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The first time it happened was after Claire first brought Leon over to introduce him to her older brother. Chris and Claire were living together at the time -- a temporary stay of convenience while Chris looked for a new place in a new town. They'd ordered Chinese and talked over a bad kung-fu movie, and Claire had made the unavoidable mention that they'd met in Raccoon City, but nobody had dwelled on it. They'd found other topics of conversation quickly out of desire to stay away from that one, and Claire had been thrilled that her friend and brother had been getting along so well.
Leon had a little too much to drink that night and stayed at the Redfield house -- Claire promised the couch wasn't comfortable enough to sleep on ("You'll get a horrible crick in your neck when you wake up, I mean it!") and Chris offered his bed, saying he had a floor and a sleeping bag plenty comfortable enough for Leon to have a good night's rest on a soft bed.
For a long time after the lights went out, it was quiet. Chris was certain Leon had gone to sleep, but for some reason, he just couldn't. He shifted against the floor -- hard despite the carpet -- and stared out the sliding glass window that led out to his balcony and, below, the dark parking lot. Everything was so peaceful here.
"Think you'll stay here?" Leon asked, quietly. Chris almost jumped -- he hadn't expected Leon to actually be awake.
He was quiet for a long moment -- so long Leon almost figured he'd misjudged that Chris was awake at all -- before answering.
"I don't know," he said, quietly. "Claire wants me to stay close by. Probably not such a bad idea." He stretched, yawning, and turned his gaze up to the ceiling. "Anyway, there's not really anywhere I want to go, even if this place is a little smaller than I got used to."
Leon laughed, just a little. "Yeah," he agreed. "Raccoon City's goddamn huge when you're trying to get the hell out of it."
Chris wasn't sure at first how to react to that statement -- he was smiling, a little, but probably only because Leon had laughed. "Did you live there a long time?" he asked.
"Yeah, I guess so. Originally from Philly, but I moved out to Raccoon City after the Academy. Police Academy, I mean."
"Oh yeah..." Chris shifted again, sitting up, knowing he wouldn't be getting to sleep any time soon. He peered over the edge of the bed towards Leon, who was still laying, his back to Chris. Chris noticed he was shirtless and almost laughed himself. "Claire mentioned, but I almost forgot you were a cop."
"Oh, yeah. Long-time service on the RPD. One whole day."
"That's alright," Chris answered, quickly, "you saw just as much interesting action as I did on a year and a half of S.T.A.R.S., give or take."
It was quiet again, for a long time -- a comfortable sort of silence, not the kind where one thinks one's said something wrong. Finally, Leon spoke up again. He was talking, suddenly, about the disaster -- about Raccoon City, about how, if he hadn't been late for work, he wouldn't be here now, he wouldn't have met Claire, he wouldn't have met Chris, how one day in his life could suddenly make him appreciate everything that was left. Chris was so surprised -- someone other than Jill, talking like they could understand how he felt, and he didn't realize that he had moved to sit on the bed until he felt Leon's hand on his shoulder -- Chris had leaned in and kissed the other man before he could stop himself, and Leon didn't pull away, and for a minute Chris was sure that everything was right, even when Leon pulled away and whispered something about Claire being in the next room. Chris just smiled -- "Then be quiet," he said, and the way Leon's eyes widened made Chris' heart pound in his chest with adrenaline he hadn't felt since the Spencer Mansion "incident" months ago.
The next morning Leon packed his bags and said goodbye to the two, promising to come visit again sometime.
"I'm glad you two got along," Claire said, smiling, one hand on Leon's shoulder, the other on Chris'. Leon looked at Chris, smiled, lifted a hand in a wave, and turned to leave.
The visits were fewer and more far between than either would have liked -- the Anti-Umbrella group Chris and Leon both participated in kept them together frequently, but neither ever mentioned what had happened the first night they'd known each other. Chris was beginning to be willing to bet it had been a fluke; a fault of nerves, some weird side-effect of the terror they'd both been through so recently. Leon knew better -- but even if he called Chris or met him for lunch, the underlying tension was never broken, never mentioned, as if Chris didn't even notice it.
"Your brother can be so clueless sometimes," he'd said to Claire once, and Claire laughed and agreed, and even though she looked curious, she didn't ask for more information.
