Chapter Text
The smell of gun oil clung to Leon’s fingers as he finished cleaning his pistol, sliding it back into the holster with a practiced motion. The chopper ride back from his latest mission had been silent—save for the hum of the rotor blades and the occasional crackle of comms.
Now, back at HQ, the only thing on his mind was winding down. Well, that and maybe grabbing something stronger than coffee. The last few days had been a whirlwind of chaos—a rogue bio-terrorist group, an underground lab, and one too many close calls with mutated freaks. All in a week’s work for Leon S. Kennedy.
Chris Redfield, the Golden Boy of the BSAA, leaned against the bar in the lounge, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt. The man had a beer in hand and a grin that practically screamed, “I told you so.”
“So,” Chris said, tipping his bottle toward Leon as he approached, “heard you had a rough one. Rumor’s going around you took down a Tyrant and a swarm of lickers. Alone.”
Leon rolled his eyes, dropping into the seat across from him. “They’re exaggerating. It was one Tyrant and a small swarm of lickers. Probably only, what? Twenty of them?” He smirked, but his tone was as dry as the Sahara.
Chris let out a low whistle. “Damn, Kennedy. You ever think about taking a vacation? You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
“What’s a vacation?” Leon quipped, waving over the bartender. “Just give me whatever’s cold,” he said without glancing at the menu. He wasn’t picky tonight.
Piers Nivans, Chris’s protégé, joined the table, looking far too fresh-faced for someone who’d also just returned from a mission. The kid still had that eager, boy-scout energy that reminded Leon of his rookie days.
“You’re back earlier than I thought,” Piers said, setting down a glass of water. “Figured you’d be out there another week.”
“Trust me,” Leon replied, cracking open the cold beer that had just been set in front of him, “if I had to spend another day smelling like a sewer, I’d have volunteered for cryo-freeze.” He took a long sip and leaned back in his chair. “Besides, HQ starts breathing down your neck if you stay in the field too long. Can’t have their golden goose going missing.”
Chris chuckled, but there was a knowing edge to it. “Golden goose, huh? They’re not exactly giving you the VIP treatment, are they? Let me guess—they sent you in with half-baked intel and no backup?”
Leon raised a brow. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Welcome to the club,” Chris said, clinking his bottle against Leon’s. “You should try telling them no once in a while. It’s liberating.”
“I’ll try that next time they throw a national emergency in my lap,” Leon replied with a smirk. “‘Sorry, can’t save the world today, my therapist said I need to work on boundaries.’”
Piers nearly spit out his water. “You’d actually say that?”
“No,” Leon deadpanned. “But it’s fun to think about.”
The conversation shifted to lighter topics—Chris’s complaints about the BSAA’s bureaucratic red tape, Piers’s embarrassing attempt to ask a girl out at a mission briefing, and some old war stories that still got a laugh no matter how many times they were told. Leon found himself relaxing, the tension from the last mission slowly bleeding away with each sip of his beer.
“You know what you need?” Chris said suddenly, pointing a finger at Leon like he’d just had a revelation.
“Let me guess,” Leon replied, “a hobby? A dog? Therapy?”
Chris grinned. “Close. A vacation. Somewhere tropical. No guns, no zombies, just sun, sand, and maybe a drink with one of those little umbrellas in it.”
Leon snorted. “You offering to pay for it?”
“Hell no,” Chris said, leaning back. “But I’ll take credit for the idea when you finally do it.”
The three of them laughed, and for a moment, it was easy to forget the weight of their jobs. The monsters, the losses, the unending fight against bioterrorism—all of it felt distant in the warm glow of camaraderie and cheap beer.
Leon had just leaned back in his chair, ready to fully sink into the moment, when his phone buzzed against the table. He glanced at the screen. Unknown number. He debated letting it go to voicemail but figured it could be important.
“Give me a sec,” he said, excusing himself from the group and stepping outside into the cool night air.
“Kennedy,” he answered, keeping his tone casual.
There was a pause on the other end, followed by a hesitant, familiar voice. “Leon?”
His brow furrowed. “Yeah, who’s this?”
“It’s... Anastasia. Anastasia Graham.”
Leon froze. The name hit him like a sucker punch. He hadn’t thought about her in months—not since that one reckless night. “Uh, hi. What’s going on?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Listen, I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “I… I’m pregnant. And it’s yours.”
