either way
leon s kennedy x reader | 8.2k
Leon falls asleep. You fall in love.
Warnings: fluff, sleeping, leon being tired and injured and charming, r being mushy and protective of him…five times in a row. canon typical violence, mission talk, off-page suicide by a minor oc, leon’s raccoon city trauma, picture any leon you want
a/n: technically a 4-part prequel and 1-part epilogue to “no matter how it ends.” if you want to read about the mission that brings these two together in all its glorious, smutty detail, check out that fic. this fic references that one a lot!
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MISSION: ARGENTINA, SURVEILLANCE OF SUSPECTED T-VIRUS MATERIALS TRADE LOCATION
The rain starts at midday.
The sun is there one second and gone the next, everything plunged into darkness like someone simply turned off the lights. The church tower that you're in is on the hill, looking down with a clear sight line to the supposed meeting spot of your target.
But when it's raining, you can't see shit.
"If this roof starts to leak, I'll be pissed," you mutter. "How much longer till shift change?"
Leon checks his watch. He's cleaning his pistol, one leg outstretched and the other bent at the knee, his back pressed to the cold, damp stone. If he feels the chill, he does a good job of hiding it.
"An hour," he says. "If they show up on time."
You press the binoculars to your face and peer through again, but it's a lost cause.
"Bravo team never shows up on time," you remind him. "This is so pointless."
Leon doesn't argue. He even smirks, mouth pulling up at one corner as he pushes the clip back into his gun with a click.
"We know the guy is here," he reminds you. "It's a start."
Your target is a former Umbrella employee who set up shop in a small Argentinian mountain town to allegedly make new viruses. But it's a delicate mission as far as diplomacy goes, so much so that you two, one of the best pairs in the whole damn organization, have been relegated to surveillance.
For now.
"I'm bored," you say. It probably sounds petulant. Usually, missions are not boring. But this is the most laid-back thing you've been assigned so far, and you both know it. "I wish I had a book, or something."
Leon perks up. It's subtle, but you're already fairly attuned to his small movements even though you haven't been partners for all that long. His shoulders roll back. He turns ever so slightly to face you more fully.
"What, I'm not entertaining enough?"
You mirror his position, turning from the vantage point to lean against the wall.
"I don't know, Kennedy," you tease. "Can you do a flip?"
You both know he can do a flip.
He doesn't bite. "You read?"
That gets an eye roll. "I know how to read, yes. Do you?"
He huffs, pleased as he always is when you show some attitude. He's full of it, though it doesn't always rise to the surface.
"I just read The Count of Monte Cristo," he says. "I don't have a copy to give you, but I can tell you about it."
That's just how he is -- sass one second, honesty the next. Leon doesn't say things he doesn't mean. It's like he doesn't see the point in being anything but truthful.
Still, you study him. He's singular, your partner. Better in the field than anyone else, sure, but it's more than that. Leon S. Kennedy is different down to his core, down to the golden heart that beats in his chest.
Sometimes it's just...hard to believe you're a witness to it. To him.
"Okay," you say. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it.
"And you're not going to read it?" he says. Leon likes to do this, you've learned. To check with you. To be sure. "You don't mind knowing what happens?"
"No, go ahead."
Something in him lightens as he talks. He's a good storyteller. He explains the main character’s imprisonment, his escape, the transformation. The revenge, the mercy, the forgiveness. It matters to Leon, you realize. That he gets it right, but also that you understand what it's about. That you learn what he learned, feel what he felt. He wants you there with him.
So you listen. You watch. You drink your fill just this one time.
Because while he's competent and beautiful and so, so good, you're partners. What you're doing here matters, even if it's raining and you can't see shit. And you're best at it when you're with him, so that's how it will be. Nothing can compromise that.
But you're allowed to look. To see the way he talks with his hands the deeper into the story he gets. The way he catches your eye even when you shift around a little. The way he leans forward just a bit and you mirror it, always meeting him wherever he wants to go.
By the end, he's basically resting his chin on a forearm slung across his knee. "But then the very last line --"
"HQ to Alpha Team, come in, Alpha Team."
You both jump, and Leon flips open his communicator. He looks a little irritated at being interrupted.
"Hunnigan, Alpha Team here."
"Bravo Team is delayed," Hunnigan says, her voice unusually staticky over the line. It drags you the rest of the way out of Leon's story and into the present – the mission. "Supplies restock went fine, but the road up is washed out. They're looking for an alternate route."
"Lucky us," Leon says, tipping his head back against the stone. "Thanks for the update."
You feel compelled to get to your knees and face the window again. It's a reminder of where you are, what you're doing.
The silence feels unwelcome. Not unnatural or awkward, but more like you expect it to be filled with Leon's voice. He's never said so much in one go, and you already miss listening.
