Chapter Text
During his BSAA career, Chris Redfield had long ago learned the difference between wanting and needing.
Most of his orders came in the form of a want, even if they meant need. It was like the word “need” was reserved for higher purposes, apocalypse scenarios, a last ditch effort. Like Bruce Willis had wanted to get onto that meteor or comet or whatever, but he’d needed to stay behind and sacrifice himself. The BSAA wanted Chris to go into the field and shoot whatever they pointed at, they wanted him to keep his men alive, they wanted him to stop these corporations and syndicates and cults and they wanted him to use any means necessary.
Chris had learned the stark difference between want and need back when he’d been young and stupid and had thought umbrellas were just useful tools on a rainy day. Now that he knew the difference, knew that a lot was wanted from him but rarely was something needed, the report coming across his desk after dredging through undergrounds tunnels in a shit hole bayou had been enough of a shock to give him an extra boost of energy, keeping him on his feet long after he’d needed to rest.
We need you to assist DSO Operative Leon S. Kennedy.
That word there. “Need.” That stuck out like red ink even when it was in the same regular black and white as all of his reports. There were often times when Chris’s missions would go from a want to a need, but he’d never seen it on paper. He’d never have the word staring him in the face, undeniable in its urgency. We need you to assist DSO Operative Leon S. Kennedy.
What could the President’s golden boy need of Chris? They’d clicked well after chewing each other out back in New York City— they’d taken down Arias and had gotten Rebecca the antidote to whatever steroid virus Arias had given her, and then they’d sprayed the rest of the infected city with the shit that looked like snow. Chris had lost one man. One. While that was unacceptable to him on so many levels, losing only one man on his team was a disgusting kind of improvement for him. Rebecca had given both him and Leon a hug, said something about always being happy to help, but preferring to help from the safety of a lab, and Chris had left with an extra number in his phone, Rebecca’s face smiling at him from his contacts. He’d gotten sent into Dulvey, Louisiana to help the fuck ups at Blue Umbrella, and Leon had been sent to wherever the fuck DSO agents went. Maybe he’d actually gotten that vacation.
A spiteful part of Chris had hoped he hadn’t. Call Chris an asshole, call him a bullheaded soldier, call him whatever you wanted. Leon had been damn near a liability in the beginning, refusing to give vital intel just because he wanted to feel sorry for himself. That kind of shit was simply something Chris couldn’t allow— not when lives were on the line.
And now— now Chris had this big fucking word “need” in front of his face. The idea of Leon S. Kennedy needing him was a twisted sort of pleasure. Everyone always spoke of Kennedy getting the upper hand regardless of the adds stacked against him. Leon Kennedy didn’t need people, people needed Leon Kennedy. But it wasn’t like Chris could hallucinate this word in before him. Maybe it wasn’t strictly Leon Kennedy needing him, but someone out there thought Kennedy did. That was better than anyone else had ever gotten before.
It also helped to know that whenever Leon Kennedy was, it meant the world was about to end in some great ball of fire. That meant that Chris was back on the “save the world” schedule, and getting out of mosquito-ridden swamps. Ethan had been a good guy, and Chris was happy Mia had survived the shitstorm as well, but he hated the south. He was happy to leave it in the dust, even if it meant putting up with Mr. Perfect-Face.
That came out a little too bitter. Maybe even a little too revealing. It wasn’t like Chris was blind, after all, nor was he deaf. Leon Kennedy was described as the Golden Boy for more than just his ability to save any situation by the skin of his teeth. Even Claire had once admitted to Chris that she’d been a little smitten with the rare smile she got out of Leon on his good days. And Chris wasn’t, like— he didn’t— he wasn’t into—
It was complicated. It didn’t matter. Chris had all of his senses and brain function and Leon Kennedy, while a bit of a prick, looked damn good in just about anything, even an inch of muck from crawling around in sewers and spores. If anything, Leon looked best in the sewers, because his clothing would stick to him like a second layer of skin. It had been hard not to appreciate the way Leon Kennedy could look fantastic doing just about anything, and there had been this moment back in New York, after that shootout in the halls of Arias’s hiding spot. They’d come out on a momentary top, faced each other, met eyes, stood closer than normal, not said a word, and Chris, for a moment, had thought—
It was complicated and it didn’t matter. What did matter was the word “need” staring Chris down and daring him to even consider denying the orders. Chris was well overdue for some time off, but there was no way in hell he’d put his gun down if fuckers out there still needed stopping. Chris Redfield had a job to do, and he wasn’t about to gripe about the endless cycles of terrorism like fucking Leon “Debbie-Downer” Kennedy. If anything, Chris was probably needed to kick that guy’s ass into gear. Maybe Rebecca would have been a better choice, or even Claire if they could wrangle her up, but Chris didn’t like to make a habit of arguing with brass.
