Leon chose to continue their discussion in a lounge. It hadn't taken much to clear the room. In fact, one glance at the expressions on their faces had been enough to send any other personnel scurrying. Once empty, the lounge at least retained a cozy appeal that almost cut the edge off the worst of the situation. Almost. There were two couches, a handful of armchairs. Leon grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned off the TV before tossing the little device in a careless direction and plopping into his chosen armchair. He watched the others follow suit. Sherry perched herself on the end of one of the couches, her posture so taut it nearly looked painful. Buddy and Jill, both wheelchair-bound and outsiders in their own ways until recently, approached more cautiously. Buddy brought himself to a stop beside Leon's chair while Jill remained a small distance away – close enough to contribute as asked but far enough as to make it obvious that she was trying to respect everyone's space. Oh so mindful of the fact that she was still the outlier no one was totally sure of. The traitor that had been complicit in launching all of this.
Leon huffed softly. He searched for the energy to find some reason to care, to leave her that far away; to be cautious. He found nothing. So he waved her closer with a weary, "If you were going to turn on us again, Jill, then you'd already have more than enough information to destroy us. If you're still a traitor, a little more information is honestly just a drop in the bucket at this point. But if you're free, like I think you are, we need you. We need every advantage we can get."
Jill watched him for a moment, trying to evaluate if he was playing a game. Leon knew the look. He had seen it on Ada's face many times in the early days of their relationship. Eventually, Jill seemed to understand the truth of his words, or at least come to terms with the reality of it, because she slowly eased her own wheelchair closer to the inner circle gathered in the lounge. Even so, there was still a deep layer of ice over her expression, the nature of her thoughts hidden beneath shadow like a creature stirring beneath a frozen pond. Ice that Wesker had beat into her until nothing was left.
Leon leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees, eyes scanning over his ragtag team; smaller now than when they had started. His gaze flicked to Sherry as she finally said the words she had been obviously stewing on since leaving Jake and Piers behind.
"This feels wrong."
Her voice was small, like when he had first met her in Raccoon City. Something crippled throbbed in his chest, but it was numb in comparison to how deeply he used to feel it. Distant – an echo of sympathy drowning beneath a sea of apathy. Clinically he noted the feeling. Noted the fact that since Ada's death, everything felt like this: as though things were happening to someone else, not him. It was a dangerous development, he knew, but he also couldn't help but embrace it at that moment. He needed distance from the pain to think. And now more than ever, he needed rational stability. There simply wasn't time for grief. There never seemed to be…
He searched for the words of comfort he would have provided her before Wesker had shattered him with one malicious gunshot.
"It's not personal, Ms. Birkins," Buddy said with that same steady, patient depth that had stayed Leon's trigger finger all those years ago, his aim shifting from deadly to surgically precise. "We can't risk transmitting any more information to Wesker on the off-chance that Jake is linked to the hive mind of this new breed of viral evolution as strongly as he appears to be."
"So she can be in the room, but not Jake or Piers," Sherry said, gesturing at Jill, and it was obvious that regret chased those words quickly based off the way her expression crumbled shortly after. She shot Jill an apologetic glance.
"It's not the same, Sherry."
"I know," She said, gaze averted, unsatisfied with their answer even as she knew it was true. It was a common expression on them all these days. Leon hated it.
"We can apologize later, when this is over," Leon said, forcing his team to focus. "For now, we need to establish what our enemy might know and what their potential targets moving forward might be. Jill... In your opinion, based off what Jake described, do we need to move locations?"
She watched Leon for a long moment before she sighed, rattling off logic like items on a grocery list.
"Wesker knows that Jake isn't viable to bridge the genetic gap to the cure any more. If he comes here, it will purely be to distract or damage us rather than to abduct Jake. After all, he'll have all the time in the world to reconnect with Jake if he succeeds. The most likely course of action for him now is to focus on the original plan: marry the chip and cypher together."
Leon blinked, leaning back into his chair a bit.
"What chip and cypher?"
"The ones Wesker stole – well… The first one - the chip - I stole back in DC the night we abducted Chris. But the second - the cypher - was the reason Wesker stormed our last location with Chris and I in the first place. Chris and I going after Jake was just a distraction. If we actually got him? A bonus, nothing more. Wesker used that time to steal the cypher. If you doubt me, check the tapes from the base, bring it up with people with higher security clearances, but I'm certain that Wesker succeeded in getting the cypher while you were dealing with Chris and I. Which means there's only one step left. Marry the two and uncover whatever it is Wesker needs them for."
Leon let out a breath, deflating. Jill grimaced and continued, "I'm sorry. Wesker talked to me sometimes. Whether it was overconfidence or he was gauging if I was still under his thrall or simply enjoying telling these things to a former BSAA agent, I don't know… but he's no fool. He told me things, but never anything that could single-handedly damage him. I don't know what he needs the chip or cypher for, only that the two need one another to do whatever it is he needs them to do."
Leon waved her off gently and said, "You still gave us more than we had a second ago. Nothing to apologize for, Jill… Sherry, do you—"
"—I don't know what might be on either," Sherry said, cutting him off with a shake of her head, knowing what he was going to ask. "All I know is that the chip from DC, whatever it is, is the information love-child of several national organizations. It had been made very clear to us that the priority was confirming it was still secure or recovering it if it wasn't, when we had been deployed to react to what went down in DC. And the clearance to view the contents… Basically, unless you're the President or have direct clearance from them, you're not going to find out what's on that chip."
"Wouldn't that be nice if it were true," Leon chuckled, thinking about how close Wesker was to doing just that, clearance be damned. "Well, let's focus on what we do know. He's gotta unite the two together to get whatever he's trying to get his hands on. If he only needed those two pieces to do it, things would have escalated by now. I think it's safe to assume he hasn't yet, which means he can't yet."
