#foryoursake

“...married to Renee Devereaux shortly after his release. Looks like they’ve mainly made their living in farm-to-table products. Devereaux worked in interior design before retiring early. No next of kin on either side and it seems like they travel once a year on average.”

“Livin’ the dream,” Leon mutters, taking in the muted blue theme of his lodgings. 

From where he stands, he can see through the window of his balcony door where the darkness of the rural countryside stretches endlessly save for the porch lights of a small, shingled home to the right of the property that had not been visible upon arrival – per Hunnigan’s live research, the home is the original structure where the Jessops mainly reside even after the current home had been mostly planned and built by Beau himself. Both buildings are connected by a short breezeway for easier access.

“No alarms on my end, but keep an eye out if there’s anything else I can assist with.”

“You got it.”

There’s a long pause in which Leon assumes Hunnigan is done reporting for now, but Leon stops as he pushes off the dresser when her voice cuts in again.

“Is everything all right with…”

Hunnigan’s professionalism is less evident as she trails off and Leon is about to ask what she means when his eyes dart toward the folder he’d set on the bedside table.

Thankfully, she hadn’t given him the lecture he had dreaded after sobering from the reveal. The partnership has been going long enough now that casual check-ins weren’t exactly out of the norm, but this new reality is something Leon isn’t quite ready to tackle when he hasn’t fully absorbed it himself.

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Another bit of silence, and then: “Understood. Goodnight, Leon – and get some rest for once.”

“Fat chance. Later, Ingrid.”

The silence stretches as his gaze remains fixed on the folder. Leon’s ears strain to identify any movement on the other side of the wall opposite him and he even crosses the space past the four-poster bed to close some distance between himself and the wall. Still nothing.

Clearly the exhaustion had gotten to you, and it takes the reminder that Chris and Claire were vigilant from a distance to discourage him from stepping out onto the balcony just to be certain.

Leon lingers a moment longer before finally allowing his feet to carry him to the edge of his bed, where he remains standing and staring at the contents of his side table. As uncharacteristically comfortable as the lodgings are in this particular mission, sleep doesn’t call to him. It never did.

And why is he stalling? All it would take was a simple tug at the corner of the manilla folder to reveal its contents. 

With all the horrors and evils he’s faced over the last few years, none have ever invoked the raw ache in the pit of his stomach that accompanied accountability and time lost. All the faces of those he’d failed in his lifelong sentence haunted him as soon as his eyes shut, but the face of a child he’d never met made sleep damn near impossible.

The promise of some negligible fraction of closure is what encourages him to get over himself and pull the stack of memories out.

Leon looks through a mix of developed photos and polaroids, the edge of the mattress slowly giving in to his weight beneath him. It seems that you chose photos that barely featured you, if at all, and Leon is thankful only because it would merely add to the sting spreading from his gut.

The first few are of Stella through various stages of infancy, innocent and ignorant of the world around her…and beautiful. 

The very top of the stack holds one of the few with you featured in it, holding a sleeping newborn on a hospital bed and leaning down to rest your cheek against hers while a team of fellow ER friends form a protective barrier at either side of your bed. Leon recognizes Liv immediately among them, her eyes red like the rest of them from what Leon can assume are tears.

The baby pictures that follow are exclusively of Stella. 

One with her peering up at her crib’s mobile with wide eyes; an unmistakable awareness in them as she reaches up with two tiny hands,

Another a few months later: a summer pool day with Stella in a canopied float, wearing a bucket hat and large sunglasses over a scrunched button nose as she flashes a gummy smile. Leon recognizes your hand in the frame holding the float still as baby Stella grips your thumb and it makes his lips quirk if only for a moment.

Another at a birthday party with a few of your coworkers, clearly at her mobile stage of development as one nurse friend holds Stella’s tiny hands while she’s lifting a foot to try and step forward.

Leon’s jaw sets and he quickly flips through the stack to weed out the baby pictures. He tells himself it’s for the sake of time; that he’ll look through the milestones he’s missed later when he wasn’t so on edge.

