed the pantry door open.

She was there.

The room was dimly lit by a single overhead strip light, the rest of the space swallowed in soft shadows. The faint smell of stale coffee and the sweet, fruity scent of jam hung in the air. She stood with her back to the door, shoulders hunched forward like she was trying to fold in on herself. Silent sobs shook her frame - not loud, not dramatic, just quiet, shuddering breaths that made her entire body tremble.

In her hands, clutched like a lifeline against her chest, was that goddamn mug.

The one I’d bought as a stupid joke during our first year together - cheap ceramic with a ridiculous cartoon cop and the words “World’s Okayest Rookie” printed on it. She’d laughed so hard when I gave it to her that she nearly dropped it. She’d kept it. After everything - after the silence, after the hate - she had kept it.

All the fight drained out of me in an instant, replaced by a crushing wave of shame and sorrow so heavy it felt like it would drag me to the floor. I did this. My bitterness, my pride, my stupid, childish attempts to get a rise out of her, to make her look at me even if it was with anger… I had broken the woman I loved.

“Hey…” My voice came out rough, raw, barely above a whisper.

She startled violently, whirling around so fast the mug nearly slipped from her fingers. She caught it at the last second, clutching it tighter against her chest. Her face - God, her face - was tear-streaked, cheeks flushed and wet, eyes red-rimmed and glassy. The sight eviscerated me. This wasn’t the sharp, venomous woman who had traded barbs with me for months. This was the girl I had fallen in love with, the one who used to curl up against me on the couch and call me her safe place.

“Don’t,” she whispered hoarsely, voice cracking on the single word. She hastily wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt, but it did little to hide the damage. “Just… don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, the words feeling painfully inadequate but painfully true. I took one careful step closer, hands open at my sides like I was approaching a wounded animal. “For all of it. For Raccoon City. For being a blind, idiot rookie who didn’t know how to fight for the best thing that ever happened to him. For this… war we’ve been waging. For every cruel word, every petty prank, every time I let my pride win instead of telling you the truth.”

She shook her head, eyes shining with fresh tears. “Your apology is six years and a dozen betrayals too late, Leon.”

She tried to push past me toward the door, but I caught her wrist gently - not hard enough to restrain, just enough to ask her to stay for one more second.

“Please.”

She looked down at my hand on her wrist, then slowly up at my face. The raw hatred that had burned in her eyes for months was gone, burned away by grief, leaving only exhaustion and an old, profound hurt that made my chest feel like it was caving in.

“There’s nothing left to say, Leon,” she whispered, voice trembling. “You made your choice back then. I made mine when I walked away. We’ve both been living with it.”

I swallowed hard, throat tight. “I never chose anyone else. Not really. Ada was… a distraction. A way to punish myself for losing you. Every time I looked at her, I saw the ways I failed you. The ways I let you down. I was too scared to admit how much I still loved you - still love you - so I let the anger win instead.”

Her breath hitched. For a moment, the mask cracked completely, and I saw the girl I fell in love with - vulnerable, hurting, still carrying the weight when I made her walked away with her suitcase and never looked back.

She pulled her wrist free, but gently, not with anger. “It hurt too much to stay,” she said softly. “Every rumor, every time you brushed me off… it felt like I was disappearing. And then the outbreak happened, and I heard you’d found someone else in the chaos. I thought… I thought I never mattered.”

“You mattered,” I said fiercely, voice breaking. “You mattered more than anything. I was just too stupid and too young to know how to show it.”

She looked at me for a long moment, eyes searching mine like she was trying to find the lie. Then she stepped back, putting distance between us again.

“I can’t do this right now,” she whispered. “Not tonight.”

She slipped past me and out the door, leaving me standing alone in the dim pantry with the ghost of us and the low, steady hum of the fridge.

The mug sat on the counter where she’d left it - “World’s Okayest Rookie” staring back at me like an accusation.

I picked it up, thumb brushing over the faded print, and felt the first real tear I’d allowed myself in years burn behind my eyes.

I had broken her.

And I would spend the rest of my life trying to put her back together - if she’d let me.