Jill nodded. Leon could feel the heavy weight of having all eyes in the room on him. So different from his usual solo missions.
"The two only can interact with one another at a specific facility. It's a three-part security measure," Jill said. "However, I don't know where that facility is. I don't know if Wesker knows where that facility is."
"Which is why you don't think we need to move locations," Leon said, connecting the dots, "He's going to this facility, whatever it is, and at the very least we know it's not here. Why bother with us when we don't even have a clue of where to go next? If we didn't have you, we'd just assume Jake was still his goal. It's in his interest to let us stew and keep thinking that."
"That's not completely true," Buddy said suddenly, reminding the room he was there. When Leon looked at him, confused, Buddy smiled. "Jake has already found them once before. It's not a terrible leap to assume that the man could do it again, if he focused on it."
Leon and Sherry both perked up at the first real hint of hope they'd had since entering the room. Like dogs finally catching a scent after a long and weary morning of hunting.
"Jill, when do you think they're going to make their move on the facility?"
"As soon as Wesker deems it possible," Jill said, "Maybe even as we speak. It all depends on…"
Her words trailed off, something like discomfort sliding across her stoic face. Leon felt his gut twist.
"Depends on what?" He asked.
Jill shook her head, hands tightening on the arm rests of her wheelchair, before she finally admitted – each word pried as though by force, "It depends on Chris."
That hit the room like a blow.
"He's down a man without me. Based off what you told me, he lost control of Chris for a moment during the attempt to abduct Jake. He's not going to want to risk advancing on the facility on his own, the stakes are too high. He'll need a partner. Chris was always meant to be that partner. He won't attempt it until he's confident that Chris is no longer a flight-risk."
All throughout his career, Leon had respected Chris Redfield. He saw him as a friend, even. He could remember getting drinks with the guy. He could remember the way Chris had low-key grilled him about his interest in Claire like any big brother would. Chris Redfield was a good man. One of the best. To think that Wesker might have succeeded… Leon didn't want to think about what methods the madman would have had to resort to in order to manage it. He tried to forget Jake's panic when he woke. What he had hinted at.
He's probably not the same man you all remember.
Those had been Jake's words when Piers had asked after the welfare of his former captain. Leon licked his dry, chapped lips. He felt a line split painfully at the center of the bottom one and couldn't help but lick at it again, grounding himself in the sting of it. He knew they were looking at him. Seeking guidance from him. He was used to being a blunt instrument. The weight of sitting at the chessboard of war directly was nearly suffocating.
"Leon?" Sherry asked. He refused to acknowledge the faintest hint of fragility in her voice. He couldn't afford to think of her as the little girl he had met and saved in Raccoon City. Not when he was about to send her back to war. He embraced the numbness that seemed to dog him these days.
"It sounds like we won't know the where or the when unless we play the only card we have: Jake," Leon said slowly, his gaze raising to Buddy's and finding the man had already come to the same conclusion if his gentle nodding was anything to go by. "If we don't, we risk everything. If we do, and it brings Wesker down on us, well… At least we know he's here and not wherever he's trying to go."
Sherry was predictably not thrilled by the plan. Her back straightened, as though she were about to protest, but no words ever left her lips. As Leon's eyes drifted to her, she seemed pinned down by the weight of them until finally, jaw tight, she looked away. Leon hated it. Leon hated every second of that little victory. Yet, selfishly, he was relieved.
"You should feed him more," Jill said, breaking the silence. That brought all eyes back on her. Her fingers fluttered agitatedly, the only tell she let slip. The very barest hint of nails tapping on her armrests. "During the initial transformation, Chris was catatonic much like Jake was. He snapped out of it once or twice, once he had eaten enough, but he still lulled back into that catatonic state because his body was burning through the resources too quickly. That only stopped once he'd eaten enough. Been… Been with Wesker enough. If Jake isn't stable yet, sending him to them – even mentally – may be more dangerous than advantageous."
Buddy made a soft sound of curious acknowledgment, and Leon didn't even need to look to know that the man had already brought his tablet back into his lap and was taking notes.
"By your estimation, how much food, time, and energy was involved in this process until Chris was stable?" Buddy asked.
Jill's face flickered ever so slightly into a frown.
"That's difficult to say."
"Your best approximation would suffice," Buddy offered, but Jill shook her head.
"You misunderstand. You see, Chris and Jake are going through two very different things. You've had Jake in a room, resting and eating. Chris was… Resting and eating initially, but Wesker began training him as soon as he began to snap out of those catatonic lulls. Which burned up that energy and drove him right back under. Over and over, like metal welding. Plus Jake is Wesker's son. Whatever advantage he had to acclimate to the virus was passed down to him genetically. I don't know how that compares to what Wesker did to Chris. He might adapt faster. He might need less."
Buddy's brows twitched, confused.
"Why would he need less? You think his genetics put him at an advantage over Chris?" Buddy asked, honest and open curiosity in the words – fingers posed over the tablet.
Jill shook her head, mouth pursed into a firm line as she sought out the words. "I don't know… I'm not a scientist, I don't have any evidence of anything, I just… from the way Wesker spoke, he always wanted to acquire Jake, but not the same way he wanted Chris. Jake was the bridge to the cure. He repeated that often. Jake was the solution to making the transition possible for more humans. When he spoke of Jake, he didn't talk about him like he did Chris. Jake was a safety blanket for humanity. Chris…"
Her gaze flicked up to Leon's, and in the agent's face she could tell Leon already knew. They had all seen Chris in that hallway, after all. They had seen him in action. He was always a soldier.
