Notes:- Nothing much to say really apart from a warning of character death.
Signs
If Chris took the time to think about it. To really stop and take stock. It shouldn't have come as too much of a shock. The signs had been there. They'd lain dormant and he'd chosen to ignore them. Emotionally retarded. That was what he'd been called. He wasn't in tune with other people's emotions. Someone would be angry with him and he just wouldn't see it. He'd carry on acting the goon, making stupid jokes, and be none the wiser. But suffering? Well, suffering what something entirely different. You'd think he'd be able to recognise that. He'd known suffering you see, he'd seen people he loved and respected lose their lives because of some greedy psychotic megalomaniac. He knew what it was like to feel so fiercely protective but to ultimately realise you were nothing but a pawn in a game. A bit player in some pre-scripted horror story. He knew all that and that was why he should've seen it.
After Spain, something had changed within the man he knew so well. The man he loved. Leon never did talk about what had really happened there. There'd been the odd word muttered, something to do with Krauser, Ada Wong and somebody called Osmund Saddler. Only the higher-ups had known the truth and that alone was enough to make Chris bitter. Why did some government suit get to hear the brutal truth whilst he had to sit and wonder?
They'd been through a lot. Separately and together. The business in Raccoon had been a nightmare for both of them and probably what had ultimately brought them together. They were survivors of something that most people couldn't even begin to comprehend, let alone understand. It gave them a reason to start talking to each other when they'd met at some party of Claire's. Hardly the chatter of two slightly inebriated party guests. Oh so you survived hell too? Lovely.
He'd had been lying if he'd have said Raccoon didn't affect him. His drive and will to stop the man at the heart of it all had pulled him through those dark days and even darker evenings, when life seemed to sit at the bottom of a whiskey bottle and you were always chasing it.
Then he'd met Leon.
And just like that everything seemed to snap into the place. The world seemed suffused with colour once more. He fell in love right there and then, fast and hard. It was reciprocated too. They moved quickly, finding a place together and settling down. Evenings were spent not in a drunken haze but in a rose tinted haze of a different kind. Meals were cooked and eaten together. DVDs were lined up beside the television and films were humorously deconstructed. They slept beside each other and sometimes they'd fuck but most of the time they made love. Slow and sensual, emotions and bodies building into a harmonious crescendo as they both rode out their shared orgasm. They always lay there afterwards, sometimes talking, sometimes silent, always holding hands.
Then things changed. The BSAA started to demand more and more of his time. They were making moves in tracking down Wesker and he wanted to be there when the inevitable confrontation happened. But Leon understood and that made him all the more wonderful. He had his own worries, his own job, but he'd always make time for him. The government trained him hard and his missions, always promised as being straight forward, were, in reality, emotionally tiring and physically draining. Even thought their sex life started to dwindle, they still remained close.
That, in hindsight, had been one of the first signs that he should've noticed. Leon was a highly sexual being. He'd always enjoyed sex in a variety of different locations and positions. But as the months rolled on and his service within the Government became more intense, those moments became less and less. He would roll away from intimate touches. Say he was too tired, didn't feel like it, whatever.
And then, after Spain, he'd flinch.
Leon had always been somewhat of an insular person. He never spoke about his worries easily. Whereas he would rant and rave and curse everyone and everything to holy hell, Leon would keep it all in. He knew that when Leon had begun to work for the Government they'd shown some concerns about his mental health but like so many other things, Leon had shrugged it off and the question had never come up again. Another layer of bitterness. They should've pressed him, should've pushed him. Hell, should've forced it upon him. Getting Leon Kennedy to talk was no mean feat and, after Spain, had become practically impossible.
Sometimes Chris came home; Leon would be sitting on the sofa. The television would be switched off and they'd be no book or magazine in his hands. He would just be staring blankly. When Chris asked him, Leon would blink as if he'd snapped back into reality and, as always, shrug it off. Another sign he'd ignored. Oh it was ok. Leon was just thinking. We all do that sometimes.
A powerful memory hits him; igniting senses that Chris had been certain were irreparably dulled. He'd been working late, helping Barry chase down some lead that ultimately had led them nowhere. It was dark when he got home. He let himself into the apartment as quietly as possible. Leon was bound to be asleep. Only he wasn't. Chris heard the shower running as soon as he'd opened the front door. It had been a pain in the ass that front door. No matter how quietly you tried to open it, it squeaked obnoxiously on its hinges. He moved down the hallway, wonder if he'd misheard. But no, it was clearly the shower. The water roaring full blast. They never turned the water up that high. The shower in their place was powerful and the one time Chris had cranked it all the way it up, it had been so strong it'd almost hurt. He opened the bathroom door, releasing a steam cloud as he did so. He blindly groped his way to the shower and there he was.
