Chapter Text
“Well…”
Claire glanced at Leon, who was leaning over the bar to get a closer look at the young girl's name tag.
“Aniya! You make one hell of a drink.” His voice was low, and Claire could hear the sugary sweet syrup tone, every syllable oozing with his charm. The girl beamed with gratitude, soaking up Leon’s attention.
“It doesn’t even have alcohol in it,” Claire interjected, glaring at him with furrowed brows, her fists tight around the beer bottles in front of her. Balancing two in each hand, she kicked away the barstool and headed back to their table, leaving Leon alone at the counter.
“Don’t mind my rude friend, she’s had a rough day.” Their flirting faded out behind some stupid, unnecessarily loud song blasting from the jukebox.
"Rough day?" Claire grumbled through clenched teeth, exerting every ounce of willpower to keep herself from storming back and knocking Leon off his barstool.
Claire, Leon, and the rest of the team had only been released from quarantine less than two hours ago. Just four hours earlier, they found themselves knee-deep in what felt like the onset of their demise, trapped in what appeared to be their eternal resting places - abandoned Alcatraz prison cells.
“Guess we all decompress differently, huh?” Sliding the beers to each of her friends as she gestured towards Leon, who was now scribbling something on a napkin while the bartender giggled.
“Oh, Leon?” Rebecca’s neck craned as she looked past Claire. Flicking her wrist and waving him off, “You know Leon, I’m just glad he’s not drinking anymore and being social.”
Claire felt Chris’ presence beside her. His concerned eyes and slight frown casting a subtle spotlight on her insecurities. Under his gaze, each imperfection seemed magnified, making her feel oddly exposed. His furrowed eyebrows traced a roadmap of worry lines across his forehead.
"Don’t worry about it, Claire," he offered gently, lifting his beer in a gesture of reassurance.
"I’m not worried about it, Chris," Claire replied, rolling her eyes with slight agitation as she mirrored his action, taking a sip of her own beer.
Jill's eyes scanned from Chris to Claire and back again, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as she hunched over in Chris' direction.
"Am I missing something?" Her muffled tone was laced with amusement. “You Redfield’s really wear your hearts on your sleeves, hm?”
“Hey! I heard that,” Claire leaned over, inserting herself into the convo.
Just as Claire and Chris started defending themselves, Leon grabbed a vacant chair next to Claire and spun it around, straddling the backrest with a grin.
"What did I miss?" he asked, injecting his usual brand of light-heartedness into the group.
Without skipping a beat, Rebecca chimed in, returning his infectious smile with one of her own.
"We were just discussing how impressed we are with your sobriety, Leon." Rebecca shrugged; she’d always been so quick on her feet.
"Well, here's to that, friends," he said, nudging Claire's shoulder as he raised his glass filled with whatever mocktail the bartender had crafted for him.
His voice easily carried over the soft hums of other conversations floating through the air. Despite the steady stream of patrons, the bar was not overly crowded, allowing for them to be as loud as they wanted. Meanwhile, the jukebox interwove classic rock tunes into the background, while the scent of aged wood, tinged with hints of liquor, lingered in the air, adding to the bar's nostalgic charm.
Claire couldn't help but observe how Leon tried to force his smile to compete with the gentle glow of the ambient lighting cascading over their table. At what point had that smile become so fake? She noticed the subtle changes in his demeanor. The bright smile that once illuminated his face now seemed to falter, like a flickering flame fighting against the wind. His eyes, once alive with mischief and joy, now held a distant glaze.
Their conversation flowed effortlessly, but beneath the surface, Claire sensed an unspoken tension. When she asked about his field work and the recent mission that reunited them in San Francisco, his smile widened, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Like I said, it’s a living," his words clipped and rehearsed. "Seeing the sights, saving the world, you know how it goes."
And Claire did know. She knew ever since Raccoon City he couldn’t stop; he couldn’t say no to any mission—they were all a desperate attempt to fill the void that had slowly consumed him. She remembered the Leon of their youth, whose smile could light up a room and whose laughter was infectious. Now, it felt like she was talking to a stranger wearing his skin.
"It's good to see you doing well," she said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.
Leon's smile faltered for a moment, a shadow passing over his features before he masked it with a forced chuckle.
"Yeah, never better," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. But Claire heard the silent plea behind his words, the desperate hope that she wouldn't dig any deeper, wouldn't uncover the cracks in his carefully constructed facade.
To be honest, was anyone truly thriving? She glanced around the table briefly, her gaze lingering on each person. She was intimately acquainted with everyone, having stayed connected with each of them over time. Well, everyone except Leon.
She realized she didn't even know he was sober, or when he had gotten clean. Chris had mentioned Leon's struggles, but he never returned any of her phone calls, leaving her to assume Leon was still battling his demons.
This man—this man with whom she had traversed the depths of hell, whom she had played house with seventeen years ago—who was he? Someone she once believed she would always be close to, bonded by shared trauma and destiny, had become distant. He ignores her efforts to connect, sips mocktails, and flirts openly with strangers at the bar.
“Can’t say how happy I am that you were there today, Leon.” Jill clanked her bottle to his glass, leading everyone to follow as they cheered across the table.
“Ah, well I think my body has a homing device on Claire here. If she’s ever in trouble you can count on me to be close by.” He nudged her again making her ponytail swing onto her shoulder.
Claire playfully nudged him back. He wasn’t lying about that. Through all the years, there was one constant: whenever Claire found herself in a bind, Leon was reliably by her side.
“Right, you two met at the police station during the Raccoon breakout.” Jill took a swig of her beer. “I was there too, a fucking nightmare, and that’s putting it lightly,” she scoffed.
“Gas station,” they both said in unison, prompting raised eyebrows and confusion from the others.
“We actually met at the gas station,” Claire corrected Jill. “We got separated, but I found Sherry, and Leon found–”
“–Ada Wong,” Chris interrupted with disgust in his voice.