"Chris was always meant to be a weapon," She finally finished. "His right hand."
After a brief, heavy silence – broken only by the gentle work of Buddy's fingers on the tablet – the man said, "So you believe Chris needed more because he was created to be stronger than Jake?"
Jill nodded, no longer able to hold anyone's gaze. Her eyes drifted across the lounge. It looked like many of the lounges across the many stations she had worked at over her time in the BSAA. Like lounges she had sat side by side with Chris at. Talking about missions. Talking about nothing. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine the heat of his thigh beside hers. The sharp bite of his cologne over the faint hint of the bland shower soap from the locker room. She was hit so suddenly with nostalgia it almost hurt to breathe. And she had ruined that. Ruined him. Her eyes closed.
"Wesker would never make a race of immortal beings stronger than himself. They'll surpass human ability by and far, but he only ever intended for one person to be even remotely close to his match. Chris… Based off that, I don't think Jake will be stronger, just that the transformation won't be as hard on Jake."
"As hard," Sherry muttered in stunned, stunted words – her eyes owlish and locked on Jill. "You didn't see him before. He nearly died."
The words hung heavy between them all. How could it be worse? How could anyone have survived worse?
Jill merely answered, "I don't doubt that what Jake went through was difficult… There's a reason why Wesker wanted him for the cure, after all… This virus will kill most people. And now, without Jake to help alleviate the worst of the transition, it'll kill more."
Silence reigned once again, like a tide slowly rising, threatening wave after wave to drown them all until finally Buddy said, "Well, then it's imperative that we tie this up before that ever becomes an issue."
Leon swallowed dryly, the words stirring him from the momentary droning wail that had suddenly deafened him. He ran blunt nails over his stubble, nodding weakly before he finally croaked, "Exactly. That in mind, Jake's our best shot right now. So we feed him, make sure he's… stable, whatever that means. And then we use Wesker's "gifts" against him. Sherry, Buddy, if you don't mind getting started on fattening Jake up, I'd appreciate it. I'll be along shortly to catch Jake and Piers up. Tell them that, and nothing else. We still need to be careful of what information we give Jake before we send him into the thick of the hive itself."
Sherry didn't appear thrilled by the order to continue keeping the other men in the dark, but the fact that Leon was going to brief both men personally soon appeared to pacify her enough to follow Buddy out the door with nothing more than a searching glance Leon's way. Leon didn't move, not right away. He let himself sink back into the leather cushions in a way he hadn't allowed himself with the others. Perhaps it was because he knew Jill was already broken, like himself. He didn't have to act for her. He didn't have to pretend things were better than they were. And when he opened his eyes to look at her, he saw nothing but the same understanding weariness staring back at him.
And as though Jill felt the same, she no longer bothered to hide her own anxious tick. Broken fingernails picked idly at the arm rest of her wheelchair. A younger Leon might've shuddered at the thought of how broken those nails were, how painful that must be. Now he barely blinked.
He didn't want to ask it, not right away. He wanted, for just a moment, to be nothing and no one at all. He wanted to linger in the honesty of this moment. He didn't want to put back on the mask of leadership, not yet. So he leaned his head back against the rest, his legs more splayed out than on the seat itself as he closed his eyes and said, "Y'know, Chris is one of the most stubborn son of a bitches I ever met. I think he might even be the definition of 'dog with a bone'."
Jill let out a short, croaking laugh – nearly a whisper of a thing – and said, "That's one way of putting it."
Leon peeked open one eye to look at her down the line of his nose and asked, "How would you put it?"
Jill hummed, and for a moment it was so like the woman she used to be, she nearly felt like a stranger in her own skin. It had been so long since she had felt like that woman from Raccoon City.
"He found me in Africa, you know. We were made to fight. He and his partner. Wesker and I. His partner seemed more than willing to use force. Not because she didn't care that I was a victim, but there's only so much a person can be expected to face without using self-defense and I… I was not holding back. I didn't even recognize him for most of it. There was nothing softening my attacks. Nothing. His partner kept her distance because of it. But Chris? Chris took every punch. Every kick. Every shot, slash of the knife, everything. Because it was me. And every time he got close enough, instead of taking advantage of the gained ground he just kept trying to reach me. Jill, it's me. Jill, I'm your friend. Please, Jill, don't do this, we can help. Over and over, like a dog with a bone," She chuckled distantly. She picked at the armrest. Fake plastic leather flaked weakly in pieces. She could still see the earnest light in his eyes from that fight. How desperate he was. How hopeful. "He was determined because of me. Because he's loyal. He chased down Ada Wong's clone because he was loyal to the men he lost. He came out of retirement because he was loyal to the cause he started, and to what he thought were Piers' last wishes. But he wanted to quit. He's nearly quit a number of times. He's only determined because he's loyal. That's why Wesker wanted him. He knows Chris' loyalty gives him a strength not many have. And he wanted that."
Leon let that settle, like waiting for kicked up silt to clear from a disturbed river bed. After a moment he pulled up to brace himself forward, elbows to knees, and steepled his fingers below his chin. He watched Jill keenly for a long, pregnant moment before he finally asked, "If Chris' loyalties have changed… Is there a way to save him?"
"It depends…" Jill said, eyes on the faint red lines beginning to weep lightly from her broken nails, but even then she didn't stop picking at her armrests. "On if he chose Wesker or if he was made to choose him."
"Do you think he'd ever choose Wesker?" Leon asked honestly, the words so blatant and plain they nearly sounded absurd. And yet there they were, sitting in Jill's lap.
She swallowed down rising bile. Waited until she had her voice under control.