"So he just...gives up on revenge?" you ask.
Leon nods. "He realizes it's an empty pursuit."
You finally look through your binoculars. Nothing, just rain.
"I admire that," you say. "I guess he wins, in the end. He's free."
"All human wisdom is contained in these two words: Wait and hope," Leon recites.
You turn back to him and meet his eyes. He swallows, looks away. Now he's shy. "That's the last line."
"Do you believe that?"
"I'm not very good at waiting," he says wryly. He picks up his gun, forgotten on the floor in his storytelling, and slides it into his holster. "Or hoping."
You don’t think either of these things is true. Leon is incredibly patient. He is also hopeful down to his bones, even if he won’t admit it. He believes in doing as much good as he can, and he believes in saving people. It’s as much a part of him as his rare smile and piercing eyes.
But he would never say such things about himself. He’s allergic to internalizing compliments.
"Let's practice," you suggest. "I'll start. I hope Bravo team shows up soon."
For a second, you think Leon won't play. But he hums and says, "I hope they're muddy and soaked for making us wait."
"Leon!" you laugh. "How unkind to our fellow agents."
He shrugs. "A little rain never hurt anybody. Your turn."
"I hope...we get a few weeks off after this," you offer. It's impossible to know what will come next. Truthfully, you always miss being in the field with Leon after too long away.
Your partner attempts to look professionally discouraging but fails. "We barely did anything on this one."
"Well, it's not over yet!"
Almost like it was listening, the sky rumbles.
"I hope I sleep on the plane home," he says. It's aptly punctuated with a yawn. After Bravo Team relieves you, it's back to the safe house for a quick hot meal and as many hours of sleep as you can catch. He never says so, but you don't think Leon is a good sleeper. He's too alert, too ready for something to happen.
Maybe he's different in his own space. You wouldn't know, you've never seen it. Never seen him outside of work at all, really.
But you know how he looks now. Tired.
Despite his golden heart and mystifyingly confident attitude, Leon is a man like any other. Now that you think about it, you know he hasn't been sleeping well. You can hear him on the other side of the wall in the safe house, the methodical way he takes apart and cleans his gun, the soft grunts of a workout instead of closing his eyes. Nightmares, maybe. You don't know how to ask.
And telling him he looks exhausted might not be great for his ego. But he's your partner, and your job is to take care of him as much as it is to complete the mission, however you can.
"Get some rest," you tell him.
He frowns. "What?"
"I'll keep watch," you continue with a shrug, like it's no big deal. It is, and it isn't. He's put his life in your hands countless times since you were assigned together, but this is different. You're asking for a new kind of trust.
He blinks at you, unreadable as he comes to a decision.
"Just a little," he says. "15 minutes. Tops."
"Whatever you say, Kennedy," you say with a salute. He huffs, but settles back against the wall a little more, eyes sliding shut.
You're not even sure he'll fall asleep, but before long, his breathing evens out, and his head tilts a little more to the side. He looks younger like this. Less burdened.
If anything came through the door right now, you'd kill it. No hesitation. Just so he would keep looking like that.
MISSION: NEPAL, RECONNAISSANCE REGARDING POSSIBLE NEW VIRUS LABORATORY
Leon has three broken ribs, maybe four, and the extraction point is really fucking far from the lab.
Why did Hunnigan make it so far?
You'd ask her, but both of your coms are long gone. Fried from the blast and smashed to pieces from what came after. Probably 10 bullets left between the two of you, a shitty knife, and two vials of herbs.
Which Leon needs, desperately.
He's trying not to lean his entire weight on you, but you both know he can't walk on his own right now, let alone stand.
You slow your already glacial trudge away from the carnage in your wake and adjust his arm around your shoulders. He's holding his own ribs, stabilizing them as best he can. You keep your gun at the ready between you, just in case. He's trying really hard not to drag his leg.
"We should just walk home," he says. The cuts on his face aren't bleeding anymore, but he's still got crimson smears on his neck. "Shouldn't take too long."
"Oh, yeah?" you say lightly. He can probably feel your panic anyway, attuned to you as he is in the field. This joke is probably an attempt to get you to calm down. "Over the mountains, through the woods, across an ocean, and to Washington DC we go."
"See? Easy enough."
His breath is hot on your ear, head almost entirely lolled onto your shoulder before you start walking again. You can hear the pain in his voice, though he tries to hide it. You glance at him and find his face ashen and sweaty, hair hanging limply over his eyes.
He shouldn’t go on much longer. The sun is already below the tree line, clouds the color of bruises stretching over your heads. You’re really fucked if it starts snowing while you’re out here and you lose visibility.