“Right,” she paused, shooting Chris an annoyed look, “but we escaped together and took care of Sherry.” Claire's smile tinged with wistful remembrance, longing for lost moments and long-faded daydreams. Her mind traced back to the days spent in small motel rooms, picking out clothes at second-hand stores, surviving on terrible junk food, and that one smoke-hazed night where she and Leon blurred the line of their friendship.
“Until Claire left to save her big bro,” Leon reached behind Claire and jabbed Chris in his solid bicep. “And I became a single dad!” Leon joked. Claire flinched beside him, imagining a twinge of resentment in his voice.
She shot a glance at Leon, frustration resurfacing as he remained aloof from their friendships. Claire being at the receiving end of his disagreements, his fleeting presence, and even his silent treatment was one thing, perhaps even warranted. But Sherry? How could he disregard Sherry? It gnawed at her, tainting their bond with the bitter taste of neglect.
"Why don’t you call her?” Claire's question hung in the air, the sharp edge to her tone cutting through the casual chatter around them. The sudden shift in atmosphere prompted the others to exchange glances, their own conversations faltering as they tuned into the tension between Claire and Leon.
Leon's brow furrowed in defense, his smile fading into a thoughtful expression as he drew a breath, buying a moment before giving his response.
“Sherry? We’re on good terms,” he shrugged.
“She says you don’t return her texts or phone calls.” If Claire was being honest she was really pissed that he wasn’t returning hers.
"Well, been a little busy chasing other young blondes around the world that need saving," he quipped, taking a sip of his drink and breaking their eye contact, seemingly eager to move past her sudden interrogation.
“She’d love to see you, you know?” Her gaze remained fixed on his profile, persisting in engagement even without his attention. “She doesn’t live far; we could visit her together.”
"Together, huh?" His empty glass emitted a gentle clink as he set it down, his eyebrows raised as he locked eyes with her once more. She nodded.
"Please?" Claire's voice wavered slightly as she glanced at Leon, her fingers nervously tracing her bottle of beer. She hoped he wouldn't see through her thinly veiled request to reunite him with Sherry. Anything to bridge the growing distance between them, even if just for a moment.
“Sure, why not,” a soft smile crept onto his face, and Claire noticed a spark of life behind his eyes. “It would be refreshing to see you both somewhere safe for once.”
Chris leaned forward, gesturing toward Claire with his bottle as he spoke to Leon.
“Claire’s good like that,” he remarked. “She loves all that family reunion shit.” He chuckled, then took a swig of his beer.
“Shut up!” Claire jabbed her elbow roughly into her brother’s ribs.
“Ow!” Chris grabbed his side, coughing as beer landed on his shirt and the table. Jill and Rebecca shared a laugh as they helped him clean the mess.
Leon’s subtle but hasty movement caught her eye, seemingly using the attention on Chris as a distraction to excuse himself. He was already walking away from the table before she could utter another word.
Her eyes tracked his confident stride back to the bar, where they fixated on his interaction with the bartender. Behind her intense stare lingered a hint of sadness and frustration, reflecting her longing for a memory just out of reach. Back then, she didn’t have a choice, but now she wonders if things might have turned out differently if she had stayed all those years ago.
“I’m gonna make a call,” she announced, dragging the chair loudly as she pushed herself away from the table. Immediately Chris’ eyes were on her again.
“Hey, you–”
“I’m good. Just getting some air,” she quickly cut him off with a wave of her hand, and gracefully navigated through several tables to reach the exit.
You think your group helps people.
The words from earlier in the day echoed and taunted her as she leaned against the building, inhaling the cool night’s breeze. Her ponytail danced as she slowly shook her head, hoping to dislodge his voice from her memory.
We both know you prefer sitting back and letting others do the dirty work.
She leaned her head back against the wall, hands instinctively rising to cover her face as she exhaled a deep breath. That guy was talking out of his ass, she reminded herself. He didn't know shit about who she was or what she'd done to help others. She'd dispatched enough infected individuals to last a lifetime, and somewhere along the line, she'd evolved. Her values shifted, and with them, her way of life.
Seventeen years ago, Claire was reckless; her name was constantly linked with trouble. She gave Chris more aneurysms than she could recall, and that was all before graduating high school. She drank, she smoked, she frequented places she shouldn't have, Raccoon City during a zombie apocalypse just being one of those places. Never questioning her choices, she was the first to rev her motorcycle into danger if it meant protecting a loved one or the innocent. She was elusive, unbound by conventions. She fucked whoever she desired, leaving a trail of shattered hearts alongside the hordes of zombies that she laid out in her wake.
That was who she was when she dropped everything to search for Chris in 1998. But upon her return, everything had changed. Sherry was in custody, and Leon had been coerced into becoming a government agent as blackmail, ensuring their safety. It was the only time she felt she had something to return to, only to see it vanish as quickly as it had appeared.
She vowed to shield others from the same fate she'd endured. Guided by a fervent desire to reunite the displaced, heal fractured families, and forestall looming chaos, she enlisted with TerraSave. Her every effort was a prayer that someday those on the frontlines, her comrades and brother included, would return home unscathed.
Amidst the tangle of malevolent forces—be they monstrous creatures, infected souls, or the shadowy machinations of corrupt corporations—she forged ahead. Through tireless investigations, she rooted out the seeds of destruction so that she could do her part in aiding in the fight.
Her resolve was not merely spoken; it was etched into the lines of her weary face, and through her unyielding mission to safeguard the world she knew.
She did it for Chris, for Leon… for Sherry.
Suddenly recalling her initial purpose for stepping outside, she reached for her phone, swiftly navigating her shortcuts to check in with her essentially adopted daughter.
“Claire! I’m so relieved to hear from you!”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine, we're all fine. I’m back home.”
