Chapter Text
Leon had always been better at surviving bioweapons than feelings.
The first time it had happened, years ago, he'd disappeared less than twenty-four hours after waking up in Chris' bed, panicking so spectacularly at the realization that he had somehow fallen for Claire Redfield's brother that he'd spent three weeks avoiding every phone call, email, and attempt at contact before finally showing up again looking exhausted and deeply embarrassed.
To Chris' credit, he had never held it against him, or at least not openly. It had been really hard on him the first time he'd had to deal with it, but he gets better, every time.
The pattern had improved with time, too. Not disappeared, of course, but improved.
These days Leon no longer vanished completely. He answered messages eventually. Sent proof-of-life texts. Occasionally even warned Chris beforehand when he felt himself starting to spiral.
The trigger, this time, was so absurdly ordinary that Leon spent several minutes staring at the screen in complete disbelief. The DSO had updated its personnel records system.
Again.
Which meant several hours of mandatory administrative nonsense, forgotten passwords, security verifications, and forms that nobody would ever read unless something had gone catastrophically wrong. Leon hated every second of it, he had always hated paperwork.
He was halfway through the process, answering questions on autopilot while simultaneously drinking bad coffee and daydreaming about that new little coffee shop he'd discovered the week before, when he reached the emergency contact section.
Name.
Relationship.
Phone number.
Simple.
Routine.
The sort of information most people probably filled out without a second thought.
Leon typed before he even realized he was doing it.
Chris Redfield.
Then moved on to the next field.
Only to stop.
Slowly. He frowned, trying for a minute to define their relationship, they had always been exceptionnally bad at that. Then his eyes drifted back upward. Back to the name.
Back to the fact that he hadn’t hesitated, not even for a second. No uncertainty. No debate. No list of alternatives.
No consideration whatsoever.
Just Chris.
As though there had never been another possibility.
The realization settled somewhere beneath his ribs like a physical weight. Because emergency contacts weren’t casual, emergency contacts were the person people called when everything went wrong. The person who got the phone call. The person who identified the body. The person who sat in hospital waiting rooms. The person who was supposed to know.
And apparently, without ever consciously deciding it, Leon had reached a point where that person was Chris. The worst part was that the feeling wasn’t new. The form hadn’t created it. The form had simply revealed it. Which was somehow infinitely more terrifying. It was stupid, really, Chris had already been at his side in hospital beds, they had done that for each other, a fair amount of times.
By the time he’d finished staring at the screen, his coffee had gone cold. By the end of the day, he was on the other side of the country. Again.
Not because he wanted distance from Chris. That was the frustrating part. Leon hadn’t wanted distance from Chris in years. What he wanted was impossible to explain even to himself.
Because every time he looked too closely at whatever this was becoming, every time he allowed himself to acknowledge how deeply Chris had embedded himself into the structure of his life, something instinctive and panicked immediately screamed that this was dangerous.
That people who became indispensable could be lost. That depending on somebody was how you got hurt. That getting attached to someone was dangerous, for him and for them. What was wrong with him, handing the DSO information about who they could use as a replacement for Sherry and Claire, should he ever try to disobey? How stupid was he, really?
And so, as always, he ran. Not completely, though. Not anymore. Years ago, he would have vanished entirely. Now he texted.
Brief messages every few days.
Proof of life.
Evidence that he was breathing, eating, sleeping, and not currently being eaten by a bioweapon somewhere.
Enough to reassure Chris. Never enough to explain.
Still alive.
Mission went fine.
Saw a dog today. [download attachment]
And Chris, who had learned long ago that pressing for answers only made Leon retreat further, accepted the scraps of communication for what they were.
An offering.
A promise.
A way of saying I’m still here.
Even if he couldn’t quite manage I’m ready to come home yet.
The hardest part was that Chris never knew what had triggered it. From his perspective, everything had been normal. One day Leon was there. The next he wasn’t. And no matter how many times the pattern repeated itself over the years, Chris never seemed to get any better at watching him leave.
He never asked.
Never demanded explanations, not after that first time, when everything had gone to shit and he'd blamed himself for a month. Now he understood it a little better, never tried to guilt him into staying. Instead, he simply waited. Patiently. Quietly. Trusting that eventually Leon would find his way back.
Which, unfortunately, only made Leon love him more.
Chris, meanwhile, did what he always did whenever Leon disappeared.
He retraced his steps. Meticulously. Obsessively. As though somewhere, hidden among the countless ordinary moments of the previous few weeks, there existed a single misplaced word capable of explaining everything. At first he was certain it had been something obvious.