Leon was crouched in the stall, staring at the cubicle wall. The water was assaulting his skin but he didn't seem to notice. Chris reached out and touched his shoulder and almost cried out in pain. The water was nearly boiling hot. Leon's skin was pink and looked raw. Chris reached past him and turned off the shower. The water stopped abruptly.
"What the hell are you doing"? Chris remembered how he'd barely contained his rage. He'd yanked Leon to his feet and pulled him out of the shower stall. He still hadn't spoken a word and continued to remain silent as Chris grabbed a towel from the rail and dried him off.
And then, god, how it made him sick to think about it now.
"Would you fucking speak"?
"Having a shower" The words were dead, devoid of meaning, of expression. "I was having a shower" Leon snatched the towel and dried himself. But it was mechanical. He was going through the motions like some soulless robot. It all seemed so obvious now but why, why the hell hadn't he realised it then?
A week later, Leon was dead.
Chris wanted to stop remembering now. He wanted to stay mired in the good times. But his mind wouldn't let him. It was punishing him. Over and over again. Why Chris? Why? You love him. You should've known. You should've seen it. It was all there.
So now he was going back. Back to the day he would give anything and everything to forget.
Another late night. Rumours that Wesker was in Africa. They had a branch of the BSAA out there but time differences had made it awkward to communicate. Chris and Barry had stayed late to attend some conference call with the West African Alpha Team leader. Chris had phoned Leon to let him know that it was probably going to be another all-nighter. Leon had been fine with it. No problem he'd said. He'd probably get some pizza in; maybe watch a DVD then have an early night. He'd even made a joke about the squeaky door. For the first time since Spain, he'd seemed like himself again. Wanting to get back to him, Chris had rushed the conference call on as much as he'd been able to.
It was still one am by the time he got out of the office. Barry dropped him off at the apartment and all Chris could think about was holding Leon in his arms. Hell, he'd even made Barry stop off at some tacky twenty-four hour garage so that he could buy Leon some flowers. He knew that would make him laugh. Leon hated flowers. A stupid cliché of a gesture he'd once called them. Flowers were for girls. If Chris ever dared to bring him flowers he'd pin him down and show him what a man he was. That had been part of the reason he'd bought them.
He entered the apartment and smiled at the familiar squeak. There was no noise from the television so Chris figured that Leon had gone for his early night. He opened the bedroom door expecting to see him in bed, on his side, mouth open, like always. He'd creep up to him and wake him and present him with his flowers.
Leon wasn't there. Well, not a problem. He sometimes fell asleep on the sofa and Chris would have to struggle to get him to the bedroom. Sleeping on the sofa gave him backache you see. He headed for the lounge.
Something made him pause at the bathroom door. He didn't know what then and he still doesn't know now. Perhaps it was his old intuition. That same intuition that gained him respect amongst his fellow S.T.A.R.S. Police officer's intuition. And that's the thing about police officer's intuition. It never leads to anything good.
He remembers opening the bathroom door, saying some stupid goofy line. Probably something like 'honey I'm home'. Leon hated clichés. He remembers the words catching in his throat. He hears the crinkle of the plastic wrapping as the flowers hit the tiled floor. He remembers the smell coming from the whiskey that had pooled in the corner. He remembers the sight of Leon, his Leon, his love, slumped by the bath, covered in blood. He remembers fighting not to vomit on the spot. He remembers dropping to his knees and feeling for a pulse. He remembers how cold Leon's skin felt. He remembers wanting to break down there and then. He remembers trying to work out who would possibly want to murder his lover. He remembers realising Leon was his own murderer.
The combat knife had still been in his left hand. The combat knife he'd had for years yet still looked new. Shining blade, well cared for, a dragon etched near the base. Leon was a natural at hand-to-hand combat. He could handle a knife like nobody's business.
Why hadn't he been able to save Leon? How had he slipped away under his nose? They were lovers. They had a bond. Why didn't he sense something was wrong? So very wrong.
Empty was never a concept that Chris saw as a threat. Even after the deaths of his parents at such a young age, he'd never felt like this. Claire had kept him going and he'd kept going for her. She needed someone to look after her, to love her and to protect her and he had willingly stepped up and for a while they'd become each other's world. Hard to feel empty when you had someone who needed you.
But now, sitting in the same apartment where Leon had taken his life, he finally understands what empty means. He never saw it as something a living person could feel. Inanimate things were empty, jars, bowls, gas tanks…but not people. The apartment was empty. It furnishings were still there, possessions still stored in cupboards and a closets but it was all so useless, so meaningless. Everything around him was empty, including himself.
People came and went. Spoke to him in hushed tones and shared empty hugs. But it wasn't a comfort like it should've been. His only comfort in life had gone. There was no longer a warm pair of arms to help him through this. Nothing could free him from the pain, the bitterness, the anger, the guilt and most of all the crippling loss.
If Chris took the time to think about it. To really stop and take stock. It shouldn't have come as too much of a shock. The signs had been there.
THE END.