#cleon fic

The small talk hadn't been so stilted and forced like it was now. No ‘hey, I saw that report on Bali - was that you?’ because Claire would have known. He would have told her everything – or mostly everything. Leon would have redacted the parts that could get her into trouble. He'd leave out hostage scenarios gone wrong, spare her the inequity of his work even though she's sure to find out on her own.

Somewhere along the way, he'd started redacting so many details that his recountings had boiled down to ‘I'm glad to be back’. Somewhere along the way, Claire had stopped pressing for more.

Claire doesn't bother feigning interest in his last operation this time. She doesn't need to - TerraSave already put out a statement condemning the outcome.

She's good at small talk, always has been better at people than him. Conversation flows from her, connections come easy. He'd always admired that about her. Now, though, she's floundering. His short, to the point answers have her at a loss. That's new. Usually it just pisses her off.

“What’s going on, Claire?” he asks for the second time in their short conversation.

She lapses into silence. Redfield family trait - they love to go quiet on you when they've been found out. Like they're waiting for you to move on - like you'll forget if they just don't acknowledge it.

“Sherry's organized this memorial service,”  Claire finally broaches. “For - y'know. I think it would mean a lot to her if you were there.”

Dread weighs heavy in his stomach. Of course he knows. He's been dreading this kind of thing since Terragrigia, since the gritty details of bioterrorism had been shoved in the average American's home. It's not hard to put two and two together, to realize what the Raccoon City incident had been. Maybe the public would never know the full extent, the involvement of the government, but there's footage of a hunter on LiveLeak, for fuck's sake. You could cover this shit up in the 90's, but they hadn't been on top of things when the century had turned, when more information than ever had been pumped to the general populace. Now it was like sticking a bandaid on a hemorrhaging wound.

He didn't think it would be one of their own who did this, who dredged up Raccoon City's bloated corpse and put it on display. He thought some well-meaning intern, some politician looking for a bump in numbers, trying to seem empathetic might pull this stunt – but one of their own?

He can't tell if it's a dim sense of betrayal that's twisting his gut into knots or if it's anger. He's carefully curated his life to avoid this. The month of September is his memorial. He doesn't need the cameras, the spotlight - he doesn't need other people sobbing out their grief right next to him, not when he keeps his tight to his chest.

Jesus. Sherry couldn't have asked him herself? Not in person, God no – but sent him a calendar invite or emailed him a flier - something that would give him plausible deniability. Something he could ignore, slide into the recycle bin, claim he never received and curse technology. Sorry, Sherry. All this new technology is just tough for me to keep up with. As if he's not got the latest and greatest in hand at all times.

“Are you going?”

Claire is quiet on the other end of the line.

“It would mean a lot to her.”

Leon snorts. “That's a ‘no’.”

Claire's huff is almost lost through the phone, but he can picture her pout well enough. Lord knows he's the cause more often than not.

It's not just that he hates this kind of thing, or that he's still hot off the heels of Benson's death, that the media could have a field day with him showing up to an event like this. If the wrong people hear about this, they'll all be lambasted as nutjob conspiracy theorists. If the wrong people have found out about this, it could get dangerous fast.

Leon does the only thing he can think to. Deflect.

“She shouldn't be doing this shit,” Leon points out. “Raccoon City is still classified.”

He can feel Claire roll her eyes from the other side of the phone. He bites his tongue. Improvement, he thinks. A month ago he would have cut loose, blown this whole conversation up.

“She's not releasing classified info, Leon. It's a memorial.”

“Brass is gonna have a problem with this, and I don't know if I can bail her out.”

“She got it cleared months ago. You'd know if–” Claire stops herself. She's trying, too, he realizes when she swerves around the giant crater that was the way he'd spent a year drinking himself into oblivion. “You’d know if you actually checked your email.”

Damn. She's got him there. Maybe Sherry already tried the calendar invite and the flier. In his mind's eye, she's still 12 years old, ruddy cheeked and gap toothed - clicking clumsily around a computer to make a flier, sending it to him, waiting–

He stops that train of thought, pins the ache in his chest on a recently cracked rib.

“Nobody asks Valentine to go to this shit.”

“Jill's busy.”

“And I'm not?”

“Can you just show up for Sherry?”