He replayed every interaction they had shared during the last week, examining them with the same relentless attention he usually reserved for mission reports, only to arrive at the same frustrating conclusion every single time.
Nothing had happened. Which somehow made it worse. It wasn't something he could fight against. For several days he remained convinced it had been the weekend.
It had to be.
They had spent too much time together.
Just two days spent together in a small apartment, eating takeout, watching terrible movies, and existing in the same space with a level of domestic comfort that had felt really nice. Chris spent an embarrassing amount of time wondering whether he had pushed too hard, stayed too close, made Leon feel trapped without realizing it. But no, it couldn't be. That had done domestic weekends together before. Leon would have told him, by now, if he'd felt it was too much. He'd done it the last time.
Chris remembers Leon's face when he had kissed him softly, looked at him and smiled, sheepishly. ”I'm having a really great time”, he'd said, ”But I'm not sure I'll still be here in the morning. And I want you to know, right now, that... I'm... I'm happy, okay? I'm enjoying this.” A kiss. “I'm trying.” Another kiss. ”I'm doing my best.” Another. ”Please don't be sad.”
It had been good. Progress. He'd only disappeared for the day, and came back right before nightfall. So it couldn't possibly have been the weekend.
After that he became convinced it was something he had said. Unfortunately, that left him with approximately five hundred possibilities. Had he sounded too possessive? Too familiar? Too comfortable? Had he accidentally implied expectations that Leon wasn’t ready for? Had he mentioned the future?
The thought alone was enough to make Chris grimace. Because if there was one subject capable of sending Leon running for the nearest state border, it was the future. For several days, he became convinced that was the answer. Until he remembered that neither of them had actually discussed the future at all. Then he wondered whether that was the problem. Maybe they should have. Maybe Leon had interpreted the absence of discussion as a sign that Chris didn’t see one. That theory lasted until approximately three o’clock in the morning.
Then came the truly ridiculous possibilities. Perhaps he’d hugged him for too long. Perhaps he’d been too distracted by work. Perhaps he’d answered a text too quickly. Perhaps Leon had needed him to notice something and Chris hadn’t.
Perhaps.
The list became increasingly absurd. None of the answers ever felt right. Yet he kept searching anyway. Because the alternative was accepting that Leon’s departure might not have anything to do with him at all. And strangely enough, Chris wasn’t sure which possibility he hated more.
The guilt of having caused it, or the helplessness of knowing he couldn’t have prevented it.
Eventually, as always, he reached the same conclusion. There was no point chasing Leon. No point demanding explanations. No point cornering him and asking questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. All that would accomplish was pushing him further away.
So Chris waited.
Answered the occasional text.
Accepted the proof-of-life messages for what they were.
Me too.
Great news!
Cute. *-*
And tried very hard not to spend every evening glancing at his phone whenever it vibrated. The worst part was that, after all this time, he knew exactly how the story ended, they'd done this little dance for a few years now.
Leon would come back. He always came back. The only question was how long it would take.
And Chris could probably survive the waiting without convincing himself, for the hundredth time, that he’d somehow broken something precious without ever realizing it. He just had to get it together, and act like it wasn't a big deal, and not show Leon that he'd been worrying too much whenever the man would reappear again. He could do that. It had been.... almost six weeks, now. That was a particularly long one. And he'd probably never know what had triggered it, so he'd have no way of knowing how to avoid repeating the same mistake again...
*
The office door opened before Leon had fully made up his mind about knocking.
A young man stepped out. For a brief second, both of them paused. Not awkwardly. Just long enough to avoid colliding in the doorway. The first thing Leon noticed was that he looked young.
Not inexperienced. Not immature. Young, for a BSAA member.
Tall.
Dark-haired.
Hazel eyes.
Perfect jawline.
Left handed?
A face that probably caused problems for other people on a regular basis.
The kind of face that looked as though it belonged on a recruitment poster rather than in active combat zones.
His uniform fit him perfectly.
His posture was straight without being rigid.
And although Leon had only seen him for all of three seconds, he carried himself with the quiet confidence of somebody who knew exactly how good he was and felt absolutely no need to advertise the fact.
Interesting. The young man stepped aside immediately to give Leon room to enter. Respectful. Polite. Professional.
"Sir."
Leon inclined his head automatically.
The younger man returned the gesture before continuing down the corridor with long, purposeful strides, disappearing around the corner almost immediately.
Leon watched him go, perhaps a second longer than was strictly necessary. Well, that was certainly not what he'd expected to find outside Chris Redfield's office. Shaking the thought away, he finally pushed open the office door.
Chris looked up from behind his desk.
For half a second he simply stared.
Then the report he had been reading hit the surface of the desk with an audible slap.
