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For the first time in years, Leon can fully appreciate the marvel of having a pair of actual, functioning lungs that aren't hindered by rapidly decaying tissue. Sure, the air at the bottom of this pit isn't "fresh" by any means and his bruised ribs are still restricting his breathing a tiny bit, but he'll take a little tightness over hacking up blood like he had been an hour ago.
The operators who'd quite literally dropped in on them have completed their on-the-spot diagnostics, including fast roping down a Belgian Malinois who stuck its muzzle in their faces. It must not've sniffed anything out, because it quickly returned to its handler – the operator in AOR1 camo – who rewarded it with a Good girl, Laika. Must be a K-9 unit trained to sniff out bioweapons. Go fucking figure.
Leon had gotten a (relatively) clean bill of health, but his body was still gonna need some time to recover from the long-term stress it had been through. Grace had hovered anxiously nearby until the team's female operator, Tundra, pulled her aside to do a quick checkup while the rest of them try to give her a little privacy. She's probably gonna crash the second they're under an open sky. Poor kid. Long day for her.
The man who'd first given him the message from Chris (Leon thinks someone had used the name U-ey or U.E.) calls out across the pit, “Hey Lobo! Wanna rig up Agent Kennedy?”
The guy with the short barreled PKM turns his four-lens stare onto Leon. Fuck, it reminds Leon a little too much of Viktor, or even that giant spider from earlier. Considering their somewhat dramatic entrance via rope, he doesn't think the comparison is that far off the mark.
“On it,” the operator calls back. The man navigates the mountain of rubble easily, loping over to Leon with long, easy strides. He doesn't trip on the coil of rope that hangs down from the oblivion up above.
Leon could probably get into the harness on his own, but bending over feels like his body is actively trying to rip itself apart, so he doesn't complain when the operator kneels in front of him. He steps into the leg loops like a pair of pants, and the operator drags it up over his hips before clipping everything into place.
The strap on his thigh bites down a little too sharply not to notice.
“My safeword's 'bread basket',” Leon teases.
“That's news to me,” the other man grunts.
Leon casts around the ruin they'd landed in, trying and failing to find the right words. “Didn't know you were back in the field.”
“Guess we're both full of surprises.”
OK, he probably deserves that.
Leon stares down at the top of the operator's bowed head. The battery pack on the back of his helmet has a morale patch with a winky-face on it. A few of the other operators are wearing them as well. Inside joke, then.
Without really thinking, he rests a hand atop the helmet. The operator locks up beneath him. Swallowing hard, Leon brushes his fingers down, down, to where a few baby curls at the base of his neck have escaped his collar. Leon winds one around his finger, then lets it slip free. He thinks he hears the other man breathe in sharply through his nose.
Leon fights to keep his voice steady. “”
Those pano lenses tip up to address him. The glass reflects his own, distorted face back at him in all four scopes. Then, the operator flips up his NVG and Leon tries not to lose his breath all over again when familiar brown eyes find his. Thick lashes fan up at him. Dark brows crinkle together and the worry lines have only deepened in their time apart. As the man pulls down his gaiter, scars that weren't there five years ago carve across his cheek, disappearing under the neat beard that has a few more strands of grey than before. Full lips pinch together in a bloodless line, chapped and clearly gnawed at with worry.
“Hey, stranger,” Leon aims for something light, but it falls flat as Carlos continues scowling up at him.
“You should've told me,” he accuses quietly.
“You would've tried to fix it…” Leon shrugged. “Didn't want you breaking yourself backwards in search of a miracle.”
“Sickness and health, Leon.” Carlos glares back at him. “I'd take five shitty years with you over the last five without. No fucking contest.”
He turns his focus back to the harness. Probably checking to make sure Leon won't bruise his nethers on the ride up, but it'll be an uncomfortable ride no matter what. Still, it's sweet. When Leon reaches for the chest harness, Carlos bats his hands away. Rising to his feet, he guides the straps up over Leon's shoulders so he doesn't have to move his arms too much. Leon isn't sure what to say but fortunately (or maybe unfortunately) Carlos isn't finished:
“Did you ever think to just fucking talk to me like a normal person?”
