lionhearted

     ❝     i  just  fucking  said  i  was  sorry,  what  more  do  you  want?!—  i  can’t  take  back  what  happened,  leon.  i  CAN’T.  &  i’m  sorry  that  i  can’t.     ❞     he’s  getting  upset  /  but  he  can’t  really  help  that  at  this  point.  there’s  a  white  hot  PANIC  racing  through  him–  afraid  that  if  leon  leaves  NOW,  he’ll  truly  never  see  him  again.  he  can’t  let  that  happen.  because  if  he  does,  it’ll  be  another  thing  to  add  to  his  ever  growing  LIST  of  regrets. 

     ❝     i  wasn’t—–  i  just  thought  that—     ❞     he  cuts  himself  off,  trying  to  think  of  the  right  thing  to  say.  jack  never  really  was  any  good  with  words  /  that’s  what  LEON  was  for.  &,  he  supposes,  that  was  why  they  made  such  a  good  team.  the  boy  scout  always  kept  him  in  check,  made  up  for  jack’s  WEAKNESSES  with  his  own  strengths.  now–  everything  just  seems  so  fucked  up.  &  it’s  no  one’s  fault  but  his  own.

     krauser  stands  up,  the  fingers  on  his  left  hand  TWITCHING  as  the  parasite  squirms  beneath  his  skin.  it’s  upset.  because  HE’S  upset.  but  it’s  something  he  can’t  avoid  forever.  he  should  have  known,  sooner  or  later,  his  past  would  catch  up  to  him.     ❝     don’t  go,  okay?  i’m  trying–  just—     ❞     

     Don’t go. The tone of his voice, so different than the rest, less angry now and more desperate. How could Leon listen to that and actually turn his back? When was he ever one to give up just because it hurt? No matter how much he wanted to snap back he bit his tongue, knew better than to keep pushing and prodding until Krauser bit back. If he wanted him to stay, then Leon would stay. At least for a little while longer.

    “I’m not asking you to take anything back. But I don’t think I’m sorry really cuts it here, Jack.” He wasn’t picking a fight; he really wasn’t. There was less anger in his voice and more exhaustion, a tired sort of pain that rooted itself in his very soul. Did Krauser deserve another chance? After everything? Leon still had nightmares about that mission, and he was willing to bet that Ashley did, too. But he just didn’t have it in him to condemn Krauser, not when he had known the man beneath it all. A good man he had looked up to and trusted with his life.

     christ,  he  wasn’t  ready  for  this.  wasn’t  ready  to  deal  with  the  THOUGHT,  let  alone  leon  in  his  apartment.  he  supposes  he  was  foolish  for  thinking  leon  would  never  find  out,  or  rather,  that  he  could  stay  HIDDEN  forever.  but  if  he’d  KNOWN  his  old  friend  would  be  coming  to  visit,  he  would  at  least  have  cleaned  up  the  place.  

     ❝     you—–     ❞     he  cuts  himself  off,     ❝     you  didn’t  do  anything.  is  that  what  you  want  to  hear?  fine!  you’re  the  hero,  &  i’m  the  bad  guy,  leon.     ❞     with  an  aggravated  sigh,  he  sits  himself  down  on  his  couch,  face  resting  in  his  hands.  he  doesn’t  know  what  to  do  /  doesn’t  know  what  to  SAY.  there’s  a  pain  lingering  there,  something  he  doesn’t  know  how  to  move  PAST.  

     leon  looks  good—–  he  doesn’t  know  WHY  it’s  one  of  the  first  things  he  notices,  but  it  is.  the  other  has  GROWN  in  their  time  apart  /  he  supposes  he  has  as  well.  there’s  been  long  years  spent  alone,  outside  of  each  other’s  company,  &  for  a  moment  it  makes  him  sad.  maybe  in  a  different  life  things  could  have  been  different.  but  there’s  no  point  LONGING  for  things  that  cannot  be.  

     ❝     i  don’t  know  what  you  want  me  to  say.     ❞     he  says,  finally  looking  back  up  at  the  other.     ❝     —–  i’m  sorry?     ❞

     Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t an apology. Unsure as it was, Leon could feel the thought behind it, could practically see the wheels turning just beneath the surface. There was, however, something genuine there, something that told Leon his efforts weren’t (completely) in vain. Still, there was a lot of anger brewing between them, as dangerous and volatile as an electrical storm, and the guilt he felt hardly made matters any easier. Sometimes he really wished he was the type to just get blindly angry.

    “That’s not fair.” 

     There was a pained note in his voice, a clear sign that he was not taking it all in stride. He had changed since last they met--and even then he hadn’t been the same man that Krauser had once befriended. The world had beaten Leon down, the idealistic rookie cop from Raccoon City a complete stranger. And yet there was still that fire burning inside of him, that need to save people, to help those he could still reach. Krauser might have kept slipping through his fingers, but he wasn’t going to let go just yet.

