Chapter Text
“I thought you called because you wanted to grab dinner.”
It kills her—who he was used to be crystal clear to her and now she questions everything she thought she knew when he turned his back like that.
She lost him somewhere along the way because his precious job always came first and he always knows best. Just like Chris, stubborn freaking jackass and hiding things from her to the point of throwing her away.
She finds herself going back, desperate to go back—before he became a stupid government agent. Before their separate journeys in this war and before Jack Krauser.
Back to Raccoon City.
It hurts, but the pain of his memory feels good.
The paper’s old, faded and still bearing the stains and stink of the sewers, taken from her drawer of old documents she carried from Raccoon. She scans Leon’s words, hastily scrawled and left in the chance she’d find them.
‘Let the people know.’
So simple in its theory—its justice. The right thing. For the people.
How does he no longer believe this? Is his job really that precious to him, that he’s willing to do that, and turn his back on the people he’s supposed to protect?
It was hard to leave it there, pissed off, escape with her questions and the scars she bears for that same job he puts over her.
It hurt him, the eyes of a ship’s captain watching it all sink beneath the waves.
But he hurt her, too—every tear with every step guided her here, rifling through the old photographs and drawings at the bottom of the drawer, some drawn and given to her by Sherry, some old and some new.
A reason, a desperation if Leon’s at the bottom of this freaking drawer, somehow. The Leon she trusted with everything, is he still there?
She smiles at a few of the older sketches, Sherry was so talented, even then.
She gets to the bottom and has to pause, the faded drawing somehow screaming out loud with all her questions and heartache in every curve and line Sherry sketched of Leon’s form. Dressed still in his bloody uniform straight out of their hell, slouched against a concrete wall, knee drawn and the shaded eyes of no hope.
The eyes she saw in Jack’s gym. The eyes she saw last night in the heat of sunset.
Sherry had only said it was after she’d left. When they were “In that place we couldn’t leave, Claire, until Leon promised to help them.”
He only said they offered him a job, but how do they command that much freaking loyalty—he suffered and bled and nearly died to train for this job and he put her through hell.
~ * ~
Harder than all the questions burning her mind, was making the phone call.
The diner’s perfect in its cozy distractions, homegrown and popular, customers happily living their lives in the background of her thundering heart.
It kind of skips when he reaches her table.
“Was a little surprised when you called.”
She inhales for strength—he’s happy to see her in his smile, but he’s something else everywhere else, stiff, dull in his eyes.
Guarded, maybe, and it freaking stings.
“We have to be okay,” she pleads. “And I have to be able to ask questions.”
He flickers in consideration.
Will he even sit down?
Finally he slides into the booth across from her, hands idle on the table. “We’re always okay, Claire. But something tells me you didn’t just call me for lunch. What are you after?”
The waitress comes to his side. “What’ll it be?”
“Just coffee,” he answers, but it’s her he’s staring at. He’s tense, and maybe this was a mistake, because she suddenly feels like Ada in his eyes.
Trying to take something from him.
“The only thing I’m after is you.” She searches for the best way to say her mind. “I guess I’m just trying to find you,” she whispers the currents fluttering painfully across her skin.
He softens, shoulders drooping in his jacket as he clasps his hands with a sigh. “I’m sorry.” He speaks softer, too. “And I’m right here.”
“Are you?” She pulls the folded paper from her pocket, smoothing it out and sliding it to him.
He examines the faded note from Raccoon. “Jesus, didn’t know you’d found this, let alone kept it.” But he doesn’t seem too interested in it and it stings behind her eyes. “Jesus,” he says quieter.
“What happened?” she grits out. “How’d you go from that to this.”
A quick inhale as he quickly slides the paper back. “Guess I grew up.”
He could have slapped her and had the same effect.
“Oh, and the rest of us are just stupid children who don’t know what’s good for them, right? I’m not so stupid I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong. And neither are you.”
“It’s not about—” He’s clearly frustrated as the waitress comes over and sets his coffee at his elbow, waiting for her to leave. “You can’t have the chip, Claire, it’s too dangerous.”
Bullshit.
“For who? Me? Or for you?”
“Both.”