Sitting in front of Clive O’Brian, though, Chris really did feel tempted to argue just because of the way O’Brian seemed so fucking sure he should go.
“I still wanna know why BSAA is being set up on a formal operation with DSO,” Chris insisted, feeling like he wasn’t being given every bit of info he deserved. “Especially since they’re a U.S. operation and yet, for some unknown reason, Agent Kennedy is in Italy. I don’t wanna sound ungrateful, but I feel like I’m playing with only half a deck of cards.”
“There is little else I can give you,” O’Brian said, looking like he felt sorry for it too. “They’re pretty hush-hush about the what and the why, saying Agent Kennedy will give full debrief, but isn’t actually aware of being given a formal partner. It was decided the best person to work with him would be you, after considering what happened in New York.”
That didn’t click into place at all. “That was an extenuating circumstance,” Chris reasoned carefully. “I needed him for his information on Los Iluminados and his experience with BOWs. Having him with me wasn’t supposed to be documented or on any sort of record.”
“You think you could destroy millions of dollars of real estate in the center of New York fucking City and not get on some sort of record? Yes, Agent Nadia pulled the trigger, but Leon Kennedy was the one to drive a Ducati into a monster’s face, and you were the one to blow up tankards in the middle of the street. Do you have any idea of the headache we’ve been swimming in? Just feel lucky you’re not part of the legal team, and you’re not expected to know how any of that shit works. I’m damn near balding at this point.”
Chris scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, certain he looked absurd. A huge man still in his uniform and gear, sitting in a small chair in a tiny officer. His biceps were the size of O’Brian’s computer. “I did what I had to do to get the job done.”
“And that’s all we ever expect,” O’Brian replied. “Regardless, people saw. People took notice. People who decided you’d be the best person to keep Agent Kennedy on a leash and controlled.”
“What the fuck is he doing?”
O’Brian paused. “I’m assuming you haven’t heard, then.”
“Heard what?”
“Sherry Birkin is dead.”
Chris— wasn’t sure he’d heard that right. “Come again?”
O’Brian sat forward, something like pity on his face. “Sherry Birkin is dead,” he repeated. “In relations to the Los Iluminados cult, or what is left of them. It was known that they were funding Arias’s attacks, but it seems as if they took the defeat in stride. Agent Kennedy is pursuing a lead on a possible BOW they may have attained through their kidnapping and subsequent… assassination of Sherry Birkin.”
Chris had a memory— his sister Claire, after having finally tracked him down, had shown him a photo. It had been of a girl with blond hair and a red band behind her ears, smiling up into the camera with a Parakeet perched on top of her head. Claire had told her that the girl’s name was Sherry Birkin. She and Leon had saved the little girl from the overrun Raccoon City and that she was back in the states with Leon, learning how to be normal again. Claire had told Chris all of this with the fondest smile. She’d told Chris that Sherry was something like a daughter to her and Leon. Even after Claire had fallen in deeper with TerraSave, she’d never lost that strong bond with Sherry, regarding the girl as family as close as Chris.
“Sherry Birkin is dead,” Chris said, solidifying the idea to himself. “Does my sister know?”
“Yes.”
Why hadn’t she told him? Had Claire been wary to bother him? Had she known he would drop his work to be there for her? Maybe she’d been right not to tell him she’d lost someone who she essentially saw as her daughter, but Chris still felt almost slighted in being kept in the dark.
“Before you start getting all offended, you should realize that Sherry Birkin’s death is on a need to know basis,” O’Brian said, interrupting Chris’s train of thought. “It wasn’t considered that you needed to know until now. The circumstances of Sherry Birkin’s death are even more in the dark. I’m under the impression that your sister knows very little of how it happened, save that Agent Kennedy was the one to discover her death at Los Iluminados’ hands.”
