Work Text:
"And why are you here today, Chris?"
Chris shifts in the chair as Dr. O'Shaughnessy fiddles with his pen. At his silence, the man glances up, a patient look on his face.
"Take your time," he reminds gently, "nothing you say in here makes it past that door."
Chris swallows. "I'm here about Ethan Winters."
Ethan wakes up.
He winces at the sunlight, holding a hand over his face. His head throbs, his mouth tasting like—well, like mold and death, which he should be used to by this point. He cringes at the thought of having to stumble to the bathroom in crusty jeans but when his hands go to push the blankets away, his fingers only meet soft fabric. He blinks.
Oh. They…changed him.
In an instant, all the memories of last night come flooding back. Him, drunk on the sofa, clutching a bottle of wine like it could save him. Chris and Leon, coming home to find him a damn wreck in the middle of the living room for no reason other than his brain deciding to make him sad. Then—and this is the part he's sure he's too drunk to remember correctly, being held on the couch and comforted like a child, carried upstairs in Chris's arms while Leon opened the door to his room. And…they must have changed him.
Heat rushes to his face and he collapses back to the bed with a groan. Great. So much for putting up the act that he was fine and okay and to be trusted to be a responsible adult.
Shit, he hopes Rose couldn't feel any of his bullshit from last night. His baby doesn't deserve that.
Rose…Rose!
He bolts upright, letting out a pained noise at the protest of his body, throwing himself around to look for his phone. He grabs it, turns it on—fuck, it's nearly noon, Rose has school—
There's a notification from Chris.
Ethan swallows.
Opens it up.
Chris: Took Rose to school. No idea when you're going to wake up, but that's okay. Sleep and rest as much as you want, Ethan, you deserve it.
He collapses back on the bed with a thwump, staring at his phone. Chris has his baby, he took her to school, right. Chris will be there for Rose, he won't leave.
Unbidden, the memory of Chris's voice plays in his head. I'm so happy you're back, Ethan, and he smiled like he did before, before everything, when he looked at Ethan and it was Chris, his friend, the man who saved him and Mia.
And…he just cried all over Chris and blubbered something about being sorry it was him that came back and that he like Chris's smile. Fuck.
He groans one more time for good measure before heaving himself out of bed. Might as well face the music.
He stumbles downstairs, ready to try and get himself together before he has to have the mother of all awkward conversations only to stop short at the sight of Leon. Leon, the other person he sobbed all over, the man who—cradled his misshapen hand in his like it was something to be treasured and—
"Hey, Sleeping Beauty," comes Leon's voice, warm and gentle, just like it was last night, "you hungry?"
Ethan blinks. Leon's looking at him, a soft smile on his face, gesturing to the stove. He looks—it's bare, but he can—he's definitely cooked on worse hangovers before. He starts moving to the cupboards only for Leon to stand, holding out a hand.
"Whoa, whoa, nuh-uh, you sit. Sit and drink some coffee, I'll make you something to eat. Grease is the best hangover cure I've ever found."
He sits, mainly because when Leon S. Kennedy tells you to sit down, you sit the fuck down, and tries not to blink too wide-eyed at the mug of hot coffee that gets set in front of him. He manages to remember his manners and mumbles a 'thank you.' Leon just chuckles.
"After the number of times you've made me and Chris hangover breakfasts, I think it's only fair." He glances over his shoulder. "Just lemme know if I need to grab the trash can, okay?"
"Should be good. I've never really gotten nauseous from hangovers."
"Really? Damn. Lucky you. Feels like most of my twenties I had my head over a trash can or in a toilet bowl."
The smell of bacon starts to waft through the room, stirring Ethan's stomach. He shuffles a little on the stool, pulling the coffee close to his face. The warm steam drifts up and around his nose and mouth as he takes a sip. He glances up at Leon's back as the man starts humming something under his breath, stirring something in the pan. There's a low pang in his chest.
Eveline curls around his ribs.
He tries to push an apology towards her, he was such a mess last night, but it feels like she bats it away before it's even fully formed. He tries again, trying to figure out what he can do to do it right, but she shoves it away and just shifts under his skin again.
He can raise one teenager, he's not sure he can raise both.
"Here you go." A plate clatters quietly in front of him, jolting him from his thoughts. "Eat as much as you can, okay? Promise I won't be offended if you don't finish."
"Thanks."
"No problem. You just sit and eat and let me clean up the mess I made."
Part of Ethan wants to protest—Leon and Chris always insist that they clean when he cooks, it isn't fair if Leon gets to cook and clean just because Ethan has a hangover, but the rest of him is far too tempted by crispy bacon and steaming sausage and the toast that Leon somehow made when he wasn't paying attention and he's got good, hot food in his mouth before he can even think of voicing any objections.
Leon slides onto the stool next to him with a fresh cup of coffee a few minutes later, seemingly content to sit in silence while Ethan eats. He isn't sure if it's the mold or some other part of him that can feel Leon next to him, like an invisible force just resting against his side, a subtle heat pulsing gently. It doesn't go away when Leon wordlessly slides him a napkin, nor when he catches him looking at Ethan in the reflection of the microwave. Not with his brows furrowed or his mouth drawn up the way Mia's would when he caught her looking when she thought he couldn't see, no, his face is soft, open, just…looking at him.
He's not sure why that makes the subtle ache in his chest worse.