CHRIS’ POV

The mess hall was quieter than usual that evening, the low hum of fluorescent lights mixing with the distant clatter of trays and the occasional burst of laughter from a corner table. I sat at the end of the long metal bench, nursing a mug of black coffee that had gone lukewarm twenty minutes ago, reviewing the latest after-action reports from Spain on my tablet. The numbers were grim- casualties, specimen contamination levels, the new Omega strain’s adaptability. My team was tired. Everyone was tired.

Jill approached with a peace offering: two fresh coffees and that look on her face that meant she was about to ask for something I probably shouldn’t agree to. She slid into the seat across from me, sliding one mug my way.

“Cap,” she started, voice deceptively casual. “We were wrong about the betting pool. It got out of hand. We all see that now.”

I raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of the fresh coffee. It was actually hot this time. “Glad you finally noticed. The complaint forms from Kennedy and Doc are still sitting on my desk. You’re lucky I haven’t written anyone up yet.”

Jill winced but didn’t back down. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her expression turning serious. “But… we weren’t wrong that they need closure. Real closure. Not forced, not in a locked room like last time. A neutral space. A conversation. Just the two of them, without the whole base watching or betting on the outcome.”

I set the mug down, rubbing the bridge of my nose. The exhaustion from the Spain op was still sitting heavy in my bones, and the last thing I needed was more drama from my two best assets acting like divorced parents at a custody hearing. “Jill, they’ve been at each other’s throats for months. Every joint op turns into a pissing contest. It’s affecting unit cohesion. Hell, it’s affecting my cohesion.”

“That’s exactly why they need this,” she pressed, voice softening. “For the team. For their own sanity. You’ve seen how they move together when they’re not busy hating each other- they’re unstoppable. But right now? They’re a liability. A conversation. Neutral ground. No audience. No bets. Just… closure.”

Josh, who had been lingering nearby with a protein bar, chimed in innocently from the next table. “So set up a debrief. Just the two of them. Final after-action for Spain and the Alps op. Mandatory. In Leon’s office- more privacy that way. No interruptions. No spectators. Just the two of them going over the data.”

It seemed reasonable. Professional. Leon’s office had the secure terminal, the large desk for spreading out reports and specimen photos, and actual soundproofing. No one would barge in. No one would overhear. A structured debrief in a private space would force them to sit down, go through the data, and maybe- just maybe- air out some of the poison without it turning into another shouting match or, worse, another locked-room disaster.

I exhaled slowly, staring at the cold dregs in my mug. “Fine. I’ll schedule it. Seven p.m. sharp in Leon’s office. Mandatory joint debrief between those two. All other personnel are to respect the privacy of the session. No exceptions.”

Jill’s face lit up with a grin she tried (and failed) to hide. “You’re doing the right thing, Cap. For the team.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, already pulling up the calendar on my tablet to send the invites. “For the team.”

I typed the details carefully:

Mandatory Joint Debrief – Spain & Alps Operations

Participants: Agent Leon S. Kennedy (DSO) & Dr. [Y/N] [L/N] (ViraMed Senior Field Advisor)

Location: Agent Kennedy’s Office (Secure Terminal Access)

Time: 07:00 PM

Objective: Final after-action review, specimen analysis cross-reference, operational lessons learned, and coordination of future inhibitor deployment.

Note: All other personnel are to respect the privacy of this session. No interruptions. No spectators. Door will remain closed for duration.

I hit send. Made sure to cc everyone on my email. The calendar invites went out with a soft ping.

I had no idea I was throwing gasoline onto the forest fire. Again.

Deep down, I knew they still cared- six years of unresolved history didn’t just vanish. But I also knew how stubborn they both were. If this debrief turned into another war, I’d have to step in personally. For now, I told myself it was just paperwork. Just a professional meeting between two adults who used to mean something to each other.

I finished my coffee, stood up, and clapped Jill on the shoulder as I passed. “If this blows up in my face, Valentine, I’m blaming you.”

She just smiled. “Worth the risk, Cap.”

As I walked out of the mess hall, the base lights flickering on for the evening shift, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had just lit a fuse I couldn’t see the end of.

LEON’S OFFICE

She arrived exactly on time.

The clock on my wall read seven hours sharp when the knock came- three crisp, professional raps. I didn’t say “come in.” I just waited.