"Leon," you say. "I think we'll have to stop for the night. The choppers won't come until tomorrow."
"If they're coming," he mutters. It's probably meant to make you laugh, a jab at the occasional disorganization of your jobs, but instead it deepens your already poorly concealed panic.
He's been hurt before. Hell, he got shot in front of you on your second mission together. You pushed on the wound with your own hands. It took weeks for the feeling of his blood under your fingernails to fade.
But this is different. You can't call for early extraction, and you have to survive the night in this freezing abandoned village, an Umbrella lab burning behind you. And he's hurt, and you don't even know how badly.
The noise he made when he hit the wall --
A new thought, sharper and more dangerous than all the rest, shoves its way to the front.
What if Leon dies here, and you have to watch?
"Let's try that one," he says, dragging you back from the edge of your spiral. He jerks his chin down the path towards a ramshackle building. "The top floor has some good sight lines from those windows."
"Can you climb stairs?" you ask. His knee is so fucked you're worried moving even at all makes it worse.
"That's what you're for."
The snow is slippery as you slowly hobble to the two-story building at the edge of the village.
It’s impossible to stop your brain from going a million miles a minute. You're going to have to double back and cover your tracks as best you can. Maybe you can make a splint for his leg with the shit in your pack and anything left in the building you trudge towards. Should you make him a sled? Could you pull him to the extraction point?
You’ll do whatever it takes to keep that horrible, horrible thought from coming true.
It takes some time, but you get up the stairs and settle near the window overlooking the main path.
"At least it's warmer in here," Leon says.
He's slumped against the wall, gingerly taking pulls from your canteen to wash down the herbs he finally swallowed. His forehead is slick and his breathing labored from the effort. "All things considered, it was a pretty successful mission."
You can't decide between watching him or watching the windows, which means pacing between each one and glancing at him every few seconds. It's unlikely you were followed, but successfully completing the mission, injuries aside, feels a little too good to be true. You're waiting for the other other shoe to drop.
"Leon, you got thrown 30 feet into a stone pillar."
He shrugs, then winces. "Just another day at the office."
He rolls his neck, pressing his fingers into it like he can will away whatever aches he's feeling.
You both get injured in the field all the time. Nothing serious, not usually, and it's rarely enough to require immediate attention. But you also know that Leon sits with his pain. He doesn't call attention to it unless you ask, and even then, you know he downplays it.
But he doesn't lie to you. You don't do that in your partnership.
"Leon," you say again.
He sighs.
"Been better," he admits. "After the stairs up here, I can be pretty sure my lungs aren't punctured. The knee isn't great, though. Hurts like hell."
You walk between the windows again. Did you even clear the room properly? Maybe you should clear the whole building.
"Do you think you have a concussion?" If he does, you can't let him sleep too much, though he needs rest desperately. It's going to be a long night.
Leon says your name in his you’re not being very calm voice. You ignore it.
"You saw," he continues. "I hit pretty much everything but my head."
Oh boy, did you see.
The whole thing felt like slow motion. The lab was meant to be a virus research facility. You were meant to figure out what they were making and destroy it. But you got there too late -- most of it had been cleared out. Everything important, anyway. Not much left in the way of documents and research, and certainly no staff.
But then you found the fucking plant.
Something left behind unintentionally or on purpose as a trap, you're not sure. What you are sure about is that some virus-juiced up weed caused the otherwise dormant facility to go into self-destruct lockdown. Your coms got fucked, and then you had to figure out how to destroy the plant.
Leon drew its attention while you messed with the door systems, trying to trap it without trapping yourselves. He took hit after hit, his bullets only doing so much against the thick, slimy vines.
You looked up to tell him you found a path to the exit right as the plant managed to hook itself around his knee. It squeezed, and he screamed. You can still hear it.
But that was nothing compared to what came next.
The plant hoisted him into the air by his ruined knee and threw him clear across the chamber.
He hit the wall with a horrible wet thud before falling to the ground in an unmoving heap.
There are no words for your terror in that moment. Not that you'd ever tell him what it felt like -- you don't lie to each other, but there are things he does not need to know.
The plant turned toward you, thinking its opponent vanquished, and that was its mistake.
You killed that motherfucker. Fueled by terrified rage and capitalizing on the damage Leon had already done, you managed it. And when you finally fell to your knees next to Leon and saw his chest rise and fall, well. There are few better feelings.
But you're not out of the woods yet.
"Yeah, I saw," you say. You check each window again, one by one.
"Can you sit down?" Leon says. "You're making me nervous."
"You don't get nervous."
"First time for everything."
You face him. He looks amused.
"I need to cover our tracks," you say. "Will you be okay for a little? You can have the bullets."