"You're here about Ethan? Could you say more about that?"
"Last night, we had a dinner party. Well—not a party, really, but Mia came over for dinner and it was a bigger thing than normal."
"Was that the first time Mia had come over to the house?" Chris nods. "How did you feel about that?"
"It was…weird. I mean, it was—it was good for them to have that time together, right? They deserve to have the ability to spend time together like a family."
Dr. O'Shaughnessy hums but makes no further comment. Chris's fingers twitch.
"After it was over, uh, I'd had too much to drink to be able to drive Mia home by myself, so Leon drove both of us there and back, which was a mistake, I think."
"How so?"
Chris shifts again. "It left Ethan alone."
"Have you had concerns about leaving Ethan alone before now?"
"No."
"Then could you explain why this was a mistake?"
"When we came back, he was drunk."
"Thank you for this," Ethan says, getting up to carry his plate over to the sink only for Leon to frown at him. "Uh, what?"
"If I try and take the plate from you, you're gonna insist, aren't you?"
He laughs in relief. "Yeah, I am."
Leon holds his hands up. "Suit yourself. Never seen someone so eager to do dishes, that's all."
"You cooked, I'll clean, that's only fair."
"You don't let Chris and I clean when you make us hangover breakfasts."
"Yeah, well, that's 'cause you and Chris are always cursing the sun by the time you've finished eating."
"Look, just because you can get through a hangover still looking like that doesn't mean the rest of us can."
He turns on the sink, letting the water run over the plates. He swallows. "Like what?"
"You know, all fluffy and bright-eyed."
The sponge falls from his fingers with a wet splat. "F-fluffy?'
"Yeah. I've got too much hair for it and Chris doesn't have enough."
He manages to make a strangled sort of laugh. "Right."
He keeps cleaning the plate, the fork, the knife. Cleans it again. Reaches for the soap, cleans it one more time. Sometime halfway through his third clean, he hears the scrape of the stool as Leon stands up, hears the creak of the floorboards as he walks over to the counter, hears the burble of coffee being poured into a mug. He glances over and catches Leon leaned there, looking at him again.
Their eyes meet.
Leon doesn't look away, just offers him that same soft smile as he holds his coffee.
Ethan swallows. Looks away. Turns off the sink and reaches for a dish towel. "I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"For last night. I didn't mean—I didn't mean for any of that to happen."
"Any of what, Ethan?"
Is he joking? "Getting drunk? Crying all over both of you? Making you carry me to bed like a kid?"
"Chris offered to carry you. Didn't really give you much of a choice, if I remember correctly. As for the other stuff…" He pauses, voice gentling even further. "We're in no position to judge you, Ethan. God knows Chris and I have our fair share of rough nights. More than our fair share, if I'm being honest."
"Still." He dries off the knife with a near vigor. "I shouldn't have been so careless."
"Careless how? You didn't try to drink and drive, you didn't do anything other than sit on the couch, you didn't even finish the bottle."
"Rose." He shuts the silverware drawer with a clang. "I shouldn't have acted like that with Rose in the house."
"She was asleep, Ethan. She was asleep and she was safe and nothing happened. You wanna know what she said this morning?"
"What?"
"She said that last night was one of the best things that's ever happened to her. She loved it, Ethan, you didn't ruin anything. You didn't hurt Rose, you didn't put her in danger, everything's okay."
Ethan gnaws on his lip. He grabs the fork and towels it off with the same intensity, managing not to chuck it in with the others and slam the door. The ache in his chest isn't going away and there's a familiar shameful twist forming in his gut.
"You didn't ruin anything," Leon says again, like it will make it true, "you're allowed to have bad nights, that's okay."
"But it shouldn't have been a bad night!" He throws the towel on the counter and tangles a hand in his hair. "It should've been a good night, Mia was here, Rose was happy, you and Chris—it should have been fine, I should've been happy, and I—"
"Hey, hey, easy," Leon's voice breaks in, his mug hitting the counter, "don't do that, Ethan, you're gonna hurt yourself."
Despite everything, a hysterical laugh bubbles its way out of Ethan's throat. "You know, you've been doing that a lot lately, have you noticed?"
"Doing what?"
"Talking to me like that. Like—like I'm a feral cat or something that you're trying to coax inside."
He looks over, half expecting Leon to laugh and say he didn't mean to, or that he hadn't noticed. Instead, Leon just looks at him with that same devastatingly soft expression.
"What?"
"Does it bother you?"
"Huh?"
"Does it bother you," he repeats, "that I'm talking to you like this?"
"Uh—" a different sort of heat twists in his gut and his traitor of a heart thuds against his ribs— "I—uh—no? Not…not really? Why, am I a feral cat to you or something?"
Now he gets a little laugh. Leon's mouth curls up into that crooked smile that never fails to make his stomach flip and he swallows.
"Depends," Leon says in that gentle, gentle voice, "you gonna swipe at me if I come closer to you?"
The air shifts. The lingering heat from the stove swells and swells until it's pressing against the sides of Ethan's collar. The smell of bacon, coffee, toast, press against his nose, almost too much. Leon's still looking at him. Still looking at him.
Slowly, he shakes his head.
"Is this the first time Ethan's been drunk?"
"In the house, yeah, I think so."
Dr. O'Shaughnessy writes something down. "What happened next?"