“We don’t know anything?” Chris pressed. “Even why?”
O’Brian shook his head. “It’s all being kept under wraps. Pretty sure the only person who knows for sure is Agent Kennedy. And he isn’t exactly talking, which is why DSO did a little digging and decided you’d be the best person to keep an eye on him while he goes looking for his revenge.”
“Is— is he okay?” Chris knew that Leon had been the one to take care of Sherry while Claire had been away, before eventually being picked up by the government. If Claire had felt almost like Sherry was her daughter, he knew Leon had to feel the same tenfold. If Leon had been the one to learn of what Los Iluminados had done…
O’Brian grimaced. “If you accept this assignment, you should know Agent Kennedy is unofficially on suicide watch.”
Chris sat ramrod straight in his chair, the s-word alone making his heart stop. He had more than his fair-share of experience with suicide, but it was always in the context of sacrifice or prevention of becoming a monster. Even so, Chris knew of soldiers like him who had crumbled beneath the pressure of what they’d seen and taken their own lives. When he’d last spoken to Leon, it had been obvious just how deeply Leon was sinking into his own despair. Finding solace in a bottle was a common coping technique. But suicide. Chris couldn’t imagine someone like Leon trying to take his own life. Not until he put it in the context of who Leon had just lost.
“Is it safe for him to be on the field?”
“That’s exactly what the DSO is thinking,” O’Brian told him. “And it’s why they want you with him.”
Chris didn’t exactly like Leon Kennedy. It was unfair to say he disliked the man, considering how few personal facts he knew of the other agent. He knew Leon Kennedy had seen and experienced horrors that were comparable to what Chris had been through. He knew Leon Kennedy was a good man and an even better weapon. And Chris knew that he’d lived his life with a certain idea— if Chris ever died, he’d be able to rest easy knowing that he was leaving the world in the hands of the Golden Boy who could save everyone with a pistol and anything with two wheels.
Leon Kennedy, while an asshole, was Chris’s failsafe should he ever make a wrong move and end up in a grave like every team member he’d ever lost. The idea that Leon Kennedy had tried to take his own life meant that Chris was no longer safe to put caution to the wind and do whatever he could to save the day. Chris needed Leon Kennedy alive to be able to do what was necessary— even dying.
“I’ll do it,” Chris said, steeling his jaw. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Make sure he gets through this alive and intact. But what are their plans for after that?” What was the DSO going to do with their best agent gone-suicidal after he’d gotten his revenge?
“That’s not up to us,” O’Brian said. “All you need to concern yourself with is making sure Agent Kennedy is returned stateside in one piece.”
“Affirmative,” Chris said distantly, looking back down at the mission in his hands.
We need you to assist DSO Operative Leon S. Kennedy.
It was starting to look a lot more like Leon Kennedy needed him more than the BSAA, but Chris knew damn well Leon Kennedy wasn’t going to take his help without kicking and screaming.
. . .
Silver Dagger pilot D.C. dropped Chris off at the outskirts of Verona, Italy, where Leon Kennedy was apparently holed up, working his angle. Chris was supposed to drop into the guy’s safe house unannounced, because it had apparently been decided that they were better off throwing Chris into Leon’s lap without warning, rather than give him enough time to go AWOL if he didn’t like the company he was expected to keep.
Chris had never been to Italy before. It was nice, he guessed, though he had a habit of peaking around corners and watching civilians like he was ready for them to turn at a moment’s notice. The fact that he was going to be helping Leon hunt down a known BOW terrorist organization didn’t help his paranoia. Still. It was a nice city. Population just over seven hundred thousand, didn’t seem to have a huge crime rate, tons of friendly people yelling because that was how the language worked. And here Chris was, thinking Leon had missed out on that vacation again.