Leon blinked, his brain struggling to process her words. “Wait, what?”
“I’m serious, Leon. I’ve thought about this a hundred times, and I… I know it’s yours,” Anastasia continued, her tone growing more frantic. “I need your help. I don’t know what to do.”
Leon’s mouth opened, then closed. His heart pounded in his chest. “This has to be some kind of scam,” he muttered, half to himself.
“It’s not a scam!” Anastasia shot back, clearly offended. “Leon, I—”
“Look, I don’t have time for this,” he interrupted, running a hand through his hair. “If this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny.”
“Leon…” she said, her voice softer now, almost pleading.
“I’ve gotta go,” he said, cutting her off. He ended the call before she could respond and stared at his phone, his mind racing. Was this for real? Or just some elaborate scam?
Shaking his head, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and returned to the lounge. Chris and Piers looked up as he sat down, their conversation pausing.
“Everything okay?” Chris asked, his brow creasing.
“Yeah,” Leon said, grabbing his beer and taking a long swig. “Wrong number.”
Chris shrugged, and the conversation resumed, but Leon’s mind was elsewhere.
Back at the table, the conversation was as lively as ever. Chris was midway through recounting an absurd story about punching a boulder—again—while Piers tried to suppress his laughter. Leon, though, barely registered any of it. His grip on the beer bottle tightened, his mind replaying Anastasia’s words in a maddening loop.
“...and then the damn thing actually moved,” Chris said, his voice rising in triumph. “Can you believe it?”
Piers, wide-eyed, shook his head. “You’re lying. There’s no way.”
“Swear on my badge,” Chris said, holding up three fingers in a mock scout’s pledge. “Kennedy knows what I’m talking about.”
Leon snapped out of his daze, realizing both men were looking at him. “What?”
“The boulder,” Chris prompted. “Remember when I—”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” Leon cut in, forcing a smirk. “How could I forget? You’ve only told that story a hundred times.”
Chris grinned, clearly unfazed. “Well, it’s a damn good story.”
Leon nodded absently, his attention drifting once more. He could still hear Anastasia’s voice in his head—trembling, insistent. The weight of her words pressed down on him like a lead blanket. 'I’m pregnant. And it’s yours.'
He took another long pull from his beer, hoping the cold bitterness would drown out the rising tide of anxiety. But it didn’t. Instead, it sharpened his thoughts, forcing him to confront the possibility that this wasn’t a prank or a scam. What if she was telling the truth?
“Leon?” Piers’s voice cut through his reverie. “You good, man? You’ve been quiet.”
“Yeah,” Leon said quickly, setting his bottle down. “Just tired. Long mission.”
Chris studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Leon hesitated, considering how much to say. In the end, he shrugged. “Just a weird call earlier. Nothing serious.”
Chris didn’t press, but the skeptical look on his face said he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Well, if you need to talk, you know where to find me.”
Leon nodded, appreciating the gesture even if he had no intention of taking him up on it. The last thing he needed was to unload this on Chris—or anyone else, for that matter. He wasn’t even sure what “this” was yet.
“Anyway,” Chris said, clapping his hands together, “enough about me. Piers, tell Leon about your little stunt with the drone.”
“Oh, come on,” Piers groaned, his face flushing. “Do we have to?”
Chris grinned. “Absolutely.”
As the story unfolded, Leon managed to laugh along with the others, though his mind remained elsewhere. The easy camaraderie of the lounge felt like a fragile bubble, one he wasn’t sure he could stay in much longer.
Eventually, Leon stood, stretching his arms above his head. “Think I’m gonna call it a night.”
Chris raised a brow. “You sure? It’s still early.”
“Yeah,” Leon said, offering a faint smile. “Got some stuff to take care of tomorrow. You know how it is.”
Chris nodded, though his expression was tinged with concern. “Alright. Take it easy, Kennedy.”
“You too,” Leon replied, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door. As he stepped out into the cool night air, he felt a strange mix of relief and dread.
He pulled out his phone, staring at the screen. Part of him wanted to call Anastasia back, demand answers, figure out what the hell was going on. But another part—the larger part—wanted to shove this whole mess into a corner of his mind and pretend it didn’t exist.
With a heavy sigh, he slipped the phone back into his pocket and started walking. For now, the only thing he was sure of was that this wasn’t going away anytime soon.