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Leon started to feel sick. At first it was just a small, yet persistent, tickle in his dry throat that irked him as he continued to work. After the Raccoon City incident, the police officer became more sceptical about illness in general. This culminated in actions like keeping his apartment spotless whenever he had the time, or keeping a close eye - and a good distance away from - anyone who coughed more than he liked.
He wasn’t even in a good position to be sick. Working long hours as a police officer seemed to be one of the only things that Leon felt that he could do to make much of a difference. If he couldn’t bury his problems in the nearest bottle of whiskey, burying it in paperwork and cases would have to suffice. Staying up late to finish up paperwork for the final few cases, or racing around in the ice cold rain to catch any lowtime criminal, Leon would do anything to keep busy. He was doing his job, the job that he would have been doing in Raccoon City if it wasn’t for Umbrella.
His uniform felt heavier as he walked, and lights in the police station began to hurt. Occasionally someone, most likely a colleague, would ask if he was okay, their brows knotted with worry.
“I’m alright,” the young rookie gave a small smirk, before pulling his collar away from his neck, which was slick with sweat, "Just a little under the weather."
Soon enough the day came to an end. Leon changed clothes and left the station. His jacket felt much heavier than usual, and Leon made sure to hold his motorcycle helmet with both hands so that he didn’t drop it.
“Leon,” the young man turned around to see Marvin standing next to the cop car. “Heard you weren't feeling too good.”
“It’s fine Marvin,” Leon took a moment to cough some more, each one more painful than the last “It’s nothing much.”
“Look, Rookie, if you need to take a day off tomorrow to get yourself straight, you can take it; we have more than enough people thanks to your efforts, and you rarely use your sick days.” Marvin gave Leon a sympathetic look.
“It’s fine,” Leon gave him a weak smile back as he said goodbye. “If it’s bad enough, I’ll call. I have the weekend off anyway.”
The air bit his skin as Leon made his way to his motorcycle. It was a jet black cruiser with silver detailing on the sides. Suddenly he felt uncomfortable riding it, despite him using it to travel around. It had remained beside him well after Raccoon city. He found it on sale, during a vacation, in a garage sale from an old man who, encouraged by his wife, cut a deal with him on the vehicle.
“It’s one of my favourites,” the man held on to the handle lovingly, looking up at Leon with a mix of grief and pride in his eyes, clouded with age, “Used to ride it to death when I was your age. Took all sorts of risks. Take good care of it.”
Leon promised he would. The grip of his helmet grew weaker with each step as he approached the motorcycle. A heavy lump grew in Leon’s throat and he stopped in front of the motorcycle. His hair began to stick to the sides of his face as breathing became slightly more laborious. Forcing the helmet over his head, Leon got on to the motorcycle and made his way home.
It was hard to appreciate the sun sinking into the waters next to the road when there was now an aching headache plaguing him. Leon just tried to concentrate on the road. The road lights began to turn on as they rushed past him, the river pulling further away from him as he sped towards the apartment complexes. Towards home. Towards you.
You and Leon had been dating for a few months now. You were one of the only people who allowed his past to remain just that. The past. You didn’t dig for information to fuel the numerous online conspiracies there are, or shrink away from the dry humour he had developed. You stayed by his side, always a quiet, but strong, support system within his life. Smelling the rich aroma of fresh bread, bubbling jam and tea made Leon’s queasy stomach rubble. You were home.
The smell of the food got stronger once Leon got inside. You were the main reason that Leon's apartment actually had food that wasn’t in a can, and that the apartment had furniture that was a different colour other than brown, black or white. It wasn't out of laziness Leon lived the way he did, but he just found himself eating simply without a second thought. It was enough that he could do the things he needed to do day to day without a hitch. You, however, hated it, and would regularly visit to cook for you
“Hey Leon,” You chirped from the kitchen. No matter how dirty you managed to get whilst cooking, you were still beautiful to Leon. But the flour made Leon double over in a coughing fit.
“Are you sick?” Leon coiled away from you when you attempted to palm his forehead.
“I’m not sick, sweetheart,” Leon struggled to give a smile this time, his voice getting smaller and hoarse. The longer he wore his clothes, the more unbearable the fabric against his skin became, “I’m just gonna lay down for a couple hours.”
With that, Leon dropped his helmet near the door and slinked into the bedroom without another word, no longer looking at you in the eyes. It was clean - thanks to you - and was sparsely decorated. It wasn’t long until the young officer collapsed onto the soft linen and fell asleep.
Leons eyes snapped open as he felt the back of his head smack against a brick wall. He groaned in agony as a gloved hand tightened around his neck. His heart tightened inside of his chest as Leon looked up to see a tall man stare back at him with blank white eyes that glowed in the dark. He wore stiff leather clothes and he remained stoic and silent as the heavy rain dripped over its grey skin. It was the Tyrant. Leon, as he continued to struggle against the monster, his hands slipping on the gloved hand that gripped the police officer like a vice.