“Can't we just take her out for ice cream after or something?”

“She's not–” 

Claire pauses on the other end of the line. Leon's not as good at this as he used to be, can't tell if she stopped herself so she doesn't laugh or so she doesn't snap at him.

Inhale. Shaky exhale. He can hear her struggling not to smile.

“She's not a kid anymore.”

He knows that. Of course he knows that. He's seen her in the field. She’s a powerhouse, full-grown and owning it.

Man up, Kennedy, he thinks. Do it for your girls.

The thought sends a jolt skittering across his skin, raises the hair on his arms. He hasn't thought of them like that in years - not sober, at least.

“I'm not sitting on the stage,” he says firmly.

“Me either.”

“And I’m not giving a speech.”

“I don't think it's a media thing,” Claire says, the way one might try to calm a spooked horse. “She just wanted to do something for people like us. It's gonna be low-key.”

Claire has a very different definition of ‘low-key’ than he does, but he hums all the same.

“All right,” he relents. “Send me the details.”

It doesn't take more than a few seconds for his phone to vibrate. She was ready for that, probably planned on sending it to him whether he said yes or no.

She sounds cheerful, reveling in her victory, when she winds up the call with the promise to see him next week. He can count the times Claire has been happy to see him lately on one hand; when he tosses his phone back to his nightstand, he counts that as a win.

The week flies by as if September 30th couldn't get there quick enough. Usually, the week of the 30th dragged - every hour of every day dedicated to a remembrance of the last normal hours of his life. Mourning is on hold for now - he’s saving it all up for Sherry's big event.

Claire texts him a reminder two days before. He types and retypes a response over and over, and somewhere in the revisions he realizes it's not just about him. She doesn't want to do this either. Not alone.

See you there. Ice cream after.

Leon’s locked in now. He prays for work to run long, for an emergency to crop up that sends him across the country - but the office is quiet. He's grateful not to run into Sherry, grateful that he won't have the chance to open his mouth and ruin things. There will plenty of time for that later.

You promised, he tells himself the morning of, phone in hand, debating on calling in sick. His feet are leaden when he dresses, hands heavy at the wheel of his car. He's in a daze the whole day, barely remembers driving to work. If anyone notices, they don't call him on it. He’s ghosting through another September unseen.

But the end of the day forces him back into his body. He'll be late if he sits in his car any longer. The engine turns over despite his prayers. He promised, he tells himself. He can't make them do this alone.

The park Sherry picked out for the memorial service is close to the office. He could walk, but he's not going to limit his options in case things go south, wants the ability to get in his car and bail. Halfway there, he realizes he's been followed. He stays in his car, watching the suburban in the rearview when they pull in a few spots down. Leon only relaxes when a gaggle of kids burst from the sliding door, run off ahead of their mother.

Claire's waiting for him when he hops out. She leans against her bike. Her hair is down - shorter than he remembers. Her thick jacket thrown over the seat of her bike, leaving her in a black turtleneck and a pair of orange corduroys.

“You know it's not formal, right?”

“I'm coming from work. Cut me some slack.”

Claire laughs, ducking her head. She pushes off of her bike and waves for him to follow. She swishes into the park ahead of him, her steps only faltering until he catches up to her side with a handful of long strides. Side by side like this, there’s enough room to slot Sherry in between them. Wherever she is - probably off playing party planner.

He always thought she’d be good at that. Sherry’s good at making sure people are taken care of, making sure they have what they need. She’s got a quiet sort of intensity that can spook people, sure, but she’s fun and exuberant - she could have had a shot at a real life, if things had been different.

She reserved a little gazebo for the event. White chairs in a handful of neat lines, a little charcoal grill off to the side, picnic table lined with candles and framed photos. It’s sweet, the way she’s done everything up. Probably put hours into this, getting things just so. She’s done a good job, honest.

Leon just can't stop checking every angle. He's braced for the sight of a flash - camera or muzzle, he's not sure which would be worse. Couldn't Sherry have picked somewhere more private? Couldn't she have rented out the basement of some bar, given him an excuse not to show? Sorry, Sherry, I'm working on myself - can't put myself through the temptation.

No. Of course not. She'd probably considered that already. The kid is too considerate for her own good. Rented out a gazebo just so no one had to face their demons.

