Prompt: Somethings We Don't Talk About
Author's Note: I wanted to write something a little darker. And not to worry, I'm brainstorming ideas for the final chapters of Serendipity. I dunno. Just...read, I guess. Also, this is largely dedicated to 5th-ninth-993 (Hollie) for reading this over and inspiring me to finish. Thank-you so much.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Claire Redfield and Leon Kennedy belong to CAPCOM.
It was one of their first conversations with one another:
"What is it like to be in love?" she questions innocently, storm-colored eyes staring out of the window from their cheap motel room they had rented for the night. He doesn't answer her then because he isn't sure he knows how. She takes his silence into consideration and allows a soft smile to grace her young features. "Sorry, that's something we don't talk about, right?" And she goes back to gazing from the window, dreary expression crawling back into her vibrant gaze.
Nervously he shifts on the bed, making sure to keep his voice calm and cool so it doesn't give off how nervous that question makes him. "Why do you want to know?" Hands cup her cheeks delicately as she continues to stare out of the window, lips tugging into a light, airy smile (or something that looked like one, anyways).
"I don't know." And he believes her from the mere sincerity laced in her voice. Despite knowing where to aim a knife and how to fire a hunting rifle, Claire Redfield was still a girl and young, at that. It wasn't like he was much older, though. "Maybe it's because I don't feel like I'm here. What if this is all a dream. What if you're a dream? What if I never even made it out of that city and I'm just dreaming this up inside of my head?"
His mouth runs dry. "Claire, I'm not a dream. You're here, and so is Sherry. You're going to be alright." He finds himself hating his choice of words. Would they even be okay? Claire doesn't seem to be listening to him anymore as she sinks back into her own thoughts and exhales.
"You never answered my question, Leon."
"I didn't know you still wanted me to," he replies softly, making sure to watch and take note of the way her nose scrunches up as she gives him a mocking look which basically translates into yes, she still wanted to know. Careful as to not wake the young child slumbering on the bed next to him, the blond leans forward and laces his fingers together. "To tell you the truth, I'm not too sure, either. I can't really give you answer."
Then she's silent, her long fingers tracing the smooth glass of the window. He just watches her, allowing the quiet to fall upon them for what seemed like the tenth time tonight. It wasn't awkward nor was it comfortable; it was just silence. She turns around and faces him, a pondering expression clearly written into the curves of her mouth. "I think being in love is when you are completely at ease with a person. When the world is crumbling around at your feet, they are there to steady and hold your hand."
Chuckling, Leon rests his cheek upon the ridges of his knuckles and just peers back at the young woman in front of him. "Why did you ask me when you had your own opinion?"
"Because I wanted to hear yours," Claire admitted, offering him a small smile. "And I wanted to keep talking. I don't like silence, especially-"
He raises his finger and places it against the warm flesh of her lips. "You don't have to finish that sentence. I already know." And she smiles because, despite not knowing anything about one another, they had developed a bond that night that went beyond what words could even say.
The next time he speaks to her is at three in the morning. He hasn't heard from her in a couple of months except for that email she sent him, and he begins to wonder if Chris even got to her in time. But, as his hand reaches around to flip open his cellphone, he half wishes that she didn't call in the first place; not like this, at least.
"Leon?" her voice was small and fragile sounding, nothing like how he remembers it. Instantly he sits up and cradles the phone to his ear, a concerned look rushing to his face. "I'm sorry if this is a bad time, but I..."
"Claire, it's fine," reassures Leon as he flicks on a light next to his bed. His hand freezes when he listens to her try to conceal a sob and then regrets not noticing something was wrong with her sooner. "What's wrong?" When she doesn't answer him he becomes alarmed and throws back the covers from the once warm bed he had been sleeping in. "Claire," he tries again, "just tell me what's going on. Are you okay?"
She tries to compose herself once more, but her voice still comes out as nothing more than a whisper. "No, I'm not okay." There is a pause and Leon bates his breath, not even knowing how to begin getting the woman on the other end of the phone to open up. "Is this how it felt?"
That sentence takes him by surprise. "Is this how what felt?"