"Woah," he says. Amusement turns to a frown. "Slow down. We saw no signs of staff or guards.
No one is here. You don't need to cover our tracks. We'll be okay."
The knot in your stomach loosens just a little. Leon is careful in the field. Maybe not with himself, but with intel, preparation, and execution. If he thinks there's no one here, there's no one here. And if he's wrong, he trusts both of you to be able to handle it. He doesn't gamble with your life.
"Come sit," he says. "I'll beg, if that's what it takes."
Somehow, he gets a laugh out of you. "I should make you."
Still, you do as he asks. There's nothing to build a fire with, and while Leon's conviction of your safety is a nice one, you're not totally sold. Best to tough it out until morning.
Leon clears his throat, though it's more of a groan than a cough.
"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" he starts. "If they don't come tomorrow --"
The words fly out of you before you have time to think them through.
"Don't tell me to leave you."
His eyes betray his surprise. A little too wide, brows pulled together in the middle to form a crease you've often thought about smoothing with your thumb.
Embarrassment is hot in your throat. It's important to you to be calm in a crisis, to be able to think through it and come out the other side. But something about this whole fucking day is making you fray at the edges. The echo of his scream, of his body hitting the ground, plays on loop in your mind.
"I was going to say we'll need to find some food," Leon says, slowly. As if you're a deer about to bolt.
"Oh," you breathe. "Okay." You rub your palms on your pants. "You're right."
You need to get it together. You cannot fall apart until it's all over. You're not even the one who is hurt, for crying out loud.
"Hey," Leon says, so soft you have to close your eyes so you don't look at him and reveal everything you're feeling. "I won’t ask you that."
Someday, he might. And if that day comes, you’ll refuse just like you do now. The certainty of it settles in your chest, and it feels right. You’ll never leave Leon Kennedy behind.
"Good," you reply. "Cause I wouldn't." You dig your fingers into your thighs and make yourself look at him with a smile that only feels half forced. "We can just walk home, remember?"
Leon snorts, then groans.
"Fuck," he hisses. "Damn ribs. Don't make me laugh."
"I'm too funny for you." Worry still simmers just under your skin, but all of this, his words, his laughter, just being near him, it's helping. "You've got a lot of blood on your neck," you say, softly.
The vines were covered in thorns that nicked him anywhere he was exposed. The small slices on his skin are shallow and already clotted, but your hands are desperate to help.
"It's always something."
"Stay still," you mumble. Leon seems to sense your restlessness and allows you to shift closer and clean him up with a bit of water and a bandage from your hip pouch.
"Look," he says, barely wincing as you work. "We got some intel, killed that thing, and the lab blew up. It's cold, sure, but we're inside, and tomorrow morning we'll make it to the field and get a nice, warm chopper pickup."
"You need medical now, though," you huff. The blood comes off easily. He swallows and you feel it against your fingertips. "I'm worried about your knee."
"It's not going anywhere." Leon cups your elbow gently, grounding you. And maybe himself. "We're going to be fine."
He honestly seems confused that you're not as sure as he is, like your fear has thrown him.
Does Leon Kennedy believe in you that much? He trusts you, you know that. You wouldn't work so well together if he didn't. But he believes in you, in your partnership. The knot in your throat begins to twist into something else, something softer, something more dangerous.
He's not scared at all because you're here. Because you're together.
"Yeah," you allow. "Yeah, we are."
You ball up the bloody bandage and lean back against the wall next to him.
"I'll take first watch," Leon says. He sounds serious about it.
You check the clip on your sidearm and do him the courtesy of not laughing.
"Yeah, right," you reply. "You should rest. We'll have to walk the rest of the way to the field in the morning."
The absence of an argument is no surprise. He's stubborn, but he's able to be realistic. If you're getting out of here, he needs as much strength as he can find.
"The food in medical is going to be so bad," he mutters.
He rolls his head against the wall to look at you. The herbs are working because his skin is a little less pale, his jaw a little less tense. You can only hope he's not in as much pain.
"I'll bring you something good," you tell him. "Sleep, Leon."
He stays facing you, but closes his eyes.
"Fine," he says. "Just a few minutes."
You scoot closer to him so you're pressed together, shoulder to ankle. Leon runs cold, you've learned, but being this close means you can feel the innate heat of him in the otherwise frigid air. Heat means he's alive.
"Body heat," you say, mostly to yourself. "Don't freeze on me, okay, Kennedy?"
"I'll do my best," he huffs. "Just a few minutes, I'm serious. Wake me up if you need anything."
Leon sleeps through the night at your side.
You stay pressed against him with your gun in one hand, ready and willing to do whatever you have to to keep him safe. To get both of you home.
