The Girl on the Train
Part Four:
Heroes Not Horndogs
A fonte puro pura defluit aqua
"Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?"
― James Patterson
2008
When there wasn't time for life, there was time for friendship.
A phone call. A card. A gift here and there. It was a series of things they'd always done. But the edge of something else lingered.
They never talked about being "together." It wasn't a subject actively broached.
In July, he went to the cabin - and Claire never came. In August, she went - and he wasn't there.
It was their story, in a way, but this chapter was different. It was almost painful. Under the layer of something new, remained something ugly. The blame, the guilt, the truth - it was staring them in the face: they both blamed her for what they'd become.
She'd had a choice that night and she'd chosen to chase her brother. She knew, looking back on it, that she could have stayed with them and searched for Chris by their side. But being young, being a Redfield, being desperate to find her brother...had resulted in abandoning the two people that had come to mean the world to her.
A painful choice.
But it was done. It was over. There was no taking it back.
But it put a pall over their friendship. She knew, sex aside, that he'd always think of her as the girl who'd stolen his future. And she'd always think of him as the one chance for happiness she'd lost in Raccoon City.
New York, 2009
They both attended the board for "COOP" - Co-operational Organizational Outlook Panel, which was basically just a bunch of business that were working to stop bio terror getting together to have lunch and bitch at each other. They passed notes like kids during the summit and drew stick figures of the other members on the board farting or fucking or getting shit on.
It was their kind of friendship, after all.
That part remained unflappable.
They had dinner together and went to a Broadway show. Leon did his impersonation on the cab ride home, using that incredible tenor of his, and had her laughing. They shared popcorn and pizza at a late movie.
It was all completely normal.
Apparently, they were going to pretend that they were still just friends.
Yokohama, Japan, 2010
Sometimes, when she slept, she pictured the world on fire.
She'd left Moira for dead - they didn't know if she was alive. They didn't know anything. She was a survivor - Claire Redfield survived. She stayed alive at all costs.
She left behind those she couldn't save.
It hurt to know it. It hurt to feel it. The doctors, the nurses, the kindness of the staff had fallen on her and left her numb. Because she'd left Moira behind on that god forsaken island and run.
Run.
RUN.
What had Leon said? You left us BOTH.
Was she woman who left? Was it safer, somehow, to leave someone behind than to take a chance and lose them? Was that why Neil had betrayed her?
Their brief fling had been a mess. It had been alot of good sex and alot of bad aftermath.
He'd become attached, painfully, and Claire had cut him off at the knees ending it. She felt BAD. She felt really bad. But what choice was there here?
She didn't love him, even though part of her wished she could.
In turn? He'd betrayed her and everyone in their organization. He'd sold them, like cattle to the slaughter, and forced her to face demons long dead in Raccoon City.
She'd killed him...and for the first time she'd understood the thrill of the kill that drove her brother. The bloodlust was real. It came from VENEGANCE - in all capitals, and watching someone who'd betrayed you BURN.
Claire took a bath thinking about Raccoon City. She wondered if anyone would ever really know what it felt like to have grown up in a city that had been decimated first by its benefactor, and next by the nation that had sworn to protect it. Leveled, destroyed, turned into a crater of regret and infection - purged, maybe, but never healed.
The city she'd loved, the people she knew, they were all gone. A hundred years could pass and it wouldn't change that.
She sank under the water and let the heat of it soak into her skin.
It was hard not to think about what they'd all left behind. What was gone forever now. From a safe haven over seas, they'd all sworn to find an end to Umbrella.
The soap felt amazing against her skin. Claire wondered if there'd ever been anything invented that could compare to soap.
She wished she could wash the horror away with the filth. She wished she could wash away the guilt. Moira...I'll find you. I swear to GOD I will.
She was just slipping on a robe when there was a knock at the door.
Tugging her wet hair free from the collar, she walked to the door and opened it.
He was dressed in a plain white t-shirt, a pair of gray sweat pants. His hair, the color of good whiskey and damp and clean. He hadn't shaved; the stubble only adding to the power of his face.
She leaned on the door jamb, looking at him.
"Can I come in?"
With a nod, she stepped back.
The door clicked closed as she leaned against it.
Alone together.
The t.v. was on. She'd turned the sound off but left it on. Stupidly, it made her feel not so alone.
He turned, faced her.
"They said you'd been released from the hospital. How're doing?"
She combed her fingers through her hair. "Okay actually. Better with a little soap."
Leon smiled. "Yeah. Nothin as good as Dove."