The more recent ones didn’t even help the matter. 

Class photos where Stella is easily identifiable among her taller classmates. More birthdays that he’s missed. Grade school assemblies and awards that he’s missed. Camping trips. Field trips. Museum trips.

They’re all a blur as he flips through them without lingering on any because he’s greeted with the same face evolving through time that they would never get back. There was no denying that Stella was his; timing aside, certain quirks in her expression – especially unserious candid moments – reflected remnants of an absent father. Any sense of pride at her accomplishments are quickly overshadowed by knowledge of his own absence until shaking hands flip the stack upside down with a sharp intake of breath through his nostrils.

Leon wonders how on earth he’s supposed to face her if he can barely stomach looking at photos of her. Maybe…just maybe…it wouldn’t hurt as much once he knows she’s safe and he can properly atone for the time lost.

He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees while he holds a stack of drawings limply in both hands, his thumb brushing over a faded pink fingerprint left behind unintentionally. Leon can’t make sense of what Stella tried to convey in some of the pieces; many seemed to be colorful swirls or warped trees that looked more like Dr. Seuss-inspired acid trips. Stella seemed to favor the color blue or underwater settings with schools of fish, notable corals, and jellyfish whose tentacles filled the entire page.

There were your average stick figure family drawings with the appropriate labels, but in lieu of a notable father figure, the letters that spelled out “L-I-V” felt worse than the bullet he’d taken in the shoulder as a rookie.

Leon holds no ill feelings for the woman; if anything, he owes her for all the years he’s missed, but he would constantly look back on what he might have been willing to admit or even save if Liv hadn’t been mediating that day. 

It was humbling to recognize shortly after that blaming your best friend was a cop-out when he’d built your foundation on naive, blind hope that lying would prevent the inevitable outcome.

That’s  enough for now.

Leon sets the stack on his nightstand and runs his palms through his face with a low groan. The air is heavy and suffocating despite the spacious room and it’s all it takes for Leon to push himself off the edge of the bed and make his way out of the bedroom, not bothering to shut the door behind him.

Wall sconces dimly light the hallway with a warm glow as he pads along the Victorian runner toward the stairs, where darkness engulfs the foyer below save for a table lamp and some additional light filtering through the east wing of the home. He follows it to a pair of frosted double doors that lead into a cozy parlor that functioned as both a sitting area and game room. 

Another pair of double doors on the opposite side are half-open and lead out to the wraparound porch, offering a view of the breezeway and stone pathway leading toward a one-story cottage.

Leon’s ears perk as footsteps round the corner from the closed half of the exit, and a familiar portly figure jumps at the sight of him, nearly dropping a stack of linens that had briefly blocked his vision.

“Shit! Are ya tryin’ ta kill me??”

Leon hesitates before moving to help Beau with the pile, but he jerks away with an annoyed grunt and sets it on a card table.

“Did y’all need something?” He asks with the enthusiasm of a criminally underpaid food service worker.

“You’re not the hospitality guy here, are you?” Leon asks bluntly.

“Nope. That’s all Nen.” Beau’s thumbs loop under his overalls and his mustache tilts this way and that, his eyes fixed unflinchingly on Leon as if daring him to give the B&B a shitty review that very second. “I do all the housekeepin’ stuff while she gets her beauty sleep so she can deal with y’all.”

“Well, I won’t make you ‘deal’ with me. I just need some fresh air.”

“S’what the  balcony’s for.”

Leon closes his eyes for a beat, then sighs and turns with the intention of heading out the front door, stopping when Beau’s attitude takes a backseat long enough to ask, “You good, son?”

“Fantastic.” He doesn’t even bother masking the annoyance in his tone, but he sighs a second later. “Long travel day.”

“Mm.” Beau doesn’t sound convinced. “Well, spirits ain’t included with lodging but seein’ as you look like you seen one…”

Leon turns to look at him with some surprise as Beau makes his way back out. He follows him out to the porch where a rattan furniture set offers comfort with a view of the orchard, now bathed in scattered outdoor lighting creating a path toward where he sat.