"I…I went over to him, so did Leon. I was trying to figure out what happened, why he got drunk—he'd had one? Maybe two glasses over dinner, and then when we got back, most of the bottle was gone. I asked him how much he'd had and he couldn't remember. Leon got him some water and he let us take the wine away but he didn't drink it."
"Was he fighting you?"
"No. He was…he was talking about the village. There was someone there who made wine and I think—I think the bottle triggered a memory of some sort."
"Is that why he was drinking?"
Chris shakes his head. "He was drinking because he was sad. I—I asked him what made him sad and he said that he made himself sad. I couldn't get him to say anything more."
Dr. O'Shaughnessy writes something else. He writes for a while. Chris presses his fingers together. "Do you think something happened during the dinner?"
"No. Well—I don't know. I tried to ask him, we both did, and he said—he said it wasn't the dinner. He said he liked the dinner because it made Rose happy, and that he made himself sad, over and over. Then he started crying."
The sound of Ethan's sobs still hit him as hard as they always did. Worse than any bullet, any explosion, any fucking bioweapon that the world has thrown at him, no, the thing that will never fail to unmake Chris Redfield is that sound of Ethan Winters crying. One look at Leon's face told him the other man felt the same.
"We tried to comfort him, but he just kept crying and apologizing."
"Apologizing for what?"
He has to swallow through a suddenly dry throat. "For…for coming back."
Leon pushes off the counter. Slowly, as if giving Ethan time to change his mind, or run away like the stray cat he is, apparently, he crosses the few feet between them and leans against the counter again, right in front of Ethan. This close, he can see the touches of blond in his hair, the way there's still a bit of scruff along the edges of his jaw. He can smell the coffee on his breath.
"Hi," he manages.
"Hi." The gravel is only more apparent from here, Leon's voice hushed so as to carry easily over the little space between them. "Is this okay?"
Ethan manages to nod, his gaze still flicking around his face, unsure of where to look. Leon just lets him.
"I meant it," he continues, "you have nothing to be sorry for, Ethan. You had a rough night? That's okay. It happens. You let us help you, that's the important part."
"Even if I—"
The slightest furrow appears between Leon's brows. "Even if you what?"
He shakes his head. He can't. He can't. He can't do that to Leon, to Chris, to Rose, to himself. He shakes his head again, just for good measure. "I shouldn't have told Chris I was sorry I came back."
Leon's mouth twists and for a moment, Ethan's chest lurches that he's going to push, try and get Ethan to say what it was he was going to say—which he can't, not right now—but miraculously, he lets it go. "Is it true?"
"Huh?"
"Is it true? Are you sorry you came back?"
His lip wobbles. Goddamnit, he was supposed to have cried all of this out last night, when he was drunk. "I…don't know."
Leon hums, a soft and pained noise. "Can I tell you something?"
"Sure."
"Chris told me that he's had two of the best days of his life in the last year. One was the day you came back in Romania, and the other was when we moved into this house together." Ethan's eyes go wide and Leon leans a little closer, bending down to make sure they're making eye contact. "Chris wasn't lying last night either, Ethan—he's so happy you're back. So am I, for the record, and so is Rose—God, Ethan, I can't believe it sometimes. That you have no idea."
"Believe what?"
"How much everyone cares about you."
Now he scoffs. He can't help it. He really can't. It's the wrong thing to do, though, because that frown on Leon's face gets worse and he's moving a little closer. Ethan can't look at him, not when his face is so openly concerned, so he turns away and folds his arms over his chest and squeezes his eyes shut.
When next he speaks, Leon's voice is a little cracked, a little broken. "Why don't you believe me?"
"Because I can't."
"Why can't you?"
"Because the last time I thought I was loved, I got punched in the face and my hand cut off."
He doesn't realize that he's slipped up until it's too late.
Dr. O'Shaughnessy frowns. "For coming back? Back to life?"
"Yeah. He—" Chris scrubs a hand over his face— "he didn't think I was happy that he came back. And I am, I'm fucking ecstatic that he's back, but he—God, Doc, you should've seen him, he was distraught over it and he wouldn't believe me."
There's another scratch of the pen. "Why do you think he didn't believe you?"
Chris lets out a horrible, strangled laugh. "'Cause I've fucked this all up."
"Say more."
"I ruined it. I ruined it before I even realized it."
"What is 'it,' Chris?"
He throws his hands over his face. The cocktail of shame and self-hatred and longing burn in his chest and he thinks he might choke on it. "I thought bringing over Mia would help. I thought the house would help. I thought—I don't fucking know what I thought."
"You need to say it, Chris." Dr. O'Shaughnessy's voice is firmer now. "Letting it float around ambiguously isn't going to help anything."
"I can't say it!" He throws himself up from the chair, pacing the shitty carpet. "I can't fucking say it."
"Why not?"
"Because every time I even think it, all I can see is Ethan's face crying that he's sorry, that he's sorry for being himself and I can't deal with that, Doc, I can't. I can't keep doing this, doing this to him, seeing him like that."
There's a pause. His panting breaths ring out in the office. Then, with a quiet voice, Dr. O'Shaughnessy asks: "Do you think he blames you?"
"He fucking should." Chris throws himself back into the chair. It groans in protest. "He doesn't, because he's a goddamn unicorn."
"Why should he blame you?"