"Leon."
The relief in his voice arrived so quickly and so honestly that guilt immediately twisted somewhere beneath Leon's ribs. Chris was already on his feet. Already moving around the desk. And then he stopped.
Not abruptly.
Not awkwardly.
Just enough.
Waiting.
Giving Leon space.
Because after all these years, Chris had learned exactly how much damage could be done by reaching too soon when Leon was still deciding whether he was ready to be caught. Something warm and painful settled in Leon's chest. The stupid thing was that he wanted the hug.
Wanted it badly.
Wanted to cross the room and bury his face against Chris' shoulder and stay there for a while. Which, naturally, made the idea absolutely terrifying.
God.
He really needed to stop running from this man. Leon opened his mouth. The apology was already there, ready, waiting to be said.
He could practically hear the conversation before it happened.
Sorry I disappeared.
You don't have to apologize.
Yeah, but I do.
No, you don't.
Chris—
Leon, I'm just glad you're back.
The same argument, the same circle they had been walking around for years, because Chris refused to hold it against him, and Leon refused to stop feeling guilty. Eventually, one of them would change the subject. Nothing would actually be resolved. The realization settled heavily in his chest. Maybe this time he could skip the entire process.
Maybe this time he could just...
Trust him.
Before courage had time to abandon him, Leon crossed the remaining distance between them. Chris barely had enough time to look surprised. Then Leon wrapped his arms around him. For a brief second, nobody moved, the office fell completely silent.
Then Chris exhaled.
A slow, careful breath.
And his arms came around Leon in return.
Strong, steady, muscular, reassuring arms.
The embrace tightened gradually, as though Chris was still checking whether Leon truly meant it, whether he was genuinely being invited closer, and the moment he became convinced that he was, the hesitation disappeared completely.
God.
Leon had missed this.
The simple, ridiculous comfort of being held by somebody who knew every ugly corner of him and had somehow decided to stay anyway. Chris was solid beneath his hands. Broad shoulders. Powerful arms.The familiar scent of coffee, paperwork, a dash of aftershave, and the occasional cigarette even though he'd been trying to quit for ever.
For a few moments, Leon allowed himself to stop thinking entirely, and just... inhaled.
Chris.
When Chris finally spoke, his voice was low enough that Leon felt it more than heard it.
"Hey."
Leon closed his eyes.
"Hey."
Another pause.
Long.
Comfortable.
Chris didn't ask why he had left. Didn't ask where he had been. Didn't ask what had happened. The restraint somehow made Leon feel worse and better at the same time. Eventually, Chris rested his chin lightly against the top of Leon's head. A gesture so familiar it should not have affected him nearly as much as it did. Then, eventually, Chris sighed softly. Not impatiently.
Just... content.
As though having Leon back in his office was enough for the moment.
"… Want some coffee?"
Leon laughed before he could stop himself. The sound came out slightly muffled against Chris' shoulder.
Of course.
Of course that was what Chris chose to ask.
Not where have you been?
Not why did you leave?
Not are we okay?
Just coffee.
The same question Chris had probably asked him a hundred times over the years.
A simple offering.
A familiar routine.
A way of saying you're home now without ever having to use the words.
"Yeah," Leon admitted quietly.
Chris squeezed him once before finally letting go, and went back to his paperwork.
"Good."
Leon eventually released him and reached for a mug next to the coffee machine in the corner, then deliberately redirected his attention toward safer territory, his gaze drifting toward the office door and, inevitably, toward the memory of the young man who had stepped through it only moments earlier. Banter, they needed playful banter.
A slow grin spread across his face.
"… Didn't realize you'd replace me for a younger model." Leon smiled, turning the mug between his hands.
The confusion that crossed Chris' face looked entirely genuine.
"What are you talking about?"
Leon gestured vaguely toward the hallway.
"The eye-candy that just walked out of your office."
Chris blinked. For a second, he genuinely appeared not to understand. Then realization dawned. Followed, almost immediately, by a level of embarrassment that Leon found so fascinating he nearly laughed out loud.
"… Don't be stupid." Chris rolled his eyes, and rubbed the back of his neck. A terrible sign. One of the worst signs, in fact. "That would be Piers Nivans."
"Nivans," Leon repeated thoughtfully.
"My new sniper."
For a moment, the name meant nothing, then Leon remembered. Chris had been talking about a young marksman he wanted to personally recruit, right before he'd left. The one who apparently kept performing increasingly impossible shots.
Leon stared at the door. "Wait, that's him? The one you've been talking about?"
A smile appeared on Chris' face.
Leon laughed. "Get out! How old is he?"
"… Twenty three."
