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As soon as Leon stepped out of the sleek, black SUV and shut the door behind him, the driver — without much courtesy or hesitation — hit the gas, leaving him on the sidewalk, alone.
“Participation, my ass,” Leon muttered, watching the car disappear around the turn. At least they didn’t parachute him onto the roof. That would’ve sucked — especially for his healing ribs.
Squinting into the midday sun, Leon ran his eye over the facility. The BSAA Headquarters rose froma the barren land like a fortress of steel and glass. Sunlight bounced off the high windows, casting sharp, angular shadows across the pavement. This place looked nothing like his usual office back in the States.
After getting Ashley home in one piece, he'd barely had time to breathe before they locked him away for almost a month. The only reason they finally let him out of one lab just to ship him off to another — this time in fucking Europe — was because Ashley’s Plaga infection was top-secret. Need-to-know only. The kind of thing that vanished quietly into files that would never see daylight.
The president hadn’t wanted his daughter turned into a lifetime science project. Couldn’t blame him for that. Hell, Leon knew exactly how that felt.
It hadn’t been an order, not officially. Just a personal request from a father who was desperate to keep his daughter safe — from what was inside her, and from the people who wanted to study it. Leon couldn’t refuse, even if he wanted to.
Still, it was unclear how long they expected him to stick around. If this biochemist ran all the tests today, maybe — maybe — he could finally get the hell out, go back to his crappy apartment in D.C., and sleep his promised week away. They should at least give him that before sending him back into the field.
Leon adjusted his leather jacket. The weight of the handgun on his hip grounded him, familiar and steady. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he’d get that time off. Hopefully. He took a deep breath and walked toward the entrance.
The glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a spacious lobby humming with activity. A fair number of agents in tactical gear and lab coats moved with purpose, all business.
The BSAA had clearly bulked up over the years. Who would've thought?
Leon made his way to the reception desk, where a stern-looking woman in a crisp uniform greeted him with a polite, professional smile.
“Good afternoon. How can I help you?” she asked, fingers already hovering over the keyboard.
“Uh, hey,” Leon said, fishing out his ID. “Leon S. Kennedy. I’m here to see Dr. Rebecca Chambers.”
Her eyes flicked to the badge, then to her screen. A few rapid keystrokes later, she nodded. “Yes, Mr. Kennedy. Dr. Chambers is expecting you.”
She handed him a visitor’s badge. “Take the elevator to the third floor. West wing, room 324.”
Leon thanked the receptionist, clipped the badge to his jacket, and made his way toward the elevator. The third floor was a different animal—eerily quiet compared to the lobby. Just the occasional murmur behind closed doors.
Room 324 was a little ways down, tucked just far enough out of the way to feel intentional. Leon stopped in front of the door, hand hovering over the handle.
It wasn’t hesitation—he didn’t do cold feet. But labs always rubbed him the wrong way. But hey—beggars, choosers. You know how it goes.
He opened the door and stepped inside. The lab was a sharp contrast to the hallway—bright, humming with advanced tech and quiet precision. The sterile tang of antiseptic filled the air, undercut by the faint scent of coffee that clung like someone’s last shred of sanity.
A petite woman in a white lab coat, layered over a bright green turtleneck, was bent over a microscope, muttering to herself—completely oblivious to Leon’s entrance.
She looked strikingly young to be a doctor, but she possessed that aura that Leon knew well from working with Hannigan—the glow of someone extremely gifted beyond their years. No surprise the BSAA had snapped her up the second they could.
“Dr. Chambers?” Leon said, breaking the silence.
The woman jolted upright, nearly sending a tray of petri dishes flying. She spun around, eyes wide behind her glasses—until recognition kicked in.
“Oh God, you scared the hell out of me!”
Leon tried his best not to snort a laugh; this lady looked like a startled hamster.
“Sorry,” he said, holding up a hand. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
“No, no, it’s not your fault! I just… tune everything out when I’m working.” She giggled, awkward but disarming.
In his past life — his life before shit hit the fan — Leon might’ve struggled to accept that someone who looked like a pediatrician could be part of an anti-bioterror task force. But then again, people still mistook him for a boy band dropout. So really, who was he to judge?