He tosses his hands up. "Because I'm the one who put him in Romania in the first place? Because I didn't do my goddamn research and found out that there was a whole fucking village of bullshit right next to where he was supposed to have his second chance at family? Because I didn't tell him what was going on and got him killed over it? Because—"
He cuts himself off, rubbing his hand over his mouth. Dr. O'Shaughnessy leans forward.
"Because what, Chris?"
"…because I'm the one who drove him away in the first place."
"I-I—I mean—"
"Don't," Leon says gently, "you don't have to hide or pretend, not with me, remember?"
He swallows. His throat hurts. His eyes feel heavy.
"Look at me, Ethan."
"Don't know if I can." He lifts a hand, swipes it over his nose. "I might start crying again."
"That's okay. You can cry."
As if on cue, he feels tears start to well up behind closed eyelids and he sniffles. Leon makes another one of those soft, sweet noises and it reaches into the pit in his chest and fills it with gold sparkles. He thinks his fingertips might clench the counter. He's not sure.
"Sorry," he says weakly, "I think I'm just—just overwhelmed."
"That's okay." He hears Leon shift, feels that weird heat of touching-not touching move next to him. "Do you need me to back off?"
"Please don't."
"Okay, I won't. I'm not going anywhere." Another shift, the slight creak of the counter that means Leon's leaning his weight on it again. "If you can't look at me, do you think you can just listen? Let me talk for a second?"
"Y-yeah."
"Okay." He hears Leon take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm not gonna lie: I got scared when I saw you last night. So did Chris. But not because you were drunk, Ethan, because you were hurting. You were hurting so bad and I didn't know what the hell to do about it. I didn't know how to fix it, how to make you feel better, and I don't think Chris did either. That's what scared us, the fact that you were upset and we didn't know what to do about it. We couldn't fix it, we didn't know what caused it, we didn't know how to help. And I really need you to listen to this part, okay? That's not your fault."
Ethan's head jerks up. He stares at Leon and he can feel tears rolling down his cheeks and Leon must be able to see them because he—well, he doesn't quite flinch, but he lets out this quiet breath like he's been punched and reaches out like he's going to wipe them away but then Ethan flinches back, because he can't deal with that right now, not while he's so goddamn fragile, apparently, so the hand lands on his shoulder and burns.
"It's not your fault, Ethan," Leon says again, still soft, still so gentle with him, "you've been through a lot of shit. A lot of it. And you've—you needing time to figure out how to let people in is up to you, okay? And neither Chris or I are gonna be upset at you about it."
"Why're you still being so nice to me?" His voice cracks. "Every—ev'ry time we talk, it feels like you're telling me it's okay that I need time or that you want—wanna be my friend and be nice to me but I keep not doing it—isn't it exhausting?"
Aren't you tired of me? Aren't you weary of me yet?
Leon shakes his head. "You're scared, Ethan. You are, you're hurt and you're scared and that's not fun for anyone. You've been hurt and you've been—for a long time, you've been dealing with all this shit by yourself because no one's known how to be there for you, right?"
He nods miserably. Leon squeezes his shoulder.
"I want to be there for you. I want to know how to be there for you. And that'll take time and that's okay. I'm here, okay? I told you: I want to be."
He sniffles, lets Leon offer him a paper towel to wipe his face off. Sniffles into it with a wet laugh. "God, I really am a feral cat, aren't I?"
Leon chuckles. "Only sometimes. Only when you think someone's gonna hurt your kitten."
"Or maybe I'm one of those things Chris had—a Tamagotchi." He crumples the paper towel into a fist. "You feed me and play with me and then put me on your belt when you're done until you wanna pay attention to me again."
A pause, the air slightly heavier and he curses his tongue for being too loose, then Leon squeezes his shoulder again. "No, you're not one of those. Can't imagine someone stealing you from Chris without him trying to burn the world down to get you back."
The air curdles. The familiar dance in his gut starts up anew. He feels something thick and sticky trying to crawl up his throat but before it reaches his mouth, Leon speaks up again.
"Besides, those things aren't fluffy at all."
It works. It breaks the horrible sick feeling wrapping around his chest and he laughs with the relief of it, a few more tears sliding down his cheeks. "What's your thing with calling me fluffy?"
"'Cause you are," Leon grins, "you with your blond hair and your soft sweaters and your smile, you're fluffy."
"My smile is fluffy?"
"You know what? Yeah, it is."
They laugh again and this time, when Leon slowly brings his hand up, Ethan lets him catch a tear on the edge of his thumb and wipe it away. The feeling prickles long after the heat has faded, just there, almost like it's glowing—in fact, if he doesn't control himself, it might actually start glowing.
"Thank you," he mumbles, "for…everything."
"Of course, Ethan."
"You, uh—" he sniffs— "you lied to me, by the way, about being the only emotionally competent person here."
Leon just chuckles. "Learning from you, buddy."
"And I am sorry I couldn't wake up this morning and take Rose to school, I hope Chris…"
He trails off. Because it's almost definitely past noon now, and it takes an hour to drop Rose off at school at the most.
And Chris still isn't home.
"Where's Chris?"
Something flutters over Leon's expression.
Something cold runs down Ethan's spine. "Leon? Where's Chris?"
"He's fine, Ethan, I swear—"
"Where is he?"
Leon sighs. "He's with Dr. O'Shaughnessy."