“Wait, what! Leon is there? He was in Alcatraz!?”
“Funny how the universe works, huh?”
“How does he always do that? I think it is a sign from the universe!”
“I think you watch too many movies.”
“Tomorrow? We’ll meet at your house? I’ll be there! Can’t wait to see you both.”
Claire couldn't help but smile, feeling a hopeful rush that made her bounce on her feet, a jittery excitement pulsing through her body. Knowing that those she cared most about were all in the same town and safe, even if just for an afternoon, was all she needed to find joy these days.
As she brought her foot up, she used the bottom of her boot to push herself off the wall. With a swift motion, she shoved her phone back into her pocket and pulled the door open, allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting of the bar.
Chris and Jill were now playing darts in the far corner. Claire smirked at how well they had been getting along, a stark contrast from just earlier this morning. Good for him, she thought. Nothing like a near-death experience to bring you closer together. The thought made her briefly scan the room for Leon.
Still chatting up the bartender, Claire decided she would put that bartender to work, since she clearly had nothing but time.
"Can I get a shot of whiskey, thanks." She quickly sat down, interrupting their conversation, and scooted her barstool next to Leon. Her arm gently rested beside his with the lightest touch.
“Uhm,” The girl’s face quickly shifted from soft to hard as her gaze moved from Leon to Claire. She scanned Claire’s face and narrowed her eyes, then looked back at Leon, clearly trying to piece together who she was to him.
“You can put it on his tab,” Claire tilted her head, flashing a brief smile to the bartender. The bartender’s eyebrows raised in question at Leon.
Leon briefly looked over at Claire, noticing how close she was sitting to him. He leaned slightly away to scan her over, his eyebrows furrowing with hesitation. It was as if he were asking himself what was going on, before his attention returned to the bartender.
“You heard the girl,” he shrugged, giving his head a slight confused shake as he frowned. Meanwhile, Claire's smile beamed brightly at the bartender, as if she had just been announced the victor in a fight.
Quickly, the bartender grabbed a bottle of whisky and filled a shot glass with the warm amber. She aggressively slid the glass to Claire, spilling some of it across the bar in the process.
“Enjoy,” she said sarcastically, before turning her attention back to Leon. “So, how long are you in town? Should we have dinner tomorrow?”
Claire couldn't help but roll her eyes at the bartender's dismissive attitude. The alcohol already coursing through her veins was riling her up. With a determined grip, she reached for the whiskey, ready to intensify its effects.
With a swift motion, Claire raised the glass to her lips, the fiery liquid igniting a trail of warmth down her throat. In that fleeting moment, time paused, as the robust flavor of whiskey enveloped her senses, leaving behind a lingering essence of courage to aid her with the final blow.
“Oh! I just talked to Sherry.” She slammed down the shot glass to capture their attention. “She actually wants to see you tomorrow.” The liquor encouraged her to sway, resting her weight slightly on him. His eyes looked down at where their shoulders were connected, then slowly up to her face, confusion still brushed across his handsome features.
“Who is Sherry?” The bartender pushes herself up from the bar, grabbing a rag from her back pocket to wipe off the spilled whiskey with hard, annoyed vigor. Claire thought what it really looked like was that she wanted to wipe Claire off the face of the earth.
“Our daughter,” She smiled warmly at Leon, biting her lip, eager to see his response.
Leon choked on the cough that tore from his throat, his face turning a faint red. Claire considered that it could be from anything: anger, embarrassment, or simply his dramatic hacking.
She gingerly brought her hand to his back, rubbing it soothingly in an effort to help suppress his sudden fit of coughing.
“Wait, you two have a kid together?” The bartender’s lips quirked up in a wry smile, showcasing her amusement. Claire watched as the bartender shook her head and retrieved a folded napkin from her pocket, which she assumed held Leon’s number. Crinkling it in the palm of her hand, the bartender chuckled, “That poor child,” before tossing it into the trash as she walked away, disappearing into a private section of the bar.
Leon’s coughs turned into laughs, as he shrugged his shoulders, his hands lifting slightly, palms upturned in a helpless gesture. His expression mirrored the uncertainty conveyed by his hands, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted in a bewildered smile. It was as if he were pleading for understanding, silently asking Claire, “What just happened?"
“Seriously Claire? What the fuck?” His voice was higher pitched with his defensive question.
“I mean I didn’t think she’d react like that, I’m sorry.” She genuinely was. Initially she was caught up in the moment, but now seeing how everything played out she felt foolish, and terrible for ruining his chances with the young girl.
“Well, what did you expect?” He scoffed looking at their empty drinks. “Well those are never gonna get refilled,” his hand gestured to the glasses in front of them.
“It was an accident,” She whined, feigning innocence, her eyes sparkled even as she pretended to frown and tilt her head down in shame.
Suddenly, he swiveled the stool so that he was facing her. His index finger rested gently underneath her chin adding pressure and forcing her to look up at him. She drew a sharp breath as he leaned into her space bringing their faces close together, but he continued moving forward, their cheeks grazing and his lips finding their intended destination brushing up against her ear.
“I don’t think it was an accident. I think you might be jealous.”
Her eyes widened with surprise as his breath tickled her ear, sending a tightness into her stomach. She exhaled sharply, feeling the wind abruptly pull from her lips. All the heat rushed to her face as he shifted his weight back onto his own stool, a confident smirk mirroring the challenging stare she found in his eyes.
"Ya? Well what if I am?" She dug deep to find that 19-year-old girl who didn’t give a shit about anything.
She flared her nose slightly, struggling to keep her lips from pulling into a smile. She loved how her honest response quickly transformed his tight smirk into slackened, open lips, his eyes betraying the shock he truly felt.
She sensed his eyes frantically searching her face, narrowing, as if he were waiting for her next punchline. His response came only when she offered none.