Sitting out here with his thoughts seemed a good enough way to spend the night. A soft clink draws his attention back toward Beau, emerging from the cottage with a pair of tiny glasses in one hand and a bottle in the other.

Leon raises a brow. “Is that homemade?”

Beau snorts. “Depends. You with the feds?”

“Uh…no?”

His host stops dead in his tracks, brows drawn together as he narrows his gaze on Leon. “Well I was jokin’ but now I ain’t so sure.”

“I’m not!” Hands come up in defense. “I’m just wondering now if you’re the one who’s trying to kill me.”

“Tsk. It won’t kill you, but it may hurt if you’re a pussy. Didn’t take you for a pussy.”

“You’re giving me mixed signals here, Beau.”

“Since ya don’t think I’m the hospitality guy, I’ll be happy ta grab a goddamn bottle of Jameson –”

Leon holds his palm out and Beau hands him a glass that wouldn’t even be able to fit a socially acceptable shot of whatever. The amount that Beau pours is crystal clear and smells like jet fuel and Leon may have hesitated had the man not poured one for himself.

“I don’t whip this out unless Nen’s real mad at me for somethin’ and that’s rare. Figured you’re in hot water with your lady up there.”

“What makes you think that?” Leon asks a little too abruptly.

“Girl’s barely looked at you. Wants a separate room an’ all.”

“That’s just what she prefers.”

“Yeh. What she prefers.”

“And if that’s what she wants, I’m fine with it.”

“Mhm.”

“Is everyone around here this nosy?”

“Son, everyone in the south is nosy but you won’t catch me gossipin’ about your issues. You’re just passin’ through and tomorrow’s a new day anyway. I’ll forget all about ya in a week.”

Beau downs the shot and lets out a cough but hardly reacts as he leans back against the porch railing. Leon twists the glass here and there, staring at its contents and sighing.

“It’s, uh…complicated.”

“Always is, but a piece of advice from a guy who’s seen plenty’a shit – s’only gonna be as complicated as you let it be.”

Leon narrows his eyes at Beau, but he isn’t going to argue with a stranger who couldn’t even grasp just how complicated he himself made things. Instead, he avoids further comment by downing the sample sized alcohol only to immediately regret his decision. 

The burning sensation clung to his throat as it traveled down; even if he spit it out, there was no escaping the fire that spread all the way down his chest, making his eyes water and clearing Leon’s sinuses so much he was sure he could hear colors.

His fist slammed against his own chest as he coughed. Once. Twice. 

Goddamn, when did it stop?

Beau simply watches and waits for Leon to get his shit together as second by agonizing second ticks by. When he finally straightens, Leon wishes his looks could kill.

“See? Y’ain’t dead. First one’s always the hardest.” And he pours another. It takes only a few silent counts before Leon wordlessly accepts it. 

At least the second time around, he was too numb to care.

→ ✶ CH 10

A/N: It's a bit short because I was going to split this into Leon/Reader POVs, but I feel like it kind of takes away from Leon's moment here. I hope you guys liked it! I promise the next won't take two months. It won't even take a week!

taglist: (comment this fic or like this post if you wanna be tagged for future chapters!)

@superunkn0wn @vitreoushuman @maria-trisha @baekeigo13 @meowieees @butdaddy-i-lovehim @reliana-phainons @foulbreadpaenut @just-a-person-existing @nijiiroruinene @deo-data @minsuuwu @tristan-22 @krtrs @lauraofthewoods @georgie-porgie04 @my-youth-filled-with-dream

As much as you begged Leon to keep you in the loop moving forward, you’d come to regret it the moment he shared this particular development. The details had been murky at best because according to him, there had been no indication that anyone would know where to find the base. 

Agent Grier was left at the doorstep with a fatal wound between the eyes, discovered by another agent during a midday swap. The lack of any evidence so far has been the reason for the delay as the others scramble to find evidence and an alternative safe spot.