"When you say drove him away, you mean—?"
"I mean I took a man who trusted me and broke it like it wasn't worth anything."
Dr. O'Shaughnessy frowns. Truly frowns, like he doesn't understand what Chris is saying. Chris shifts in the too-small chair and avoids his gaze.
"It was after Dulvey," he says to his knees, "when I was giving Ethan and Mia training and Ethan…wasn't progressing the way the higher-ups wanted. I…"
There's a very quiet noise that tells him Dr. O'Shaughnessy knows what he's talking about now. And he knows that means he's gonna have to say it out loud, because that's the point, that's why he's here, but he's a goddamn coward and he can't.
"What did you do, Chris?"
"I yelled at him."
"What did you say?"
"I…" He swallows. "I told him he wasn't good enough. That he wasn't—that we weren't friends, that he wasn't—that he was sloppy and unfocused and—and then I punched him in the face."
That day haunts him. It lives in the back of his head and whispers in his ear every time he sees Ethan's smile falter, every time Rose stares at him just a little too hard, every time Leon glances at him and raises his eyebrows in a wordless get your shit together.
He did that. He did that.
"I never told him why, not until recently, and I don't—he just forgave me, who the fuck does that?"
"Ethan does, apparently."
"But he shouldn't!"
"That's not your choice to make, Chris," Dr. O'Shaughnessy says quietly, "you don't get to decide how Ethan feels about what you've done, or anything else."
"He shouldn't forgive me," he says again, because he needs to, because he has to, "not when I treated him like that. I pushed him there, it's—it's my fault."
There's another pause. "When you say 'pushed him there,' you mean to the point where he felt the need to get drunk?"
Chris shrugs. "I don't know. I…I thought the dinner would be good for him. I've been trying to make up for that day ever since he came back, but I think—I think I'm just making things worse for him."
"Do you think Ethan's a danger to himself?"
Betrayal twists in Ethan's chest, sharp and familiar.
"You son of a bitch," he snarls, "was this—was this some fucking plan to keep me distracted?"
Leon's face turns baffled. "What? No, Ethan, that's not—"
"Did you and Chris talk about this? Get Rose out of the house and get the psychs in here to get me—"
"Goddamnit, Ethan, no! That's not what I meant!"
"So Chris isn't there because of me right now?"
"Well, he is, but not—Ethan, listen to me—"
"No, no, I can't—I'm not doing this again!"
He yanks himself away but he's forgotten that he's just a systems engineer and Leon is basically a one-man army. Before he can even think about running away to do—who fucking knows, before he can get more a hair's breadth away from Leon, he's got one arm locked around his waist and another pinning his wrist to the counter as he's shoved up against it, Leon pressed against the length of him.
His brain shorts out.
All he can feel is Leon, Leon, Leon—hips pinning his like he doesn't weigh a thing, their chests heaving together, a worn and callused hand around his wrist with strength that makes his knees threaten to give out and Leon's staring at him.
For long seconds, they just stand there, gazes locked, panting. Then Leon closes his eyes, head dropping, and he breathes out a curse. Ethan tries not to focus on how dry his mouth gets at the sound.
"I fucked that up," Leon mutters, mostly to himself. His grip eases but doesn't relax entirely, keeping Ethan trapped between his bulk and the counter. "Shit."
Ethan swallows. Leon slowly raises his head, apology shining plainly in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Ethan, I didn't do that right. Let me—let me try again, okay? Just listen to me for a second and then if you still wanna punch me in the face or whatever, you can, okay?"
Ethan jerks his head in a nod.
"Okay, okay. Thank you." He takes another breath and Ethan feels it travel the length of him. "Yes, Chris is with Dr. O'Shaughnessy right now. He's there because of what happened last night, but it's not what you think, I promise. He's not there because he thinks you're crazy or a threat to anyone, he's there because he's an emotional dumpster fire and he finally has the self-awareness to recognize it."
"Wh-what are you saying?"
Leon's grip leaves his wrist, sliding down to cover his hand. "I'm saying Chris has been trying to get his shit together for a really long time now, and last night gave him to push to actually go and do it."
"S-so—so he—"
"He's not leaving, Ethan, he's not trying to make you go away. He's trying to fix things, I told you, Chris and I like to fix stuff, and he's—well, he's finally going to therapy."
The combination of Leon pressed against him and the gentle gravel of his voice was already making Ethan's knees weak, but the sudden rush at hearing those words really does make him stagger. Leon catches him like he doesn't weigh anything, holy fuck, and just keeps looking at him with that devastatingly tender expression.
"Oh, God, I'm so sorry—"
"Shh-shh-shh, don't do that, don't apologize for having a reasonable reaction to me fucking that up."
Still, Ethan has to cover his face because he's mortified, goddamnit, and Leon just makes a soft noise and reaches up to pull his hand away. There's the telltale sound of another paper towel ripping free and then pressed into his hands and he blows his nose with a despondent honk.
"I really did swipe at you," he says miserably.
"Yeah, you did, but it's okay. I'm not hurt."
"Yeah, I noticed." He sniffles and subtly shifts as if to say I'm done, you don't have to restrain me anymore, but Leon doesn't move away. Instead, the arm around his waist softens, fingers idly toying with the material of his shirt. His weight shifts slightly, still pressing Ethan into the counter but not pinning him, a knee still nudging between his. "Um…"
"Is this okay?" This close, his voice is even softer. "Do I need to move?"