"No," She said, "But I survived the fall from the Spencer Estate… I can't exactly pretend as though anything is impossible anymore."
Leon nodded. He had no immediate response, and Jill could tell he was weighing each word he'd say next delicately.
"If we assume he changed sides willingly, there's only one thing to do. Since it's the last resort of either option, it only makes sense to move forward hoping he didn't choose Wesker willingly. If that's the case… What do we do?" Leon asked. "How do we snap him out of it like he snapped you out of it?"
Jill felt a flare of anger rise in her, not at Leon himself but at the assumption that she suddenly had all the answers. She didn't know. If she knew, she would have fucking woken him up on the last mission. They could have fought Wesker together. Then maybe…
"It's okay if you don't know," Leon offered quietly, and she realized she had stewed in the silence of her rage for longer than she had intended. She shook her head.
"No, it's just… Chris woke me up by physically removing the device Wesker's clone had implanted," she said, fingers trailing over the scars that still lingered under her hospital gown, "And even then, it was just a ruse. Wesker - the real Wesker - had been waiting for that opening. Turned off the inhibitors on the nanotechnology that had truly been controlling me, just making it look like that device on my chest had been responsible. All apart of his ploy to infiltrate the BSAA and get close to Chris... Unless Chris is muzzled again, there will be no device this time. If he's been forced, Wesker will have done something through the viral connection they share. I don't know how to fight that. Honestly, I don't know if anyone can."
That made sense. Jake's words still haunted Leon. More and more, he was convinced that Chris had to have been forced. That whenever they faced the man next, they'd be facing Chris as an enemy – but not because Chris had chosen to switch sides. He'd still be in there, somewhere. They just had to reach him. Leon stood. He stretched, frowning as his lower back popped in a way it never used to. He rubbed at it, rolled his neck from side to side, and said, "I think we'll have to make it up as we go along… But we'll figure something out."
It didn't precisely comfort either of them, but he did believe it. With a little jolt of surprise, he realized he truly did believe it. So long as Chris Redfield hadn't accepted Wesker's partnership willingly, there had to be a chance to get him back. Jill was sitting beside him whole and free, after all, thanks to Piers' zappy fingers. Leon had resisted Las Plagas, as had Buddy. It had to be possible. Chris never gave up on Piers or Jill - or Leon, for that matter. Leon might not have ever gotten out of Mexico without Chris snapping him out of his drunken bitterness at that bar.
Now it was time to return the favor somehow.
Piers paced, locked in a room like a dog because he had somehow become Jake's safety blanket in his transformation. Somewhere, Leon was briefing the others and Piers was left out of the loop because once again, he'd gotten the fucking short straw in life. And once again, Jake was at the heart of that misfortune. He scraped blunt nails across unfamiliarly long stubble – certainly not up to code – just another detail about to drive him up the wall. That and the sound of Jake chewing. That had become his constant, like the ticking of a clock. Chewing and swallowing and drinking. Non-stop. And somewhere, Chris was—
"Christ, soldier boy, breathe."
Piers jerked, whirling on the sound only to find Jake waiting for him with a knowing look. The redhead licked sauce from his thumb, eyes on Piers, before he finally continued, "You're wearing a hole in the floor."
Piers' jaw constricted so tightly he could hear his molars grinding.
"This doesn't bother you?" Piers asked, gesturing to the room at large as though his point were obvious.
Jake raised a brow and said, "I'm used to being kept and prodded like a radioactive gerbil. I would've thought you'd be used to it too, pikachu."
The obligatorily 'don't call me that' came out in a muttered rush under his breath, mostly by habit, before Piers took to pacing again and said, "Just because I've been through it doesn't mean I'm eager to go through it again. I should be in there. I—"
Jake set aside the wrapper of his now vanished food and cut him off with surprising calm, "They'll tell you when they're ready. They're not about to leave their favorite soldier puppy out of the loop. At least you'll get to know, eventually," he said, that last sentence tinged with resentment as he tapped a finger to his temple with a bitter smirk, "Not all of us are so fortunate."
Piers had the good grace to grimace even as a selfish thought scored his mind once more: You're the reason why I'm being left out.
He stopped his pacing, his gaze slowly falling upon Jake. Taking him in keenly after hours of subtle changes. He looked better now. He'd gained weight and it nearly appeared as if the skeletal figure he had been mere hours ago had been nothing but a shared fever dream. His skin had a healthy glow, and perhaps – if Piers squinted – it was less lined than before. Not that the man hadn't looked youthful before, but there was something else there now. Something otherworldly, something untouchable. But most notable were his eyes. With the fluorescents on, it wasn't readily apparent, but the more Piers looked, the more it appeared those icy grey eyes were beginning to glow. Like Wesker… Like Chris.
Piers swallowed dryly, throat clicking.
"I'm sorry I didn't get you out in time," Piers finally croaked.
He didn't know what he expected Jake to say, but it wasn't the, "And I'm sorry we didn't get your guy out of there," that followed. Whether he meant from the previous base or from the mansion when Chris had still been cognitive, Jake didn't say and Piers didn't ask. Maybe it was both. It didn't really matter.
Finally, with a heaving sigh that seemed to take out whatever energy had been fueling Piers' agitated pacing, he took his seat near the bed once more - slouching in a way he generally never allowed himself to slouch. Piers felt weighted down all of a sudden. Like a rock plummeting through a pond; down and down and down until he was at the bottom, everything muted and pressing in.
He let his face rest in his hands for a weak moment before he finally looked up to find Jake watching him. Not long ago, he would have bristled knowing Jake of all people had seen him so low. Now he couldn't find the energy to care. They were in the same boat in a lot of ways. Perhaps it was time to accept that.