Claire pauses at a row of chairs, gesturing for Leon to sit. He forgets to smile when he tears his eyes away from a suspicious copse of bushes. His hand ghosts against the small of her back, urging her to go first. He needs to be on the end, needs to be able to get to his feet quick when something happens.

If, he reminds himself. If something happens.

Claire slips into her seat without protest. Maybe the occasion has her feeling off, too. He tries not to read into it.

Leon lets out a low whistle as he sinks into his chair. “There's more people than I thought there'd be.”

“I know,” Claire hums. “Sometimes it feels like we're the only ones.”

How many people had been there? How many had been on the streets, had escaped by the skin of their teeth? How many of these people were here to mourn someone who had wasted away before their time?

His eyes lock onto hands and mouths, tries to match them to ones he sees in his dreams. Teeth snapping, hands teasing at him, pulling him under a writhing mass of rot, ichor spilling into his mouth, choking him.

Claire nudges him, leans closer. Her shampoo wafts across him, the stench of decades old decay that stings his eyes soothed by cherries. Her fingers light on his wrist.

“Still doing ice cream after? I know a place.”

If they were here for anyone else, he'd have grabbed Claire's hand and pulled her out to the parking lot. They'd cut the shit, go get ice cream and pretend things weren't complicated. He'd get butter pecan and Claire would tease him for being basic. Ice cream is a fifteen minute treat, but they'd linger until the parlor closed, until the workers were shooting them dirty looks.

But they're here for Sherry. Leon makes himself smile, mouth thinning.

“Yeah. After.”

People file in, some alone, the same haunted look that he wears well, others with whole families. There's maybe thirty people - small number on paper, but packed in like this makes it feel claustrophobic. He scans the crowd for Sherry again and again, searching for a glimpse of her. Claire’s hand stays on his wrist, heavier now. He wishes he could turn his hand and capture hers. He doesn’t know how to.

“She still comin’?” He murmurs to Claire.

“She better. This is her thing,” she grumbles back. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. He knew she wasn’t all-in on this whole thing.

Before he can call her on it, Sherry beats down the center aisle, clambering up the steps of the gazebo. Leon clicks his tongue, sits a little straighter. There she is, digging Claire out of a moment of weakness once again.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” Sherry starts, shuffling note cards in her hands. 

Claire lets out a coo under her breath. She leans closer, presses against Leon’s arm to whisper, “she’s so nervous. Look.”

Leon doesn’t need to be directed to see the tremble of Sherry’s fingers, but he looks anyway. Public speaking isn’t the issue, he knows that much - it’s got to be the topic.

Leon sits a little taller. He nudges Claire’s knee with his own, a silent ‘watch this’. He coughs into his fist, louder and longer than necessary.

Sherry tracks the sound instinctively. Her eyes light on them in the crowd. The apples of her cheeks bunch up, smile so wide that she's transformed right back into that little girl he knew, that clung to his hand and swung his arm as they walked down the road. Her words trail off, pause long enough to be noticeable but not to be awkward.

“I’m so grateful that each and every one of you have taken the time to come here tonight,” she continues, her eyes lingering on Leon, flitting back to Claire.

There. That’s his good deed for the month.

“You’re buying,” he whispers to Claire once Sherry’s eyes have finally drifted away.

Claire snorts. She pats his arm. He can see it all over her face - yeah, right.

“You can say it, ya know.”

It’s dark in their room when she speaks. They’re in bed having finally turned in for the night after putting both of the children to bed. Isabel had been hardest to sleep in their room for the night - a habit she’d picked up while Claire was gone and had kept once she’d gotten back. Claire was loathe to take away this comfort from her daughter but it was a habit that did not need to be reinforced.

Not to mention this was the first time since she was discharged from the hospital about a month ago that she got to sleep in her own bed with her husband alone. Just the two of them. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying the comforting feeling of being held by him without another small body between them.

“Hmm?”

He seems so relaxed. One arm tucked behind his head, the other wrapped around her shoulders. She’s pressed so deeply into his side that she feels the rumble in his chest before she hears it.

“I told you so. I know you’ve probably been waiting to say it. I think I’m finally ready to admit you were right about Niel.”