“Oh—wait, you must be Leon Kennedy,” she said, extending a gloved hand. “I’m Rebecca Chambers. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Leon shook her hand, flashing his practiced charm. “Pleasure’s all mine. I hear you’re the expert on this... virology stuff.”
Rebecca laughed—a bright, light sound that somehow made her look even younger. “I suppose you could say that. But don't worry, I promise I'm not here to turn you into a science project. This is just a small study.”
Leon smirked, hiding the edge of unease. “That’s what they all say right before the poking starts.”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “I assure you, no poking. No prodding. Just a few non-invasive tests to see how the Plaga messed with you on a molecular level.” She gestured toward the chair beside one of the workstations. “Let’s get started, huh? You might want to take off your jacket.”
Leon did as instructed, shrugging off his jacket and following her to a chair. Rebecca moved with smooth efficiency, attaching sensors to his arms and chest while explaining each step.
“These will monitor your vitals while I draw a small blood sample,” she said in a soothing tone. “You’re not squeamish about blood, are you?”
Leon let out a dry chuckle as she wrapped the tourniquet around his upper arm. “Would make my line of work kinda complicated if I were.”
“You’d be surprised,” she said, prepping the syringe. “I’ve got a friend here—Chris. Built like a brick wall, seen all sorts of gore. But the second I pull out a needle? Lights out.”
That was a good point. Given everything that happened in Spain, maybe he shouldn’t be watching this too closely. Suddenly an afterthought came to his mind. “You said Chris. As in Redfield?”
“Yeah!” Rebecca said, swapping out the vial of his blood for another one. “You two know each other?”
“I know his sister Claire.”
“Oh, I see.” Rebecca finally slid the needle out, covered the puncture with a bandage, and gestured for him to bend his arm. She set the test tubes aside, checked her wristwatch, and added casually, “You know, Chris usually drops by around this time. He always stops in to say hi. Maybe you two can catch up.”
That possibility hadn’t even crossed Leon’s mind on the way to BSAA HQ, though in hindsight, it probably should have. Their circles overlapped more than most, and everyone knew where the ex-S.T.A.R.S. poster boy worked these days. He and Jill Valentine were celebrities of sorts.
Leon was midway through taking off his T-shirt so that Rebecca could attach electrodes to his chest when the lab door swung open. He glanced up, pausing as the broad frame of a man filled the doorway. There was no mistaking who it was—Chris Redfield, looking just as imposing as he did in the photo Leon had found on his desk back then at the police station.
Chris’s confident stride hit a speed bump the second he registered the scene: Leon, shirtless, looking like he'd been put through a garbage disposal, and Rebecca, caught mid-motion with wires dangling like she was trying to rig a bomb.
For a second, Chris actually looked flustered. Like real, human, caught-off-guard flustered. A flicker of awkwardness passed over his rugged features—just long enough for Leon to enjoy it.
Leon gave Redfield a slow once-over. Lean, solid build, arms like he could split firewood without breaking a sweat. Yet there he was, frozen in the doorway, doing everything he could not to look at Leon’s bare chest. Which, frankly, wasn’t worth the effort. Not exactly centerfold material.
How the hell did this guy survive shower duty at the precinct if a bare ankle leaves him mortified like a teenage boy shoved into a girls' locker room?
So much for Claire’s cool big brother, huh.
Still, something about the whole thing hit Leon square in that part of him wired for chaos. He could practically feel the grin forming before he gave it permission.
“Don't worry big guy, there's nothing to interrupt. Doc was just about to check my heart.” Leon said. “On second thought if you're going to stand there and flex those muscles, I'm not sure it won't skip a beat.”
Chris’s face flushed a deeper shade of red. He shifted awkwardly, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. His eyes slid sideways, doing everything possible not to meet Leon’s, but the corner of his mouth twitched — just enough to betray a smile trying to sneak through.
Rebecca, on the other hand, couldn't hold back her amusement. Her lips twitched, eyes sparkling as she fought to keep it together, but apparently watching Chris so completely off his game was too much.
She turned back to Leon and, despite the fact that Chris's suffering was quite an entertainment for her, she felt a duty to save her friend.
“No need to be jealous, Agent. You could use a little motivation yourself.”