Something has changed. The place in your heart where he lives has shifted, softened, and grown. He is, you now know, essential to you. As fundamental as the blood in your veins, the air in your lungs.
Maybe everything has changed.
That's a problem for later. After you get him to the extraction point, after you see him to medical, after you write up your report and put this mission behind you.
MISSION: GREECE, ELIMINATION OF B.O.W.s AND CAPTURE OF SOURCE
You don't think Leon sleeps for the three days you're in Greece.
It's hard to tell. You feel well-rested each time he wakes you for your watch, which means he lets you sleep too long. And when you take over, he doesn't look like he's sleeping. It's not the soft, relaxed face you now know so well. He's just lying there, waiting for morning to come.
It must be nightmares. You just wish he would try.
The mission itself ends up being kind of fun. Greece is beautiful. Vibrant blue water and endless sky, picturesque beaches and a monastery with the most beautiful stained glass windows you've ever seen. You want to explore properly, to wander the streets for fun, not with a gun in your hand.
The island population evacuated before you arrived, so all you have to do is find the mad scientist billionaire living in the catacombs making B.O.W.s, and kill as many of them as you can on your way.
Bats with tentacles and lizards with thousands of teeth where you wouldn't expect teeth to be.
Easy, right?
Except for the fact that you have to chase them up and down so, so many stairs.
And Leon falls down most of them.
Thanks to his body armor, he's only a little battered. His ego is probably more bruised than his skin.
But the whole thing takes a lot out of him when combined with how little rest he gets.
You apprehend the billionaire and send him off in his chopper. Your own extraction is quick after that, even if you have to basically haul Leon into the bird. He slumps next to you with a bleary-eyed fist bump.
The island is still below when Leon falls asleep. You turn to say something to him, to see why he's leaning on you with his full weight, only to find his eyes closed and his breathing even.
Just like that.
No nightmares.
Truthfully, this is why you wanted him to just try to sleep. But how would you say that? How would you tell him that you think his body knows he's safe with you just as much as his mind does? That he trusts you so deeply?
It is in this moment that you let yourself think it.
You love him.
Maybe this was inevitable. He's the best man you've ever known. You trust him with your life on a regular basis, and he returns that trust tenfold. You've washed his blood from your skin, relied on his steady aim in the heat of a fight, leaned into his warmth in the darkest, most terrifying places on earth.
Now that you've thought it, there's no going back.
There's no doing anything about it, either. It's too complicated.
Maybe he loves you. You're not sure. It doesn't matter, anyway. You'd never ask him to give more of himself to you. He gives everything to the world already. You won't be another person who takes from him.
So this? A successful mission, the weight of him settled firmly at your side, both of you alive and mostly well? This might be enough.
Leon turns his head so his face is pressed into your shoulder, his hair tickling your jawline. You let yourself lean into him, resting your cheek on the top of his head.
You make each other feel safe. Is that not love?
MISSION: U.S.A., AQUISITION OF ANTIVIRAL MATERIALS
It's too late.
You both know it the moment you arrive.
The pale door stands alone in the middle of the New Mexico desert, almost invisible among the hills of pristine white dunes unless you’re looking right at it. Just as the briefing said it would. A lab hidden from the DSO, from lingering Umbrella hostiles, from everyone. A lab working on antivirals of all kinds, invaluable resources that would be disastrous in the wrong hands.
But the door hangs open.
"Shit," Leon mutters, drawing his weapon. "Looks like we're late to the party."
You follow him through the door and down the stairs. The power isn't out, but the lights flicker when you walk under them like they want to hide whatever awaits you.
It's more bare bones than anything you've seen before. No lobby, no desk. No security room, no floor map. Just a corridor at the bottom of the stairs and doors on either side, all pushed open.
Glass litters the floor, as do crumpled wet papers. There is a sharp chemical smell in the air. You know in your gut that the antivirals are gone.
"No people," you whisper. "No corpses."
Leon nods, face grim. He knows what's gone on here just as well as you do. Whatever small operation was functioning before today is dead to the world. It’ll be a miracle to get any good intel from this place.
"We need to check every room anyway," he tells you.
But before you can start a sweep, someone coughs. It's so unexpected that you both twist on the spot and aim your guns in the direction of the noise.
"Is anyone alive down here?" Leon calls. "We're here to help."
Not entirely true per your mission, but Leon is always here to help. And where he goes, you go.
The coughing stops.
With a quick glance at him, you lead the way down the hall to the door you're pretty sure the survivor – god, you hope it’s a survivor – is in.
The closer you get, the more you hear it -- someone is crying.
The room ends up being an office, small and ransacked. Two people lean against one of the overturned desks.
A man and a woman, the latter crying softly into her hands. They're partners of some kind. You can tell right away. They occupy each other’s space in a way that feels familiar to you, that triggers a deep sense of horror once you put the pieces together.
