Resident Evil: In Case of Emergency, Break Glass
How would you find your way to me? How would you save me? Could you save me?
The flight, the voices, the innocent questions, all of it is enough to drive a man insane, especially one who is about half-way to his credit card limit in airline booze. It takes every ounce of strength in his body to not reach up and strangle the stewardess when she asks again if he needs anything else.
"I already told you," he shakes the tiny empty liquor bottle in her direction, "keep them coming…"
She scoffs, the little blonde number doing her best to keep everyone happy, and Leon regrets not even attempting to remember her name as she quickly makes her way back to the drink cabinet. After what happened in D.C., their best agent is happy to be on a plane heading as far away from that cursed city as his liver will allow him to go. His entire team, gone, like they never mattered to the world, and all he got was fourteen hours of debriefing, talk-downs, and sit-downs with the D.S.O.'s personal shrink. Hunnigan is still sending him messages, he's still ignoring them, and he will continue to ignore them until they realize he needs this, he deserves this.
Putting his life on the line month after month, barely getting a long enough break to patch himself up and heal before they send him back out into another mess, it's getting old. Leon walked out of the D.S.O. offices after demanding a month-long vacation and hasn't looked back, but he knows that if they wanted to, they could easily bring him back. The United States Government owns the body of Leon Kennedy and there is nothing he can do to stop it, but he hopes that he has earned enough of their respect to be given this break from the fighting.
"Here," she drops the bottle into his open hand and he nods as politely as his alcohol-controlled brain can muster.
Something about her seems familiar, from her choice in hairstyle, a tight ponytail, to how she carries herself, almost tomboyish. A face begins to form, but the next shot of liquor shatters it like cheap glass, keeping Leon unaware and somewhat complacent. He knows for a fact that Hunnigan and Helena are probably planning an intervention, especially as he more often trades talks with the D.S.O. shrink for a bottle from the liquor store around the corner from his apartment. A woman a few rows in front of him, brunette and business-casual, stands up, makes her way to the restroom, and winks at him.
Okay, a good bottle and a nice bottom… he considers renewing his Mile-High membership but decides against it as some small turbulence is amplified through his body by the inebriation.
The little bottle calls out to him with a voice that sounds like heaven but feels like death. His fingers wrap around the glass form and pull it toward his lips, letting the warmth of the contents hide the cool crawl of anger and regret that is creeping up his spine. This final gulp does the trick and the zombie-destroying weapon finds his eyes growing heavy and sleep finally finding him. There is no dream, not even a nightmare, just silence and blackness before he is jerked awake by the sound of the captain announcing their landing in Denver. It takes all his willpower to keep the contents of his stomach down as what is apparently a rookie pilot trying to prove his worth manually lands the plane and almost fails.
"Thank you for flying with us! Enjoy your stay in Denver or continue to have safe travels until you reach your final destination!" the blonde agent doesn't move, opting to let everyone else exit the plane first.
The stewardess steps toward him and offers him a hand, "It's time for you to leave the plane, hotshot…"
"Yeah, I guess so…" he doesn't take the hand until he notices it's holding something, so he takes it and smirks at the piece of paper passed to him.
She doesn't say another word, opting to start clearing more of the trash as he grabs his bag from the overhead compartments and takes the long walk down the ramp into the airport, If you need help forgetting, I'm not set to leave Denver for three more days. Ana. Her hotel and room number are hastily scratched at the end of the note.
Another A name, I must have a thing… Leon holds his hand over a garbage can, but instead of dropping the note into it, slowly pockets it and considers adding her to the list of women he'll never call again.
11
Just like everything else in his life, leaving before she wakes up is a skill he's practiced so much over the years. Allison? Amber? Ana, Ana, yeah, she was a good time, good enough to help silence the demons and now it's time he lets her go and vanishes into the bottle. His recent conquest mentioned a few particular bars that will fit exactly what he needs and each one of them will be visited while the government dog is on vacation.
Dog, yeah, that's a good word for me… he hears a voice chastise him for that, but it's not spoken by anyone near him, it comes from within.
The voice is soft, loving, and so fucking familiar that it hurts, "Who are you?"
It's not the first time this voice has told him he was wrong, but a few drinks silence that chiding tone pretty damn fast. Why do the strongest demons always wear red? Redfield would agree with that, they almost came to blows over a demon in red. Leon slowly walks down an empty street, his eyes still taking in every single detail, his body too sober to turn the soldier off. A restaurant claiming to have the best tiramisu in the state, a clothing store that has an outfit he wouldn't mind wearing during this vacation, a travel-shop with a picture of a beautiful sunrise over Central Park in New York, and finally a bar with hours he can agree with.