     “But I guess it’s what I get, right? I was stupid to think I’d get anything else after you’ve gone through great lengths to avoid me. Again.”

     Maybe it was his turn to be a little unfair, but he was past caring. He had, at least, accomplished his primary goal of seeing for himself that Krauser was still alive. Even if nothing else came from it he at least knew that much. That was something he could live with.

@eversurviving / CALL

PUNCHES LEON, SENDING HIM directly through the wall of the police station

     Luckily the wall had been largely broken by the impact of a helicopter that had crashed into the side of the building--but did that stop the monster’s giant fist from hurting?

     For nearly a week Annette had been wondering whether or not William would remember Mother’s day was coming up--and not because he could scarcely remember to feed himself. When the days of the week blurred together it was often difficult to remember special days: birthdays, anniversaries, that sort of thing. Of course Annette was always on top of things, and she even went to the painstaking lengths of writing such events down, in red marker, on their shared calendar. But for Mother’s day, well--she had just left it blank. If he couldn’t read the small, printed note and remember to give thanks to the mother of his actual child, then it wasn’t her fault, was it?

     Ah, but he had remembered! There was a lovely card from the drug store, cut flowers from the little bins at the end of each aisle. The perfect combination for the man with only minutes to spare. Of course she was happy just to see that he had remembered at all, and she absolutely adored the way he played it all off as carefully planned, but as she ran her fingers over a slightly wilting daisy she wondered how panicked he must have felt. Watching him race to the store in terror would have honestly been the better gift, but the thought still counted.

     Lips curved into something of a forced smile, just a little too cheerful. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember--and now I feel so guilty for thinking you would ever forget.” Lies. All lies. This is a test, William Birkin--be wary.

     Years have passed since Leon had last seen this man’s face, an entire lifetime. Gone was the naive rookie cop, a man who had barely been able to handle the knife he had been handed, who barely clawed his way from the depths of a nightmare. In his stead stood an agent of the government, a soldier fighting a war that would never end, not even with his death. A man who stared the impossible in the eye time and time again, who had survived more incidents than any person had any right to. It was a safe bet that his skills had improved.

     The knife felt comfortable in his hand, almost an extension of himself by this point. While a blade was little use against most BOWs, there were plenty of people who he found it worked better against. The monsters weren’t always the biggest threat; sometimes he found that it was the living that twisted his stomach into knots instead.

     jack  lets  go—–  before  he  does  something  stupid.  TEMPER,  TEMPER  /  krauser  never  was  one  known  for  his  diplomacy.  that’s  why  he  always  had  leon  to  do  the  talking.  but  that  doesn’t  particularly  help  him  in  situations  like  these.  so  he  takes  a  few  steps  back,  folding  his  arms  over  his  chest.

     ❝     no,  actually.  just  the  friend  who  almost  killed  me.     ❞     that’s  not  fair.  he  KNOWS  that’s  not  fair  the  second  he  says  it,  but  he  doesn’t  care.  that  COCKY  attitude  he  used  to  like  in  leon  does  nothing  but  piss  him  off  now.     ❝     —  don’t  piss  me  off,  leon.  we  both  know  i’d  END  you  close  combat.     ❞

     determined?  well,  that  was  ONE  way  to  put  what  leon  was.  jack  would  describe  it  more  like  relentless  /  with  an  unrealistic  sense  of  optimism.  he  rolls  his  eyes  &  turns  to  walk  deeper  into  his  apartment.  leon  will  follow,  as  he  always  does.

     The words stung worse than any blade, cutting straight through his armor. What choice did he have but to fight back? To defend himself, to survive. It wasn’t as though he had ever wanted to fight Krauser, and he had very nearly died himself more than once. How had this become his fault?

     “You want to kill me? Then go ahead. I’m not armed; you know you have the advantage here.” He wouldn’t, though--Leon was sure of that. How many chances had he already had? If he had wanted Leon dead he could have hunted him down and done the job at just about any time. Most nights he could be down deep in a bottle; it wouldn’t have been difficult.