The time on Rebecca’s watch reads just after seven. No wonder you’re going stir-crazy – as if you weren’t already.

Leon and the Redfields have been discussing the next course of action closer to the cockpit while you sit in your seat across from Rebecca, a fold-up table separating you as she preps a tray with vacutainers, syringes, and needles. When you offer to help, she all but shoos your hand out of the way.

“You’re off the clock. I’m not gonna make you work,” she mutters lightly, then adds with a flat smile: “I’m also going to need the leg-shaking to stop.”

“Sorry…” You haven’t even realized it until the sudden stillness makes your jaw clench.

“It’s okay.” Rebecca fastens a tourniquet around your upper arm. “I’m sure we’ll be free soon – may as well make the wait count, right?”

“Yeah.” Your voice quivers and you wince at the sting, but you keep looking straight ahead. Leon and Chris are speaking in hushed tones that don’t carry across the space while Claire seems to offer occasional input, apparently mediating as she holds a hand up between them to interrupt them.

“I looked over Stella’s labs again.”

Rebecca’s conversational tone shifts your gaze to hers, but she’s focused on switching tubes out.

“She’s healthy, of course, but I didn’t spot anything that would explain the healing.” Her eyes shift upward for a second, then back down. “Although, I didn’t see a serology panel and I’m sure she may have inherited antibodies from Leon at the very least.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think…” You tense up, a few nonsensical stutters making you pause with a sharp sigh until you get a grip. “...I mean, she mostly just went in for check-ups. Besides that, I didn’t worry about…maybe I should have –”

“You wanted to protect her. There’s no shame in that.” She responds softly and smiles. Your shoulders relax. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Your eyes burn and when you swallow, it feels like acid coating your throat. “After  what happened, I was surprised when the labs came back looking normal – but it was a relief, I guess. You never know what people are capable of.”

Clearing your throat and tilting your head, you add dryly: “Well, I guess I do.”

“You can do everything right, but it won’t change all the wrong in the world.” Rebecca’s voice is almost a whisper and you can see her shake her head out of the corner of your eye. “Doesn’t stop us from trying to stop it, though; it’s a blessing and a curse.”

“And that agent?” Your voice finally breaks, but it seems you’ve grown so used to crying, you can control the need to fully give in with just a couple of deep breaths.

Rebecca has already finished and has moved on to halting the blood flow but she pauses while winding gauze around your arm to look up at you, her eyebrows drawn together as you continue.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. Leon wouldn’t have known to call me. I’d be home right now thinking I would never see Stella again because realistically…” The trembling of your lips makes you pause. When you try to take another deep breath, it feels like your lungs are filling with water. “...I know now that I can get her back…and all h-he got in return w-was a bullet to the h-head…”

You trail off as you punctuate the last few words with a couple of involuntary sobs as you notice the corners of Rebecca’s lips trembling.

“It’s…a thankless job,” Rebecca whispers.

“More risk than reward?” You ask dryly.

“Sadly, yes.” She carefully packs the samples and removes her gloves. “We all know the risk – as did the agent. It still doesn’t make it right or fair and it certainly doesn’t make it any easier, but it gives us a motive to continue for the sake of those lost along the way. We’ve been able to de-escalate a few catastrophes along the way because of people like Agent Grier.”

You shift in your seat and shake your head, but the others approach before you can respond. Ducking your head, you quickly brush away the mist clouding your vision.

“You all right?” Leon asks when your head lifts again.

“Define all right...” The words come out before you can think, and you draw in a breath. “I’d be happy to get off this plane finally.”

“That’s why we’re here!” Claire chimes in, a bit strained.

“Well, I’m just about done here. I’m gonna go pack up and get these to the lab.” Rebecca grabs her materials and thanks you before carefully weaving past the others.

“So we have a new base?”