"Uh, n-no, you can…you can stay."
"Good." His hand comes up to wipe his tears again, but this time it lingers, cupping his jaw, thumb stroking over his cheek. "I really didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I forgive you."
Leon smiles and Ethan feels the corners of his mouth turning up too. He can't help it, he's not blind. Leon's—fuck, he's Leon S. Kennedy, everything he finds out about the man tells him what a marvel he is, and he has to somehow reconcile that with the man that will accidentally steal his T-shirts and stretch them out with his muscles and look sheepish when he returns them and now he's here, with Leon pressing him against the counter like he doesn't weigh a goddamn thing, stroking his face and smiling at him?
"There," Leon says softly and Ethan snaps himself back, "I missed that smile."
"You really like my smile, huh?"
It's meant to be a tease, but it comes out way too breathy. Leon's eyes flash.
"C'mon, Winters, you gotta know what you look like when you're happy, don't you? Your face lights up like you're made of sunshine and you get this pink blush all over your cheeks and nose and your damn smile," he nearly growls, "I'm not a saint, Ethan."
Ethan's breath catches in his throat. The pit inside him opens up and wails as heat curls around his spine, following the teasing brush of Leon's fingertips. His legs shift, bumping the edge of Leon's thigh between his.
"Neither am I."
The hand on his face slides around to cradle the nape of his neck. Leon leans closer, closer, close enough that Ethan can feel the heat of his breath on his cheek and then he stops, letting their foreheads rest together. For long seconds, they just breathe, the faint smell of bacon still lingering in the air.
"Not like this," Leon says in a hoarse whisper, "promised Chris I'd wait for him."
As disappointment begins to sour in Ethan's stomach, he hears the rest of those words. "C-Chris? What?"
Leon pulls back enough to give Ethan a smirk. "What did you think I meant when I said 'get his shit together?'"
Chris's head snaps up. "What? No! That's not—that's not what I meant, Ethan's—Ethan's not—he's not a danger to himself."
Dr. O'Shaughnessy holds his hand up. "Just had to ask."
Chris slumps back into the chair, letting his head loll over to stare out the window. A bird lands on a bare tree branch and ruffles its feathers.
"What did you mean, then?"
Chris's mouth twitches. "Mia said the worst part of her nightmares was that Ethan kept coming back."
He makes himself sit up when there's no further prompting.
"She would—she'd cut off his hand, stab him, all this stuff, and he'd just keep coming back. Because he loved her, and she—she couldn't stop hurting him." His throat gets tight. "When she told me that, I…I realized a few things."
"Like what?"
"I'd—if I can get someone angry while we're training, that's good. I can work with anger. I tried so hard to get Ethan to be angry at me and it wasn't working. I couldn't get him to—I couldn't figure out why he wasn't getting angry. But he…he was doing the same thing. He was coming back, even though I was hurting him, and it made me angry because that meant I couldn't fix things and then I—"
He can still see those lights. Smell those horrible mats. See Ethan's face, streaked with tears.
"Then I broke his heart," he whispers, "and I haven't forgiven myself for it."
"Is that why you pushed him away?"
Chris nods wordlessly. That's why he pulled away in Romania. That's why he couldn't—wouldn't—couldn't do anything but love Rose, take care of her, because Ethan ordered him to and he would follow that order until the end of his days.
He got his wish. Ethan got angry at him now. Ethan fought against him now. And he hates it, because he had to break Ethan's heart to get there before he knew how much he wanted to wrap Ethan's heart in bubble wrap and clutch it safely in his own chest.
"He didn't think I was happy that he's back, Doc," he croaks, "he doesn't think he can be loved. That I could, that I…"
Dr. O'Shaughnessy looks at him with that compassionate expression he wants to hate. "Say it, Chris. You have to say it."
Ethan's eyes widen. "Chris? Chris?"
Leon chuckles. "Yeah, Ethan. He's been fumbling his way around it for ages now."
But that doesn't make sense. Chris is Chris, and he's—he's—
"Hey," comes Leon's voice, "talk to me, what's going through your head right now?"
"I want to believe you," he says in a rush, "I want to believe you so much, but I—but—"
Leon nods like he expected Ethan to say that. "It's okay."
"Fuck." His head drops and hits Leon's shoulder with a thunk. "Why is this so hard?"
"I hope you know how much I'm holding the jokes back right now."
"Shut up," he says through a huff of laughter and feels Leon's chest rumble in reply. "You know what I meant."
Gentle fingers find his chin and tip his head back to meet Leon's understanding gaze. "I do, Ethan. And I want you to know that whatever happens between you and Chris, you have me, okay? Always."
Ethan nods against his palm. Leon's hand slides up and ruffles his hair and he can't help but giggle. "I should've picked up on this whole fluffy cat thing way earlier."
Leon opens his mouth to say something when the door opens. They both turn to see Chris standing there, his gaze on both of them. Part of Ethan's chest tightens—what if he's angry, what if he shuts them both out—but then Chris is chuckling and shrugging his coat off.
"I see Leon beat me to it, huh?"
"It's not my fault you took so long to get your shit together, Redfield," Leon says, playfully pulling Ethan closer.