The door opened and there she was, file folder clutched in one hand like a shield, face a perfect mask of professional detachment. She wore the same tactical vest from earlier, hair pulled back tightly, but a few strands had escaped, framing her face in a way that made my chest ache. She scanned the room once, then deliberately took the seat farthest from my desk, placing the folder on the small side table with mechanical precision.

I didn’t sit at the table.

I leaned against the front edge of my desk, arms crossed over my chest, facing her directly. The office was ours alone- soundproofed walls, dimmed overhead lights casting long shadows across the scattered mission reports and specimen photos still spread out from earlier. The secure terminal hummed softly in the corner. Outside, the base had gone quiet for the night shift. No footsteps. No voices. Just the two of us and six years of unresolved history hanging thick in the air like smoke after a firefight.

“Let’s just get this over with,” she said, voice cool and clipped as she opened the folder. Her eyes stayed fixed on the papers, refusing to meet mine. “Spain after-action, Alps coordination data, inhibitor efficacy numbers. We go through the facts, sign off, and leave.”

“No.”

She looked up slowly, eyes narrowing into storm-gray slits. “No?”

“No more reports,” I said, pushing off the desk and taking two deliberate steps toward her. My boots were quiet on the carpet, but each one felt like a countdown. “No more bullshit. No more hiding behind data and professional detachment.”

Her mask slipped- just for a second. The corner of her mouth tightened, and something raw flickered behind her eyes before she locked it down again. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is everything to me!” The force of my own voice surprised even me. It cracked against the soundproofed walls like a gunshot. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to steady myself, but the words kept coming. “You cried over that mug. The one I gave you on our first anniversary. I saw you in the pantry, shoulders shaking, tears falling into the coffee like you were drowning in it. And you still have it. After everything, you kept it.”

She stood up abruptly, chair scraping back against the floor with a harsh sound. “Don’t you dare rewrite history, Leon. You didn’t fight for us. You let me walk away without a single word that actually mattered.”

“Because I didn’t know how!” I shouted back, closing the distance between us until we were chest to chest. The heat of our bodies mingled in the small space, her breath warm against my collarbone. “I was a kid who got handed a badge and then the end of the world! I didn’t know how to fix what I broke. I was terrified. And then you were here again… but you hated me. And hating you back was easier than admitting I still loved you!”

The word hung in the air between us- loved- present tense, raw and undeniable, echoing off the walls like a confession I could never take back.

Her breath hitched. The fury in her eyes wavered, clouded with confusion and a longing so deep it mirrored my own. “You don’t get to say that,” she whispered, but there was no real force behind it. Her voice cracked on the last word.

“I do.” My hands came up slowly this time, not to cage her but to frame her face- calloused thumbs brushing her cheeks with a gentleness I hadn’t shown in years. “I love you. I never stopped. All the pranks, the fights, the stupid jealousy… it was just the only way I could get you to look at me again. To see me. Not the hero. Not the old rookie. Just me.”

A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. I caught it with my thumb, wiping it away as if I could erase six years of pain with one touch.

“It hurt too much,” she confessed, her voice breaking completely now. “Seeing you with her… in Spain… it felt like Raccoon City all over again. Like I never mattered. Like I was just another thing you could walk away from.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I said fiercely, my forehead touching hers. Our breaths mingled, warm and shaky. “She means nothing. You are everything. You always were. The girl who made me laugh when the world was ending. The one who believed in me before I even believed in myself. I was too stupid and too scared to fight for you then. I’m not making that mistake again.”

And then she kissed me.

It wasn’t fueled by hate this time. It was surrender. A release of six years of armor-plated grief and buried longing. A soft, aching press of lips that tasted of salt from her tears and the faint sweetness of hope.

I groaned into her mouth, my hands sliding from her face to tangle in her hair, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened. This was different- slow, explorative, reverent. My tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened for me with a quiet sigh that went straight to my cock, sending heat flooding through my veins. Her hands fisted in my shirt, tugging me impossibly closer until there was no space left between us. I could feel every curve of her body pressed against mine, the rapid beat of her heart matching my own.

The kiss broke for air, but only for a second. She whispered my name against my lips- “Leon”- and it sounded like both a curse and a prayer.