These are two people who love each other, and there is no other place they'd rather be, even at the end.
The man has his arm around her, but you can see his face.
He's infected. Not gone yet, but well on the way. Black veins run up his neck into his hairline. If the woman raised her head, you'd undoubtedly see the same.
You glance at Leon, but he's already looking at you, having reached the same conclusion.
"You work here?" Leon asks.
"I'm sorry," the woman mutters wetly. "I'm sorry, we didn't know they would come, we didn't know --"
"What happened?" you press.
"It's all gone," the man snaps. He barely spares you a glance. "Can't you tell? They took it all."
"The antivirals," Leon fills in.
The woman looks up. She doesn't have long left. Minutes, maybe. Her speech is slurred, and her eyes are cloudy, the whites of them spiderwebbed black. You don’t even know if she can see you.
"They... threw a gas grenade down the stairs and... then destroyed it all," she says. "We could hear them smashing vials while we were..."
The woman begins to cough, droplets of blood spraying the ground under her as she heaves.
It splatters over her wedding ring. Fuck. You were right.
"Shh, Mack," the man tells her. "Don't talk."
She doesn't listen. "Simon," she manages to say, "The files, I--"
The man -- Simon -- rubs at her back until she pushes him away.
“I’m not leaving you,” he says. “Don’t ask me to.”
The words hang in the air. You can hear your own voice saying them back in Nepal.
"Please," she begs.
You take a small step towards Leon.
"What's she talking about?" he says.
There's no tremor in his voice, but you can hear his horror, his rage. Neither of you can stop what’s happening here.
Simon gets to his knees and reaches for a drawer in the overturned desk. Using a key, or a combination, you're not sure which, he opens a secret compartment with a hushed snick.
And pulls out a stack of files.
"There's no time for us," Simon tells you, holding them out in a shaking hand. The veins in his forearms are steadily turning black. "But you can make more with these. We thought this might happen someday." He glances at his wife and the blood dripping down her chin. "Not like this."
Leon seems frozen in place. It's the worst-case scenario. Two people trying to do good who become victims, casualties, and there's nothing you can do to save them.
You surge forward to take the files. Simon collapses back beside Mack.
"Can we do anything?" you offer.
"Yes," Mack gurgles. "End it."
It's an ask that gives you pause, even after all of your time as an agent. You've killed many B.O.W.s by this point, and your fair share of human beings. It comes with the job.
It keeps you up at night.
But could you kill someone like this, because they asked you to? To spare them the indignity of turning into a monster?
Leon saves you from deciding. He hands over his gun, and Simon takes it with wide eyes.
"We'll wait," Leon says. His words are shot through with regret. "Outside."
He turns on his heel before the pair can say anything. You think it might kill him to hear a thank you for this.
There's no choice but to follow. You don't want to be here for what comes next, nor should you.
You shut the office door behind you and find Leon standing in the hall, arms crossed and back pressed against the wall. His eyes are on the floor.
What is there to say?
You stand next to him, shoulders brushing.
And you wait. And wait. And wait.
What does it feel like to die? To sit beside the person you love most as it happens? To be the one who kills them, who ends their suffering? To be the one who keeps them human, in the end. Could you bear that burden?
It's hard not to glance at Leon. For him, maybe you could. For him, you sometimes think you could do anything.
The first gunshot makes you both inhale sharply.
The second, only moments later, is an exhale.
Leon looks up from the floor and catches your gaze. He looks so young and so tired. You're missing something, something big that's making this harder for him. It settles over his shoulders and drags them down.
He heads back to the office and you follow. Of course you follow.
You won't make him do this alone.
The two of you stand in front of the closed door and breathe. It feels like before and after, like there's no coming back from whatever this is.
You squeeze Leon's shoulder.
He reaches for the knob.
The debrief back at base is awful and takes forever. The mission was technically a failure, since you didn't actually get the antivirals, but the files will help immensely. When you're finally done, you amble out of the windowless room into the hall and find Leon waiting for you.
He looks as exhausted as you feel, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. He's showered and changed into stuff he keeps around for long nights post-mission, dark sweatpants and a hoodie. He looks soft but weary.
"Hey," he says, straightening up. "You okay?"
You offer him a small smile. "Define okay."
"Yeah, fair enough," he says. He runs a hand through his damp hair. "That was fucked up."
"Yeah." You step a little closer. "Are you okay?"
Leon tilts his head to the side, eyes on your face but not seeing you, not really. He's seeing whatever ghosts are haunting him about this.
"I will be."