She'd like tiramisu, you know that, right? He shakes his head to disperse the demon in red, but he knows it's going to take something stronger than his will.
"May you be the perfect bar for me…"
11
Leon found the perfect bar all right, even one that will let him day drink, and now he is sixty bucks into whiskey and sporting a decent five o'clock shadow. The owner of the bar was kind enough to let him in and serve him at eight in the morning, but it's now close to noon and he feels that he won't be alone for long, just like every single day before this one.
"You sure you don't want anything a little stronger?" the owner looks down at the nearly empty bottle of bottom-shelf whiskey.
Leon turns toward the woman and smiles, "I'd rather remember today… Especially since I'm working something out… Thanks for opening up early for me today…"
"Sure thing, always willing to help a soul in need," she nods and goes about setting up the bar for the soon-to-be-arriving lunch crowd.
Four hours he's been here, which means four hours he's been thinking about how fucked his last mission went. To be betrayed from within like that, it'll probably never sit well with him. He trained almost every member of that team, became friends with them all in the process, too. Every once in a while, as he thinks on this, he gets really angry, and it's close to that moment. The last bit of whiskey is poured into the glass in front of him as he hears the door open.
Two people, one man and one woman. Military training… Oh no, not you… Leon sighs heavily as the pair approaches him.
"Careful you don't scare the locals… Your stealth's for shit…"
He feels Chris tilt his head and judge him just a little, "It's a little early to be that deep in the bottle, Leon…"
Leon leans back and turns at the pair, Chris Redfield and Rebecca Chambers, the mountain and the mouse, "Well, look who it is, the B.S.A.A.'s golden boy and Doctor High-Hopes!" his face darkens, "What the hell do you want?"
"I got a job," of course he does, Chris never sits still, never relaxes, and never, ever fucking grieves, "We need your help…"
The government agent knows they won't appreciate it, so he laughs a little, "I'm on vacation," the glass is calling him so he turns back to it; demons need feeding after all.
He feels the mouse cross the room and set a case on the table, "Let's talk about Los Illuminados. Remember the type of B.O.W.s they were using?"
"That was so long ago," I remember it all, "I don't remember…"
"So what?" Chris is almost oozing misplaced judgements, "You're just going to sit around here for another week and do nothing?"
Leon actually chuckles a little bit, "I've never made plans that far ahead…"
Chris looks at Rebecca and tightens his face, "Can you give us a minute, Rebecca?"
"Yeah, High-Hopes," the drunk agent holds up a hand, "Golden retriever here needs to sniff my ass and see if I'm okay…"
She nods and quickly exits, sensing the tension, "Just what the fuck are you doing here? Drowning sorrows, drowning lives in second-rate alcohol?"
"I wish it was second-rate… My demons only get bottom-shelf treatment," Leon brings the glass to his face, but Redfield presses the wrist back down with a strength his body doesn't show anymore.
Chris can see it, the sorrow that burrows deep and burns hot, he's felt it before of course, "At least your loss came back to you…"
"Cut the shit, man. We've all lost people. You know for a fact that Jill isn't the only person I've lost. Teams… TEAMS, Leon… Bravo, Alpha, Africa, Edonia, and so many others that I've given up trying to forget. The world needs us to keep fighting," he isn't prepared for the shoulder that is driven into his chest; someone this drunk shouldn't be this fast.
Leon is standing and poised, elegant and quick as Chris remembers from China, "Get the fuck off it, Redfield. I had to put my team down, twice… That shit gets under the skin after a while. Teams, Chris? I've lost cities," the word is almost whispered, like it will rise from the dead and attack them if said too loud. "Raccoon City, Tall Oaks, and Tatchi… Millions of lives…"
Chris hasn't taken an offensive stance, which Leon isn't prepared for, he needs this fight, "We share those same lives, Leon. I was supposed to protect Raccoon City, but I fled to chase the demon… Tatchi? The B.S.A.A. was looking for me to coordinate rescue operations there, but I was too busy nursing a grudge and fueling the vengeance against a red dress."
A chuckle from the other man, "Demons love red…"
"Yeah," a single nod from the older soldier, "they do."
"I lost almost everything in that betrayal, Chris. How do I make that right?" there it is, the broken.
Chris runs a hand over the top of his head and sighs, "By not drowning yourself in bottom-shelf swill?"
"Feels like the right answer," truth, Chris appreciates the truth in that statement.
He can't allow Leon to hog the darkness, so Chris reaches down and slams the whiskey back in a single shot, "Jesus, did they make this out of soot and death?"