I walked her backward until her hips met the edge of my desk, papers scattering to the floor with soft whispers. My hands slid down her sides, gripping her waist, lifting her just enough to sit her on the desk. She parted her thighs instinctively, letting me step between them. The heat of her core pressed against me through our clothes, and I groaned again, rocking slowly against her.

“Tell me to stop,” I rasped, forehead pressed to hers, breathing hard. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk away right now.”

She didn’t say stop.

Instead, she pulled me back in, kissing me deeper, hungrier, her legs wrapping around my waist to hold me there. “I hate how much I still want you,” she whispered between kisses, voice trembling with emotion. “I hate that you still feel like home.”

“Then hate me while I love you,” I murmured against her mouth, my hands already working on the buttons of her vest. “Let me show you I never stopped.”

I walked her backward until her hips met the edge of my desk, papers scattering across the floor like fallen leaves. My mouth left hers to trail fire down her jaw, her neck, sucking hard at the pulse point that hammered against my lips.

“Leon…” she breathed, head falling back, exposing more of her throat.

“My love,” I murmured against her skin, the old endearment slipping out like it had never left. “My love.”

My hands made quick work of her blouse buttons, parting the fabric to reveal a simple lace bra. I unhooked it with practiced ease, letting it fall away. Her breasts were perfect - full, heavy, nipples already tight and begging. I lowered my head and took one into my mouth, sucking gently before flicking the peak with my tongue.

“Oh god…” she gasped, hands flying to my hair, not pushing me away but holding me there.

I lavished attention on one breast while my thumb circled and pinched the other, rolling the nipple until she was writhing on the desk, soft moans filling the room. “You’re so beautiful,” I growled, switching sides, worshipping her with my mouth and hands. “So perfect. Mine.”

The ache in my pants was unbearable. She sensed it. Her hands slid down my chest to my belt buckle.

“Let me,” she whispered, eyes dark with desire and defiance.

She slid off the desk and knelt before me on the carpet, looking up as she undid my belt and zipper, pushing my pants and briefs down my hips. My cock sprang free - thick, fully erect, veins standing out in sharp relief.

Her small hand wrapped around the base, squeezing gently as she leaned forward and licked a slow, deliberate stripe from root to tip. “Fuck…” I hissed, hands bracing on the desk behind me.

She took me into her mouth then - slowly, heat enveloping me inch by exquisite inch. Her tongue swirled around the head before she began to bob, taking me deeper into her throat with each pass. Her free hand cupped and squeezed my balls, sending sharp jolts of pleasure up my spine.

I was lost in the wet heat, watching her head move between my legs, when a sound froze us both - footsteps in the hall outside my office, stopping right by the door.

Her eyes went wide with panic, but she didn’t pull off. Instead, she hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder, a wicked challenge in her gaze as she looked up at me.

A sharp knock. “Kennedy? You in there? Chris needs that Spain addendum right away.” It was Piers.

Him?! Didn’t Chris just send an email? How the hell was this guy not informed?

I quickly sat down in my chair, the motion forcing her even deeper onto my cock. She gagged softly around me but didn’t stop - if anything, she took it as a dare. Her tongue pressed flat against the underside as she began to bob again, slow and torturous, throat fluttering around me.

“Yeah,” I called out, voice strained but trying to sound normal. “Just finishing up some… paperwork.”

Under the desk, she swirled her tongue around the head, sucking hard on the sensitive spot just beneath it. My hand shot down to fist in her hair, not to pull her off but to hold her there.

Piers didn’t leave. “You okay? You sound… winded.”

“Fine,” I gritted out, jaw clenched as she took me to the back of her throat again, swallowing around me. The wet heat, the tight constriction, the risk - it was almost too much. “Just… long day. Leave the file with Hunnigan. I’ll get it in an hour.”

A pause on the other side of the door. “Alright. But Chris said it was urgent. You sure everything’s good in there?”

She chose that exact moment to hum around my cock, the vibration shooting straight up my spine. I bit back a groan, fingers tightening in her hair. “Positive. Just… busy. Go.”

Footsteps finally receded down the hall.