Leon gasped in mock outrage. “Excuse me — I work out. Religiously.”
“Do you keep a proper diet?” Chris chimed in, apparently having recovered from his little moment of weakness.
Leon tilted his head, grinning. “Okay, you got me there. Might’ve formed a long-term relationship with takeout.”
Chris chuckled — a low, warm sound — and something in Leon’s chest gave an unhelpful thud. Maybe that heart check wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
“It’s… Chris, actually,” Redfield said, almost shy now. “And, uh, I didn’t catch your name.”
Rebecca gave the ECG monitor a final glance before disconnecting the leads and nodding toward Leon’s shirt. He took the opportunity to finally get dressed and winced, accidentally brushing against his poor ribs.
“Leon. Leon S. Kennedy,” he replied, meeting Chris's gaze with a small smile. “Heard a lot about you from Claire.”
Chris blinked, and for a moment something shifted — surprise, realization, a thought slotting neatly into place.
“Leon? That Leon?”
“Now you’re just making it weird,” Rebecca muttered, already focused on her monitor again.
Chris ignored her.
“You saved Claire’s life back in Raccoon City.”
Leon chuckled. “She saved mine too. It was a team effort.”
“Still, I owe you for that heads-up about Rockfort.” Chris’ expression softened. “Look, there’s a coffee shop a few blocks from here. Pretty good. My treat?”
Leon glanced at Rebecca. She nodded without turning from the screen. “Go on. I’ll be a while with these results.”
“Alright then,” Leon agreed. “Lead the way.”
They walked side by side through the facility, Chris leading the way toward the exit. Their footsteps echoing lightly in the corridor. The staff members they passed couldn't help but sneak glances at them—mostly at Chris, whose imposing presence commanded attention.
Leon was mostly joking about Chris' muscles, but watching his easy stride, the way Chris carried himself, all quiet confidence and that annoying brand of good-guy sincerity… Yeah. That was doing things to Leon’s brain he didn’t feel like unpacking right now.
“So,” Chris said, finally breaking the silence as they stepped into the open air, “how’ve you been, Leon? Since Raccoon City, I mean. Claire mentioned something about... government work.”
“Yeah,” Leon replied with a faint grunt, his ribs twinging right on cue at the mention. “Something like that.”
Chris looked over, hands in his jacket pockets, brow furrowed with something between curiosity and concern. “What’s it like?”
“It is... intense,” Leon admitted, choosing his words carefully. “Lots of field work. Didn’t expect to double as a lab rat, though.”
Chris frowned at that, a crease forming between his brows. “Is that what you and Rebecca were doing? I mean, before I walked in clueless and got my leg pulled.”
Leon laughed, looking at the man from under his bangs. “You looked like easy prey. Can’t blame a guy for having a little fun.”
Chris chuckled softly and shook his head in mock disbelief. Luckily, he didn't bring up the fact that Leon had just dodged the question. He really had no stomach to talk about it.
It wasn’t just the secrecy. The U.S. government had looped the BSAA in anyway; they’d needed someone to study the parasite, and fast. But some things—the parasite growing inside him, how it had writhed and torn its way through his flesh and bone—Leon didn't trust himself to talk about them without throwing up.
So, he didn’t.
He hadn’t talked about it with Claire, either. Not when he finally got his phone back and saw the stacked missed calls. She’d sounded worried in the voicemail so he called her back right away. Just to prove he was alive.
I’m fine, he said. And that was all he gave her. The mission had been labeled classified, and for once, Leon was grateful.
The coffee shop was busy—one of those trendy places where everything looked handcrafted and cost twice as much for the privilege. The scent was nice, though, and Chris managed to snag a quiet corner for them.
They grabbed their drinks and settled in.
Leon took a sip, letting the flavor linger before leaning back in his chair. “So, Chris,” he said casually, “besides bench-pressing SUVs, what do you do in your off time?”
Chris chuckled, a warmth in his eyes as he met Leon's playful gaze. “Well, you've pretty much summed up my hobbies right there. But when I'm not on missions, I do enjoy hiking, shooting pool… trying new coffee shops, apparently.”
“Ah, a man of culture, I see.”
Chris twirled the coffee cup in his hands, his gaze barely leaving Leon.