"Leon," you say, without knowing what will come next. Just to say his name, to bring him back to this moment. It works, refocusing him, drawing him back to you. You both saw something horrible today. You can feel it in the air -- you can see his distress, the way he's carrying this differently than most other horrible shit you do in this job. It's weighing on him.
"I don't want to be alone right now," you say. It’s no lie, but it’s also disguising what you really want to do – take care of him. After what you saw, you don’t want to leave him alone. "Do you want to come over?"
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he studies you. You try not to squirm. Maybe it's plain as day on your face how concerned you are. Maybe he can see your care for him as easily as you feel it.
"Okay," he says.
It's not that unfamiliar. He's been over a few times when you've been injured over the course of your partnership thus far, dropped things off while you recovered. He even made soup once.
So when you're standing in your kitchen, each holding a sweating glass of water, it's not discomfort you're feeling. If someone asked, you'd say he looks at home in his soft clothes and socked feet, bags under his eyes. More relaxed than before, at least.
"Should we talk about it?" you say.
Leon sighs. "Do you want to?"
No, not really. But the pain in their voices, the horror on Leon's face. The way those two people, utter strangers to you, loved each other in the midst of this fucked up world of viruses and vaccines and corporations that you all find yourselves in. In the face of death, till the very end.
Here, in the safety of your kitchen, looking at the man you love, you think about telling him how you feel. It makes your heart feel like an open wound. You imagine it, what you'd do for him. What you suspect he'd do for you.
Would it scare him away? How far you would go to save him?
"Not really," you admit. "But it might make us feel better. That shit was nightmare fuel. Not that we need any more of those."
Leon huffs. You still need to shower and change, but this is important. You hop up on your counter. He leans against the cabinets across from you.
"Thank you," he says. "For taking the lead back there. For talking to them."
You wouldn't describe it as such, but you don't say so. You've heard this tone from him a few times before. It's like he's somewhere else.
And he is.
"Did it remind you of something from Raccoon City?" you ask carefully. Not because you think he'll be mad, but because he deserves some care.
You've gotten bits and pieces from him about that day over the course of your partnership. You know how he carries it with him, how his entire life as an agent started there, with the people he lost, the things he saw. You often think about him as a rookie police officer standing as tall as he could against a crumbling city, against threats he couldn't even begin to understand.
You'll never know that Leon, but loving this one means you love him, too.
"Yeah," he replies. He sets the water glass on the counter and crosses his arms. "There was this man who owned a gun shop," he says. "Kendo. He was upset and scared. He told me I was supposed to know something about how it all happened because I was a cop."
The smile on his face is a bitter one. You don't like it, so different from the ones he saves for you.
"I didn't even know how little I knew, at that point," he says. "We're talking to him, and then his daughter stumbles into the shop from the back room. Emma."
You can see where this is going.
"Was she...?" you ask.
Leon nods. "It was too late. He told us to leave them alone and took her back to the room. And then we heard one gunshot. Didn't stick around to hear a second."
You breathe out. "That's...wow."
"A lot of innocent people died that night," he says. "And those scientists today -- Simon and Mack -- they were involved more than Kendo and his daughter, sure. But they were doing good, working against bioweapons. And they died for it."
He says it with resignation, with exhaustion. You know he'll never forget their names. Never forget that he couldn't save them.
"Like us," you tell him. Leon looks confused. "We're doing that, too," you continue. "And we'd die for it, right?”
For each other, you don't say.
He holds your gaze, then nods. “Yeah,” he says. "Don't get any ideas, though."
You smile at him even though his words are serious. "Okay, Kennedy."
Leon stands and holds out his hand for your glass. Your fingers brush in the exchange.
"You know," he says, turning to put it in the sink. "This was nightmare fuel, but I never have nightmares when you're around."
If asked, you'd say it's a strategic move not to face you. Giving you space to figure out how you want to respond.
The perpetual knot of feelings in your chest twists tighter. All those hours he's slept by your side while you watched over him, all those nights without a bad dream, it all sits heavy in your throat. How much it means to you that he trusts you, that he feels safe next to you.
"Really?" you ask, softly. Pretending not to have come to this conclusion yourself. "I'm glad."
Leon turns, blue eyes finding yours once again. He's told you this for a reason, but now that it's out there, you don't know what to do with it. If he feels the same way, if you are similarly essential to him, then what do you even do about it? What would change?
You're too raw for it right now. So you hold his gaze, but hop down from the counter.
"I'm going to shower," you tell him. "Help yourself to anything in the -- well, anything. You know where it all is."
There's no disappointment from him, no deflation. Just solid patience. Leon Kennedy, immovable object. Living weapon. Love itself.
"Take your time," he says.
When you come back, clean and comfortable, Leon isn't in the kitchen.
You find him asleep on the couch.