The second the corridor fell silent, I hauled her out from under the desk by her hair, eyes wild. Her lips were swollen and glistening, chin wet with spit, eyes gleaming with pure defiance and lust.

“You’re going to pay for that,” I growled, voice rough.

She smirked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Good.”

I pulled her up, spun her around, and bent her over the desk again, but the fire between us had only grown hotter from the near-miss.

I needed to taste her. Now.

Pushing her pencilled skirt up around her waist and pulling her panties down her legs. "Leon!" she squealed as the cool air hit her exposed skin. "Shhh," I soothed, spreading her thighs wide.

The sight of her glistening folds from behind drove me mad with need. But first…

I dropped to my knees again and buried my face between her cheeks from behind, my tongue finding her clit immediately. She cried out, her hands scrambling for purchase on the desk as I ate her out with single-minded devotion. My tongue fucked into her entrance before returning to circle and suck her clit. I slid two fingers inside her tight heat, curling them upward.

"You taste like heaven," I groaned.

"I’m… I’m going to…" she choked out.

I felt her walls begin to flutter around my fingers and doubled my efforts on her clit with my mouth. With a shattered cry, she came, bucking against my face, her inner muscles milking my fingers as her release soaked my chin.

But I wasn’t done.

I stood up, slick with her arousal, and spun her around to face me. Lifting her effortlessly by her thighs, I pinned her against the nearest wall- a framed commendation crashing to the floor ignored. "Wrap your legs around me," I commanded.

She did, locking her ankles at the small of my back as I lined myself up with her dripping entrance. "Look at me," I said.

Her eyes met mine, hazy with pleasure. "I love you," I repeated as I thrust into her in one deep, powerful stroke.

We both cried out at the sensation- the tight, wet heat of her sheathing me completely after so long apart. "Oh god… Leon…" she moaned into my neck as I began to move. I pressed my lips to hers, licking her lips- signalling her to open her mouth to which she obliged. I start playing her tongue as well as the roof of her mouth. Her head rolled back a bit, breaking our kiss.

This was primal and possessive. Each thrust drove her back against the wall with a soft thud, my hips pistoning into her with a force born of years of longing and frustration. "You feel… so fucking good…" I grunted, my muscles straining as I held us both up.

"Harder…" she begged, biting my shoulder through my shirt.

I obliged, slamming into her with enough force to make her scream with each impact. "Who do you belong to?" I growled in her ear.

"You! Leon!"

"Say it again."

"I’m yours! Only yours!" Our saliva and her release glistens to her swollen lips, dripping through her chin then the base of her neck. I licked it clean.

The possessiveness in me roared in satisfaction.

When my legs began to burn from holding us up, I carried her- still impaled on me- back to the desk and laid her down on it.

Pulling out slowly, I saw her whimper at the loss. "On your knees," I said softly but firmly.

She turned over without hesitation, presenting herself to me on all fours atop my scattered reports- a vision of submission and trust that made my heart clench even as my cock throbbed.

I knelt behind her on the chair first. "Use your tits," I instructed.

She understood, reaching back to take my shaft and press it between the soft mounds of her breasts from behind, looking back over her shoulder as she began to rock forward and back, fucking herself with me using her cleavage. "The sight of you…" I breathed, watching myself disappear between her flesh again and again.

After a minute of this exquisite torture, I pushed her forward gently. "Now…"

Positioning myself at her entrance once more from behind, I gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises and plunged back into her depths. This angle was deeper, hitting spots that made her scream into the desk blotter. "Yes! Right there! Don't stop!"

I fucked her like that- with animalistic intensity. Each snap of my hips was a punctuation mark on every argument we’d ever had, every jealous thought, every lonely night. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. My balls tightened against her ass. "I’m close…" I warned. "Me too… don’t stop!"

The raw passion tipped into something darker, more claiming. I leaned over her back, one hand braced on the desk by her head while the other came down in a sharp crack on her ass cheek. She yelped, then moaned deeper. "Again!" she begged.

I spanked her again- three more times- each strike leaving a red handprint on her perfect skin and making her clench around me tighter. My teeth found the juncture of her neck and shoulder as I pistoned into her from behind. "Mine," I snarled against her skin before biting down- not enough to break skin but enough to brand her. "Yes! Yours! Always!"