A searing pain travelled from his neck up to his head and down to his chest. The Tyrant’s grip got stronger. Leon breathed deeper, trying hard to get as little oxygen there was in the smoke filled air, into his lungs. The heat grew. By now, Leon’s head began to swim as he thrashed against the wall, desperation sinking in. The heat was unbearable now, infecting his entire body. He thought he had escaped. Leons vision became more blurred and eventually faded into black.
Leon woke up with a shock, tears in his eyes. You were there. You held him in your arms as he wrapped his strong arms around your waist, face in your thighs. Leon hadn’t noticed he was shirtless, only dressed in pyjama pants. His back rose and fell with each breath, choked sob and cough Leon had in chest.
You stroked his ashy blonde hair in silent concern. You had taken his temperature earlier while he was asleep, his scaling forehead being too great of a concern to ignore. 40 degrees celsius. You didn’t want to bombard him with questions, like why didn’t he tell you he was sick. Why did he overwork himself like this? Why wouldn’t he let you help him?
After a few minutes you felt a shift on your leg, and you looked down to meet Leon's ocean blue eyes. They are dull with sickness and awash with tears. For a moment he just watched you, scanning your face for a hint of anger or disappointment. You spoke first.
“You’re fine.” You continued to push his golden locks away from his face as your husband broke his gaze for a moment, seemingly unsure what to say.
“I’m sorry,” Leon locked eyes with you again, tears building up in his eyes, “I just… didn’t think… It was so real.”
Then he told you everything. Everything that went on in Raccoon City. The fear that ravaged him as he tore through zombies that, only a few days earlier, were human like you and him. The guilt that gnawed at him as he speculated over any survivors. The people he had possibly been able to save. The small coughs started up again, and your hand travelled to his back. There were soft thuds of the rain against the window pane.
“It hurts,” your husband whimpered, his voice muffled. Your heart broke for him. All you could do was stroke back and hair, quietly saying ‘it’s alright’ and ‘I’m here’, as the night went on, and Leon eventually drifted back to sleep still in your warm embrace.
What finally woke Leon up was the grubble of his stomach. The smell of buttery pancakes filled his nostrils and Leon sat up in bed and (failed) to address his bed head the best he could. The sun streamed through the curtains and Leon heard the faint sound of pop music. He only decided to get out of bed once he looked over to the alarm clock.
9am.
He’s late. Leon flung himself out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen.
“Baby, you didn’t wake me-”
“I called Marvin already,” you turned away from the stove to look at your startled husband, “You have 2 days off.”
For a moment, Leon couldn’t say anything. Not because he didn’t have anything to say, but your beauty in an apron, dress and slippers seemed to just take his breath away.
“Are you ready for breakfast,” your smile made his heart skip a beat. He could only nod silently and sit at the table.
The smell of the sizzling bacon made his mouth water, but his stomach now seemed to squirm at the idea of food, even if he was hungry.
But he couldn’t bear disappointing you, so he sat down anyway. Soon enough, the whole breakfast spread was on the table - four slices of lightly toasted bread and pancakes, two small bowls of bacon and beans. Even brownies, Leon’s favourite. But his stomach still wouldn’t cooperate.
‘Leon?’
Leon looked up to find you staring at him, slightly concerned. His hand hadn’t moved from his lap.
‘Honey, I-’ he started ‘I want to eat something but.. But I’m not really hungry, you know?’
‘It’s okay honey,’ your reply, ‘Just eat as much as you can and we can keep the rest in the fridge.’
Leon bit this lip. He wanted to eat. Of course he did. Your food always tasted great. But his stomach lurched as soon as he raised his hand towards the fork.
Noticing his hesitation, you rose from your seat and slipped on onto his lap, a gentle smile playing on your lips. "Here, let me help you," you said, picking up a forkful of fluffy pancakes and offering it to him.
Leon's cheeks flushed crimson, but his lips and hands worked much faster than his brain did. His hands wrapped around your waist, steadying you, and he parted his lips, allowing you to feed him. The pancake tasted as lovely as it looked. The honey syrup spread over his tongue and a full pancake was easy to chew.
He looked up at you, his words so jumbled in his mind he could only ask one question.
“Could you feed me more?” he murmured sheepishly.
“Sure, baby,” you reply ,”How about bacon this time?”
Leon nodded, resisting the urge to bury his face into your shoulder out of sheer embarrassment. Homemade breakfast wasn’t new. You had been making breakfast for the both of them before the two of you had even gotten married a year ago.
But this. You are sitting on his lap, feeding him piece after piece of food. That was different. The remains of the fever faded away with every smile you gave and every giggle after he swiped the remains of honey from the corners of your mouth with his thumb, and licked it clean.
“So I guess you're feeling better?” you ask once you take the final piece of toast.
“Yeah,” Leon smiled. “Much better.”