“What’s gotten into you? How many of these have you had?” Lifting the empty shot glass he shook it in front of her arching his eyebrows to mock her.
She leaned forward, gently guiding his hand back to the bar to help him place the glass down. Feeling her fingers overlapping his felt comforting, warming her. She used the contact to steady herself as she brought her face closer to his, as if she were about to share a secret.
“Just the one,” she whispered, her lips ghosting over his. She could see the struggle on his face, his jaw tight and his eyes glancing at her lips.
Claire..." He swallowed, as if pushing everything back down. His hands squeezed her shoulders lightly, guiding her back onto her own barstool. "This is a bad idea," he said, shaking his head slowly.
His words immediately snapped her out of her trance. The sudden rejection reminded her that they're not kids anymore, and her anger bubbled from under her skin, traveling up to her face, contorting it with a look of disgust.
“But the bartender was a good idea?" Her arms crossed tightly across her chest, brows furrowed deeply. She tilted her head, hoping to make him feel stupid.
She watched him hunch over onto the bar bringing his hand up to rub his forehead while he squeezed his eyes tightly and he sighed in what sounded like deep frustration.
“That’s different Clarie,” his voice soft as he laid his head in his hand bringing his eyes back up to her.
“Why?” Her voice still laced with anger.
“You know why.” His voice trails off as he turns his head, and breaks eye contact.
In truth, Claire was at a loss. How could she know why? She hardly knew anything about him anymore. It seemed evident he was going to leave with the bartender without a second thought. Was this a nightly routine now? Seventeen years ago, she had been just the second girl he'd ever been with. Now, she couldn't help but wonder how many random girls had been tangled in his bed sheets since then.
She rotated her stool to face out towards the rest of the bar. Then, putting her elbows up on the counter behind her, she lounged back with a defeated sigh.
She spotted Chris, Jill, and Rebecca back at their table. Chris' voice boomed loudly over the music, a clear sign that he was drunk. Most people had cleared out, leaving just a few stragglers dancing carelessly, their bodies wrapped around each other as they swayed to the music. A pang of jealousy gripped her stomach.
“I wanna go home," she said aloud, not so much to Leon as it was an internal conclusion she put out into the world.
“Here, I’ll drive you,” He offered. Quickly hopping to his feet and extending his hand to help her off the stool. Claire continued to scan the bar paying no attention to the hand that was in her peripheral vision.
“I’m fine,” her voice carried an edge of boredom to it.
“Come on,” his voice was a bit more forceful. “I want to, besides you’ve been drinking.” He tucked his hand into his coat jacket, seeming a bit self-conscious about letting it hang in the air waiting for her to reciprocate.
“Fine, but I’m not drunk. I just don’t feel like driving.” She pushes herself off the barstool following Leon’s lead to the door. Listening to her own boots clank loudly through the stilling atmosphere of the now quiet bar.
They both look over at the table where their friends are seated at, and wave as they continue their navigation to the exit. Claire catches Chris’ attention as he pushes out his chair and stands with a questioning look.
“I’m fine, I’m fine” She gestures for him to sit back down. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” All the natural teasing in her voice from earlier falls flat giving way to her tired disappointment.
“Ya, I’ll see y'all when I see ya,” Leon makes his hand into a gun and points at them with a wink holding the door open for Claire, as she follows and they vanish into the cold night air.
"Where did you park?" Leon patiently stalled, waiting for Claire to catch up and walk beside him. As she fell into step, he couldn't resist playfully nudging her, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Whoa! A minivan, huh? What happened to the bike?"
Claire rolled her eyes with a theatrical huff, handing him the keys.
"It's not a minivan," she retorted, her tone dripping with mock indignation.
"Whatever you say, mama," Leon grinned, slipping his arm around her. Their laughter filled the air as they stumbled slightly, Claire pushing him back gently.
She couldn't ignore the warmth spreading through her chest, her face flushing at Leon's teasing. She found herself being drawn back to him despite his earlier hesitation, relishing the comfort of his arm around her. Without thinking, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, seeking closeness in his embrace.
She laughed at the absurd notion of them ever actually having a child together and using such endearments.
“Just take me home, daddy,” she joked.
Leon's chin rested lightly on top of her head as he leaned into her hug.
"Oh! I like that, say it again?"
Claire playfully shoved him away, crossing her arms with a cute scowl.
"Gah! You're so gross," she teased, but her heart swelled with affection as they continued toward the car, their playful banter filling the night air.
Claire rested her head against the window, watching the cars pass by on the highway. She thought idly about the multitude of vehicles on the road, imagining that most were heading home from an evening of drinking, much like her and Leon. As she settled back into her seat, her gaze slowly drifted towards Leon, who navigated the winding road with ease. The glow of passing headlights cast a mesmerizing dance across the windshield, illuminating his features in fleeting glimpses. Despite the touch of age that ruggedized his once softer edges, his allure remained undiminished, a testament to the timeless appeal of his boyish charm. With both hands firmly on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, a quiet calm blanketed them both.
“When did you stop drinking?” She interrupted the calmness, her voice breaking the silence between them.
“Little after your brother dragged me out of a solo bender while on vacation in Colorado,” he replied, his eyes remaining fixed on the road, a hint of discomfort in his tone.
“Yeah, he mentioned that,” Claire said, her gaze still glued to him.
“Embarrassing,” Leon scoffed under his breath, shifting slightly in his seat.
“Was it hard?” She asked gently, her voice filled with empathy. “You know, to quit?”
“Nah,” Leon scrunched his nose, a wry smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Just a little self-wallowing and sweating. I’ve been through worse.”
“You know you can talk to me, Leon,” she reassured him, her voice light but sincere.
