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The rain had started to let up, casting the house in a weird atmosphere of sunny with a shroud of grey heavy clouds; not that he minded, but it felt almost disgustingly like an omen. His house was soft, the outside overcast light drenched the living room in a tentative glimmer, the shred of something before inevitable rain, again.
It’s not that he hated overcast weather, that and rain had started to grow on him. There were more chances of being left alone; people hated going out when it rained. Any Nuclear Family would do is huddle together and watch corny movies, cute, but a perspective Leon hadn’t even thought of for himself.
He had a contract ready, a small op in near the US border and Canada. He usually goes through the usual routine, gearing up, stocking his house, locking up, turning on the security, the works.
But of course he had to go and fuck everything up.
An auspicious day for an auspicious letter.
He had half the mind to burn the letter before even opening, trying to limit his contact with an unrelenting yet almost admirably stubborn Chris Redfield. How did he even get his address in the first place? Not like his location is in every TV ad. And yet-
Leon turned the envelope over, his frown morphing into more of a fond annoyance at the red lipstick mark on the corner.
Of fucking course.
Opening the letter, Leon almost did a double take at how flashy and… fucking cheesy it was.
“YOU’RE INVITED TO THE REDFIELD BACKYARD GRILL PARTY! BE THERE OR BE SQUARE! AND DON’T BE TRIANGLE!”
It was a hodge-podge of clip art on a loud yellow paper with red, green, pink, other colors he couldn’t care to name, confetti. The text remained in a classic red with a cliche dorky-ass font that reminded him of “The Berenstain Bears”. Leon found a half-smile flittering across his face. He checked the location; it was Claire’s house, he’s clocked that place once or twice, nice home with a rather ostentatious backyard for his liking, but if this was a recurring event, then it made sense.
The date however…
Leon frowned, checking his watch, at the same time wondering why going to this stupid party made something in him flutter. The contractor gave him three weeks to finish, and low-and-behold the Redfield-thing happened in the last week of his contract. Fuck, he’d miss it-
Leon paused, wondering why on God’s brown Earth did he care so much. His eyes trailed over the invite, something wrong and heavy sat in his chest.
He threw away any form of normalcy, and a chance at a happy living a long time ago. He burned it when he didn’t join Chris back in Valdelobos and he scattered the remains when he didn’t give the chip to Claire. He. Didn’t. Deserve. It.
Get your fucking head out your ass Wraith. You don’t deserve a place amongst the betters.
Leon sighed, eyes all of a sudden tired, mind weary. He dropped the invite on his coffee table, grabbing his duffle before leaving his house, the door shutting sounded final in his head.
. . .
“You know, I think Sherry said she was lactose-intolerant to avoid having your casserole.” Claire hummed, writing another thing on the list, ignoring the look on her brother’s face. “What?! But…” He sighed, “Isn’t my cooking good?”
Claire shrugged, “If you have to ask, dear-brother mine, then you might have the answer.” Claire smirked at Chris’ pout, “You’ve gotten better though. I remember the first time you tried replicating dad’s chimichurri.”
“Don’t-”
“Like, eating grass and taking a shot of olive oil that had somehow curdled.”
“Isn’t that what chimichurri is supposed to taste like?”
“Not like that,” She saw the sulk from her brother as she nudged his head with her elbow, “Come on, at least you know the ins and outs of a grill. Why would we have these festivities regardless?
She turned back to her list, running through what she’ll need to grab. Claire hummed, “Did I recall Piers saying he was a pescetarian?” Chris nodded, almost looking hurt by the notion that anyone could not eat red meat. Claire sighed, “Since when did hosting a grill become so much of a chore?”
Chris stood up, “Since we swore to continue the tradition.” He stretched, walking over their list of invites as Claire grumbled half-heartedly, ’Stupid traditions.’
Claire continued to mumbled to herself about all the ingredients they’d need, leaving Chris staring at their invite list. It consisted primarily of friends and colleagues and… well… it only consisted of friends.
Chris felt the paper under his fingers, “Did… has Leon RSVP’d yet?” Immediately cringing at his tone; sounding more like a child telling his parents he threw up. Claire luckily didn’t let him stew for very long.
“Unfortunately no. But it’s more of a chance that he’d just show up than let anyone know. Don’t be too worried; you’ve already done leaps and bounds more than what anyone has ever done for him.” Chris found himself nodding on instinct before-
“What?” He turned. He caught Claire mid shrug, “I’ve been his one person outside his ’work’ that he’s seen on a regular basis, and even that’s pushing it. We’ve talked most in the span of a couple years, and that’s like two phone calls max.” She waved a pen in his general direction, “But you? You’ve had text threads that are probably the most non-mercenary conversations he’s had in decades.”
Chris hated how susceptible he was to embarrassment, the warmth radiating from his ears and neck acted almost like a betrayal, “I wouldn’t call them conversations. It’s mostly dumb cat gifs he sends me.” She made a face, “But that’s just it, isn’t it? Chris, I don’t even have his phone number,” She continued when Chris looked at her like she lost her shoe, “He calls me on burners. I’m grateful for every chance I get, of course, but his life is vastly different than ours. You said it yourself, he used to work for Albert Wesker. He’s on the opposite side you so clearly stationed yourself against.”