“Why?” she demands, watching him stir a bit of sugar into his cup.
“...I can’t tell you.”
Oh here we go. She’d like to slap that government right out of his stupid face.
But she can’t hold onto it when it hurts so much—where’s her partner, the one who would tell her everything, even the dirty details of how foolish and heartsick he was over Ada. Where’s the man she fought for?
“What happened to us?” she whispers as he sips his coffee. She hides her gaze in the table top—is it really a stranger now across from her?
She shivers when Leon grasps her hand, thumbing gently across her knuckles.
“We’re still here. I tell you everything I can, more than anyone else,” he whispers back and she wants to believe that’s still true. “But you don’t have the security clearance for the things you ask.” He laughs low with a more familiar care in his gaze. “Or the things you do. I can’t stop you from putting yourself in danger, Claire, but I’m never gonna be the one to put you there.”
His touch is warm—he sounds obnoxiously like Chris, or maybe himself, after all. Overprotective jackass, like she’s the stupid little kid sister they have to keep out of trouble.
The flutters kind of feel good anyway.
“But what happened after I left?” she presses, “After I left you with Sherry.”
His thumb pauses, and she misses the soothing strokes.
But the sudden storm of tension in his frame snags her attention.
“Hell of a thing to bring up. We’ve been over it.”
“Humor me, alright?”
His silence squirms, hand dragging away from her.
“They offered me the job and I took it. Why—”
“It can’t be that simple,” she digs, “You let Jack fillet you like a fucking fish and you didn’t even care or consider getting out of there and coming with me.”
His eyes waver along the table top.
She swallows. “Sherry said they made you promise to help. What did she mean, exactly?”
“She was scared, and alone.”
She stumbles with the cut of his words.
“Yes, I know she was,” she says quietly.
“Hey.” He reaches back across the table, firmly cupping her hand. “It’s all over and done with. We’re all okay, so let’s move on, alright?”
His pleading holds an edge, and it bites at her ankles like a freaking chihuahua.
“Just say it,” she spits, “Say if it’s classified or something and I’ll drop it, agent man.”
He doesn’t even have to say it, it’s all over his face, twitching in guilty streaks across his eyes and cheeks.
But he doesn’t say it, or anything, moving his gaze to the old paper like it holds escape.
It feels like he just slammed a door on her face.
“Okay, then. Fine.” She smiles best she can with the frustration ripping her apart, picking up the menu at her side. “I’m treating lunch, so don’t argue. There’s a two for one on bacon cheeseburgers and I won’t be denied, jerk.”
His silence stinks up the place as she continues to hide in the menu. The pictures blur together with her stare, the club sandwich special somehow morphing in with a plate of waffles.
“Why are you bringing this up now?” he whispers.
Because it started somewhere.
“Because I’m hungry,” she clips.
A tiny sigh. “There’s nothing to tell.”
Bullshit. This bullshit started somewhere. He—
She fights her throat to form the words without a wobble. “Just say it. Tell me you can’t tell me and not that you won’t.”
He breathes so loudly across from her.
“Tch.” She shakes her head, fighting the pain gathering in her eyes.
“It’s classified,” he says in a hush. “Just like everything related to what was below the city.”
She slaps the menu to the table. “I was there, Leon, I know what was below the city, so don’t—” She stops before she really loses her temper in front of a bunch of people.
His eyes are lost in the table, his old note, straight from the past of Sherry’s pencils.
She bites her lip, quietly losing the fight with her stupid eyes, just as quietly wiping the wet from her cheek.
His laugh is near silent. “What happened to dropping it?”
He said there’s nothing to tell but he’s really bothered and it kills her. Hurting him anymore isn’t something she can take right now.
She works harder to keep her voice steady. “Whatever you want, Leon, I don’t want to fight anymore, alright?”
“Claire.”
She blinks away the blur, trying to pretend he doesn’t sound so sad when he says her name.
~ * ~
The days crawl by and even as she tries to relax in her apartment, she instead devolves into another deep freaking cleaning session.
The place kinda stinks of bleach and regrets.
And some mysterious citrus smell.
Memories of Raccoon City and after steals her every other thought. They were in it together, and not being allowed to help him shoulder any of it sits like a freaking rock.