Chris just rolls his eyes fondly, walking over to stand next to them. Ethan just stares at him, eyes wide, and something must tell Chris how nervous he is right now because he's softening, just like he did last night, his voice getting all sweet and gentle too and what is it about him that's making these two hardened soldiers handle him so tenderly? He'll never understand it.
"It's funny, I had a whole speech prepared." Chris's low voice jolts him back. "I worked on it with Dr. O'Shaughnessy and everything. And now I can't remember a damn word of it."
"Uh…sorry?"
Chris chuckles, shaking his head. "Don't apologize, Ethan. It's not your fault I took one look at your damn smile and forgot how to think."
Which just makes him embarrassed and he can feel the tips of his ears turn pink because come on, Chris is looking at him like that and Leon is still pressed against him, which Chris hasn't said a thing about, and then Leon's chuckling in his ear too.
"Told you, Winters. You clearly have no idea what you look like when you're happy. Chris isn't a saint either."
That drops a solemn note into the still room, Chris's shoulders slumping as he sighs. "No, I'm not."
And before Ethan can say anything, Chris's hand is cupping the other side of his face, twitching slightly at the evidence of tears. His mouth runs dry and he knows he's staring but Chris doesn't seem to care.
"I'm sorry, Ethan," he says in a whisper.
"I told you, I forgive—"
"I'm sorry for breaking your heart."
Everything stutters to a glorious pause. Ethan's mouth freezes around the rest of the sentence and finally settles on a strangled oh. Chris's thumb passes over the soft skin of his ear and it burns.
"I've fucked things up between us over and over again, I know," he continues, like he's not breaking Ethan apart and sewing him back together in the same instant, "and I'm sorry it took me so long to get my shit together, but if it's okay with you, I want to try and get it right this time."
Oh.
Oh.
Almost against his will, his gaze darts to Leon, who just looks at him with that same soft gaze that wrecks what's left of his dignity. "And…you're…?"
"Here too," he murmurs, "always, Ethan, however you'll have me."
"Both of you?"
"Yes."
"If that's okay?"
"I—uh—I'm—"
Both of them just stand there, letting him splutter. Chris's hand is warm and rough and Leon's still got a knee between his and he's falling into this pit in his stomach and his body is tearing itself apart and he thinks part of him is screaming and part of him is crying and—
"Ethan? Ethan, you're glowing."
He looks down. Golden sparkles drift up from his fingertips, creating a little cloud around the three of them. He watches one land on the bridge of Chris's nose, the other in Leon's hair. He laughs. He can't help it. He's breathless.
"Is that a yes, or…?"
"It's a yes," he gasps, "holy fuck, it's—you're gonna have to be so patient with me, but it's a yes."
The relief is palpable; Leon sags against him like a puppet with its strings cut and Chris lets out a shaky laugh of his own. "Patient with you? Ethan, you've been so damn patient with us already, it's a goddamn miracle. I was ready for you tell me to fuck off when I walked in here, the fact that I'm getting anything other than that, I'm happy."
Ethan can't help it, he grabs onto Chris's shoulder like it's the only thing keeping him here. Chris understands immediately and gets closer, which might have been a mistake because now there are two of them pressing him against the counter. He fists his hand into the back of Leon's shirt and buries his head in the crook of Chris's neck and breathes in the chill air and faint cigarette smoke and he's still glowing, he can feel it, feel the tingling of sparkles at the tips of his fingers and then Leon's hand slides back into his hair and a wretched noise tears itself from his throat.
Chris inhales sharply. His hand settles firmly on the nape of Ethan's neck. "Hey. Hey, Ethan, can you…can you look at me for a second?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I just—I think I just got overwhelmed, you gotta gimme a second here." He chokes on another damp laugh. "I think I just felt more in the last few minutes than I have in years."
"You're telling me."
"C'mon," Leon says softly, "couch. We should probably stop pinning Ethan to the counter."
"Yeah, what was that about?" Chris's arms loop effortlessly around Ethan and guide him to the couch, keeping a hold on him as the three of them sit. "I didn't interrupt that much, did I?"
Leon winces. "No, I, uh, he asked where you were and I didn't do a great job of explaining it at first."
"What do you mean, didn't do a great job?"
"Chris," Ethan tries but Leon's already answering.
"I, uh, might have implied that you went to Dr. O'Shaughnessy because you thought Ethan was a threat to himself?"
"You what?"
"Whoa, whoa, hey, both of you, knock it off," Ethan says, quickly putting one hand on Chris's shoulder and the other on Leon's hand on his leg, "yeah, Leon said something vague and I overreacted and he had to stop me from doing something stupid—"
"Don't say that, Ethan—"
"That wasn't what happened," they both scold again as Leon continues, "you thought we betrayed your trust and reacted accordingly. I panicked because I didn't want you to run away from me, and then, well…I told you, I'm not a saint."
Chris subsides almost as soon as Ethan's hand touches him—which he will be exploiting once his brain is back between his ears, thank you—reaching up to tangle their fingers together in a way that makes Ethan's head spin. "Can't say I blame you."
"…okay, remember what I said about being patient?" he asks weakly. "I'm not—I haven't—"
"It's okay," Leon reassures, once again wrapping his mutilated hand in his own, pulling it into his lap, "we get it. This is…a lot. For all of us."