The combination of pain and pleasure pushed us both over the edge.

Her orgasm hit first- a violent, screaming climax that made her entire body convulse around me. "I can feel you… squeezing me…" I grunted through gritted teeth.

Then she did something unexpected- a gush of liquid warmth soaked my thighs and the desk beneath us as she squirted from the intensity of her release. The sensation pushed me into my own abyss.

With one final, deep thrust that buried me to the hilt inside her spasming channel… "I love you!" I roared as I came.

My release pulsed into her depths- hot and claiming- filling her as I collapsed over her back, both of us panting and slick with sweat and other fluids.

We stayed like that for long minutes until our heartbeats slowed from gallops to trots.

I pulled out slowly and gathered her into my arms on the floor by the desk- the only clear space- wrapping us both in my discarded jacket.

We didn't speak for a while.

Then she traced a finger over the bite mark on my shoulder. "You bit me too," she said softly. "You liked it." "I did."

We kissed again- slow now, tender.

CHRIS' POV

It’s already past midnight.

The base had gone quiet, the kind of late-night hush where only the emergency lights hummed and the occasional distant generator rumble broke the silence. I sat in my office, staring at the blank report fields on my screen. Neither of them had filed their after-action addendums. Neither had answered the mandatory comms check-ins. A knot of worry tightened in my gut.

Piers appeared in the doorway, looking uneasy. “Sir… they’re not answering from 3B or their quarters. I tried both lines twice.”

Damn it. Had they finally killed each other? Or worse - had my “brilliant” idea of forcing them into a private debrief backfired so spectacularly that they were now bleeding out on the floor?

I stood up, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’ll handle it.”

Leon’s office was down a quiet admin-level hallway, tucked away from the main corridors for privacy. A thin strip of warm light spilled from beneath the door.

I raised my fist to knock…

The door opened before my knuckles made contact.

She stood there - hair disheveled, a few strands sticking to her damp forehead, lips swollen and flushed a deep rose. Her blouse was buttoned wrong, one side higher than the other, and I could clearly see the absence of bra straps beneath the fabric. A constellation of fresh love bites bloomed along her collarbone and up the side of her neck - dark red and purple, unmistakable even in the dim hallway light. In her hand was a neatly bound file folder, edges slightly crumpled.

“All’s there… Redfield,” she said, voice hoarse and a little rough, like she’d been shouting… or moaning. She couldn’t quite meet my eyes, gaze flicking somewhere over my shoulder.

Behind her, Leon appeared - barefoot, wearing only his black tactical pants and an unbuttoned shirt that hung open, revealing every defined ab and pectoral muscle glistening with a faint sheen of sweat. His own share of scratches and bites decorated his chest and shoulders, red lines that looked suspiciously like fingernails. He looked… relaxed. Sated. The perpetual tension that had lived in his shoulders for months was gone. He grinned at me - a real, easy grin that actually reached his eyes for probably the first time since Raccoon City.

I blinked, brain short-circuiting for a second.

“Are you two… okay?” I managed, voice coming out rougher than intended.

She nodded quickly, still not quite looking at me. “Yep.”

“Did you guys… make up?”

She shrugged, noncommittal, cheeks still flushed. “Who knows.”

I looked from her evasive face to Leon’s smug, satisfied one. My brain finally connected the dots - the husky voice, the fresh marks, the unmistakable musk of sex and sweat wafting from inside the office, the way her blouse was misbuttoned and his shirt was hanging open like he’d thrown it on in a hurry.

“Did you guys… fuck?”

They answered simultaneously, without hesitation:

“Yes.”

The word hung in the hallway like a live grenade.

I stared at them both for a long beat, the mental image gallery I absolutely did not want populating itself anyway. Her hoarse voice. The love bites. The way Leon looked like he’d just won the damn lottery.

“Well,” I said finally, clearing my throat like it would somehow erase the mental pictures (it didn’t). I took the proffered report folder from her slightly trembling hand. The corner of one page was suspiciously damp. I decided not to examine it too closely.

“Carry on.”

I turned on my heel and walked maybe ten paces down the hall before I pulled out my phone and opened the old group chat - the one for everyone involved in Operation Get Them Back Together. It had been radio silent since my shutdown order.