"No way."
"Leon."
"That's the one?"
"Yes."
"The one you keep describing as exceptional?"
Chris sighed heavily. "The very same."
Leon glanced toward the door despite the fact that Piers had disappeared several minutes ago, then looked back at Chris, finding the entire situation increasingly amusing.
"Exceptional."
"Yes."
"That's the adjective we're settling on."
Chris closed his eyes briefly, as though summoning the patience required to deal with him.
"Don't start."
"I wasn't planning to."
"You absolutely were."
Leon took another sip of coffee, studying Chris over the rim of the mug before deciding that there was no point pretending.
"He's ridiculously pretty."
The reaction was immediate. Chris nearly choked. Leon actually lowered the mug.
"Oh, wow."
"Shut up."
"You noticed."
"Leon."
"You noticed."
The silence that followed lasted just long enough to become an answer in itself. Eventually Chris exhaled through his nose.
"Well, of course I noticed, I have eyes. That's not the point."
The admission escaped before he could stop it. A fatal mistake. Leon's grin became positively unbearable. "I knew it."
Chris pointed at him immediately. "Stop it. He's one of the most talented soldiers I've ever worked with."
“... I bet.” Teased Leon.
That, at least, was different.
The amusement faded slightly from Leon's expression as he heard the sincerity underneath the words, because Chris was not talking about Piers' appearance; he was talking about him the same way he talked about everyone he had personally chosen to invest in, with a mixture of pride, admiration, and fierce protectiveness that Leon had always found strangely endearing.
For a moment, he found himself remembering all the times Piers' name had been mentioned recently, whether in reports, mission briefings, or late-night conversations, remembering the impossible shots, the successful operations, the quiet certainty with which Chris always spoke about him, as though there had never been any doubt that Piers Nivans would join his dream team, as Leon called them.
He decided to hold the jokes about making him feel welcome on the base.
The conversation drifted naturally toward safer subjects after that, though Leon privately suspected that Chris was keeping a suspiciously close eye on him in case he decided to start talking about Piers again.
Not that he was going to. Immediately, anyway. Instead, he wandered lazily around the office while Chris returned to his paperwork, pretending to read a report while clearly waiting to see whether Leon intended to remain in the building for more than fifteen minutes this time.
The thought made something warm settle in Leon's chest.
Without really thinking about it, he slipped a hand into his jacket pocket, his fingers brushing against the small object he'd been carrying around for the better part of a week, his finger absently toying with the keyring as his gaze wandered across the office.
The place looked exactly the same.
The same shelves.
The same framed photographs.
The same carefully organized chaos that somehow managed to be both professional and unmistakably Chris. He'd always had a disorganised and untidy desk, and now that he had his own office, the whole room felt... Kinda personal, in an untidy way.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
There had to be somewhere funny to put it.
Somewhere Chris wouldn't notice immediately.
His eyes lingered on a shelf.
Then a filing cabinet.
Then the lamp.
The possibilities were endless.
Eventually, however, he abandoned the search and turned back toward the desk.
"Hey."
Chris looked up immediately. A little too immediately. "What?"
Leon hesitated just long enough to make it look casual. Which, considering how much thought he had already put into the question, was frankly ridiculous. "You got room for me tonight?"
The silence that followed lasted less than a second. Chris was far too well-trained to react visibly. Years of military service had seen to that. Still, Leon knew him. Knew the tiny pause. Knew the almost imperceptible relaxation of his shoulders. Knew exactly how much effort it was costing him not to look absurdly pleased. "Sure."
The answer came out perfectly neutral. Almost suspiciously neutral. "If you want."
Leon had to look away before he laughed. Because if Chris became any more obvious, people were going to start noticing. "Guess I'll stay, then."
"Good."
Another report was picked up. Another attempt at professionalism was made. Leon was becoming increasingly convinced he hadn't read a single line since arriving. Neither of them was fooling anyone. After a moment, Chris cleared his throat. "I'll probably head to lunch in about an hour."
The words sounded casual. Routine. The kind of thing one colleague might say to another. "If you're still around, you can come with me."
Leon smiled despite himself. As invitations went, it was almost laughably ordinary. No grand declarations. No emotional conversations. No mention whatsoever of the fact that they had spent the last six weeks on opposite sides of the country missing each other. Just lunch. Just coffee. Just another afternoon together.
The sort of thing that absolutely did not explain why Chris suddenly looked ten years younger than he had twenty minutes ago. And somehow that made it mean more.
"Yeah," Leon said softly. "I'd like that."
Chris nodded once before returning his attention to the report in front of him, while Leon settled himself into the small couch next to the coffee machine.