"When you watched Ada die." Then he freezes and remains still, the color draining from his face. Claire must have known he wasn't going to reply and just offered an apology right after she said it. "I'm sorry," she repeats, sobs racking her body and he had a feeling that it wasn't really him she was apologizing to. All the while Leon is still sitting on the edge of his bed, confused as ever. What was going on? This wasn't Claire in the slightest.
Standing up, he grabs an empty bag from his closet and tosses in an extra day's worth of clothing. His mind is already made up, "Listen, Claire, I'll be there in a couple of hours, okay? Then we can talk and you can tell me what happened." The sniffle from the other end alerts him that she agreed and then hung up. He was going to find out what was wrong, even if it meant traveling to another state just to stay with her for a couple of hours.
It's been six years since that night. When he displayed his concern and understanding of her situation, Claire found herself seeking his company for multiple things. They don't talk often and when they do it's only for a couple of minutes, but they check up on each other every once and a while. Nowadays, Claire hears from the blond agent less and less. She shakes the thoughts away from her head and glances back to the work load in front of her until a noise reverberates off of her apartment door. Confused, she stands up and walks to the front door, pressing her ear against the white wood before calling out, "Who is it?"
"Leon." Shock paints across her face and her hands reach for the lock to let him inside. Despite all the messages she had been leaving on his phone, Claire was still floored to know that he was standing outside her apartment. Eyes lock and breaths are held as the two gaze upon each other. He wants to tell her that she looks beautiful, wants to tell her how glad he is to see her because-oh God-he had almost died out there. Even though death had been so close, he kept telling himself he had to survive if not only for Ashley then for the comfort of knowing that the red haired woman in front of him wouldn't suffer from losing yet another friend from damn bio-terrorism.
She steps back and allows him to enter her apartment. Just as she closes the door and secures the lock across the top of it, two strong arms pull her away and encircle around her body, trapping the tops of shoulders against something warm.
Something breathing.
As she tries to open her mouth, Leon merely sighs and cuts her off. "Can we just stay here for a moment, Claire? Please?" He didn't even need to explain how he was feeling. Just from the mere emphasis on the word 'please', she knows that he needs this.
No, he needs her.
"Okay. It's okay," she repeats over and over again, burying her head into his shirt and allowing tears to leak from the sides of her eyes; tears that she knew he would never, ever shed. It was okay, though; Leon didn't need to cry.
Claire was more than happy to make up for the emotion he couldn't show.
Another year passes and Leon finds himself the more worried then he had ever been before. Compared to this, Raccoon City and Spain were nothing more then mere annoyances humming in the back of his brain.
This, though? This was slowly killing him on the inside.
What had happened to this place? More importantly, what had happened to Claire Redfield? She wasn't answering her phone and she had cut off just as he was asking her something important. He separates from Angela and runs down the hall. Everything around him sparks in the looming darkness, but he tries not to care and tries to put his field agent face back on.
But it's hard. Oh so very hard.
How could he possibly remain calm when she was missing? It wasn't as though it was the president's daughter or some girl who had escaped from a drug-dealer's mansion. This was Claire Redfield, the same knife-wielding, motorcycle-riding gun expert; she wasn't just some girl who needed protection during a mission gone wrong. She was the one who made him feel...
…..normal. Or as normal as he can get, zombies and outbreaks aside.
He stops at the end of the hallway and lifts his hand to activate the elevator. Just as his fingers collide with the plastic button, a noise from his left alerts him and suddenly the agent side of him takes over. This instantly falls, however, as his eyes descend upon the woman before him.
"Leon," that's all she needs to say before he is by her side, eyes gliding over the deep gash marring her leg. What had happened to her? Claire isn't paying much attention to her leg, but he can tell she is in pain from the look in those deep blue eyes.
"What happened?"
"There was a bomb." She doesn't finish the rest of her sentence and Leon decides that he hates it when she tries to act tough when she's clearly hurt. His hands move on their own accord, gently tracing the back of her head to check for any bumps or cuts. "You seem to be okay, except for your leg." Hands move down to her face, fingers outlining her high cheekbones before his attention is drawn to her lips. The pad of his thumb brushes against the chapped, pale skin of her and he can't help but feel a little smug when a blush blooms across the apples of her cheeks. She quickly places her hand over his, delicate expression leaking into her features.