The safe house Chris was directed to was a small flat just outside the Piazza dei Signori. Chris climbed the stairs, noting the the musky smell and the loud neighbors, the sounds of a soccer match blasting from the door beside what was Leon’s apartment. It seemed innocuous, not expensive enough to draw attention, but also not grimy enough to be dirt poor and dangerous. Leon had been the one to chose this place, apparently. From what Chris had read of Leon’s sparse report on his assignment and plans, he’d picked this place out because it was close to some mansion that was just beyond the city line, on a huge plot of land, isolated. Whoever lived there was Leon’s target. Chris didn’t like the idea of fucking with the rich since they had a lot of cameras and eyes on them.
He shouldered the duffel that was carrying his gear and some added stuff DSO had packed for him that Chris hadn’t looked through. He took in a deep breath as he stood in front of the door that had the rusty numbers 86, with the eight swinging down off its bottom nail, hanging below yet still the same as ever. Leon had no idea Chris was coming. Leon probably didn’t even know the DSO was sending someone to keep an eye on him. Chris didn’t know what exactly to expect when dropping in on one of the most dangerous men in the world, but he knew he shouldn’t be looking for a warm welcome. He lifted his hand, hovered his knuckles over the pealing red paint, took in another deep breath, and—
The door was pulled open before he could knock.
Leon Kennedy had seen better days.
“The hell?” Leon asked, brow furrowing. “They sent you? You’re not authorized to be in any of this.”
“Hello to you too,” Chris replied, trying not to roll his eyes. “I’ve been well, yeah. Had a stint in Louisiana, still got some mosquito bites that just won’t quit. Aloe doesn’t work on them like people say it should, but other than that, I’ve had a great time since we last met. How are you?”
Leon scowled and would have slammed the door shut in Chris’s face if Chris hadn’t been anticipating this and preemptively placed his foot between the frame and the door. Leon slammed the door on his foot, but not his face. “Get out.”
“The DSO requested me specifically,” Chris told the door. He could probably get his hand in, maybe brute-force his way inside, but Leon was reportedly in a bad place, and Chris was going to be working with him whether Leon liked it or not. He wanted to be careful about this. Wanted Leon to know he had some iota of control. “I normally wouldn’t have agreed considering how long it’s been since my last day off, but… I heard. About Sherry.”
There was silence from beyond the door, so Chris continued. “I don’t know how happened,” he explained carefully. “I don’t know any more than that it did. Whatever else there is, that’s your business. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry that it had to happen at all. And that I’m here to help in any way I can.”
There was more silence. Then the door swung open again and Chris’s foot was released from its agony. He was wearing regular tennis shoes to match the jeans and t-shirt he’d pulled on to pass as a civilian and not give away Leon’s safe house. That being said, tennis shoes weren’t exactly about to offer any measure of protection from the door breaking the bones of Chris’s foot.
As Chris stepped inside and dropped his duffel onto the floor by the door, Leon walked away. It gave Chris a chance to look around, sweep his eyes over the clean, sparely-furnished flat. There was a living area immediately to Chris’s left upon entering, kitchen to the right, the dining table just beyond with a single door leading into another room on the left as well. Chris assumed that was the bedroom and bathroom, where Leon was likely storing any weaponry he had, away from prying eyes. Now that he’d seen the place, Chris took the chance to look over the inhabitant.
Leon was thin. Bizarrely thin in a way that had Chris worried about Leon’s physical ability to be on an assignment, let alone emotional. His cheekbones were sharper than ever and his eyes had bruises beneath them, dark enough to make his bloodshot eyes still seem white. He was pale, too, and his hair looked a little less vibrant than normal. All of these signs pointed to the malnourished state the DSO had reported finding Leon in. Chris realized he didn’t know how long ago that had happened.
“Just say it,” Leon said, startling Chris a little. “I look like shit.”
Now that, Chris couldn’t say. Even for as bad as Leon looked, it was all relative. Leon still looked like a fucking model that belonged on Italy’s finest runways, and four days of starvation wasn’t enough to kill off any of Leon’s accumulated muscle mass. Chris snorted a laugh and shut the door behind himself, making sure to lock it loudly. “Let’s just say that I’m not really going to judge you for however long it’s been since you took a shower.”
“I took a shower an hour ago,” Leon replied, still wearing that scowl. “You’re really here to help me? The DSO sent you?” At Chris’s nod, Leon cursed. “I told them to send me two people, not one.”