“Yeah, what do you want me to say, Claire?” Leon's voice was heavy with the weight of his words, each one sounding like a burden he had carried for far too long. "That the nightmares got so bad that I couldn’t sleep anymore, so I drank bottles of whiskey nightly to pass out? Or that I would get shithoused before a mission so that shooting down monsters felt more like a hallucination than my actual life?" He paused, taking a deep breath. "Or did you want me to call you while I locked myself in my bathroom and slept in my shower for 5 days? You don’t need any of this shit, Claire, really you don't.”
Claire's heart ached at the pain in Leon's voice, her own eyes stinging with unshed tears. She reached out, her hand finding his, offering silent support in the midst of his distress. As she held his hand, memories flooded her mind, reminding her of a code they created seventeen years ago to communicate without alerting Sherry. It served as a poignant reminder of the bond they shared and the strength they found in each other's presence. With a gentle squeeze, she conveyed her solidarity, her grip a silent reassurance in the darkness that surrounded them.
“Yeah, I want you to tell me exactly all of that,” she said softly. She loosened her grip, holding her breath nervously, awaiting his response, hoping for the squeeze back that would affirm their connection.
She watched his jaw clench as he briefly closed his eyes and exhaled loudly through his nose. Gently, he pulled his hand out of hers and put it back onto the wheel.
“I’m a fucking mess, Claire. I’m not who I used to be,” he confessed, his voice heavy with anguish. As he spoke, he glanced over at her, and she saw, for the first time that night, all the real sadness beneath the phony smile he flashed everyone.
Not sure what to say, she looked back out the window, finding solace in the familiar sight of towering trees that signaled her approaching exit.
“Oh! This is my exit!” she shouted, swiftly pointing to the upcoming turn.
“Shit!” he exclaimed, his hand darting up across her chest as a barrier, quickly flicking on the blinker and maneuvering through two lanes to catch the exit. Her heart raced as he slammed on the brakes to avoid the traffic stalled at the turn signal just beyond.
“I’m so sorry!” She covered her mouth in shock. “I completely forgot that you didn’t know where you were going.” Her voice was slightly muffled by one of her hands.
“You okay?” She felt his concern as his hand lowered into her lap, gently squeezing her free hand.
She looked down at their intertwined hands. Just like that, he was back, the rookie cop who was always so worried about her. She nodded, a melancholy smile dusting across her features. Their momentary connection lingered as they reached their destination.
“For a minivan, this baby’s got handles!” Leon opened Claire’s door and handed her back the keys.
“It’s not a minivan! Knock it off,” she climbed out of the car and locked it. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be safe. She’s got the highest safety ratings.” She jabbed her finger into his chest to further drive her point.
“Wow,” Leon nodded in faux interest.
“Didn’t you just tell us you crashed your bike this morning?” She looked at him expectantly.
“Don’t remind me, I loved that bike.” His expression made him look pained.
“Well, you wouldn’t have had any problems in this girl,” she patted her SUV lovingly on the hood and walked past him toward her doorway, her steps purposeful and confident. “You coming, Leon?” Her ponytail swung as she looked back at him over her shoulder, just in time to catch a glimpse of his contemplative face.
"Yeah, right behind you," he nodded.
She watched the hesitation on his face melt away, replaced by a determined smile as he skipped up the steps with athletic grace, effortlessly catching up with her as she unlocked her front door.
"David, I'm home!" she called out into the house, her voice rising in pitch. Turning, she found Leon leaning back across the threshold of her entryway, seemingly reevaluating his decision to join her.
“David?” he scrutinized her, uncertainty lacing his voice.
“Yeah, Davidson, my dog, come on,” she motioned for him to follow her inside, so she could close the door. He took a few steps inside, clearing the door so that Claire could lock it. She watched him look around her small house, and she couldn’t help but think about the last time they were alone together like this. Her heart settled into a comforting rhythm as Leon's familiar presence graced her home, his essence weaving familiarity into the very walls around them.
“You have a dog?” He turned to stare at her in confusion.
It wasn’t until this moment that she realized he too could be feeling the same burrowing pain of the haunting lapse in their friendship. He was just as unaware of her current life as she was of his.
Suddenly, her black lab jumped up excitedly from behind, surprising her. Startled, she stumbled forward towards Leon, and his arms instinctively braced her shoulders for balance.
“Yes,” Claire's eyes rolled in agitation as she turned around and squatted lower to the ground, throwing her arms around the dog. “I have a very bad dog,” she said, her voice turning comically sweet as she directed it at the canine. “Don’t I, David?” She rubbed his ears and put her face next to his, cooing in his ear as his tail wagged frantically.
“David meet Leon, Leon this is David,” butterflies forming in her stomach as David rushed toward Leon to say hello.
Mimicking Claire’s earlier movement, he knelt down to the dog's level, giving him generous back scratches and head rubs.
“Ohh, don’t listen to your bossy mom, you’re a good boy, I know it,” his voice in a low pretend whisper just loud enough for Claire to hear the pretend secret they shared.
“Come on, Davidson, let’s get you dinner!” Claire giggled as she headed for the kitchen, leaving Leon alone in her quaint living area.
“I rescued David about a year ago. I got tired of sleeping with two-legged dogs and decided to share my bed with a four-legged one instead,” she called from the kitchen. She heard Leon snort at her joke as she listened to his footsteps through her house.
“So, no luck in the boyfriend department, I take it?” His voice reached her from the other room.
She smiled to herself as several visuals of flings and supporting men from her past flashed before her.
Claire sought comfort in physical connections; they were a fleeting reprieve from the chaos of her mind. While intimate moments offered her brief respite, she was wary of the emotional entanglements and expectations they brought. As she grew older, casual flings lost their appeal, prompting her to focus her energy on TerraSave and adopt Davidson. He provided her with direction, helping her to leave behind her impulsive behavior and find a renewed sense of purpose.
Emerging from the kitchen, she saw Leon standing in front of her picture mantel with a framed photo of her and several of her colleagues in his hand. He must sense her in the room because his voice questioned at a much lower decibel.