Leon huffs out a laugh, “You know me better than that.”
“I thought I did. Now? I'm not so sure,” Carlos rasps. His voice breaks thin around the edges as he finds Leon's gaze again. “You stopped touching me. Do you even realize how bad that fucked with my head?”
Leon's chest aches, bruised ribs aside. “I didn't want to stop.”
“But I didn't know that,” Carlos clips out. “And if I did, I would've told you it didn't matter.”
Of course he would've. Which is exactly why Leon didn't say anything. “Couldn't risk it.”
“Bullshit. Y'know how many vaccines Umbrella pumped into me before they tagged me into the field?” It's not really a question. They both have each other's medical records memorized. Umbrella had given the UBCS shots for every patent-pending nightmare they'd been cooking up. “And I was in the city for way longer than you, man. If this bug was gonna bite me, it would've happened already.”
Carlos checks the wiggle room on the shoulder straps, but is much gentler in adjusting these ones. He has Leon take a deep breath when tightening around the chest, and Leon gets a lungful of gun oil and flannel and the smell of a familiar sweat he's used to sticking to the sheets. His ribs jump at the memory.
Carlos glances up at his face again.
“Any pain?” he asks, softer than before.
He's talking about the harness. Leon shakes his head. Dark eyes disappear again under soft lashes. Fingers zip along beneath the nylon rigging, checking for tightness. The thin material of Leon's shirt lets the trail of heat bleed through everywhere it travels across his body. Fireworks keep popping off in his previously deadened nerve endings. He's forgotten how it feels to hand himself over to someone else and trusting them to do it right.
“I'm sorry you had to come back here,” Leon offers into the silence. He's carried plenty of demons from this place, but Carlos had been here right up until the end, trying to stop the bombing. Leon isn't sure how to tell him RC was marked for dead since the beginning. That's a conversation for later.
“You came back, too.” Carlos's hands have gone still against the harness. His fingers fist into the front of Leon's cummerbund. “I'm not gonna let this city take anyone else away from me.”
Fuck. Yeah. Okay, then.
Gently, Leon takes his wrist in hand. His thumb sneaks into the gap between Carlos's glove and the cuff of his parka. He finds the radial pulse, fluttering just under the skin. Warm. Alive. Safe. Leon presses down on it, almost wishing he could embed his thumbprint in Carlos's DNA.
They'd lost so much time. Back before all this, it felt like they'd made it into the clear. Leon was coming up on six years of sobriety. Carlos had been in a contract negotiation that would've had him permanently based in D.C. They'd even been looking at houses together. Then came the t-Virus. The gift that keeps on giving. There's always something, isn't there? Always a second shoe. Always another wave just when they'd finally gotten their heads above water.
Pulling away hadn't kept Carlos safe, though, evidenced by his newest scars. Are there any more hiding under his clothes? Even more on his psyche? Leon is self-aware enough to recognise that it'd be hypocritical to get upset with Carlos for diving back into the job during their time apart, but if anyone deserves a chance to walk away from the life, it would be Carlos.
You'd think that by now, they had done enough to earn their happy ending.
Is it too much to ask for their fair shot at life?
“Looks like I've got a little more time left on the ol' clock.” Leon gives a gentle squeeze. “Think I could take you out for coffee, sometime?”
“Maybe…” Carlos tucks his chin, but his expression softens.
“Hey, I'll take a 'maybe'.” He smiles back encouragingly. Then he tips his head up towards the chasm stretching up above them. He can't see anything past the floodlights. Little particles of dust still drift aimlessly all around them. “How deep do you think we are?”
“Not sure. Why?”
“I'm reeeally hoping this is rock bottom.” He thinks it's a joke, even though it doesn't sound much like one. When he drops his gaze back down, Carlos is already watching him. Something tender bruises the edge of his expression, but the quiet smile on his face is still real. He slips his wrist out of Leon's grasp and flips his hand around to take hold of Leon's.
“Even if it isn't,” Carlos squeezes his hand like he won't ever let go, “we already know the way back out.”