The answer to what could wash away the ugly pain was standing right in front of her. Claire thought she'd never wanted to be touched as badly as she did right that minute. What was about it him? All night, they'd run around town like pals. And yet here they were, with the tension thick enough to choke on.
He said, "I wanted to…see how you were." The phrase caught at the end and had her pulse speeding.
She smiled. "I'm alright...any word on Moira?"
"Nothing. They're still having trouble narrowing down the location." He tossed his head a little, an old gesture. Her hand shifted and touched his forearm. It slid to the elbow and made them both lock eyes.
The tension was new. The tension was painfully good. It made her feel less like a woman who left her friends to die. She couldn't BLINK...if she did, she'd see the blood and hear the screaming. She'd remember the fear and the taste of copper that came with knowing at any moment, she'd become the thing she'd spent so long fighting.
"And what about you?" Her voice wavered sweetly. He ran his hand along the terry cloth sleeve of her robe. "How are you doing?"
Leon shrugged, looked toward the window.
"Okay. Great. Shitty." He smiled, crookedly. It didn't reach his eyes. "All of the above. I should be on furlough soon. I thought maybe you could use a week at The Bay."
"...lord...yes." She laughed, eyes misting, "Yes. A hundred times yes." But that wasn't all she needed.
Claire stepped toward him, hesitated, and took another step.
She felt the muscles in his back clench as she laid her hand against it.
"Leon?" She thought her throat might close up.
"Yeah…" His voice, harsh, gruff.
"Touch me."
He turned, her arm sliding over him, resting on his hip.
He looked down into her face; a drowning man.
"Claire…"
"Don't. It can't be about anything else right now. Just touch me. Because you want to. Because I need you to."
He lifted his hands, slid them over her shoulders, down her arms.
She took his face in her hands. "Don't think. Just touch me."
Leon stared into her face and she saw the moment he gave it all up. Maybe this is what they would be now. Friends, lovers, and neither when the world kept them apart. Maybe this is what it meant to be who they were.
His hands slid down her chest, over the knot in her robe. He watched her eyes while he untied it, parted it, brushed his fingers over the dampness of her belly.
Her eyes fluttered, her breath caught.
He saw what he wanted in her face and slid his hands around her back, over her buttocks and pulled her against him.
She could feel the press of him, hard and hot against her stomach. The sweatpants were soft, the cloth hiding nothing.
He slid himself against her, the friction of the clothes over flesh agonizing, wonderful. With a groan, he closed his eyes, pressed his forehead against hers.
Claire slid her hands into his hair, pushed against him.
They parted slowly, her fingers trailing over him through the soft cotton.
Leon shuddered, pressed his mouth against hers, slowly, softly.
She turned, slid her hands under Leon's shirt, and brushed her fingers over his nipples.
He hissed, tore his gaze from her breasts, and looked into her face.
He needed her. Leon tilted his head down and kissed her.
Their mouths pressed, tongues twining. He bent, slid his arms under her butt and lifted until she was even with him.
There was the sound of heavy breathing.
Claire moved back, her heart racing. She took his hand and led him with her.
For the first time in his life, Leon didn't want to walk away. Whatever this was, it was what he wanted. She was what he wanted. It didn't change the pain of wanting her.
It didn't change the shiver of regret that lingered on the tongue like sickness.
Claire smiled, softly, seductively and Leon knew he was sunk. She turned into him, skimmed her hands under his shirt and he lifted his arms as she slid it off of him.
Am I doing this? Do I want to? It went wildly through both their heads.
This was different. It wasn't pain. It was pleasure. It was them, together, together without rage to guide them. This? It was love.
He looked into her eyes and knew he'd never wanted anything more.
She pressed her mouth to his chest, slid her tongue over the dip in his collarbone. Leon shivered, slid a hand into her hair as his eyes closed.
He cupped her breasts to watch her body respond. He touched his lips to the tip of her breast and made her pop with goosebumps. What was it on his face? Some kind of wonder that was timeless.
Claire gasped and dragged his left hand down her belly to touch her. He did, softly at first, and then deftly as she grew wetter and her thighs trembled.
He watched her, quiet and curious.
Her hand mirrored him, slipping into his pants to wrap around his co-
The knock on the door startled them both.
They drew apart as the voice called, "Ma'am? Ma'am! We have to go!" Her assistant, Toby, knocking wildly on her door.
He urged, "Ms. Redfield! Your flight is waiting ma'am! We REALLY need to go! They need you in Tokyo YESTERDAY. There's news about Moira Burton, ma'am. HURRY!"
Softly, Claire whispered, "Who's on duty now?"