Chris makes a noise of agreement, shifting closer to wrap his arms around Ethan from behind, tucking him up against his chest. "Just being able to have this, to touch you like this…it's more than I ever thought I'd be able to have again. I can wait for anything else, Ethan, I swear."
A different sort of swoop in his stomach at the feeling of Chris's muscled arms around him, his words murmured into his temple. "You—you got your shit together incredibly fast."
He nearly swoons at the chuckle inches from his ear. "Well, I finally figured out what I want. Why waste time?"
"And for the record?" Leon rolls his eyes fondly. "He didn't get his shit together fast. Rose and I have been dying over here."
"Rose? Shit, what are we gonna tell Rose?"
"The truth, if you're okay with it. She'll be thrilled," he continues when Ethan looks doubtful, "well, she might threaten Chris's life again—"
"She did what?"
"She'll probably threaten yours too, you know."
"I'd expect nothing less." Leon winks. "Kitten's as protective as her Papa Cat."
Ethan flinches. He can't help it. "Please—please don't call me Papa."
"Okay," Leon says gently, eyes full of concern as Chris tightens his grip, "I won't. I'm sorry."
"You didn't know."
"Can I ask why not?"
He shifts, feeling the remnants of the cold iron and twisted screams. "Heisenberg called me that."
"I see. Yeah, that makes perfect sense."
"Ethan?" He hums. Chris pulls him closer still, until he's almost in the man's lap. "Can I ask—what happened with Heisenberg? One minute I gave you that tank, and then you're calling me saying he's dead, did you…?"
Ethan huffs. "Only if you tell me what you were doing the whole time, because somebody had to kill every single one of the lords and it was not you."
"Damn, Redfield, not pulling your weight?" Leon tsks. "Shame on you."
"I was trying to find Miranda!"
"Yeah, and you couldn't use the goddamn space laser to kill a few assholes while you were doing that?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, space laser? You have a space laser and you withheld it? Fucked up of you, Chris."
Chris sighs, tucking his face into the back of Ethan's neck. "Is this how it's gonna be from now on? You two bullying me?"
"Only if you deserve it," Leon says with absolutely no heat as he winks at Ethan.
There's such a dramatic sigh from behind him that it ruffles Ethan's hair and he can't help it, he laughs. Because this is ridiculous and terrifying and exciting and heart-wrenching and perfect and he might make himself cry again if he's not careful.
It isn't until he trails off that he notices both of them staring at him, spellbound.
"What?"
"Sunshine," Leon murmurs, stroking his hand, "pure sunshine."
"You really are," Chris rumbles, one hand almost possessively over his heart, "and it kills me that you don't seem to know it."
Ethan coughs, shifting slightly, their attention making his head spin. "Well, you guys can help remind me, right?"
"Our pleasure."
"Damn right."
There's a ferocity in Chris's voice that makes him turn, looking up to meet his gaze. Chris meets it, instinctually shifting his grip to help ease Ethan into the new position, tilting his head slightly. His chest flutters.
"Hey, Chris?"
"Yeah, Ethan?"
His courage dies. Right there, in his mouth, on the tip of his tongue. Because there's still a part of him that can't believe this—won't believe it. And Chris sees it. Sees it die, sees Ethan resign himself not to ask, because he's cupping Ethan's jaw in his hand and leaning down.
"Can I kiss you, Ethan?"
"Yes—yes, please—"
The kiss is chaste, barely more than a brief brush of lips, but it sets Ethan on fire. Gold light explodes behind his closed lids and he hears Leon chuckle, pulling away to see the shower of sparkles around them. Embarrassed heat floods his cheeks but Chris just lets out a soft noise, kissing his cheek gently.
"Good, hm?"
"So good."
Chris gets this smug little look on his face and glances at Leon, who's just watching them with a smile of his own. Leon, of course, just raises his eyebrows and shifts, crawling up to loom over the two of them.
"What do you think," he murmurs, "can we do better?"
"We can try," and he barely finishes his sentence before Leon's mouth covers his, just as chaste, slightly more playful and, sure enough, the shower of gold sparks comes again. Leon chuckles into his mouth as he pulls away. "That's so embarrassing."
"It's endearing," Chris corrects gently, "and very rewarding."
"Shut up," he whines, covering his face as they both laugh at him. "God, I'm never gonna live this down, am I?"
"Probably not," comes the gentle rumble in his ear, "but you wanted us patient, we'll be patient. The second you need us to back off, we will."
"Are we being too much right now? Do we need to slow down?"
"I think—just for now?"
"Of course," Chris says and Leon hums in agreement, "can we stay like this, though? Is that okay?"
Ethan nods and Leon settles back to the couch, pulling Ethan's legs into his lap with a wink. "What? Redfield gets to cuddle half, I get to cuddle half, that's fair."
"We can switch in a little bit, though, right?"
"I'm not the one you have to convince, Winters, tell that to the man currently using you as human teddy bear."
"Sorry," Chris says from where his nose is buried in Ethan's hair, "can't hear you, too busy enjoying the sunshine."
"Chris!"
Rose comes home, takes one look at him, and promptly turns to Chris and Leon.
"Either of you hurt him again, I'll kill both of you and Mom and Eveline will help me."
"Rose!"
Both of them just nod solemnly. Chris volunteers to dig their graves beforehand and Leon says he'll teach her how to get rid of the gun. Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose and groans.
Rose hugs him around the waist and whispers you deserve to be happy too, Dad.