I typed one message:

Redfield: I knew you idiots were still betting. Sadly, I’ll be taking it to treat those two on a fancy date.

My phone erupted into a cacophony of buzzes almost instantly - texts pinging in rapid succession from Sheva, Piers, Josh, Rebecca, Carlos, and even Jill.

Jill: NO WAY. Proof?!

Piers: He actually did it? In his OFFICE?!

Piers: No wonder he sounds like a duck that’s drowning… FUck

Rebecca: I am genuinely flabbergasted. How the hell did it work? CHRIS. EXPLAIN.

Carlos: Pay up, suckers. I called the desk.

Jill: like hell you did!

Sheva: Cap, you sneaky bastard. I owe you dinner.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, a reluctant smile tugging at my mouth despite everything.

The bet might have been officially over.

But for Leon and her… as she walked back into his office and he closed the door softly behind them with a quiet click, their story was just beginning again.

I shook my head and kept walking down the empty corridor, the faint sound of muffled voices and a low, unmistakable moan drifting through the door before it sealed completely.

- - -

THREE WEEKS LATER

The main briefing room was quieter than it had been in months. No more hushed side bets scribbled on torn notebook pages, no knowing glances exchanged over coffee mugs, no muffled laughter from the corner where Piers and Jill used to tally the pool like it was the goddamn Super Bowl. Just the low, steady hum of the holographic projector casting a soft blue glow across the long steel table, and the occasional rustle of mission reports being passed hand to hand. The air smelled faintly of gun oil, fresh printer ink, and the vanilla latte someone had spilled earlier- normal base smells instead of the thick tension that used to choke the place like cordite after a firefight.

Leon sat midway down the table, posture relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen since before everything went shit. One arm draped casually over the back of the empty chair beside him, fingers occasionally brushing the fabric like he was still reaching for her even when she was right there. And she was right there- settled in that chair, tablet propped open, stylus tapping notes with quiet efficiency. Her left hand rested on his thigh under the table, hidden from view but not from the way Leon’s mouth curved in that private half-smile every few minutes. A simple touch. The kind that said they’d spent the last three weeks talking instead of shouting, apologizing in the dark instead of slamming doors, slowly rebuilding something that had cracked apart in the rain two weeks before the world ended.

I watched them from the head of the table, arms crossed over my chest, and for the first time in months a genuine smile tugged at my lips. The kind that reached my eyes and eased the permanent knot between my shoulders. The tension that had turned every briefing into a minefield was gone. The team was focused again. Missions ran smoother- extraction times down twelve percent, error rates cut in half. Even the damn air in the base felt lighter, like someone had finally cracked a window after a long winter.

The debrief wrapped up. Holo-map flickered off with a soft chime. Agents started filing out- Piers clapping Leon on the back with a muttered “About time, man,” Jill shooting me a quick thumbs-up as she passed. Leon leaned over, murmuring something low in her ear, voice too quiet for me to catch but the effect clear: her lips curved into a real smile, the one that reached her eyes and softened the sharp edges she’d worn like armor for months. He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, thumb brushing her cheekbone, then stood and headed for the door with that easy stride.

She lingered, gathering her tablet and a stack of printed reports, sliding them into a slim black folder. I waited until the last footsteps faded down the hall before approaching.

“You look good, Doc,” I said quietly, voice low so it wouldn’t carry. “Happy. Suits you.”

She glanced toward the door where Leon had disappeared, then back at me. A faint flush colored her cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment- it was warmth. “I am. Really am.” She paused, fingers tracing the edge of the folder. “Thank you… for forcing that debrief. For locking us in that room even when we were ready to kill each other. I know it was you and Jill behind it.”

I simply shrugged, leaning one hip against the table, arms still loosely crossed. A faint, knowing look crept into my eyes despite myself. “Sometimes people need a push. Even if they don’t know they’re being pushed. You two were circling each other like wounded animals for months. The whole base was betting on blood or… well, you know what they were betting on.”