"You said you saw him," Piers started, watching every minute gesture of Jake's face, "That he… That he'd be changed when we see him next. Do you mean like before? Like he was when he was wearing that thing – that muzzle?"
Jake watched him for a long second before he sighed, averting his gaze as he reached up to rub at a knot on the back of his neck with a frown. Jake ignored the realization that the reason he didn't want to say was that he didn't want to give the puppy-turned-soldier more bad news. He was so fucking tired of bad news. Instead he delayed the inevitable until he finally said, "No… not like with the muzzle. He was just… gone, with the muzzle. And that's not what Wesker wants."
As he spoke, he began connecting the dots for himself as well. The vision, his father's invitation... He didn't want an empty vessel of a son. And he didn't want to be alone. He wanted competent people he could trust. That feeling of being unmade and stitched back together suddenly made sense. If it was a matter of competency, Wesker could just hire a team. It wasn't about that. It was about trust. Loyalty.
Jake looked to Piers, searching for the right way to describe it without working the puppy up.
"Police squads… They often kind of looking at each other like family, right? Tactical units, strike teams – it's all the same. Even if you don't like the guy strapped in beside you, you're still not going to leave him behind. There's a sense of family. Loyalty… You know what I mean?"
Piers gave him a narrow look even as he said, "Yeah," because he knew exactly what Jake meant, but he wasn't sure he liked where this was going. But he was right. Piers still could remember the face of every guy they lost in Edonia. He still dreamt of their voices, of their different quirky tells when they played poker. Missed them like a piece of himself had been cut off, aching like a phantom limb.
"Wesker had that once, too," Jake said. The words settled in slowly. Slowly, Piers' eyes widened.
First Jill. Then Chris. Then Jake.
Fuck.
"But he hasn't gone after the others," Piers pointed out, hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt. "There were more. Rebecca. Barry."
Jake shrugged, a confused frown on his face as he said, "Fuck, I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong… But when I was with the mercs, there were people I wouldn't leave behind if I could help it, and then there were people I'd actually risk my left nut to save if they were captured. You know what I mean?"
People like Sherry went unsaid. Fuck… Yeah, Piers understood that.
There were people that you did what you could to save, and regretted if you couldn't, but you still move on…
And then there were people that you scowered the earth for until you got them back.
Yeah… Yeah, he fucking knew.
He looked away with a snarled little, "Shit."
Jake just chuckled bitterly, reaching for his next meal, and muttered, "You can say that again."
Leon found Buddy in what had come to be known as his office, but was truly an observation attachment to Jake's room. The glass was one-way and the room was sound proof, but still Leon had to smother the little flare of guilt that rose when he delayed going in to debrief the two inside. Instead, Leon flopped onto the sole armchair in the room, legs splayed wildly over an armrest, his head on the other, and moaned, "I miss the good ol' days."
Buddy chuckled at that, casting Leon a wry glance up from his notes as he said, "Oh really? Which days? The days you were nearly eaten alive in Raccoon City? When you were nearly enslaved in Spain? When you—"
"—I get it, I get it, there never were any "good ol' days", yeesh, Buddy, stop crushing my vibe," Leon laughed, though there was a splinter of cold bitterness beneath the warmth of his laughter. A shard of icy truth. He let his head lull in Buddy's direction and watched him for a moment before he asked, "How likely is it you think we can get Chris back?"
Buddy tapped a pen against his desk for a moment before he sighed, setting it down purposefully to wheel his chair in a more direct position toward Leon. He scratched at stubble he hadn't let grow in since the insurrection where they had first met, nails rasping against short sand-papery hairs, and said carefully, "I never met the man myself, so it's difficult for me to say."
Leon tapped his fingers idly on his belly as he said, "He's stubborn. About your picture definition of a good soldier. Follows orders, no man left behind, etcetera, etcetera. Big. Well... Used to be real big. Won a fist fight with a boulder once. Probably could turn that bolder to dust now..."
Buddy raised a brow at that, looking as though he were about to protest before scientific curiosity got the better of him and he grabbed his notepad and began to jot something down with a murmured, "Perhaps there's something here that we're missing. I'd point out the obvious: that men simply don't win fist fights with boulders – but he's obviously a unique individual to be in this situation in the first place… Maybe…"
Leon sat up a little at that, watching Buddy warily as he said, "Wait… You don't think Chris had been secretly infected before his abduction, do you?"
"Nothing is strictly impossible, but no. However, I don't think he was just an ordinary man either. I think we're missing a piece to the puzzle… But in regards to the question "can we get him back"… I don't know. Truly. It depends on the mettle of the man and even then, well… You and I know first hand the sway of a hive-minded infection. Granted you and I suffered through Las Plagas related infections and what Chris has is no physical parasite."
"We were able to resist those parasites, though," Leon pointed out.
"Barely," Buddy laughed. "If you hadn't shot me when you did, I would have succumbed. And you… You admitted to me yourself that if you had been in Saddler's presence extensively, and if you hadn't had Sera's pills, you would have succumbed yourself."
Leon tried to resist the shudder that passed down his spine at the visceral memory of Saddler's control over him. How one raised hand and a tap of that wriggling, alien staff had been enough to send a surge of raw need through Leon's body unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He could still remember the desire to kneel at the madman's feet. To grasp his robes, lick his boots – anything to be made worthy of the man's attention. Any order, anything. He could still remember the way the pale, slender column of Ada's throat had filled his hands. All for Saddler.
"Fuck," Leon wheezed, looking up at the ceiling with a scowl.