     He followed, of course--still the loyal puppy following others, no matter how independent he became. Trust wasn’t easy for him to build, not these days, and Leon preferred to hold onto old friends rather than make new, but how many old friends did he have left? They kept falling away, drifting, dying. And, it seemed, at least one had come back to life. Again.

     this  can’t  be  right  /  MAYBE  HE’S  STILL  DREAMING.  though,  it’s  been  a  while  since  he’s  dreamed  about  leon.  years  have  passed  since  south  america—  &  years  MORE  since  spain.  he’d  thought  that  maybe  he  had  moved  past  it,  finally.  but  every  time  he  seems  to  get  AWAY  from  kennedy,  the  boy  scout  pops  back  up.  a  shudder  runs  through  him,  letting  his  head  come  to  rest  against  the  door.  this  whole  thing  is  fucked  up.

     krauser  stays  still  for  a  long  while.  silent,  THINKING—  weighing  his  options  at  this  point.  leon  isn’t  going  to  go  away  /  he  knows  that  much.  &  while  he  could  try  to  ignore  him,  he’ll  have  to  leave  his  apartment  eventually.  back  molars  are  ground  together,  a  breath  sighed  through  his  nose.  he  guesses  it’s  not  much  of  an  option  after  all.  so  the  door  is  pulled  open  once  again,  but  ONLY  long  enough  for  jack  to  grab  the  other  by  his  shirt  &  drag  him  inside.  leon  is  slammed  back  against  the  now  shut  door,  krauser’s  expression  COLD  &  suspicious.     ❝     what  the  hell  is  wrong  with  you?!—  how  did  you  find  me?     ❞      

    There was a moment of real concern, something akin to fear as he found himself slammed against the door, one hand coming up to grab Krauser by the arm as though to stave off whatever attack might be coming. An automatic reaction, one he would regret, but after nearly being killed by the man (and a life of near death experiences) he had a right to be worried. But for what it was worth he had come unarmed, his gun left in the car and only even there because leaving the house without it was impossible. If Krauser had kept up with him over the years he would realize just how incredible it was that Leon had managed to leave it anywhere. 

     “--Is that how you treat all your old friends?”

     Ever the joker, masking the truth behind terrible jokes and sarcasm. This time, however, the attempt didn’t reach his face, disbelief painted across hardened features. His mind buzzed with countless questions, with all the things he wanted to say over the years, the things he should have said, should have asked. And now that he found himself staring back at Krauser the words were curiously absent. Just what did you say in a situation like this? Good to see you again?

     “What the hell is wrong with me?” Anger crept into his voice now, soft, quiet--dangerous. “Do you know how long I’ve grieved over your death? Deaths? What did I do to deserve getting left out of the reunion this time?”

     He should stop--he knew it, could feel something ugly twisting inside of him, fighting to pour out of him. And maybe he would let it, depending on how things went, but until then he knew it was better to keep a cool head. There was a lot he needed to know, and probably a lot he needed to explain as well.

@eversurviving​

     he  had  been  sleeping—–  ACTUALLY  sleeping,  for  once.  what  little  he  does  sleep  is  typically  FITFUL  &  feverish  /  the  parasite  usurping  his  left  arm  squirming  beneath  his  skin.  but  for  once,  jack  had  managed  to  sleep  a  few  hours  without  being  pestered  by  nightmares.  the  key  word,  of  course,  being  HAD.  because  a  loud,  relentless  pounding  on  his  door  had  dragged  him  from  it.  fuck.

     he  rolls  out  of  bed,  wiping  a  hand  over  his  face  before  tossing  a  glare  over  to  the  door.  he  swears—  if  it’s  albert  again,  he’s…  going  to  do  nothing.  but  he  will  be  pissed  about  it.  &  perhaps  it  was  foolish  to  open  the  door  without  looking  who  it  was  first,  but  hey!  krauser  died  back  in  spain,  he  had  no  reason  to  believe  it  could  be  a  GHOST  of  his  past.

     ❝     —–  no–  no!  what  the  fuck—-     ❞     jack  quickly  slams  the  door  back  SHUT,  bracing  it  with  his  good  shoulder.  leon  was  the  last  person  he  was  expecting  /  or  at  least,  ONE  of  the  last.  there’s  no  way  leon  could  have  known  he  was  still  alive,  so  SOMEONE  must  have  let  it  slip.     ❝     how  the  fuck  did  you  find  me?!     ❞

     Time stalled in that moment, that brief second in which Leon heard his name once again. Killed in a helicopter crash--killed in Spain--the cycle, the loss, the betrayal still fresh, running through his veins like both fire and ice. How many times had he mourned him now, poured out a drink in his name, one after the other until the colors of his dingy apartment blurred together like shadows? To find out, after all of that, that the man was still alive, that he was being hidden away from him as though Leon was the problem?

     Was he the problem?

     Weight struck squarely in the chest, knocking the wind out of him, sending him dangerously close to the edge. Unable to speak, or even actually think, Leon had thrown his phone across the room in favor of splashing water over his face from the kitchen sink, hands trembling. Not today. There would be time to drink himself into numbness later, but not today. He needed a clear head, needed to see for himself that Jack Krauser, of all people, was still alive.

     The mission gave him something to think about, something to focus on rather than spiral for about a hundred different reasons. But the moment he found himself staring at Krauser’s door his heart began to race, desperation filtering over him like cool rain. A fist came to pound against the door, the time for niceties long since past. He needed to know, needed to see--