Whatever it was, whatever he’s not saying.
She swabs the cloth across the dark wood of her coffee table, tiny specks of dust twirling about in the dwindling sunlight. At least her apartment’s getting the treatment as her mind fucks with her, the place has never been so clean.
The answers to her questions probably lie in some deep dark government vault where they keep all their dirty little classified files and secrets.
She slams her dishwasher closed and straightens up the countertop. The kitchen is spotless, which is freaking irritating as she goes to investigate the living room again for something else to clean.
What she wouldn’t give to have one day with that kind of secret government stash, because it’s clear that she’s getting nothing from Leon. Something changed in him, and it’s frustrating and she hates it, but she can’t force him to open up to her, and pushing him away to the point of losing him just freaking hurts.
“Wow. Time flies when you’re having fun,” she mutters, clicking on the lamps on either side of the sofa. Her stomach growls and her nose burns with bleach. No freaking way she’s dirtying a damn thing in the kitchen.
She fishes for her cell phone. “Pizza time.”
With food on the way she slips into soft pajama shorts and heads to the kitchen for a glass of wine. She pours a generous glass of red when there’s a knock at the door. “Well that was a bit fast,” she scoffs. “Really trying to earn that tip.”
She opens the door, but it’s to a dark figure in the hall, propped against the doorframe. Definitely not what she expected and her guard flies up.
“Uh, hello?” She carefully scans the man, his face hidden against his forearm. Fringes of hair peak beneath the sleeve of his jacket. “Wait, Leon?”
“I can’t stand the way you look at me,” his voice rakes deep and heavy. The stench of liquor slams into her face when he shifts.
“Whoa-kay.” She tries not to breathe it in as he stumbles into her and through the door.
“Like I’m worthless—less than that stupid kid you think can save the world with a fucking toothpick and make everything okay because he says he can.”
She bristles, shutting the door behind them. “Leon, don’t come here trashed and pick a fight.”
“Guess we only pick fights on your schedule.”
“Seriously?” she spits. Well, she knows now what kind of drunk he is. A mean one, like her stupid brother.
He nearly crashes into her bookshelf with his wobbling steps.
“Don’t look at me like I can’t protect you,” he slurs, and it splinters with a liquored up rage. “Like I don’t give a damn!”
Experience with Chris taught her not to even engage when they’re like this. She gently herds him towards the couch. “Alright, you’re gonna sleep it the fuck off.”
“I did what I had to—it was the only choice—only other was a gun in my mouth.”
“What are you even talking about, Leon, just stop,” she begs. “Please stop. We’ll talk when you’re not completely fucking smashed and trying to hurt me.” She flops him onto the sofa, dragging over the waste basket near the coffee table.
“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he mumbles, his eyes falling closed and he seems to settle down. “Claire.”
She escapes to the kitchen for water and a breather. Her hand trembles against the cool of the glass under the faucet—it cuts too close to freaking home, Chris’ vodka soaked episodes, nonsensical in his fury and in his target which she just happened to be the convenient one, at times.
She never dreamed she’d ever be there with Leon.
He’s still awake when she comes back, tilting something in his hand in front of his eyes.
“Let the people know,” he mutters, his gaze shaded with contempt. “Let ‘em know, right?”
She pauses—is that the chip?
“That stupid kid thought he could protect people.” He suddenly chucks it to the side to get lost in her thick carpeting. “But you can’t make people understand.”
She kneels next to him as his eyes close again, setting the water down. “But you can’t save everyone like that,” she whispers, “People have to try.”
“Was her only chance—my only choice, Claire, and you look at me like it was the wrong one. Like I wasn’t worth it!”
“What are you talking about?”
He doesn’t answer as his breathing slows.
“Dammit, Leon,” she sighs, flopping down to the carpet to rest her spine against the sofa. She puzzles in his aftermath, listening to his sleepy breath. He’s never been such a dick to her before.
But she’s only seen him sober—where the hell did it all go wrong between them.
Her eyes find the object across the floor from her—it hurts, the childish part of her wishing it never freaking existed.
Still she finds herself crawling over and picking it up.
“What is this?” It’s not the chip. It’s a USB drive.