Buddy nodded quietly, averting his gaze to his notes as he said, "Yes, my sentiments exactly… As I've come to understand it, Chris has had basically non-stop prolonged contact with his sire. The constitution it would take to resist that would be extraordinary… The only other possibility that comes to mind, well…"
He trailed off, fingers tracing the indents of his handwriting on the page as he considered whether or not to voice his very fragile theory. Buddy could feel Leon's eyes on him, and when he looked up it was obvious Leon wasn't about to let the sentence go unsaid, so Buddy sighed and said, "It's barely even a theory, but if Chris has the potential to be as powerful as Jill says, it's possible that the laws of nature might come into play without any prompting."
"What laws?" Leon asked, heart slowly beginning to thump heavier and heavier against the cage of his ribs. This sounded familiar, but he wouldn't weigh in - wouldn't influence whatever the man was thinking - until he knew for sure.
Buddy set his notebook aside, rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and said reluctantly, "In many species there is a concept of a pack and a leader. But leaders don't last forever. They age, they sicken, or just by natural occurrence stronger individuals rise with time. It isn't uncommon for an individual who was once a follower to begin to covet that place of leadership or view themselves as a stronger candidate – and one thing we know for certain is that in many cases, the infected follow base animal instinct far more than any human reasoning. Chris the man may have no interest – it may not even occur to him – but the virus that's made a home of his flesh might instinctively sense that he's close to a match to Wesker's strength. It may begin to slowly embed these instincts in Chris' mind. It's… It's not impossible that Chris might challenge Wesker for dominance willingly, under the right circumstances. But it's just as likely that Wesker's grasp on the man is too strong at this point."
Leon sat up fully at that. He could feel his pulse in his throat, in the tips of his fingers; his heart thrumming as Jill and Ada's theory was repeated by a separate and unbiased source. If anyone knew of what it felt like to be fueled by viral instinct, it was Buddy and Leon. But moreso than Leon, it was Buddy. Buddy, who had been injected with a King Plaga. Buddy, who had been – for a moment – one of those leaders.
"Jill and A—" His voice croaked, but he cleared his throat and forced himself to try again, "Jill and Ada… They both had the same theory. It hadn't been their first plan, but it was their last resort."
Buddy rubbed a hand over his mouth, reluctant to tinker too far with this unproven theory, but eventually he relented and said, "We'd need to observe the man to know. He may be too far gone. Based off your reports of your last encounter with him…"
Leon gestured over his lower face and said, "It was because of the muzzle. Piers said as soon as it had been removed, he had returned to his old state of mind."
"Which also might have been the dangerous amount of trauma done to his jaw, snapping him out of his thrall," Buddy pointed out, "And… No need to repeat it verbatim, but I gather you read what Piers noted after the elevator began to rise."
Leon wilted the littlest bit. He remembered the description. Piers had detailed in professional, clipped words that Chris had begun screaming as the elevator lifted away. Not at Piers or at Jake. Not in rage or defeat, but in sheer, utter terror. It wasn't difficult to assume who found him. Wesker.
"It's worth investigating," Leon said, unable to forget Piers' face the last time they had discussed the possibility that Chris was gone. Unable to forget that this man was Claire's only remaining family. Unable to forget that – at the end of it all – Chris was his friend as well. They had fought back to back in Mexico. No matter how much evidence piled up against it, he still just couldn't help but deny the concept that Chris would ever give in to Wesker. They had to try.
Buddy sighed, his gaze searching Leon's face as though he were trying to solve some riddle before he finally said, "This man… He must truly be one of a kind to have so many people so certain of his abilities."
Leon nodded, at a loss for words to properly explain it. But Buddy was right. Sherry, Sheva, Piers, Jill, himself – even Ada had believed in him. Perhaps even Jake, though he doubted the kid would ever admit it even to himself.
"Because he never gave up on any of us," Leon realized.
He knew of Sheva's near death drop on the airplane in Africa. He knew of how he had removed the device from Jill's chest. He knew of how he had fished Piers from the sea, how he had trusted Jake not to shoot him, how he had trusted Sherry in the underwater base. He could still remember how Chris had pulled him out of that bar in Mexico. How they had discussed the burn out. The mutual desire to give up and give in. And he had shared with Leon the only thing that had convinced him not to quit himself:
Because the work was worth doing, and someone had to do it.
People would volunteer. For various reasons, people would always volunteer... But without someone like Chris, or like Leon, those people were going in blind. Without someone to prepare them – to walk with them – to protect them as best as they could, most of them would die. It was the difference between mission failure and mission success. The difference between hundreds of thousands or thousands. Whether they liked it or not, people like Chris and Leon were made for this. The least they could do was try and prepare the next unfortunate bastard that was made for it too.
"And you didn't give up on me," Buddy said, breaking Leon from his thoughts. With a jolt, as the words sunk in, Leon realized what Buddy was implying. That he, too, was one of a kind. Worth scowering the world for. Leon laughed.
"No, no, no," Leon chuckled, but Buddy just smiled like he knew better and let him stammer his denials.
"I'll do whatever I can to help you bring back Chris Redfield," Buddy promised. Leon felt genuine gratefulness soften his mouth into a smile. Then, with a boyish grin that shaved years from his face, Buddy jabbed playfully, "But I won't be your excuse not to talk to those boys in that room forever, Kennedy."
Leon's smile fell, and he forced himself out of his chair with a cantankerous grunt and a pop from his back that he hoped wasn't as loud as it had felt, and grumbled, "Here we had a lovely moment and you just had to go and ruin it, you bastard."
Buddy laughed honestly, making Leon's playfully sour look soften a little as he wheeled himself to sit properly at his desk and his notes once more, and said, "Someone has to keep you grounded."