And he watched her for a long moment before he mused, "...yeah. The story of your life."
Dromania, Croatia 2011
He was waiting on the steps of the clinic there. The city bustled around them, people at work, at play, living and loving and lingering. He sat there, in a dirty suede jacket, in jeans with streaks of filth and blood. He had his forehead on his arms, his arms on his knees, his head down. But he was alive.
They said he'd gone radio silent. He'd been called off furlough and sent into the Eastern Slav Republic for a mission. They'd called the abort and he'd…stayed anyway. Damn him, why was he always the hero?
"Leon…"
His head came up. She was pretty in the setting sun, her hair was longer than last he'd seen her. And it was held back in a sleek ponytail at the base of her neck. She wore a blue bomber jacket in rich silk and slim little skinny jeans tucked into knee high black boots. They'd drugged him up to tape his broken ribs and told him to call someone to come get him.
Who else should he call?
She'd been at a TerraSave lecture in Dalmatia. She'd come. Of course, she had.
She hurried up the steps toward him. "What did you do?"
He half smiled, a little woozy from the drugs. "Apparently I'm on suspension."
"What?"
"I disobeyed a direct order. I'm suspended. Isn't the funny?" She helped him up and he put his arm around her shoulders. "I did the right thing. And I got suspended for it. Ain't that some shit?"
Ain't. For that kind of grammar, he had to be a little out of it.
Claire smiled at him, "Yeah it is. But it'll blow over. For now, it's back to vacation for you."
"Right…because vacationing with broken ribs is super fun. Maybe I'll go ride rodeo. Or parasailing…no. Wait. I'll just be sleeping it off with Darvocet."
Claire winced for him, "How many are broken?"
"Three. Fucking tyrants."
And now she shivered, imagining. "And how many of those?"
"Two." He paused, closed one eye, he was slurring a little. The pain meds were working but he felt drunk. "I think."
Charmed, she helped him into the passenger side of her rental car. He tried to get comfortable as she drove through the city. He kept hold of one of her hands while she drove, keeping it on his left thigh. Their tattoos showed, blending.
What a trip that had been. Hanging out on a yearly basis in the Chesapeake came with a lot of drinking. And some poor decisions. The tattoos came on a Tuesday night. Luckily, they'd decided they loved them and kept them.
His other hand was still in his tactical glove. She lifted his hand and kissed it. His eyes drifted open and he rolled his neck to look at her. "Claire…I missed you."
She smiled and angled the car into a street spot outside of his hotel. She turned toward him and kissed his hand again. "You ok, handsome?"
"I've been better," He chuckled and thought about it, "I've been worse too."
"I believe it." She came to help him out of the car and through the lobby to the stairs. No elevators existed in the older hotels through out the city. The stairs nearly killed him getting up them but they made it to the third floor and into his room.
She helped him out of his dirty jacket. He hissed with a series of dirty curses as they got him out of his sweat soaked undershirt. He had bloody scratches across his chest. The tyrant had gotten very close to him, too close. She felt the little undercurrent of fear from it.
Claire ran him a bath with tons of bubbles. A shower was out while his ribs were taped but he needed a good hose down. He was pretty ripe.
She started working on his belt while the water ran.
"Here," He admonished, it slurred a little, "I can get that. Sheesh."
"It's fine. Really." She snaked the leather from the loops and set it aside. She bent to unlace his boots. "Want to tell me what happened?"
"…he had the plagas in him. So I shot him."
She lifted her eyes and she set his second boot aside. He was watching her, very closely. She rose and undid the button on his jeans. "Yeah? Did he die?"
The zipper sounded very, very loud in the room. It shouldn't have sounded so loud. She could taste her heart beat in her mouth. The backs of her fingers brushed his sweaty stomach as she helped him.
He answered, very softly, "No. I severed his spine..I had to. It was the only choice."
Claire's hands slid around his hips and gripped the waistband of his jeans. It put her arms around him, put her body against him. She lifted her eyes and she was very, very aware of how close their faces were. He was sweaty, flaked with dried blood, had dirt and sweat and grime on him. He should have stunk to high heaven.
He didn't. He smelled like he'd survived. He smelled like he'd LIVED.
Claire answered, gently, "I believe you."
Leon held her gaze and his eyes drifted, shifted, and landed on her mouth. They slid back to her eyes. She thought she might pass out from the blood rushing to her head. The damn pain meds were making him…something.
He angled his head just a little. She thought, he's going to kiss me, and she panicked. She pulled his jeans down.
"Let's get you in the tub."