His face is turned into the pillow, one leg hanging off the side like he hadn't meant to close his eyes, but it happened anyway. It's like telling you the story about Kendo has lifted a weight from him, and he's exhausted from the memories.
All of it -- the entire mission, really -- just shows you what you already know. He trusts you, he feels safe with you. Maybe it's even more than that.
But tonight isn't for dwelling on that. It's for the two of you, safe and together for another day, to rest. Filled with gratitude for that, you brush his hair back from his face as carefully as you can before draping a blanket over him.
When you wake, you're curled up in the chair next to the couch with the same blanket draped over you.
MISSION: DATA NOT AVAILABLE
You usually tell people you like writing reports. It's not as exciting as actually going on missions, sure, but there's something satisfying about looking back on everything you did and explaining it, picking it apart for details and errors and good choices.
Maybe because you and Leon are good agents, which makes your mission reports much easier to write. But this one is taking you forever. And Leon is no help.
The mission, well.
The mission went utterly sideways. You almost died. Infected with a mystery fever virus and no antivirals to be found, part of you really thought it was the end. That Leon was going to have to watch you turn and kill you.
But he saved you. He saved you by doing the unimaginable -- putting his body on the line for yours. With yours.
And you lived.
And now you know how he feels. How you both feel.
It doesn't mean he's helpful in writing the report, though.
You banished him to your bedroom nearly an hour ago because he was being too distracting. Without his quips and the temptation to touch him every five seconds, you're finally done.
"Sorry to whoever has to read that," you mutter, shutting your laptop. It's almost dinner time.
"Leon?" you call.
Nothing.
You stand and stretch, the hem of your t-shirt -- it might be his, you're not sure -- riding up a little. Maybe he's got his headphones on.
There's evidence of him all over your place now. His jacket over the barstool, his boots by the door. Two books he wants you to read are stacked on the table, his gym water bottle is in the drying rack. But it's more than that. You know he's here. It's a strange feeling, the safety that comes with that knowledge. Like everything makes a bit more sense, your world righted just so.
You worried before that exposing your feelings would affect your partnership in the field, but you know now that you passed the threshold of a normal relationship a long time ago. You will do whatever it takes for Leon to be okay. It was true then, and it's true now. It's the light that guides your path, the direction your compass points towards. Him, always him.
You find Leon in the bedroom. He's in your bed, shoulders sinking deep into your pillows. A book you got him balanced on his chest, spine cracked.
He's asleep.
He looks younger this way, like he always does, jaw relaxed and brow smooth. His face is turned into the pillow like he's chasing your imprint on it from this morning, echoing the way he’s always aware of your presence when he’s awake. Orbiting you, filling the space you leave him, the answer to every question you’ve ever had.
You just stand there and look because you can. This man who loves you, who protects you, who trusts you. He's given you everything. His mind, his body, his heart, without hesitation. You would have happily spent the rest of your life watching over him, keeping him safe, having his back, and asking nothing in return.
But he loves you.
You sit on the edge of the bed and know he wakes immediately, but he allows you to pull the book from his torso, mark his page, and set it on the nightstand.
"Can I join you?" you whisper.
Leon opens his eyes and smiles easily, a delicate pull up of his mouth at both sides.
"Please do," he says, voice a little rough from his nap. "Mm, come here."
He sinks even further down into the pillows and holds out his arm. You go happily, your head on his shoulder and your leg over his hips.
Leon presses his lips to your hairline and inhales.
"How's the book?" you ask. His heart beats steadily under your palm.
"Good," he says. "Just thought I'd catch a few minutes. It smells so good in here. Smells like
you."
He says shit like this all the time, now. It always takes your breath away.
"Well, it's my bed," you remind him. He just hums and closes his eyes again. He drags his fingers up and down your arm.
It's a revelation to touch him like this. You never get enough of it, how solid yet pliant he is under your hands. How many times have you wondered what it would be like to do exactly this?
"Can I hold you?" you ask, trying not to sound too shy.
Icy blue reappears between his long lashes.
"Sure," he says. He sounds amused but fond. "Are we sleeping?"
We, always we. Always in step with you, always ready to follow wherever you’re going.
"For a little."
Leon turns onto his side, showing you his back. You curl yourself around him, puzzle pieces finally back where they belong. Your knee slides between his and his arm rests over yours where it's slung across his torso.
"You okay?" he murmurs.
He might not feel it, but you press your lips to his shoulder blade.
"Yeah," you say. "You?"
Leon squeezes your hand.
"Doesn't get much better than this," he tells you.
You can feel his heartbeat through his back, feel every breath in and out as you match it to your own.
There will be plenty of opportunities in the future for you to keep watch while he sleeps. But for now, you can rest together.