“No lucky guy from work?” He faced the photo out towards her, shrugging his shoulders. “They look nice?”
“Most of them have wives,” Claire shrugged as she crossed the room to join him. She definitely has slept with the ones who didn’t, but that doesn’t seem like the question he's asking.
Her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she watched him return the photo and reach for a small photograph tucked behind the others, captured in a small bronze frame. His thumb glided across the three smiling faces, displacing the collected dust from the glass.
"You kept this," he said softly, his voice carrying more confirmation than inquiry, a gentle acknowledgment of the significance behind the picture.
"Of course... reminds me of the only time I’ll probably ever be a mother and have a family of my own," she said, rubbing her neck for comfort while looking over at the picture in his hands.
“Yeah,” he ran his thumb across it again, as if touching it could bring him back there.
“You were a good dad to Sherry, Leon,” she said, watching how his eyes flickered across the three faces smiling back at him.
“You wouldn’t know,” he swallowed, then chuckled. “Gah, look at that idiot,” he said, seemingly trying to quickly cover his last statement.
Claire winced and squeezed the back of her neck tightly, letting his words hit her. He was right; she didn’t know. She left them, abandoned them. Following his lead, she allowed their conversation to brush over his comment.
“Hey, I liked that idiot,” she smiled, remembering what it was like to be that nineteen-year-old in the picture.
She watched his face soften, a small smile forming as he returned the picture to its place behind all her other captured memories.
“Well, I was crazy about you. I thought I was going to marry you,” he said, his voice cracking into laughter at the confession. Claire laughed as well, the ridiculousness of his words causing her to look at him while she caught her breath.
“You laugh, but I did,” he turned to catch her eyes. The corners of his mouth quivered, betraying the weight of his memories. “I woke up stoned as hell after the best sex of my life with a girl I met just four days before. Everything was rainbows and sunshine back then. Even after a zombie outbreak, I thought I was living in a fairytale where shit just worked out.” She watched his shoulders slump, the lines of his face etched with a mixture of nostalgia and sorrow. “Then you were gone, and Sherry and I struggled.”
Claire shook her head, her heart aching for the pain she had caused. Her hand hovered, yearning to offer comfort yet hesitant to intrude.
“I’m so sorry, Leon,” she said softly. She closed her eyes, her fingers tentatively making contact with his back, tracing soothing circles. “We were so young, and I was so scared. Scared of everything back then.”
“Hey,” his voice was gentle, a lifeline in the sea of uncertainty. She felt the subtle shift as he turned to face her, his eyes searching hers with a depth of understanding that took her breath away. “I know we would have struggled even if you stayed. Neither of us knew what we were doing back then, and Chris needed you. I know that.” His words were a balm to her guilt-ridden soul. “Nothing that happened to Sherry or me was your fault, and you not being there when they found us was for the best.”
Despite her tremendous effort not to blink and will her tears back, a single drop betrayed her resolve, falling from her open, sparkling eye. Her lips quivered as she fought to maintain her composure, but when his thumb wiped the trail from her cheek, she broke, leaning into his touch. For the last seventeen years, all she had ever wanted was to hear that Leon didn't blame her.
She and Sherry stayed close, but Leon distanced himself, dedicating his life to the government and secret service. Their meetings were infrequent, his presence a reassuring beacon in her darkest moments. Yet, they never broached the topic of her departure or the night before she left, when they surrendered to their passions in the midst of youth's intensity and the looming shadow of uncertainty that cast over their future.
She closed her eyes and crashed her face into his chest, wrapping her arms tightly around him.
“All I ever wanted was for Sherry, Chris, and you to be safe and happy,” his shirt was soft against her cheek, absorbing her tears. She felt his strong hands wrap around her back and cradle her head.
"I, I'm happy I'm here," he said, his tone neutral yet sincere.
As she felt his breath against her hair, she tightened her embrace around him. Though she couldn't see, it seemed like he was gently kissing the top of her head. In this moment, a flood of emotions enveloped her: warmth from his closeness, comfort from his embrace, and a sense of security in his presence. It was as if the world outside melted away, leaving only the two of them, the two of them surviving.
Claire withdrew gently, her fingertips tracing away her tears.
“We're quite the pair, huh?” she murmured with a hollow laugh. His nod echoed her sentiment, his smile faltering at the edges. In their shared vulnerability, unspoken words hung heavy in the air.
“God, seventeen years ago I would have sparked a blunt and told us to just get the fuck over it,” Claire laughed, though disappointment lingered in her tone.
“We can definitely still do that,” Leon smirked, reaching into his pocket and producing a small plastic tube containing two joints. Claire's laughter faded, her eyes widening in shock as she watched Leon pull out the tube. Her mouth fell open, unable to comprehend the reality of him carrying herbs this way.
“Wait, aren't you clean? Should you really be smoking that?” she asked, her tone mirroring her concern.
“What are you, my mother?” Leon scoffed. “It's just herbs, relax. Like you said, it helps me get the fuck over it, and then it helps me get into bed,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “It's nothing like what alcohol helped me do.”
Claire blinked, processing his words. Despite her lingering concern, she recognized the sincerity in his response, and her initial shock began to subside. She couldn’t help but feel like a hypocrite; though she hadn’t smoked in over a year, many nights she had relied on herbs to help her sleep. As she reflected on her relationship with smoking, memories of the night she introduced it to Leon flooded back, causing her to giggle at the thought of it coming full circle.
"I guess you do owe me, from almost twenty years ago!" Claire exclaimed with a grin. She reached for Leon's empty hand and gave it a playful tug, feeling his body jerk into motion as he followed her lead into the kitchen.