“Well, sort of…” Claire glances at the other two. “We’ll have to take some precautions. Some of Leon’s guys are gonna move in and keep an eye on things covertly now that Grier’s –”

She makes a face, but doesn’t need to finish for you to understand.

“It’ll be best if we all spread out.” Chris adds. “We have the benefit of avoiding eyes on us since we just got here but there’s too much hanging in the air for us to risk grouping up.

Your fingertips flex atop the table and you break out in a sweat that has nothing to do with the local climate.

“I’m not going back.”

“Obviously.”

“Chris.” Leon speaks through gritted teeth and crosses his arms. The lines that appear as he grimaces soften when he looks at you. “You’re staying with me.”

Your lips part and close. The blood loss has clearly made you a bit woozy and it takes a second for you to search for a way to say no. Finally, you scoff. “What about Claire?”

“She’s coming with me,” Chris mumbles. “‘less you wanna pair up with her as a meat shield when things go to shit.”

A choked sound escapes your throat but Claire shoves her brother into an aisle seat and all you can stupidly follow up with is, “Rebecca?”

“She’ll be close, but behind the scenes,” Claire says softly, but she’s side-eyeing Leon.

“I brought you here. I said I’d keep you safe. You’re not leaving my sight,” Leon declares, and you huff in response.

“If it was up to you, I wouldn’t even be here!”

“And that’s still an option, but I have a feeling you’ll say no.”

You throw your hands up. “Okay, whatever. Where the hell are we going? If I don’t get off this thing in the next minute, I’m gonna do something drastic.”

“There’s a B&B run by a couple of locals just east of town.”

“And you’re okay with that?!” You recall something about base being at least half an hour away.

Chris releases a long sigh as he straightens. “Woulda gone with the motel, but comms informed us it’s closed for remodeling. Convenient.”

“I don’t understand. Someone staying at that motel died!” You look from one to the other, exasperated.

“Like Claire said, we’re moving in now that things have escalated and hiding in plain sight might be our best shot for now. It’s also another reason why we can’t just waltz into town grouped up – might as well beg them to off us –”

“Your bedside manner is horrible,” you blurt out, and for once the perpetual wrinkle between Chris’s brows disappears for a beat.

Claire’s lips press together as she crosses her arms and looks down while the other two remain silent.

“Whatever, just get me out of here.”

You don’t wait for confirmation, moving past them and unintentionally bumping Chris’s larger form back toward the aisle seat.

You’re sick of traveling. It makes you feel like you’re rubber banding from one end of the country to the other with no end in sight. The unassuming rental car – a damned pickup truck – made you feel more tightly packed than the airplane.

With only a center console separating you from Leon, all you can do is fold into yourself, your knees pulled up and angled toward the right, and your arms crossed as you rest your head on the side and watch the blur of trees pass you by. 

Suddenly you regret tossing both your personal bag and luggage onto the covered bed of the truck without thinking twice about it; holding Stella’s bunny right now would alleviate the tight pull of your shoulders and the bag could provide a decent enough barrier on the console.

“I’m sorry.” Leon breaks the silence, his fingertips drumming on the steering wheel. “We had a plan – didn’t expect whoever was ten steps ahead.”

You don’t doubt that Leon’s men were competent, but something about the discovery makes you feel exposed. Talking about it further when you’re so wound up doesn’t help.

“So, what – is this where we come up with code names?” You ask quietly.

The few seconds of silence makes you squirm in your seat.

“Maybe – if you want. These missions are time sensitive as soon as we have the sign to move in; an alias for a few hours to a day or two isn’t usually the norm.” 

Leon pauses. The gravelly switch in his voice prevents you from asking about what exactly would warrant an alias as it gnaws at you. “Grier’s the sign. Just need a ‘who’ and ‘where’ before the clock starts ticking.”

“Hm.” 

How quick are these missions really when you’ve been in limbo for more than two weeks? You hold your tongue only because you can’t stomach another back-and-forth. Your eyes actually feel heavy without having to force them shut.

What you need now is to just shut everything out.