It didn't happen again until Leon came back from Spain, feeling dirty, weary, tired, so broken up that he didn't know what to do, what to even think. He'd called in to the BSAA just before he'd boarded the plane to get Ashley home safe and sound, reporting that he was home, that he had a report to submit, that there had been an outbreak but that was all he could say right now.
Somehow, the message had gotten to Chris. Somehow, Chris had gotten to Leon's apartment before Leon did, and he was sitting in Leon's living room when Leon walked in, watching the front door carefully with a shielded, masked expression.
When Leon walked in and saw Chris sitting on his couch, he was torn between relief and increasing exhaustion. Part of him wanted to see Chris. The other part -- the part that feared that Chris was going to go on acting as if there was nothing intimate between them -- didn't want to see anybody, didn't want to deal with a friend who would ask questions, make him relive it, not just let Leon collapse against him and sleep (or try to).
Instead, Chris didn't say anything for a long time. Leon didn't want to stand any longer -- he dropped his bag and crossed the room, drowsy, delirious, falling against the couch. Chris moved to wrap an arm -- strong, warm -- around Leon's waist, pulling him in. Leon rested against Chris. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered what this meant, but he didn't have the energy to speculate. He looked up at Chris, the edges of his eyes red with exhaustion, and whispered against Chris' skin, his head resting on the other man's shoulder, lips brushing his neck -- "What the hell is this between us anyway?"
Chris looked so thrown off by the question that he didn't answer -- Leon thought maybe he was trying to find words, or trying to look for the answer himself, but he fell asleep before Chris could find them.
When he woke up, he was lying in his own bed, smelling sausage and eggs he only mildly thought he wanted to eat coming from the kitchen. That was a first -- he'd never woken up to the smell of cooking breakfast before. Well, not since he'd moved out on his own, anyway...
It took him a moment to remember the circumstances under which he'd fallen asleep, but it didn't take much longer to put two and two together and realize that Chris was in his kitchen, cooking breakfast. Leon was quick to pull on a pair of grey lounge pants and stalk down the hall, towards the kitchen, where Chris was busy, looking frantically through drawers.
"What are you looking for?" Leon asked, somewhat amused, and Chris glanced up, surprised, then sighed.
"Damn spatula," he answered, and Leon moved across the kitchen, stopping beside Chris, putting a hand on the other man's chest as he bent and dug into the open drawer Chris had been looking in, recovering the all-important utensil.
"Here," he said, pressing it into Chris' open palm. "Scramble eggs to your heart's content."
"I will, thanks," Chris answered, turning back towards the stove. Leon moved to sit at the kitchen counter he'd set up as a bar, climbing up into the stool and watching Chris carefully, thoughtfully.
"You didn't answer my question last night," he said, finally. Chris, who'd been in mid-stir, stopped for a second -- just one -- before going back to his cooking as if uninterrupted.
"I did," he said. "You just weren't awake to hear it."
Leon didn't answer. He didn't know if he believed Chris or not. It didn't really matter, he reasoned. Did the relationship, whatever it was, really need categorizing? Even so, Chris seemed to avoid every single mention of it, and maybe Leon didn't pursue it enough, but it was frustrating. Damn frustrating.
They ate breakfast, talked over empty plates, and sank into silence. When Chris got up to take Leon's plate to the sink, he snatched Leon's collar too, and Leon didn't protest when Chris forced him into his bedroom, against the bed, pressing him into the soft covers with the weight of his body, something so full and peaceful and tangible that Leon held onto it for dear life. When Chris kissed him, and Leon kissed back, so much was communicated between them that it didn't matter whether they talked about anything or not -- their relationship, their feelings, the missions, Spain, Raccoon City -- anything they put into words wouldn't begin to match what was expressed when their lips touched, when Leon's hands searched Chris' body, looking for answers he knew he would find if he just delved deep enough.
And when he met Chris at the airport after his returning flight from Africa, the two exchanged a look and a handshake that lingered a little too long. Chris' gaze wavered, his hand gripped too tight, and Leon knew that, as they moved from the airport and into his waiting car without exchanging words, he understood Chris more than anybody could.
That was, he told himself, enough. It would always be enough.