“I don’t know what upsets me more, the fact that you think I’d say that or the fact that I can’t really say it.”

“What do you mean?” She shifts in his arms slightly so she could better see his face. He’s looking at the ceiling when he answers.

“I was totally convinced that Niel had a thing for you and I think past experiences proved me right there.” Claire snorts but Leon continues,

“Never would have guessed he was a money hungry, egotistical bastard that would quite literally sell out all of his employees to the very same people they were fighting against.”

They’re both silent and for a moment. Claire thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep. Finally taken over by the exhaustion of the day.

“Actually, what makes me the most angry is that I didn’t see it coming. I was so preoccupied with our dumb little dick measuring contest that I never realized what he was doing.”

“None of us did and we worked with him every day.” Claire traces her hands across his chest hoping that the small patterns would offer him more comfort than her words.

“No sense in dwelling on it now.”

Her hands still. She sits up slightly so she can look down at him, pleasant suprise written on her face.

“Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”

“I don’t know. All that time we spent not knowing where you were or if you were ok? I guess I just decided to stop worrying about things that don’t matter, that I don’t have control over. Life’s to short and we’re reminded of that everyday in our line of work.”

The arm he’d previously been using to hold her comes up to tuck a strand of her short hair behind her ears.

“I don’t want to spend all my time thinking about what I should have seen or done when it comes to that weasel,” he continues. Voice quiet and sincere in the dark,

“I’d rather think about you and our girls. All the ways I’m going to spoil you,” the hand in her had stills, fingers wrapped gently around a strand he’d been toying with.

“How beautiful you look with short hair.”

She smiles and hopes that he can see it in the dark. It’s the first time he’s directly acknowledged her new haircut. She’s shorn it off in their bathroom last week but had finally broken down yesterday and went to an actual salon to let someone fix the uneven ends.

She liked the new look and felt a small burst of appreciation that he did as well. It was a small bit of change that she could control after the island - cutting her hair. She knows Leon understands why as well. It’s one of the many things she loves about him.

“I love you,” she whispers as she settles back into the side of his body. Not wanting to speak too loudly for fear of ending this moment between them.

He plates a kiss on her hairline and returns the sentiments with his lips still on her skin.

“I don’t think I say that enough.”

“You say it everyday,” she giggles.

“Not enough.” She can feel the earnest love in his voice.

“The DSO and BSAA need the data in that facility to take down one of Umbrella’s larger branches. The only way to get that data is in the main computer, we’ve tried hacking remotely and every other way to break in and nothing work.” He stood up ready to leave the room and not caring about the enmity and disbelief in Chris’ eyes, following Leon as he walked. “The DSO needs me to do this, so I’m going. This isn’t up for debate anymore.”

“Since when did you turn in to a mindless grunt Leon?” Chris roared, judgement dripping from his voice and he slammed his fists on the table of the small meeting room.

“Chris please—“

“No, he needs to hear this.” The two men didn’t look away from each other’s scowls. “You’ve seen this right?” Chris tossed the dossier across the table. Some photos fell out as it slid to Leon’s side; but he didn’t once glance down at them. Why bother? He already knew what was in store for him; and even then there was a gut feeling that these photos didn’t capture every threat that could lie in this building. No matter which way you looked at it – unless you knew the traps like the back of your hand – there was no way someone could make it out alive.

“You are the best agent the DSO has, I get that, but being the best isn’t going to cut it with this one Leon.”

“Are you done lecturing me? I have somewhere to be.” As Leon reached for the door, Rebecca stood from her chair. Anger and sadness in her eyes, yelling her final plea.

“You can’t go Leon! It’s suicide! You’ll either be captured by them or they will kill you!”

Nothing more was said. Leon left the room.

Chris rubbed his face in defeat. Rebecca sat back down. Neither knew what do say let alone what to do. The ticking of the wall clock, ticked for the next five minutes in the deafening silence.

Finally, Rebecca spoke, “We can’t stop him.” A grunt of agreement from Chris. “But you know one person who can talk him off the ledge.” A glimmer of hope shined in her eyes, as if there is a saving grace they could grasp.

“I don’t have Ada’s number.” Chris replied after giving a slight scoff. Why would she think that Ada could help?