Now that was a surprise. “You asked for this help?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Leon affirmed. He went to the closed door on the left, ducked into the room for only a moment, and came back out with a manila folder. He slapped it down on the table and went to lean against the kitchen counter, jutting his chin out to show Chris he wanted him to look. “I need at least two people for what I’m doing tonight. But just you will have to do. I need you to go into Agapito’s personal files on his computer while I distract him. It’ll be upstairs, limited security and guards, and even though your stealth is absolute fucking shit, I expect you to be able to handle something as easy as that. You’re gonna look for a file talking about an address in Switzerland. If there’s more than one address, grab all of them. We need to find out where the underground silos are.”
Chris absorbed this all slowly, going to the folder and flicking it open to be greeted by the face of a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, the name Vergil Agapito below. Scanning his file revealed him to be some low level arms dealer who liked to swim with bigger fish than he could handle, acting as an informant to both sides to keep a steady flow of information. The only reason he wasn’t dead yet was because he always knew something the other person wanted to know. He had some violent crimes on his record. A scumbag, sure, but not exactly someone Chris would think of when dealing with BOWs. The Chris ran over the plan again in his head and frowned.
“You’re gonna be distracting him? With what? Your stellar personality?” Chris looked back to the other agent with a brow raised. “Maybe they should have sent Nadia down with me. I’m sure she’d have an easier time distracting your guy.”
Leon’s expression was flat. “Agapito is gay.”
Oh.
“Okay,” Chris said slowly, now wondering if he’d just shoved his foot in a door again without knowing what was behind it. “And, uh. Are you… you know. Okay with that?” Chris had been with men before and was still wrestling with how stupidly attractive Leon could look when drinking water, but as far as Chris knew, Leon had always been more like James Bond. Fast, cunning, and preferring the fairer sex. Ada Wong, for starters, then that lovely Angela Miller. He’d never heard of Leon going for men before.
Leon sneered. “Does it matter if I’m okay with it or not? He has the intel I need, and when I met him the first time, the only reason I managed to score an invitation to this party he’s throwing tonight is because he has some sort of attraction to me. It doesn’t matter if I’m okay with it, I need to get that info, and tonight is my only shot.” Leon jabbed his thumb at himself. “I’m distracting Agapito.” Then he pointed a sharp finger at Chris. “You’re getting me those addresses. Capisce?”
“What crawled up your ass?” Chris asked before immediately regretting it. “Sorry, sorry,” he fumbled to say as Leon’s expression became thunderous. “That was tactless, shit. I’m sorry.”
Leon pushed off from the counter and marched towards Chris, getting chest to chest, sharp eyes boring into him. “You listen to me, Redfield,” he growled. “In New York, I was following your orders. But here, going after Agapito and those Los Iluminados fucks, you listen to me. You said you know Sherry is gone so then you must know why I’m doing this. Either get your head with the fucking program and help me, or leave. I can do this alone if I have to. But nothing— and I mean nothing— is going to keep me from taking these fuckers down, once and for all.”
Chris had seen a lot of shit; he didn’t scare easily. Yet the way Leon was looking at him, coupled with the dangerous intent in his voice and knowledge of what Leon was capable of, had Chris’s instincts telling him to run, to gain ground, to recollect and face his opponent with better options. His instincts were telling him Leon was going to hurt him. “Calm down, Agent Kennedy,” Chris told him carefully, using the formal title to hopefully remind Leon of what they were. Two agents working together on a case, calm and professional. It seemed to work. Leon took a step back, expression shuttering. Leon ran a hand over his face and looked away. Then he scowled again and pointed at the folder.
“Read that,” he told Chris. “All of it. I’m going to get ready.” Leon turned on his heel and went through that door on the right again, slamming it shut.
Chris heard the lock turning and shouted: “You leave that shit unlocked!” He didn’t mean to yell, but he needed Leon to know he was serious. A locked door between him and a suicide risk was a gamble he wasn’t willing to make. Regardless of his tone and Leon’s dislike of being ordered around, the lock turned again. Leon even went as far as turning the handle once, showing Chris it really was unlocked. Good.
Chris sighed, regretted just about half of what he’d said in the short conversation they’d shared, and sat down at the tiny table, readying himself for his least favorite part of his job— reading.
. . .