“Wake me up when we get there,” you mutter and close your eyes.

There’s no immediate answer. You can’t help partially opening your eyes and turning your head just enough to look at him; Leon grips the steering wheel hard enough for you to see the superficial veins running the length of his forearm, but it’s only a split second before he relaxes his grip. You quickly shut your eyes again.

“You got it.”

All you hear after his response is the motor running, then a long sigh and some shuffling. Your curiosity finally gets the better of you and you turn your head and open your eyes fully to find a navy blue jacket that Leon had tossed in the cramped back seat now blocking your view of him.

You blink and think twice before slowly reaching for it, watching Leon as he keeps his eyes on the road.

“In case you need something to rest your head on,” he murmurs.

“Thanks,” you breathe and fold one sleeve of the jacket beneath your cheek, letting the rest of it drape over your front.

It’s a much better alternative to having your head roll this way and that on the side panel and you feel your body relax fully as you close your eyes. 

There’s a familiarity in the woody, citrusy scent clinging to the jacket that you’re certain might make you sick if you weren’t so damn exhausted. 

You barely have time to process it before nodding off with no effort.

“Hey – we’re here.”

Five more minutes, you think with a soft groan, turning your head toward the jacket’s fabric, drawing in a long breath.

God, that smells so –

You catch yourself mid-smile before your body tenses and straightens just as the driver’s side door shuts behind Leon, giving you a second to ground yourself and push the jacket off your lap. 

The spike of energy that follows might be from your sudden erratic heartbeat or a result of the first successful nap you’ve had in far too long. Part of you wants to keep it going the moment you actually have a real bed to lie on – you’ll likely be playing the waiting game some more until another significant development pops up anyway, right?

As soon as you complete the thought, however, you feel your heart ache with the reminder of why you’re here in the first place.

A knock on the passenger’s side makes you jump and you look out the window to see Leon checking on you.

“You sleep okay?” He asks as you open the door and you nod, standing on wobbly legs and taking a moment to breathe in the fresh breeze after feeling trapped for so long.

“I’ll grab my stuff as soon as we check in,” you say hoarsely.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll get our stuff.”

“You really don’t have to –”

“You gave blood earlier and just woke up after an hour-long ride. I’d rather not risk injury.”

“I’m fine!”

Leon doesn’t entertain the argument further, tilting his head toward the house in front of you. “After you.”

You roll your eyes, looking forward instead about how you’re that much closer to a bed. Then you turn toward the cream colored Queen Anne-style home and gasp.

Suddenly, you’re almost grateful that you’re able to see the property just before the sun sets. You weren’t sure what to expect from a rural town you’d never heard of, but this home alone surpasses any expectations. 

It’s no mansion, but the “Peachtree Inn, est. 1979” sign takes you by surprise given that the paint job seems brand new and the white accents adorning the circular tower, wraparound porch, and windows are a work of art in their own right.

It’s a lone building with acres of land spanning behind it that includes a pristinely curated orchard of peach trees and additional farmland with harvestables that you can’t make out from where you stand. A quick survey of the land shows just how isolated the area is, but when you turn, you see that the road Leon had driven descends reasonably – enough to offer a glimpse of a few buildings about a mile away and a few other residential homes scattered in the distant hills.

As you get closer, you see another sign hanging beneath the bed and breakfast’s name that says, “Home of Jessop Jams!”

“I don’t know what I expected,” you whisper.

“Not bad?” Leon’s lips lift in a half-smile as he ushers you to move ahead of him.

You choose to walk beside him instead. “It’s really nice, actually.”

“RENEE, WE GOT GUESTS.”

You jump and press your hand against your chest as a gruff male voice cuts through the serenity of your surroundings.

You don’t spot its source right away, but hear a series of beeps and a motor as a golf cart of all things appears from behind the home. A portly man in denim overalls with short, salt and pepper hair beneath a wide-brimmed hat is behind the wheel. His pristinely groomed handlebar mustache, however, must be one hell of an icebreaker.