“I’m not talking about her.” Leaning closer to Chris, he realized who she was talking about.

A sigh was heard, “I don’t know if she can get here in time.”

“She would drop everything for him and you know it.”

“I wouldn’t even—“

“Chris!” Rebecca raised her voice getting the man’s attention. “We need Leon to stay. So if she is the only person who can make him see the insanity of his plan, you need to make the call.”

Rebecca had a point. So he quickly picked up his phone and dialed.

Another beer gone, Rebecca’s and Chris’ words fester in his mind, but Leon still feels like this is what he needs to do. The DSO gave him the assignment and they knew the high risk of sending him. So much so that they gave him a day to think it over, giving him an opportunity to opt out. And yet this risk somehow still didn’t seem to bother him at all.

Phone in hand, Leon was ready to call and let them know he would follow through. But there came a knock that stopped him mid-dial. The clock read 10:30, who would be here this late? He had a gun in hand, a precaution. As he opened the door, surprise displayed on his usually stone face. Leon expected Chris or Rebecca again, hell maybe even Sherry to be on the other side.

But not Claire.

“Surprised to see me?” A soft smile as she spoke.

“Yeah…mainly because Chris told me you’d be in Vancouver at a protest that you’d been planning for months now.” He placed the gun in a side-table drawer but never took his eyes off her.

“Well, at the moment,” She rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet, “I got more important things to take care of at the moment.” A moment of silence, she clicked her tongue, “Can I come in?”

Stepping aside, Leon allowed Claire in the apartment. Her boots clicking against the hardwood. “This place hasn’t changed a bit. You know, you should really try decorating; giving it a personal touch.”

He took in her form as she glanced around the place, she began cleaning up the few beer bottles on the coffee table. Leon always thought that Claire was the embodiment of autumn. Warm spirt, even with appearance: brown, worn leather jacket, dark pair of Levi’s, gray Henley with a few buttons undone, tucked into her jeans, black belt (Claire was so well-dressed Leon checked his plain white T and faded jeans for stains, lucky him there were none). Completing the autumn aesthetic her hair was a red-ish brown (she must have dyed it again). Always she was welcoming to people. Never too overbearing like winter or summer. She didn’t need to be flashy to get your attention; a natural beauty. And, to Leon at least, her autumn warmth was comforting – something about her told him that everything was going to be alright.

But like autumn, Claire was fleeting. Just when you were getting to enjoy who she was, she was gone. And Leon would be forced to face the harsh realities of his own winter.

Claire sat on the couch and Leon had grabbed beers for them.

“So, why aren’t you at the protest? Don’t you want to be there to make sure things don’t go wrong?”

She shrugged, taking a sip, “They can handle it on their own. And I told you, got more important things to take care of.” She gave a look that chastised and gave concern all at once.

He sighed, figuring out the reason for the visit. “You’re hear to tell me not to go.”

“No.”

A side glance was given. What plan did she have?

“I just want you know why you want to go?”

“We need the intel,” Leon sipped the bottle, “That facility has it. Dangerous or not, it has to get done.”

“Uh huh…” Claire wasn’t convinced, “And the DSO…are they aware just how dangerous this is?” She knew how to dig for information, but in this case that skill didn’t matter. Leon didn’t know how to keep it from her.

“Yes, they do. They even gave me a day to think it over.”

Claire hummed into the sip she took, not looking at him. “So, this mission is so hazardous that the agency you work for, who’ve sent you into some horrific shit before, are so reluctant about this that they gave you the option to back out?”

“That’s what it looks like.” There was a pause between the two before he dared a glance at Claire; same sullen look from before.

“What?”

“You can’t really be that stupid. The DSO is giving you a chance to opt out and you’re still going for it? They have never done that Leon. Doesn’t that say anything about the risks? A red flag has to go off at some point in your mind, right?”

“They don’t necessarily want me to go…the survival chances are…low.” He confessed, in a way that made him feel small.

This snapped something in Claire, no longer doing the soft “what’s wrong” routine. Now she was pissed.