Chris didn’t have anything to say to that, nothing that Claire hasn’t unfortunately been on the receiving end of his ranting about a dozen times by now. She approached, having to reach to ruffle his cropped hair, “He’ll be there, I have a feeling. And if he isn’t then hell I’d be down to throw him a quieter party.” Her face pulled into a shit-eating-Redfield grin, “As long as he doesn’t proclaim himself to be vegan or some shit.”
Chris laughed, shaking his head before he shoved her on the couch, her harrumph as she landed was only blocked by the pillow colliding square in his face.
. . .
In hindsight, he would’ve congratulated himself for eliminating all the soldiers and bio-weapons before he went and got shot, but he was a tad bit preoccupied right now.
The sonofabitch was dead, but not after landing a lucky shot in Leon’s thigh and forearm, nothing fatal that he could ascertain, but enough for him to know it fucking hurt.
Leon considered it, he always had; of simply lying down and letting ye old fate finally let go of him, to let him simply just… disappear.
But he hated the chattering of his teeth when his warm blood dripped out of him in rivulets. He hated the dizziness and sway of his steps as he forced himself to continue walking; to what end goal he wasn’t sure. He managed to shove the door open before he tripped on his own two fucking feet, the ground rushing to meet him before he-
“Get up.” Sharp pressure on his leg had Leon gasping for air, his eyes barely opened before he was lashing out. He might be half dead, but he’d be damned if anyone tried to fuck with him before he bit the bullet.
“Leon. It’s me.” He groaned, hazy pale eyes finally finding Ada’s figure, “The f’ck are you here?” He slurred, his head hitting the floor, that awful strange exhaustion was pulling and whispering into his ears.
“Your contract wanted you dead.” She said, hauling him up, ignoring his ragged cry and the puffs of air in the fucking snow.
“G-go figures…” He sighed, his head was growing with static, sleep felt mere moments away and yet lightyears beyond.
“You,” he tried to speak, to fill the gaps growing larger in his head, “Since when… when do you… help me?” He tried to put one leg under him, unable to stop his half sob-half cry, his leg searing with the GSW.
Ada didn’t seem that upset at him, then again, she was probably compartmentalizing their situation. “I didn’t take you for a coward, Kennedy.”
“F’ck you…” He growled, forcing him to walk with her sudden insult. She continued, “And here I go making sure Chris Redfield’s invitation gets to your house in the middle of nowhere, only for you to decide to die in a fucking op.”
Leon’s head throbbed, realizing dumbly that his jaw was clenched tight; how he didn’t have a chipped tooth was beyond him. “Didn’t ask you to do that…” He groaned, losing ground only for Ada to haul him back up. “You didn’t but I did it for you, so shut up and walk.”
Leon lost more time because next thing he knew he was lying down on the seat of a Helicopter, his leg and arm felt damn near scorching. Words were tossed up, concussion… hypothermia… the rest faded as the medic finished wrapping his arm and leg, giving him some high, and most likely illegal, pain killers.
Leon jerked out a curse when the Helo landed with an unceremonious thud. He must’ve stayed lying down for too long before hands were on him, leaving Leon to bat them away again angrily, “Don’t fucking touch me…” he snarled, eyes open before he shoved himself up, swaying an embarrassing amount before he had the sense to open his eyes, see where they landed.
Right near his home.
Great, he can go in and pass out and hopefully not have to deal with people shoving themselves in his life. But… his anger had all but washed away with each drain of blood. He turned to see Ada, her red and black attire had a bit more red spots on her shirt and pants, but what caught his eye was the genuine softness in her gaze. “What.” He growled, panting.
She sighed, her professionalism back, “I like you alive,” he started to scoff, sounding more like a cough as she continued, “People like you alive, so keep it that way until everyone who likes you alive is either dead or infected, understand?”
“I don’t have to do shit, Ada.” He tried for a glare, fuck he just needed to sleep. She shook her head, “Fine, then I’ll go to this grill and say that you died a sad and miserable death and for them to stop inviting you to their little pockets of joy.”
She saw him coming a mile away, but she needed him to see how much he cared. He growled, slamming her against the Helo with surprising force, eyes mirthless and hollow. A snarl visible in his bared teeth. A glimmer of what was a long time ago.
Wraith
“You fucking touch them, and I’ll make sure your vivisected like the fucking dog you are.” He sighed, stepping back with a poignant breath. “Thanks for the save, I’ll try to remember it next time you blackmail me.” He waved her off, leaving Helo, satisfied when it finally took off.
Leon slammed his door shut, flinching before his house was plunged into silence. His house felt like an anechoic chamber more than a home. He blinked and he was sitting on his couch, his spasming hand clutching his shirt, the hot tear down his face felt like a betrayal, teetering on the precipice of damnation before his phone… buzzed? He jumped, immediately clutching his head, muttering a curse. He grabbed his phone, who the fuck-
Large Redfield: Hey, just wanted to double check if you were coming to our grill party tomorrow. Claire needs to know how much meat we will have to make.