It took an hour, but Chris knew more than he would have wanted. The thing about his line of work was that he was more of a grunt than an investigator. Sure, he could handle an undercover stunt or two here or there, but the devil was in the details, and Chris fucking hated the devil. He preferred knowing only the bare minimum he would need to make it out alive. Reading the file of the information Leon had collected gave him way more than he’d wanted.
Still, Chris couldn’t help but feel a begrudging kind of respect. Leon had poured his heart and soul into this, even with what little time he’d had. It was obvious that the amount of research and attention to accuracy was beyond normal for a DSO operative. This was almost art. A horrific painting of what Chris was slowly realizing to be a true threat for the safety of the Western world.
Chris wasn’t sure where Sherry’s death fell into this mess, but he knew enough about Agapito and Los Iluminados. The straggling remains of the cult that had funded Arias’s mania had been licking their wounds below ground, building on what they already had. They’d moved on from the Plaga, it seemed, sticking with the less-easily attained G-virus and working to conform it with the newly-developed A-virus in an attempt to weaponize the monsters. There was apparently some information on a strain of the T-virus being used to successfully control lickers somewhere in Eastern Europe. That was the scenario Los Iluminados was looking to replicate, although using the much more durable victims of the G-virus to act as some sort of monster-ridden military.
It really was an end-of-the-world situation, and Chris was glad to be part of the solution. He knew Leon was very much used to saving the world on his own, but after the loss of Sherry, alone was the last thing Leon should be. Chris tried not to let the panic of facing down another apocalypse settle in his gut. He should be fine with this by now, was getting close to being able to ignore the adrenaline and fear at the prospect of what would come if he failed. He couldn’t rely on the fact that Leon would be just behind him, ready to pick up the pieces if Chris fucked it all to hell. Leon was with him and Chris was scared of a locked door between them. This wasn’t exactly an ideal setup to keep the world from ending again.
It didn’t matter, though. Chris didn’t have a choice.
It looked like tonight was the party being thrown by Agapito, who was in league with Los Iluminados by some extension of use. Agapito acted as a layman and smooth talker, apparently one the people that had helped Los Iluminados get their hands on the G-virus through a third party, guilty by association. Chris wasn’t sure how they’d managed that, considering most of the last samples that weren’t on the black market were kept under close watch and—
Sherry Birkin was DSO. Sherry Birkin was dead.
Los Iluminados had killed her.
Chris sat forward and stared at the picture of Agapito, who was smiling back at Chris with arrogance glinting in his dark eyes. Agapito had been in the U.S. recently, doing something that Leon hadn’t been able to describe, but— it was very possible Agapito had been had been the person to get Sherry Birkin into the hands of Los Iluminados, and probably some extension of the G-virus. Sherry knew what the virus could do better than most, after all. Her parents had been the ones to create it. It seemed like a shaky connection, but Leon’s need for revenge seemed to support the possibility.
Chris’s eyes were drawn to the shut door. Even for his shaky re-introduction into Leon’s life, he felt sorry for the man. Chris knew loss very well, being an orphan. But he’d never lost a child, someone he would have happily given his life to protect. He couldn’t imagine how defeated Leon had to be feeling. And with how he’d already been on such unsteady ground with the course his life had taken—
The door swung open suddenly and Leon stepped out, looking smart in a three-piece, black suit with a dar red undershirt and a black vest. It fit him perfectly and Chris really hated that, even as malnourished as he was, Leon looked good enough to give Chris some awful form of temptation. Leon stood in the doorway and did up the cuffs of the sleeves, watching Chris with narrowed eyes. “Did you read it?” he asked. When Chris nodded, Leon nodded back. “Any questions?”
Chris hesitated. “Did Agapito take Sherry?”
Leon halted, looking thrown off by the question. “No,” he said after a moment. “Los Iluminados grabbed her on their own. They were tipped off by an informant of Agapito’s, one of the only reasons why Agapito is involved with them at all. He was the middleman between the two parties.”
“An informant?” Chris asked, looking back down at the folder and leafing through the pages, almost certain he wouldn’t have missed that. Maybe it was the same person who had gotten them the G-virus sample. “Who was—”
“Ada Wong.”