There’s no time to react or even greet him as you hear the screen door open and a shrill voice answering: “Well, not if you scare them off, honey!”

A middle-aged woman with kind features and freckled, sun-kissed skin stands on the porch, looking over the railing at the man with hands planted firmly on her hips. She wears a pink tank top and ankle-length jeans beneath a floral apron, her dark hair pulled up in a high ponytail and hidden beneath a pink bandana.

“Not scared at all,” you laugh nervously.

“I might be a little scared.” Leon mutters under his breath before either can get close enough to hear, but you nudge his arm with your elbow as subtly as you can manage.

The woman then turns to you and offers a bright smile. “Hey there! I’m Renee. That kooky ol’ curmudgeon over there is my husband, Beau. Welcome to Peachtree Inn!”

“What’d you call me??”

You and Leon speak over each other, offering a long-winded “Hiii!” and “Thaaanks!” respectively.

The golf cart halts between Renee and the two of you, making you stop abruptly as Leon’s arm extends to block your way and keep you from moving further.

Beau looks Leon up and down and then huffs, turns off the ignition, and mumbles something under his breath as he rounds the cart.

“Got any bags you need help with?”

“We’ll be fine. Appreciate it.” 

“F’you insist.” Beau doesn’t make much of an effort beyond that as he lifts his hands and shrugs, looking back at Renee. “I’m done here, then.”

Before Beau walks back to his cart, he tips his hat politely at you, then side-eyes Leon. You aren’t sure what to make of it, but it’s probably the closest thing to entertainment you’ve had in a while.

“But I’m jus’ warnin’ you now, son: mind yours and tone down whatever the hell’s got Nen all starry-eyed.”

“Sir, I just got here.” Leon answers flatly, but your ear perks at the amusement in his tone.

“And I been with my wife longer than you been alive. All’s I’m saying is you can afford to get a little ugly. Builds character.”

“You offering?”

Beau loops his thumbs through his overall straps and huffs in amusement, then turns to make his way up the porch steps. You exchange a look with Leon that has you both pursing your lips to keep from laughing as you follow.

The foyer and entrance to the home is tastefully decorated with not much more than a compact front desk by the stairs, a loveseat, and an area rug; the upkeep displayed on the outside of the home is just as noticeable indoors, with time-appropriate accents bringing the room together.

“Are y’all comin’ up from Savannah?” Renee asks.

“Heading down, actually,” Leon responds and you force a smile.

“Oh, you’re gonna love it – most people do, at least. If you’re stickin’ around, we also have a few brochures lined up. Mosston’s small, but we’ve got a cute historic town square with plenty to see. And y’all get to take a jar of our peach jam home with you. It’s complimentary when they’re in season –”

You’re half-listening as you read some of the brochure titles lining the front desk. There’s a few on the history of Mosston, others on seasonal water activities by the river, and some others advertising the shops at “Old Mosston’s” town square.

“– and if you love nature but hate hiking like Beau, the Spanish moss in town and on the road leading in is a hit with visitors. Might sound a bit weird, but I promise it’s a sight.”

“Guess we can branch out for a day.”

Your immediate reaction is to scoff and look at Leon, who seems satisfied with himself as Renee laughs.

“Well, thank goodness you got yourself a funny one. My Beau had me in stitches when we were goin’ steady.”

Realization dawns on you over what Beau said about Leon ‘minding’ his and you immediately stutter to deny it, but Leon interrupts.

“My ego definitely needed that, ma’am.”

She waves her hand as she takes Leon’s information, her tone relaxed but conversational. As she adds his name to the guest log, you don’t see very many names above it aside from ‘Alyssa A.’ dated about two months prior.

“So, are y’all on a couple’s trip? Just usin’ good ol’ PTO? Mayyyybe a honeymoon –”

“No!” You respond without thinking.

Renee’s still smiling, but her eyes widen as she looks at you. When you open your mouth to try for damage control, a strained noise comes out.