Leon snorted, but found himself frozen with his hand on the door knob to Jake and Piers' room. His eyes were locked on it. It was a simple knob. Just twist and push. It wasn't even locked. So why...
"They might not like what you have to say, but they all respect you a great deal, Leon," Buddy said, starting him from his daze. Leon wondered if he looked as much like a deer in headlight as he felt. He remembered for a strange moment sitting in the cab of his father's truck as a boy as they drove down some bum-fuck-of-nowhere road, country music dialed down as his father brought them to an easy stop to let some deer pass. Leon had been spellbound by the beauty of the beast. Massively tall, with a rack of antlers that seemed to reach up to the heavens. But even as beautiful and powerful as it was, it looked mindless with fear. Eyes wide, mouth open in a shocked daze.
"Give'em time, son," he had said, feeling larger than life at the time. "Fear makes us all strangers, but they'll remember themselves soon enough."
And as he had said, eventually the deer leapt away from the pavement and slipped into the dense thicket of the woods that framed either side of them.
Leon shook the memory from his head and said, "That doesn't make it any easier."
"No," Buddy agreed, "But they deserve the truth. And the fact that you're willing to give them as much of it as you can is why they respect you in the first place."
Leon felt a little bloom of comfort unfurl in his chest at that, but true to their comradely bickering he flashed Buddy a snarky smile and said, "You can't ever just let me take the easy road, huh?"
"I let you take it once," Buddy said, turning to his notes again with a grin, "If I let you do it again, there will be no living with you."
Leon laughed at that, then with a steadying breath let himself inside.
Wesker would never admit it, but he nearly pulled a gun on Christopher when the man had come up behind him whilst Wesker had been lost in thought and suddenly dug strong fingers beneath the straps of Wesker's holster to adjust it. If Christopher noticed, he didn't so much as flinch. He merely grabbed a shoulder and corresponding strap, and gave the holster the proper yank it needed to be secure in a way Wesker had not had the satisfaction of having in some time. Wesker always put on his gear solo. He operated solo. There was no teammate to watch your back when you were solo. It brought a prickling sense of peace that he shoved down quickly, violently – nearly startled when he identified it.
"Looking a little loose, boss," Christopher mumbled, words softened by distraction as he focused on adjusting the holster, "Don't worry, I've got your six."
It was dizzying to hear those words again, and no matter how much time had passed since Christopher's reality was heavily revised, Wesker had yet to get used to the sheer familiarity with which Christopher now interacted with him. It was so very reminiscent of their STARS days, and Christopher's face was so young now with the gift of the virus thrumming in his flesh, it was almost like no time had passed at all. Wesker nearly expected to turn a corner any minute now and find himself back in Raccoon City, clad in regulation blues instead of strike mission leathers. At least the terrible muck of the swamp they found themselves in helped to ground him.
After the other shoulder was duly adjusted, Christopher's hand tightened on his shoulder and a corresponding tide of wary concern lapped openly at the edges of Wesker's mind, probing gently like a man looking over his comrade for wounds. Wesker pulled away under the guise of checking the fit of his gloves and said, "thank you," in a clipped fashion he hoped was not outside the realm of the rather close relationship he had evidently burned into Christopher's mind.
The close bond hadn't precisely been unplanned, and yet still Wesker found himself off-balance by it. His awareness like a wolf with its hackles raised, constantly waiting for Chris to suddenly wake up. But he didn't. He wouldn't. Wesker had won – and now the path ahead was clear: Enter the Iron Gate, marry the cypher and the chip, and finally unlock the final piece of the puzzle toward curing the world of feeble human mortality. The end was in sight now.
All that stood between them and saving humanity was the Iron Gate. Or rather, Area 51.
Christopher moved to stand beside him, wiping moisture from his brow as he scowled and said, "I thought Area 51 would be a lot dryer. Sandier. And, you know… in Nevada."
"A ruse, like many things," Wesker snorted, trying to ignore the way the humid swamp kept slipping intimately into his boots and squelching. This entire strike outfit would have to be burned after this. Christopher's as well. Wesker had no intention of ever smelling the atrocious insult of the swamp ever again after that day. It rose up to mid-thigh, the swamp itself made shallow by heat and changing weather patterns. Uncomfortable in just about every way.
"And we couldn't have infiltrated it in a less disgusting way?" Chris asked even as he very well knew that, no, there was no less disgusting way.
"Not unless you've suddenly become a lot more comfortable with blatantly slaughtering personnel," Wesker snapped, and he could sense Chris' mind take stock of those words for what they were: a battle not worth brunet backed off immediately.
Wesker knew they could've taken another approach. They could've dropped via helicopter. They could've blown the main gate – any number of very obvious and very intrusive, but very dry scenarios.
But this approach – this swampy, disgusting and cloaked approach – had two benefits.
For starters, it made Chrisopther felt heard. He may be on Wesker's side now, but that didn't change the man at his core. He didn't want unnecessary bloodshed. Nor did Wesker either, but by comparison he was more indifferent to it. An unfortunate task rather than a heavy weight to add to his shoulders. Many of them would die regardless in the viral purge to come – but even so, Christopher wanted to give as many people as possible a chance.
Which led to benefit number two. At his core, Chrisopther was still a good man. He'd follow Wesker's orders, he'd give his life to protect him. But there was still only so far Wesker could feasibly push the man's morals before one of two things broke: his mind or his loyalty. And Wesker needed both.
So they'd infiltrate through the swamps, where it was harder to be detected because for an average human, it was unthinkable to even try and attempt this way. The swamp was unknowable and too dense to navigate by boat. On foot, it was nearly impossible for the average man. Thick with sinking pits, venomous snakes, alligators and all manner of traps laid by the Iron Gate's espionage and security task forces - for a human, it was a death sentence.