"I think so," a chuckle, a good chuckle between friends, "but it does the job."
Chris takes a seat on the stool behind him and Leon returns to his chair, "You think you are the only one grieving and dreaming of what the other side of the fight holds? We're all doing it, man. Jill's been sliding behind the desk so much she may as well be the damned desk. Rebecca was happy being the little lab rat. Barry is happy with his family now that they are safe and sound. You and me, though? You and me, we are too fucking stubborn to put the guns down. We are the shields, we keep going so they don't have to. They want out and are able to get out? Fan-fucking-tastic for them. All we can do is throw our bodies to the grinder to buy them the time to find happiness."
"Happiness?" Leon goes to pour another glass, but remembers the bottle is empty and the mountain behind him finished his glass, "Sounds like a pipe-dream… When that bomb went off, I lost everything. Why am I the only one to lose everything? I lost my innocence and future in Raccoon City… I lost everything good I had left when that bomb took off."
Chris sighs and shakes his head, this man who is supposed to be smart and quick, and awesome, is so fucking dumb at times, "You weren't the only one who lost something when that bomb went off. Those men and women? They had families. They had spouses and children and parents. I… I…"
Leon notices the change in tone and turns back to see Chris holding something in his right hand and fighting back the tears, "Chris?"
He hops off the stool and stands over Leon, then slams the hand down onto the table, his fingers clawing into the wood before he rips the hand away. Left behind is a charred golden locket with a chain that has melted into several knots of gold and silver. Leon closes his eyes and turns his head as something flashes in his mind, but he fights it away. The charm is picked up in his fingers and the clasp is flipped open to reveal two pictures. One is of a man and woman, who vaguely resemble Chris and Claire, but older, Chris's parents? The other one, the other one kicks down the wall he's been building since that night with the strength of the Ustanak.
"I lost everything that night, too, Leon," the other picture is of Chris in his fresh and brand new S.T.A.R.S. outfit. "You talk about your team… Only about your team… My sister died, Leon, but you won't mention her. She was my family, but what was she to you?
Leon groans and holds his chest as the memories come back to him like a tsunami, "Claire…"
11
He remembers now, even as he fights so hard not to, as he led Metro S.W.A.T. up the stairs to the helipad, she was waiting for him in the helicopter. His badass angel, the savior in red leather and jeans, Claire Redfield smiled at him and waved for him to hurry before the bomb went off and the gunshots exploded through his team. She was thrown clear of the chopper and he caught her, but he felt the wetness as it stained his clothing and washed over him.
"L..on…" the light was fading fast from her eyes as Leon reached down to grasp the shard of metal jammed into her side.
His eyes, the eyes of a soldier trained to identify everything, knew immediately that she wasn't going to make it, but he had to lie, to save them both, "You're going to be fine, Claire… It's just a scratch, like that leg in Harvardville."
One shaky hand reached up to him and caressed his cheek, "Fight…" she winked at him, just like she did that night as the elevator door closed.
"It's… Fine…" her hand dropped away as Leon tried his damnedest to stop her light from fading and failed.
11
Leon slams a fist down onto the table hard, sending the charm into the air, where Chris catches it and quickly pockets it into his vest, "God… God damn… Fucking shit, man… Claire…"
Chris was right, Leon wasn't the only one to lose everything. His parents died when they were young, Jill was no longer by his side on the front lines, and Claire… Claire…
"Say it, Leon," there is no emotion in the voice.
"Claire was my everything… That traitor took everything…"
Chris is taken aback by his remark, did the Government's favorite plaything actually love his sister? He doesn't know how to take that, a few years ago he might have punched Leon for looking at his sister wrong, but now he just wants to help Leon grieve losing the one person they both loved.
Instead of fighting with either of those options, the B.S.A.A. golden boy nods slowly and looks down at Leon, "We take everything back. We save the world, show them that our friends, our familydidn't die for nothing. We continue so no one else loses a Joseph, Enrico, Forrest, Richard, or a Claire… We fight the darkness so they can continue to be the light that guides us back."
"Ma'am?" the owner of the bar turns to Chris, "How long has he been here?"
She looks at the broken man with the empty bottle and glass, "About two weeks? Found my bar on day two I think he said? Been here ever since, open to close. Settles up in cash, so I don't mind 'im."
Leon stares at the bottle, the glass, the scratches in the wood of the table, back to the bottle, seeing death and destruction and betrayal in the reflections. He feels the fire, the blood, smells the death and dread. A cough leaves his lips as he tastes the loss and love, the everything and the nothing. A tingle crawls up his spine as he hears his motorcycle angel whisper to him.