With swift movements, she flicked on the range hood over her stove and jogged around the room to open the windows, allowing fresh air to circulate. Finally, she pulled the chain attached to her ceiling fan, setting it into a gentle whirring motion, and walked over to her counter. With a deft motion, she hopped onto the countertop, opened the drawer below, and retrieved a lighter. Extending her hand, she beckoned for Leon to come closer so she could pass it to him.
“In the house?” Leon looked around realizing that she was preparing the room to be smoked in. “Shouldn’t we go outside?”
“No way! I have neighbors! Besides, I used to smoke in here all the time. It's fine.” She shook the lighter encouraging him to take it.
She watched as he effortlessly cracked open the tube and casually lit up one of the joints. The ease with which he indulged in such habits struck her deeply. It was a reminder of his nonchalant approach, not just to smoking, but to his plans for the evening, evident in his intention to take that annoying bartender home. His current demeanor mirrored her past self, a stark contrast to the boy she met in Raccoon City. Despite these disparities, she found herself drawn to him, a profound sense of familiarity mingling with a lingering attraction. It was as if she was rediscovering him once more.
Yet, for all the fleeting relationships she'd had and the moments of indulgence, nothing filled the void in her heart. True solace only came when she was far from Raccoon City, traveling safely with Sherry and Leon, or returning home with her brother, Chris. She recognized Leon's efforts to find comfort and desperately wanted to provide it for him.
As he ignited the joint, she fixated on the tip, now glowing ruby red. He drew a deep breath, his Adam's apple moving with each inhale. Removing the joint from his mouth, he cradled it delicately between his thumb and index finger. A sense of envy crept over her as she observed how effortlessly his body relaxed. Her gaze remained fixed on his throat, captivated by the way he swallowed and tilted his head back to hold the smoke in.
Without thinking she spread her legs and reached out for his shirt pulling him forward. Smoothly, he positioned himself between her thighs, his hand trailing up the side of one leg before swiftly retreating to grip the countertop for stability. With her hand tightly clutching his shirt her other hand delicately found its way behind his neck, fingers threading through his hair, as she drew him closer, closing the distance between their lips.
“I want some,” her lips hovering just below his, parting greedily, begging for a taste.
He let out a quiet moan, and with a gentle tilt of his head, he opened his mouth. His breath brushed against her lips, carrying with it the faint scent of sweet smoke. As he exhaled, Claire felt a rush of sensations: the soft touch of his lips against hers, the subtle heat of the smoke as it filled her mouth, and the lingering closeness of their shared breath. In that fleeting moment, it was like they were kids again, just trying to figure out what they were going to do next.
For Claire, it was more than just a physical act; it was a gesture of intimacy, a silent reminder that despite the challenges and the passage of time, they were still the same people. As the haze of smoke dissipated, she couldn't help but feel a sense of closeness to Leon, a feeling of comfort and belonging that washed over her like a gentle tide. In that moment, she knew that no matter what challenges they faced, or how far they grew apart, they would always have each other.
"It tastes sweet," she murmured, smoke trailing from her lips as she relaxed her hold on him, allowing him to take a slight step back. Drawing her knees together, she invited his strong arms to anchor themselves on the countertop, framing her hips and keeping him close.
A reminiscent smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as his eyes scanned her face. He appeared on the verge of sharing something, yet a hint of hesitation lingered, a nervousness about revealing it. Bringing the joint back to his lips, he took a small hit before holding it between them, examining it.
"I like the cinnamon-flavored ones," he said, maintaining eye contact while tilting his head slightly to avoid blowing smoke in her face. "I've tried a few, but they're the only ones that taste like a memory."
Her eyes widened with realization as she blushed, a wave of nostalgia washing over her from that night seventeen years ago on the hotel balcony, where he had whispered that she tasted like cinnamon.
She watched him take another long drag of the joint, her eagerness palpable as she leaned forward, craving more. Sensing her desire, he gently guided her chin, positioning her to his liking, before granting her another exhale of smoke.
She felt her heartbeat pound as she reopened her legs to invite him back where he belonged. Feeling the tingling sensation of the herbs meld with the faint numbness from the alcohol, she longed to feel his touch everywhere. She pressed her forehead to his and released the smoke between them.
She feels his breath quicken as he glides his hand down her thigh toward her knee, raising her calf and prompting her to envelop him with her legs. Her breath spikes to match his, her arms gently encircling his neck and rest upon his shoulders. He pants softly against her eager mouth, his eyes fluttering as they struggle to meet hers, fixed on her slightly parted lips.
“Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice strained, sending goosebumps across her entire body. "Tell me this is a terrible idea." His gaze shifted from her eyes to her lips, and back.
“Don’t you fucking dare stop,” She squeezed her legs around him and tightened her grip around his neck crashing their mouths together.
After leading all night, she finally felt his hands tighten around her thighs as he pressed his body against hers. His lips eagerly sucked on her bottom lip, his tongue seeking entrance. She felt him take control, his grip on her waist firm. Lowering his mouth to her neck, he planted gentle kisses no longer needing her as a guide; he showed her that he knew every curve of her body by heart.
She threw her head back and moaned giving him more access. Her hands threading wildly up his neck and into his hair.
“W-why did you stop this earlier, why were you holding back,” she needed to know, she needed to hear him say it.
"Claire," he murmured against the crevice of her neck, his voice a mix of desire and restraint. With a soft groan, he seemed reluctant to part his lips from her skin. "For seventeen years, I've shielded my heart. It felt like the right thing for everyone." Returning to her lips, he kissed her as if she were the source of his salvation. As he withdrew slightly, his whispered words hung in the air, each one feeling like a deeply personal confession meant only for her. “I guard it so well now, that I operate like I don’t have a heart at all.” His breath heavy, “It’s here though Claire.” She felt his hand reach for hers, guiding it up against his chest. “It’s a sad excuse for a heart, but it’s here if you want it, it's yours.”
This was the part where she runs. She retreats into her internal thoughts, closes off, fucks him and sends him on his way. But not now. She had evolved, matured, much like Leon. She wasn't the person she once was.