For Wesker and Christopher, it was merely smelly and inconvenient.
They had gotten as close as they could via boat, but now it was a matter of slogging their way to the sewer system that connected the Iron Gate base to the swampy canals they found themselves in.
"Everyone deserves a shot at seeing the new world," Christopher had finally said, somewhat distant as though he had lost himself in thought. "It's the least we can do, considering the price to be paid for it."
Wesker turned to regard Christopher's profile, gauging for any break in his carefully webbed control. But there was only authentic guilt there, hand in hand with reluctant determination. The sort of grim, stubborn look of a leader who knew the sacrifices that would need to be made ahead, and knew that he must be the one to send men and women ahead to make them.
"You've paid your due, Christopher," Wesker said, surprising himself. The words had slipped from him as easily as breathing. It was startling.
Christopher turned to him, unreadable at first before his face melted into something wearily grateful, and he said, "I'll keep paying until this is done. Whatever it takes."
"Whatever it takes," Wesker chimed back after a soft, lulling pause between them. His words were tinged with idle curiosity as Wesker realized the phrase felt familiar. Like an inside joke back when he was still in STARS, but more poignant. A phrase of comfort and morale. A promise between brothers in arms.
Wesker had tasted Christopher's memories. He knew there had been other phrases, with other people, before this.
"Partners?"
"Partners."
Words tinged by searing heat. A slim hand in his. Chestnut eyes and a wide, warm smile.
"I'm not leaving you behind."
First with hands in his collar as they dragged him down a hall. Later, his hands bruised against harsh metal as a distorted face slowly disappeared.
"Got my six?"
"Always."
A jolt shot through Wesker. A flaring, snarling thing as brunette hair and blue eyes came to his mind in their shared connection. The betrayer, that conniving little –
Beside him, Christopher growled as well, and Wesker had to slam shut the connection between them closed before any more harm could be done. Christopher flinched at the violent suddenness of it, but when his hand came up to clasp Wesker's shoulder tightly, it was in solidarity as he said, "She fooled us all, boss. I… I won't be fooled again. Nothing's going to stop us from getting that final location."
So he hadn't caught the truth of Wesker's ire: the bitter anger of losing an asset – at being duped by an asset he had willingly shared information with. What had been a gesture to test his control over Jill had become a liability, however slight. And it had been his fault for not being more attentive.
Christopher watched him, concerned. I've got your six. They had been loving words. A phrase shared with familial closeness, perhaps more.
"Boss?" Christopher asked, brows drawn tight.
Wesker forced himself to pat Christopher's hand in commiseration and said, "It is hard to forget."
Christopher's face crumbled ever so slightly before the brunet shuttered whatever he was feeling down beneath a tight jawed and determined mask. He nodded and said, "It always is," before he pulled away to continue, and Wesker remembered with a little pang how much this "new reality" had taken from the man. How many people had "betrayed" Christopher to get to this point when, before, there had only been one: Wesker.
In a world where Jill, Sherry, Leon, Ada, Sheva, the BSAA – all of it – was against him, Chrisopher still managed to keep some of the light from his STARS days. In a world where Wesker betrayed him in the Arklay Mountains, he became Captain Chris Redfield, an amnesiatic drunk turned grizzled, battered leader.
That was a thought to tinker with later. For now, there was only the road ahead: a hulking sewer drain, barred only by what appeared to be an ordinary digital lock, though Wesker knew it to be decently complex in truth. Though not complex enough. The base had taken the security provided by the swamp for granted.
Christopher looked from the grate to Wesker.
"Well, this is it… Ready, boss?" Christopher asked, seeking the go-ahead to start their infiltration. Seeking leadership from Wesker.
Wesker walked forward, pushing past the man for but a moment as he pulled a small, circular disc from a dry upper pocket and adhered it to the lock itself. Then he stopped, his gaze raising to Christopher's trusting blue ones. Those eyes glowed like sunlit glaciers in the murk of the swamp around them, the sun above blocked by huge Spanish moss trees and other, weeping foliage. It was a heady feeling to finally be here at this moment: the end nearly at their fingertips now, a trustworthy companion beside him. There was only the smallest shard of bitterness he couldn't quite shake knowing he hadn't been able to convince the truest version of Chris to join him. But he shoved that down into the dark, there was no time for what could not be changed. This Chris – this Christopher of his making – was his partner now. And that was more than enough.
"Do not disappoint me," he said, because it felt wrong to say anything else.
Christopher grinned at that and replied, "Do I ever?"
It hadn't been what Wesker had expected. Not that long ago Chris would have snarled, embittered by the idea that he was obligated to Wesker at all. But Christopher rolled so easily with the words, it was as though they had shared the phrase forever.
Wesker snorted and pressed the small, blinking button at the center of the device. A brief, sharp jolt ran through the grate and padlock, and just like that the sensors around the frame of the door died as one by one, in heavy churning 'chonk's, the complex lock withdrew into the grate itself – albeit briefly – giving Christopher the opportunity to open the heavy grate easily. They had twenty seconds to enter and right the door within the frame before the sensors and locks would return online. About five to ten minutes before guards would arrive to inspect the momentary blip. It was more than enough.
They slunk inside, moving with inhuman quietness as the Iron Gate awaited them and in it, the final answers Wesker sought.
[a/] Ya'll, I almost completely forgot to update here. I updated AO3 a few days ago and suddenly remembered today it's available on too. So sorry about that! But that said ~ remember me? LMAO. The tall vampire lady reminded me I need to wrap this shit up, so here we are.