"I'm not hurt there, dork." Her voice is a mere whisper, so low that Leon has to lean in a little closer just so he can strain to hear what she was saying. Their eyes lock, intense blue mingling with gray, and he swears that his heart beat increases tenfold. Claire seems to be under the same effect as she leans forward, unable to tear her gaze away from him. A low, gravely moan stirs the two from their trance and Leon is the first one to pull back as he places his professional face back on. Reluctantly he stands up, easily taking out an infected person behind them before he bends over and grips Claire's upper arm. She knows it's time to go—she knows—yet she can't help but feel dazed after what had almost transpired between them.
She almost kissed Leon, and in the middle of a zombie outbreak, at that.
So they both enter the elevator, Claire's arm slung around the back of his neck so that he can better support her. They don't speak about what happened; they don't speak at all.
The phone call isn't as soon as either of them think it would have been. Eventually, though, Claire cracks and dials his number, the butterflies inside of her stomach making it harder and harder to breathe. Since when did talking to Leon become so difficult?
Since you almost kissed him; she doesn't even have to think twice on that.
"I want to visit the outskirts of Raccoon," she tells him softly, her mind already picturing the expression on his face. Her grip on the phone is so tight that her knuckles are colored white but she doesn't care. She waits on his reply, knowing what he was thinking. He'd call her crazy—want to know why she wanted to go back to the place that would haunted them for the rest of their lives. Before he even has a chance to voice this, she adds, "I just need to, Leon. I have to go, with or without you."
There is more silence and Claire finds herself becoming increasingly nervous. He wasn't going to go with her, wasn't going to understand-
"I'll book a flight, then," he finally says in a cool tone and Claire knows that he's trying his best to wrap his mind around her bizarre desire. The feeling of dread is lifted from Claire's stomach and their conversation returns to normal. What Leon didn't tell her was that he understood what she was saying perfectly:
'I'm telling you because I need you there with me."
And, in reality, he needs her, too.
Later on that week they stand at the barricade block and Claire can't help but feel absolutely distraught at the ruins that was once a beautiful and lively city. "It's not fair." Her voice is soft as if she is trying her very best not to cry.
Leon doesn't know what to say-doesn't know what to tell her—other then the fact that they were alive and well. "Claire, it's over. We're both okay and-"
"What about them, Leon?" Claire's hand flies to the marble stone that honors the many citizens of the tragic city who had lost their lives. "Does that look okay to you?" She is upset and doesn't mean to take things out on him, so he remains silent. For how long they stood there in silence was unknown to him. The only thing he was aware of was that, somehow during mulling through old memories, Claire starts to cry.
He wasn't very good at comforting people; he never has been, and never will be. But he just moves closer to the red haired woman so that their arms brushed against each other lightly. Her hand shoots down, the clammy digits curling securely around his own. As much as he is trying to remain professional during this moment, he knows that Claire's needs are more important than his own.
So he doesn't let go of her hand.
Next time they meet with each other it is five months later and the first thing he does when he sees her is pull her into his arms. They both knew this moment was coming; how could it not?
All the things they had went through together, after all they had experienced, the two fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
"What are you doing?" she voices the question although it is unnecessary; she knows exactly what it is that he is doing. Leon makes no reply, his forehead gently knocking against hers. Their breath intertwines and Claire feels her cheeks warm up. He was so close to her that she could see the light freckles that dotted his face in random places. She closes her eyes finds herself closing off the space between them.
When their lips touched, he couldn't deny the sparks between them anymore.
Somewhere along the way, her path and his own collided and meshed together in perfect harmony. She was a piece of him that he couldn't live without. Her hands locked behind his neck and his hands found her waist, pulling her ultimately closer to his side. They both pull away a couple of moments later, but don't say anything; nothing really needs to be said. Just from the way her hand finds his and he smiles at her, anyone can tell how they feel.
And they don't need a label for something like that.