“Let me be what you need,” she offers, like he did for her all those years ago.
They reconnect desperately at the mouth, hard and almost painful, it felt raw and hungry like she’d never had a real kiss before this moment. He reached for the hem of his shirt and yanked it up. The cotton briefly cut between them so he could lift it over his head. Immediately, she felt the tug of her own blouse, and she instinctively lifted her hands to help him remove it.
Their lips found each other again as she felt his hands play with the clasp of her bra removing it and tossing it out into the middle of the kitchen floor. She accepted his groan into her mouth as his gentle and possessive fingertips traced all across the curves of her body.
The last of their clothes lay spread across the kitchen floor, abandoned in their haste. As he lifted her from the countertop, she clung to him, her limbs wrapping tightly around his body. Interrupting their fervent kiss, he asked about her bedroom, his tone reflecting their shared urgency. With a determined stride, he carried her towards the door, pushing it open with a swift kick before laying her down on the bed with a sense of purpose and desire.
Her rising lust, the herbs and the alcohol played together to make her feel heavy and so needy. she felt him climb on top of her and fit between her legs. They both moaned as he pushed inside her, filling her perfectly.
“You still need me to talk dirty to you? I’ve gotten better,” he winked thrusting right where she needed him.
“You remember that?” she whined.
“Fuck- yeah I remember everything from that night, I jerked off to it for years.” Their teeth collided as they smiled and laughed into their kiss.
“Honestly? It’s been awhile since someone’s talked dirty to me,” Her cheeks burned with how easily he pounded the words out of her.
“Oh– is that so? Well you didn’t like it back then,” he trailed kisses from her mouth down her chin and neck and settled between her cleavage. “But, what if I told you how beautiful you are?”
“It’d be a lie,” she murmured, seizing a fistfull of his hair at the back of his head and tugging it gently, her tongue tracing along his exposed neck. She felt the vibration of his groan beneath her lips.
“Oh christ Clare, You’re fucking gorgeous.” He moaned.
Her entire body responded to the words, gripping him tighter as she sucked onto his neck. She felt like she had a fever as she pulsed around him digging her nails into his back and yanking his hair harder.
“So she does like it now.” A gentle breath of air left his lips like an affirming chuckle.
Their mouths found each other again, and she silently confirmed what words couldn't express.
Their bodies spoke volumes, echoing a profound longing and connection between them. As they surrendered to the intensity of their passion, their love intertwined, guiding them through the night.
They held each other tightly as the hours passed, their whispers filling the silence until Leon's responses grew faint. Claire, sensing his peaceful rest, gently brushed his bangs back, her touch tender against his cheek.
"I missed you, Leon," she whispered softly, her body aching to be close to his. The mere thought of their impending separation stirred memories of the years spent apart. As his hand intertwined with hers, a wave of comfort washed over her, allowing her to close her eyes and peacefully drift into slumber, knowing he was by her side.
Leon stirred awake to the faint chirping of his earpiece, buried beneath a heap of clothes in the kitchen. Its distant sound nudged him from his deep slumber. Glancing over at Claire's serene face, her eyes closed in peaceful bliss, he felt a pang in his chest. It had been over a decade since he last stayed awake, watching her sleep, committing every detail of her face and every rhythm of her breath to memory.
Last night, he had offered his heart to Claire, but even as he did, he knew it was an incomplete gesture. His heart didn't solely belong to her; it was pledged to the protection of countless others across the country. He bore a weighty obligation to safeguard the innocent from threats whenever he was called.
As he gazed at Claire's sleeping form one final time, he couldn't help but wonder if this was how she had felt seventeen years ago, when they were first together.
Careful not to wake her, he gently untangled himself from her body and the sheets. With a final, gentle squeeze of her hand, he slid out of bed.
"I’m here– Kennedy logged on,” fitting the piece into his ear as he started down the sidewalk. "I’m on it, I need wheels." Glancing around, he added, "I’m in a residential."
"Hmph," Hunnigan's voice carried a condescending tone, "who was the lucky girl this time?"
Leon closed his eyes, a deep frown etching onto his face as a mixture of regret and fatigue filled his lungs with the morning air. He cast a glance back at Claire’s house, watching as it grew smaller in the distance.
Hunnigan knows him well enough not to press on his silence.
“Right, sending a bike to your coordinates.”
Claire turned the lock, finding Sherry waiting on her doorstep.
"Hey, Sherry," Claire's voice carried a touch of sadness as she opened the door, inviting the younger girl inside. "He's gone. He's not here anymore."
"Oh no," Sherry said softly, stepping in and wrapping her arms around Claire.
Claire nodded, her sigh conveying acceptance. "I'm sure he didn't have a choice."
Sherry's eyes softened with understanding.
"You know, he was a mess the morning you left too," she revealed, reaching for the hidden photograph Claire always kept tucked behind the others on the mantel. "He tried to hide it, but it was obvious how much he missed you." She held the picture close to her heart, lost in memories.
Claire squeezed Sherry's shoulder in gratitude before heading to the kitchen.
"Come on, I'll make us some coffee," she offered, hoping to shift the conversation.
Sherry followed, her voice playful but with a hint of curiosity.
"Well, was the sex good at least?"
"Sherry!" Claire exclaimed, cheeks flushing as she spun to face the younger girl.
"What? It's not like I’m twelve anymore," Sherry teased, settling into her seat at the table. “Besides, I know you two did it back then too.”
Claire rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips, as they fell into their familiar banter.
“You two are pathetic, but I love it,” Sherry beamed, bringing warmth to the room. “You think I’m too old to be the flower girl?”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Claire laughed.
“You two really should just have a shotgun wedding and be done with it,” Sherry mused.
Shotgun , Claire thought, if only you knew how right you really were, Sherry.