Fight… "You can bring the mouse back in…"
"You going to be okay if I do?" they both know he isn't going to be, Leon Kennedy is still grieving and will be a complete pain in the ass.
Fight, she would want him to keep going, save people, be the hero, but he just looks down at the empty glass. A bit of light flashes off the glass and fills his mind with an image he is trying so hard to ignore…
11
The cascading water from the shower was hot and necessary, burning away the sin and death from his latest escapade abroad. He turned the flow of purifying water off, stepped from the shower stall, and quickly snapped a towel around his waist. A swipe from his left hand cleared the mirror of steam, which allowed Leon to gaze at a fresh and clean visage, a massive change from the almost blackened face he sported for a week in the burning village in some far-off country.
The door was pulled open to reveal a form that sat on the corner of his bed, right leg crossed over the right leg at the knees, and a smiling face that welcomed him home, "Hey, Kennedy. Hunnigan couldn't call me soon enough when she found out you were coming back."
"Always there for me, aren't you, Redfield?" he shook his head to clear some of the water from his head before he sat down next to Claire, who just laughed and patted him on the back.
Ever since escaping Raccoon City, they have been there for each other, helped each other through the nightmares, and kept each other sane. It started off as coffee in a quiet shop, but quickly turned into trading spare keys and welcoming each other into their homes and lives as the best of friends. One of the sorest parts of their friendship has always been Ada, but Claire was the lightest-speaking of everyone in their circle. She understood more than most, loving someone you could never truly have, as her heart still burned for Steve, the love that never could have been.
Claire turned toward him and frowned, warning Leon of what was to come, "Hunnigan also mentioned a particular crimson-clad spy… Anything you want to tell me, Rookie?"
"No," he shook his head before he dropped his hand onto her own that rested on his thigh, "nothing to tell anymore. She helped me one last time and I thanked her by demanding she step out of my life."
A gasp he didn't expect, "Why would you do that? I mean, I know why I would do that… But you, Kennedy? Must be serious…"
"Yeah, it is. She's just a chase, a mouse this cat can never catch because I never wanted to admit she was the cat and I the mouse. I just need more from life than that," he sighed, stood up, and turned toward the redhead on his bed.
The smile on her face would've normally been oblivious to him, but now that he has seen her for what he needed her to be, there was no stopping what he said next, "I need you, my Badass Biker Angel."
"Leon…" he prepared for the rejection, the polite banter about how he was her best friend, but she just stood up and approached him with a look he wasn't prepared for.
As their lips touched and she reached up around his neck, the image fades into fire and death, startling him out of the memory, God damn it!
11
The image is shaken from his head in denial and the glass is gripped tighter in his hand, but the thought is replaced by another one.
"No… No…" he tries to throw the bottle, but Chris steps up and holds the hands down.
"Feel it, Leon. You need this," and feel it he does as this next image comes into mind.
11
The next image is of the stewardess, Ana, who slipped him her hotel room and a decent note. She looked like Claire, acted a bit like Claire, so much so that it offered him an escape from the memory he so needed. He stopped at a little liquor store and bought a bottle of decent whiskey before he made his way to her hotel room. The room number mocked him as he quickly spun the lid off the bottle and downed a few gulps of it.
His hand knocked softly on the door, his breath catching a bit in his throat as the door opened, "Oh, hey there, hotshot. Taking me up on that offer?" she didn't even get to let him in before Leon stepped up to her and kissed her hard.
Ana reminded him so much of Claire, so much that it made it easier to forget her for just a night. Ana gave him a small reprieve from the dread, the rage, the hopelessness. Even with that, though, someone who can help quiet the demon, Leon knew the demons in red would never be silenced for long.
11
The memory is shaken from his mind, Leon deciding some demons still need to be drowned, especially the demons in red, so he turns back toward the owner of the bar, who has been silently cleaning the tables and bar, "Hey! Another bottle here!" his hand waves to accent the request.
There is rage, and then there is burning hatred, which is what Leon feels as Chris calls out, "Cancel that!"
"Hey, who the hell-"
"Enough!" Chris slams a hand into the table to snap Leon's attention back, "Alright?"
"What… Do you want… Redfield?" there is fire in those eyes.
Fire, Chris can use fire, "What do you want, Leon?"
Chris looks out the window and beckons Rebecca back in, then turns back just in time to see Leon opening a flask he pulled from somewhere, "Cut the shit!" he grabs the arm, but Leon yanks it free.
"Guys… Come on…" Rebecca's voice is soft, yet forceful, like, just like…
END