Leon stepped out of the pants, hissing. "Yeah. Right. Wash the day off right?"
She was very careful not to look at his boxer briefs as she rose. She knew they were blue. That was enough. Really.
She helped him to the bathroom and shut the water off. The bubbles looked frothy and the steam in the air was soothing. She heard him hiss, grunt a little, and the drop of his boxer briefs to the floor. He was naked now.
Naked.
Naked.
She stared at the wall behind the tub while he climbed in and sunk below the bubbles. They covered him up to his stomach. She couldn't see anything else.
Thank god.
And yet she felt the fire of regret in there too. Ugh. She heard him splashing in the water and it felt like the top of her head was going to blow off. There was a special place in hell for the person who invented platonic friendship. And a special place in Heaven for those who sat in the place of one while silently yearning.
Leon made a sound of pain and she turned to look at him. Feeling like a bitch for putting her own needs first, she moved over to sit on the closed toilet seat beside him. He was leaning back, his head against the porcelain wall tiles, and his ribs and chest were covered with ugly, flowering bruises. Claire sighed, consigned to her own self torment and started rinsing his hair for him.
They were both quiet as the first few minutes passed. She watched the swirling darkness and pink of blood rinse out of his hair and into the frothy water. He made a sound of distress when she gently helped him wash his chest and his upper body. Hurting for him, she skimmed her fingers through his hair.
"How about a drink? They say no when taking pain pills but I th—"
"No speech necessary. Get the booze."
His deep voice was gravel and steel. Claire smirked a little and grabbed his flask. She held it for him, gently, while he took a long swallow. He gave her a thumbs up and she lowered it, setting it on the floor.
"Better?"
"Infinitely."
She started to rise to give him some privacy and he grabbed her hand. He lowered it to his chest and held it there. Claire was pretty sure she'd drop dead on the spot but she crouched beside the tub anyway. He opened his eyes and looked at her.
"Why are you so good to me?"
It was a loaded question. A big one. She knew the answer could take them in any of fifteen different directions. She gave him the only answer there was.
"I love you." And that was true. The truest words she'd ever spoken.
He smiled, sweetly. "I love you too, Claire bear. You might be the best part of me."
Her smile was a little sad. "If you really think that, you haven't been paying attention. And you're dumber than you seem."
"Pretty dumb," He chuckled and groaned from it, "Stayed in when they said get out. Pretty dumb."
"Pretty brave."
He pulled her forward and they pressed their foreheads together. She lifted her hand to cup the side of his face and whispered, "Big hero."
Leon laughed and the sound was a little broken. "Big idiot."
"Never that. Never." And she kissed him. It was so soft, smooth, gentle. It lasted only a moment and was over. He smiled after it. She nearly died.
"What did I do to deserve you?"
Claire answered, softly, "You didn't run. You could have…but you stayed."
"Not sure I know how to run."
"We all do…just need the right thing to get us started."
"You think we're all afraid of something?"
She opened her eyes, looking at his beautiful face. His eyes were closed still. That was an easy question for once. She told him, "We're all afraid of something. You'll find yours eventually."
"Thanks for coming, Claire."
"Where else would I be when you need me? Now let's get you out of that bath tub and into bed."
When you put the man you love, naked, damp, and drugged up enough to be adorable, to bed without copping a single feel or making a dirty remark…you should be sainted. She watched him sleep, rubbing her fingers together like she'd touched lava. She wanted to climb into bed with him and hold on. She wanted to smack the shit out of him for being so blind that he couldn't see it.
But instead?
She stood guard over him while he slept.
He watched her sleep when the hangover woke him up after midnight. She was curled in the chair with her stocking covered feet tucked up under her butt. She snored, her mouth open in an O of slumber. He watched her shift a little and the top she wore stretched across her breasts.
She'd shed the jacket. The moonlight made the thin material look silver over her turgid nipples. Was she cold? Maybe was dreaming of him like he'd been dreaming of her.
What would it cost them both if he rolled over and filled his hands with her?
They'd nearly jumped that line again in Japan. He'd crossed it once already. How did this end well? If he kept touching her, they'd end up lovers. They'd end up in bed together constantly. He'd lose his best friend and gain a girlfriend.
And eventually he'd die and leave her to mourn him. He loved her too much to leave her. Maybe she'd left him once, maybe that was true, but they'd turned into something better because of it. They were stronger as friends. They just were.
If he touched her again, they might risk everything and fail.
Could he live with himself without her?
So he didn't touch her. His hand drifted down his belly while he watched her sleep, and he touched himself longing for her.