The pages fell from Chris’s hands as he looked up at Leon in shock. The man was avoiding his gaze, eyes down on the cuffs again. His mouth was a downturned line, but his eyes were glassy. “I don’t think she was absolutely aware what she was doing,” Leon said, somehow still able to defend the woman Chris was almost sure Leon was in love with. “I know she wouldn’t have told them if she had understood, and she likely thought she was only answering to Agapito. But when Los Iluminados asked after the location of anyone who would know of the G-virus, she let it slip to Agapito anyways. Whether or not it was intentional doesn’t matter. Sherry’s gone.”
Leon’s arms fell limp to his sides. For a moment, he looked like the shell of the person he’d one been— Leon looked like a grieving father. The black suit was suddenly a sickening sight on his frame. It looked too much like funeral wear.
“We have other people,” Chris reminded him carefully. “Agents more specialized in this kind of shit, undercover shindigs and boring parties and info gathering. You and I aren’t exactly meant to be doing this kind of thing. Undercover ops are meant for people who are trained to do it, not us apocalyptic combat specialists.”
“You think I’m a combat specialist?” Leon sounded almost like he wanted to laugh. “That’s all?”
“You’re more than that,” Chris replied offhandedly. “But on paper, that’s what we are. Just a bunch of weapons that aren’t afraid to pull the trigger. We’re not party-goers and informants and infiltrators. We get the results from the info they give us, not the other way around. And you—” Chris cut himself off, not knowing how Leon would take this.
Leon sneered. “Say it,” he pressed, looking like he already knew. “Just fucking say it. That I’m a liability. That I can’t watch my own back in the state I’m in. What does it fucking matter? I need to be the one to do this and I’m going to make it happen no matter what. If you think I’m a risk, then go back to wherever the fuck you came from. I can do this alone if I have to.”
“I didn’t say that,” Chris sighed. “I’m just worried you’re gonna get your head blown off if you go barreling into this place without any real thought behind it.”
“Did you read the report?” Leon asked. “Did that look like I haven’t put any thought into this?”
Leon had him there. “I don’t want the world to lose both of its get out of jail free cards. If we get in there and suddenly get caught, there’s no one they can send in to save us. We don’t have Valentine or Piers or anyone that can suddenly swoop in deus ex machina style and get us out of hot water. What’s your contingency? Where’s your backup plan? Silver Dagger isn’t supposed to be getting into this until we’re out of Italy.”
“I have a backup plan,” Leon snapped. “Do your fucking job and we won’t need it.”
Chris threw his hands up. “Fine,” he said. “I’m done fighting. You got another one of those fancy suits or do I have to sneak in, full gear?”
Leon hesitated. “I don’t think anything I have would fit you,” he hedged. “But you should have been given something. I already gave DSO the specifics of what you needed for this. Check your bag.”
That was probably a smart idea. Chris stood from the table and went to his dropped duffel, bringing it to the counter and unzipping it. He pushed through the contents, past his protective gear and the civilian clothing and toiletries to find a garment bag folded neatly at the bottom. “Huh,” he said, pulling it out, already having a good idea of what it was. He held it up for Leon to see, grinning. “DSO really does have your back, huh?”
“Rarely,” Leon griped. “Put that on, we leave in twenty minutes.”
“Do I need to do anything important?”
“Why would you?”
“I don’t know— I really don’t do this sort of thing often.”
“Not even to accept awards and shit?”
“We’re special ops, we don’t get recognition.”
Leon grimaced. “Fair enough.”
Chris unzipped the garment bag and looked over the suit. It seemed pretty much the same as Leon’s, save Chris’s getup was black and white versus black and red. The shoulders were hilariously broad to fit Chris’s physique and he knew he was going to take a picture in the mirror to share a laugh with the rest of the BSAA and his sister.
Fuck, Claire. Chris hadn’t even thought to contact her. Maybe because he was worried that since she hadn’t reached out to him, she didn’t want to talk to him at all. He was respecting her space, that was an important thing among siblings. But Chris couldn’t help the niggling older-brother protective instinct that was telling him to at least send her a text. But that would be fucking stupid considering he was about to go undercover with a fucked up DSO agent. He should have called her before the flight into Italy.
“You awake, Redfield?”
Leon startled Chris from his thoughts. “Just thinking about my sister,” he said truthfully. “She would find the idea of me in a suit for a party hilarious.”