There was a soft sound in the room, but he ignored it. Leon’s finger scrolled up at their past conversations, his dumb useless gifs and the many photos Chris shared with texts like, “Men Fear me, Fish want me.” With Chris with a rather large fish that Leon didn’t care to know the name.
The sound grew louder, Leon couldn’t care less. Images of Chris and Claire, and sometimes the begrudging photo of Nivans with Chris’ dumb text of “Someone’s camera shy.”
And more of his stupid cat gifs.
The noise in the room was louder, loud enough for Leon to realize that it was him. He was wailing, screaming practically. His phone shook in his hand, emotions of rage and pure guilt throttling him. Leon’s vision was nearly gone, adrenaline and exhaustion rushing to crash into him, giving him one final act as he threw his phone across the room before his eyes rolled back, darkness claiming him.
. . .
Chris immediately wanted to delete his text to Leon, but his text had been sent, whether he wanted it to or not. He sighed, rubbing his face, only opening his eyes when the soft clink of a glass and Piers was there, “Didn’t know hosting would give you grey hairs.” He sat beside him, both of them nursing glasses of whiskey. Chris grumbled in protest, “It’s not that.”
“It’s with Kennedy, right?” Chris frowned, looking at Piers who just shrugged, “Had a hunch, I saw his name on the list of invites when I was helping Claire and Sherry set up the event.”
“And you’re not barking at the heel?” Chris hummed, a creased frown on his face. Piers snorted, “You can’t blame me when we first met, well… maybe you can, but I’ve grown to just accept that meeting him will be a multiple occurrent-thing.” Piers nudged Chris’ shoulder, “So? Is he coming?”
The large man sighed, “I don’t know.” He rubbed his face for a second time, seeing the fact that he was left on read.
“Hey, even if he doesn’t you’ll still have fun, right? None of that moping? Over shit you can’t control?” Piers cocked his head, trying for a smile for Chris. Begrudgingly, he got one, “Remind me to never have you be promoted as my second.”
Piers laughed, clinking their glasses together, “Understood, Captain.” Chris groaned, “Dear god.”
. . .
Leon didn’t know he was awake before he was throwing up. His eyes flew wide open, gasping for air. He dry-heaved a few times before he shuddered, when had he fallen asleep?
The overcast day had been dashed. It was sunny and so fucking bright. He pushed himself up, dragging himself to his bathroom before he slumped over the counter. He had felt like shit, but at least he was still conscious.
Leon’s mind was elsewhere the entire rest of the morning. He had cleaned up his own mess, showering with barely a care about his injuries. He had taken painkillers and was nursing a whiskey, feeling more like himself but still a fucking jigsaw that someone had ham-fisted and jammed the wrong pieces together to force them to fit; working, but not as intended.
He had barely known why or how he had woken up in the first place before the obnoxious rays of sun had illuminated an ugly yellow paper on his coffee table.
The dry whiskey didn’t help the feeling in his stomach, touching the paper like it had heard him, like it had seen everything the night before.
“YOU’RE INVITED TO THE REDFIELD BACKYARD GRILL PARTY! BE THERE OR BE SQUARE! AND DON’T BE TRIANGLE!”
Fucking… christ…
He didn’t deserve this, so why was he checking the time to see if he’d miss it. Why had he felt relief when he still had time to make it. He was injured for fuck’s sake he couldn’t hide two GWS and a possible concussion. What an idiot.
He didn’t deserve this, so why did he limp to his dresser, grabbing nicer clothes. The pain of moving his arm and leg had focused him back down to Earth, where his mind was slipping to Cloud Nine.
"What the fuck am I doing?” He sighed, blinking back the last vestiges of sleep and pain.
But even as he said that, he still slid the clothes on, still limped to the mirror, seeing if he had looked like shit-warmed over, a part of him hoping he did, maybe his appearance would deter him.
But beside from his hair looking like a mess, he had looked relatively okay. Fuck.
Before he knew it, he was off, driving on his Ducati Diavel V4. Maybe the strain on his thigh while driving would cause him to turn around, he hoped. He didn’t deserve this, so why did he keep going.
He parked his Ducati on the side of the street, the air suddenly punched from his lungs. He had seen Claire’s house before, a nice house at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was seemingly a normal house with dark green accent walls and two stone pillars accenting the front. The roofs were a dark yet unmistakable red tile. Leon turned off his motorcycle, only realizing he was shaking from how his keys jangled.
He breathed in for four, held for four, and exhaled for four.
I don’t deserve this.
I don’t deserve this.
I don’t fucking deser-
“Leon! You made it!” A friendly baritone voice broke his attention. His head shot up, seeing Chris walking from the front door, wearing a beige shirt, cargo shorts, and a god awful “Kiss the Cook” apron that was dyed pink and a familiar ugly yellow. Leon hastily swallowed the bubbling rise of emotions in his throat.
He was right. He didn’t deserve it, but damn if it didn’t feel nice to have it, even for a little bit.
Leon smiled despite himself, his eyes crinkling with the effort.
“What else would I be doing?”