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “The pool hit over twelve grand, right? I heard you finally cashed it out for team beer.” Her gaze turned thoughtful as she studied me. “You sound like you speak from experience. All that ‘sometimes people need a push’ talk. Claire mentioned you and Jill had your own rough patches back in the day.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, chuckling low. “Let’s just say I’ve learned the hard way that stubbornness doesn’t save anyone. It just makes the fall harder when you finally hit bottom.” Before I could say more, my secure satellite phone buzzed against my thigh- private, encrypted line, the one reserved for ghosts and favors. I glanced at the screen: a single untraceable number, no name, no ID.

“Excuse me,” I said, stepping away toward the wide observation window that overlooked the training grounds below. Snow dusted the obstacle course, agents running drills in the distance like tiny moving figures against the white.

I answered on the second buzz. “Redfield.”

The voice on the other end was smooth, cool, and unmistakable- like silk wrapped around a hidden blade. “Captain. I trust my… services were satisfactory.”

My expression stayed neutral, eyes scanning the empty room out of habit. “They’re back together. The team’s stable. Mission success. You delivered exactly what we needed.”

A soft, amused laugh filtered through the encrypted line, clear as if she were standing right beside me. “Of course they are. Leon was always stubborn, but he was never stupid. He just needed the right motivation. Or rather… the right competition. Jealousy works wonders on men who think they’ve already lost everything once.”

My jaw tightened slightly, fingers flexing around the phone. “The scene in Spain. The taunt in the lab. That lingering touch in the courtyard, the blown kiss to the drone camera, the little visit to her research tent… that was all you.”

“Every bit of it,” Ada Wong confirmed, her tone light but edged. “The way I let my hand linger on his chest just long enough for the camera to catch it. The whispered ‘old times’ while Ashley slept. Even planting the rumor through the right channels so it reached her terminal. All carefully staged. Jealousy is such a potent catalyst, don’t you think? Far more effective than any virus we’ve ever fought. No incubation period required.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, staring out at the snow. “You took a real risk. She could have broken completely. He could have walked away for good this time- gone dark, quit the ops, disappeared like he threatened after Raccoon.”

“But they didn’t,” Ada said simply, almost fond. “Because at their core, they’re both survivors. And survivors recognize what’s worth fighting for. Even if they need a ghost from the past to remind them how much it still hurts to lose it.”

A long pause hung between us, filled only by the faint static of the encrypted line and the distant shouts from the training grounds below.

“You owe me, Cap,” Ada said finally, her voice shifting from amused to businesslike, crisp as a new knife. “Big time. And I always collect.”

I exhaled slowly, gaze drifting back across the room to where she was now laughing softly with Jill by the doorway- head thrown back, genuine and light. Leon had reappeared, slipping an arm around her waist from behind, murmuring something that made both women grin. “Name it.”

“Not now,” Ada replied. “But soon. I’ll be in touch when I need a favor returned. Stay sharp, Redfield.” The line went dead with a soft click.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket, face unreadable as stone. When I turned, she was watching me from across the room, a curious tilt to her head, one eyebrow raised in that analytical way of hers.

“Everything okay, Captain?” she asked, voice carrying lightly across the empty space. “You look like you just got bad intel on a new strain.”

I offered her a small, genuine smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach my eyes this time but felt honest enough. “Everything’s fine, Doc. Just… tying up loose ends from the Spain op. Old contacts checking in.”

She nodded, seemingly satisfied, though I caught the brief flicker of suspicion before she let it go. Leon called her name from the hall, and she turned to leave, tossing a final wave over her shoulder. “See you at the range tomorrow, Chris. Don’t go easy on me.”

I watched her go, Leon’s hand finding hers as they disappeared down the corridor. My mind turned over the implications of Ada’s call like a tactical map. I’d made a deal with a ghost to save two people I cared about more than I usually admitted. Used the world’s most dangerous woman as an unwilling matchmaker. Staged jealousy with surgical precision- drone footage, planted rumors, just enough truth mixed with the lie to ignite everything that had been simmering since the first outbreak.

Sometimes, to put out a fire, you had to start a bigger one.

And sometimes… The biggest risks yielded the only rewards that mattered.

I walked back to my desk, the room now completely silent except for the low hum of the projector powering down. A single thought echoed in the quiet:

Worth it.

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