“I’m so sorry.” Renee groans and pinches her nose. “I get in the habit of askin’ too much but I know city folk like to keep to themselves sometimes. We don’t get a whole lotta guests at the tail end of summer usually and my customer service gets a bit rusty.”

Leon is handing her a card and your eyes dart from it to Leon and back again.

“And because I’m bein’ so damn nosy, I don’t mind offerin’ up our best for the same rate as our regular rooms.”

“That…won’t be necessary.” You laugh nervously. You feel Leon nudge your right side and you take a step to the left. “And we aren’t married.”

“Oh…?” Renee’s face grows red by the second and she covers her mouth. It’s clear she thinks she’s only digging herself deeper and it’s as endearing as it is mortifying for you. “I’m so sorry, I –”

“W-we aren’t married…” You feel your heart in your throat as you scramble for anything to say that might lessen the blow of this failed conversation. While Leon seems capable of lying without batting an eyelash, you’re slowly coming to the realization that might just back yourself into a corner for no reason and possibly fuck up the only temporary ‘base’ available. Not to mention, Renee’s obvious guilt alone makes you want to rethink your impulsiveness. 

“...and because we aren’t married, I would prefer not sharing a room.”

You manage one self-congratulatory nod and a strained smile, nearly sighing with relief as you see realization dawn on Renee’s face.

“Well, that’s fine.” She laughs softly, her tone easing into something that you often used when Stella needed reassurance. “I know the south’s got a bit of a reputation, but we ain’t gonna judge if that’s the case, darlin’.”

“Aaaand…that’s so sweet.” Your hands flex at your sides and you hesitate before moving closer to Leon once again to wrap an arm around his lower back. “But it’s all right. He’s used to it.”

While your stance might give the illusion of closeness, you’re careful not to press into his side and Leon remains still despite the obvious muscle spasm beneath his ribs where you’d initially touched.

“Sorry, I should have led with that.” Leon makes a show of tapping his temple. “Been a long twenty-four…you can hold both rooms on the card, no problem.”

“Well, rest up. Usually we shoot for breakfast at nine, but I don’t mind going by what works for y’all.”

After the check-in process is completed, you’re practically rushing to grab your things. Renee leads you upstairs to your rooms, emphasizing – to your horror – that they’re adjacent and share a balcony that overlooks the orchard.

“Great. Thanks so much.” You say. After Renee gives a spiel about needing anything and dialing her extension if you need anything, you quickly thank her and wave a hand at Leon when she heads back downstairs.

“I need to sleep some more. See you tomorrow.”

You don’t wait for a response as you enter the room. You wait until you hear his own door shut before your shoulders drop and you set your things aside to survey the cozy area. 

While you hadn’t seen any of the other rooms, it was clear that the theme of this one was some kind of deep, plum rococo style and a breathtaking view of the orchard from the home’s rounded tower windows. They fashioned a sitting area with upholstered chairs, a coffee table, and a loveseat while the bed sat dead center with a soft, plum-colored duvet and a matching bench at the end.

A second door with small windows leads out to the balcony, while a third on the opposite end of the room likely leads to the restroom. The decor is a little less extravagant, but you immediately make a mental note to get in the clawfoot bathtub as soon as you’re sure you won’t nod off inside it.

You didn’t expect such a gem in the middle of nowhere and the thought that Stella might love it is enough to carry your feet toward the bed where you lay face-down and close your eyes to avoid lingering on the reminder any longer.

→ ✶ CH 9

A/N: THANKS, GUYS. I HOPE YOU LIKED THIS ONE. I hope this story doesn't feel like it's dragging too much, but I promise the residents will certainly get evil in the near future. Also, stupid pointless side tangent, but I just really thought the golf cart would be a funny little thing and then realized that this is an RE fic, not freakin' Shaun of the Dead, and there is no way I'm going to have zombies swarming a golf cart because that visual is not on par with what I want out of this fic LMFAO okay I'm so sorry for the rambling today. <3

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