Instead of saying something of the affirmative and saying anything about Claire in general, Leon clammed up, jaw snapping shut, eyes darting away. “Go get dressed,” Leon ordered. “I don’t want to be late because of you.” Then Leon turned to the window and faced outside, to the setting sun. A clear dismissal, an end to whatever short conversation they could have had. Chris frowned, but didn’t fight it. He wanted to think all of their arguing was done after the first five minutes of being in each other’s presence. After that, it should be smooth sailing, if previous experiences held true.
Changing into the suit was a fucking ordeal just because Chris was horrified at the prospect of ripping a seam. “Should probably cut out a rep or two,” he told himself with a grunt as he painstakingly pulled on the suit jacket that was just as fucking tight as everything else. The buttons of the dress shirt were just barely holding on and he looked fucking ridiculous. Scratch taking a photo, Chris didn’t want anyone to ever see him like this. He winced and reached down to readjust the front of his dress pants, hating the bulge and how constricting these things were. He couldn’t wear a cup, that was for damn sure. Could barely fucking move in this.
“How am I supposed to do anything stealthy in this?” Chris demanded as he stepped back into the main room for Leon to see him. The other man glanced to him, then did a double take, brow shooting sky high. “You see?” Chris asked, gesturing to his body. “This is ridiculous. They gave me something two sizes too small.”
“Jesus christ,” Leon murmured. “Who did you piss off in the DSO?”
“That bad?” Chris tried to raise his arms. He could barely get them above his head. He bent his knees and did a couple squats, testing the give of his pants. “Holy shit, I think my dick is gonna burst a seam.”
Leon choked on a burst of laughter while Chris flushed shamefully, unsure of why he’d said that so candidly. But Leon was covering his mouth to keep from laughing any further and that was an improvement to the despondent man he’d been before. “Why are you laughing?” Chris asked, deciding he’d push this a little further. “Trying to say you think I can’t?”
“Like I would dare,” Leon said with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s just say that the rumors your legendary proportions reach further than just the BSAA.”
Chris wasn’t a fucking teenage girl, he didn’t blush, but he had no other word for how his face heated up at Leon’s words. “Shut up,” he said lamely, going back to stretching the limits of the suit because he didn’t want to think about people spreading rumors about the size of his cock. That was a breach of privacy that he didn’t want to face. He tried to think of who could have told anyone but came up with a bunch of nothing. The men and women he’d been with had been of the upmost caliber as people. All he could think of were the communal showers.
“You still with me, Redfield?”
“Screw off,” Chris replied without thought. “Making fun of my dick.”
There was another chuckle from Leon, a light sound, almost pure. Chris had to think back on if he’d ever heard Leon laugh out of anything other than cynicism and realized he hadn’t. The sound of Leon laughing for real— it was good. “I can promise that I was attempting nothing short of flattery,” the other man said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And look— worse comes to worse, you can run around that place in your skivvies. Put some added shock value to the stealth, the guards will have no idea how to react.”
“Blind them with my legendary proportions?” Chris asked.
“I regret ever telling you that,” Leon deadpanned.
For a moment, things felt almost normal. Leon was smiling ever so slightly, in that tiny way he would smile when he wasn’t weighed down with the worries of the world, and Chris’s chest was light with the jovial feeling that came with bantering among comrades. But then Leon’s phone pinged with an alarm and the smile was washed away. Left behind was absolutely nothing, the eyes empty and tired. Leon looked to his phone, then slipped it into his back pocket. “Time to go,” he told Chris. “I’m driving.”
“Of course.”
“You gonna complain? You’re the one spacing out.”
“Screw off,” Chris said again. Leon waved him off and grabbed a set of keys off the counter. “I’m thinking,” Chris defended as he followed Leon out of the flat, feeling naked without any kind of sidearm on his person.
“Thinking, huh? Didn’t know that was one of your specialities,” Leon said.
Chris narrowed his eyes at the back of Leon’s pretty head. “I’d smack you for saying that, except I don’t hit women.”
Leon glared at him from over his shoulder, stopped short on his way down the stairs so Chris was forced to grab the railing or trip, and then flipped Chris off without another word.
This was going to be a fun night.