“I also found this nice little place with Italian food. Ever heard of zuccotto?”
“You just appealed to my Italian blood, man. Of course I know what that is.”
Chris smiled at that. “Looks like I’ll have to take you along sometime. See if they’re actually doing it right.”
Something flickered in his eyes, just for a second. Leon caught it anyway: the way Chris’s gaze darted away, the way his fingers started drumming a little too steadily against the side of his coffee cup.
Ah, second-guessing himself was unbecoming for such a man.
Leon let the moment linger, his own lips curling into a playful grin.
“Sounds like fun. Too bad Doc and I are too busy with our little school project.”
“Well, as luck would have it,” Chris began, his tone deliberately casual, “I got a text from Rebecca on the way here. Seems she’s decided you’re off the hook for today.”
Leon raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. “Really? Just like that?”
“Yep,” Chris replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he leaned back in his chair. “She did, after all, suggest that I might want to ‘take Mr. Handsome somewhere nice.’ Her words, not mine.”
Leon couldn’t hold back his laugh, a genuine burst of surprise escaping him. Well, I’ll be damned, he thought. The good doctor’s playing matchmaker now.
“Huh. Maybe I’ve been barking up the wrong tree this whole time,” he said, throwing Chris a sideways glance. “If Rebecca ’s the one calling me handsome… maybe she ’s the one I should be asking out.”
Chris’s smirk faltered for a split second. “Hey, wait—hold on—I also noticed your, uh… attractiveness.”
He immediately froze, eyes wide as if he’d just dropped a grenade in the room.
Leon raised an eyebrow, suppressing a grin.
Chris stammered, waving his hands like he could rewind time. “I mean—not that it matters! I was just making conversation—”
Leon blinked. And then—
He laughed.
Hard.
Like, really laughed. Head back, shoulders shaking, breathless kind of laugh. The kind that made other people in the café glance over, mildly alarmed.
Tears welled up in his eyes, and he wiped at them with the back of his hand, still snorting between breaths.
“Oh, God,” he gasped. “You really tried to pull out of that nosedive and just kept flying straight into the ground.”
Chris groaned, hiding his face behind one massive hand. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”
Leon took a deep breath, still chuckling. He hadn't laughed like this in—God. He actually didn’t remember the last time.
“Not after Claire hears about it.”
Chris's face drained of color. “You wouldn’t.”
Leon just raised his coffee cup in silent toast.
“Oh my God,” Chris muttered. “You would. You're actually going to tell her. Not enough that you're rejecting me—no, you have to scorch the earth too. Burn my dignity to ash. Fantastic.”
His tone was mock-wounded, but Leon could see the flicker of real nervousness behind it.
“Who said anything about rejecting you?”
Chris blinked. “I mean… aren't you?”
Leon shook his head slowly, something softer curling beneath the smirk.
“You’re serious?” Chris finally asked, voice low, cautious. Like maybe this was a trap.
“Depends. Are you still thinking about zuccotto or are we finally talking about something else?”
Chris rubbed a hand down his face like it might reset the moment. When he looked up again, some of that tension had bled out—replaced by something that looked suspiciously like hope.
“I was kind of hoping we were talking about both.”
“Okay then,” Leon said, setting the cup down and standing “You taking me somewhere nice or what?”
Chris stood too, almost knocking over the table. “Wait, like—now?”
Leon gave him a look. “What, you thought you’d make a move and I’d pencil you in six weeks from Thursday?”
“No, I just—” Chris cleared his throat, straightened his jacket like it had betrayed him. “Right. Yeah. Now works.”
As they stepped out into the waning sun, Leon felt it creeping in again — that damned smile. It tugged at his lips like a kid yanking on a dog's leash, relentless and borderline embarrassing. His cheeks actually hurt.
When the hell was the last time that happened?
He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, trying to will it away, but it only made it worse. It was ridiculous — he felt like some schoolboy nervously fumbling through his first awkward conversation with a prom date. His only consolation? Chris looked even dumber.
Leon shoved his hands into his pockets, walking just close enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed. “Hey, can I drive?”
“No way. Word of your driving skills is spreading beyond the US.”
Leon smirked. “Spoilsport.”
Maybe him coming here wasn't such a terrible thing after all.