“Are you fucking kidding me Leon?” Anger and frustration boiled inside, and she slammed the beer bottle on the coffee table. “They think this is a bad idea just like everyone else. The DSO is blatantly telling you don’t go but you’re still going!” This was yelled as more of a statement than a question and Claire gave a small laugh of disbelief; putting her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Claire if you just came here to criticize me you can—”

Immediately Claire stood in front of him. They frowned at one another. Her face was a challenge, Try to make me leave, it said. Leon tried for another drink of beer, Claire snatched it. A soft “No more alcohol” was spat through gritted teeth and it joined hers on the table.

“I don’t need or want your criticism.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“And you can’t change my mind.

Her head shook, a desperate plea, “I just want to know why.”

“It’s my job.”

“Bullshit.”

“Umbrella needs to be taken—”

“Just stop with that crap Leon please!” Her yell was one that he never heard before. It sounded anguished, like a person on the brink of tears. But Claire never cried he thought. Risking a glance, Leon saw that her once blue eyes that filled him with joy were glassy. Yet she still had that headstrong determination on her features.

“I need to know why Leon,” she knelt down to him, her hands on his knees, staring at him, “And I don’t-” She huffed, turning away, needing a moment to compose herself. A tear had already spilled. She didn’t want to cry – it was out of character – but damn it, Leon had this effect on her that she couldn’t control. It made Claire show a softer side. “And I don’t want to talk to the Leon Kennedy who hates Umbrella so much he is willing to do anything to take them down. I want the Leon who just drinks his problems. I want to hear the Leon Kennedy who has been through so much shit he has every kind of PTSD.”

Claire took another deep breath, this time grabbing his hands in hers, they were rough in comparison. And with an impassioned, longing gaze, softly voiced, “I want to talk to the Leon Kennedy who doesn’t stone wall anyone who tries to get close to him. I want to talk to the Leon Kennedy who helped me at that gas station all those years ago.”

He furrowed his brows and slightly frowned.

“That rookie cop is in there somewhere and I need him to answer.” Claire stood now, awaiting an answer. But what was Leon to say. That type of raw honesty wasn’t something Leon usually shared. What would his younger self say? How would that rookie respond?

Back then he practically wore his heart on his sleeve. After years of being put through the ringer and with his type of work, he’s come to learn that people don’t care or want to hear about how you truly feel.

But Claire.

Here she stood, wanting him to expose himself in a way he had never done before. Looking up at her, he felt that warmth again; and he knew he could.

He took a deep breath. “I’m just so…tired Claire.” He hung his head in shame. “This has been my life for years. I have experienced things that I can never forget or describe. And now, I want out.” Ran a hand through his hair. “I can never just leave the DSO, they wouldn’t let me. Even if they did, I could never adapt back into normal life.” He felt a lump in his throat and Claire’s eyes trained solely on him. He had to tell her. “I want out. And…with this mission, the risks, dangers, all the BOWs they have at their disposal, the promise of death, it’s the only way.

There. It was out in the open now. Finished with his monologue Leon leaned forward, only to be caught by Claire. She held him close, his head rested against her stomach. Claire let the words sink in. She knew his job was tough, but she didn’t realize just how far gone he was.

She held him against her tighter. “I had no idea.” Words escaped her. “Death isn’t the only way out of this. You can adapt back into society. And if you honestly think you can’t then you need to find someone to help you.” There was no answer, so she continued. “Someone who understands all the shit you’ve been through and is willing to take it and help you one day at a time. And it won’t matter to them if sometimes it’s one step forward and two back or if you drink too much another time.” Claire knelt and cupped his face with her hand. “It won’t matter, the awful, ‘I just want to die’ days won’t scare them. Being there for you, that’s all they care about. Because they love you.”

Leon absorbed every word. It brought him a new feeling; it was the first breath of a drowning man. He felt alive.

He leaned closer to her, resting their foreheads against each other, eyes closed.

Silence in the room.

Breath shuddering.

“Don’t take the mission Leon.”

An audible gulp. Then shaking his head ‘no’.

And then breathlessly,

“I love you.”

She kissed him. It was a fervent to her and felt this longing feeling finally relieved. As if all the years of waiting for this moment finally paid off; she wanted to stay in this moment forever. It tasted of beer and set her whole body on fire. She could smell a faint aftershave to him, and her hand went through his hair slowly. Never had Claire ever experienced a kiss with so much passion and need, it completely shocked her senses.