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Let there be light.
Growing up in a Catholic family, Leon does not remember much from the Sunday school. He’s not religious, but his mind itches to borrow the biblical quote in such a godless city. Everything is still in ruins, just like three decades ago, the only thing changed is the subtle disappointment he’s been saved in time. Again.
It’s not the joy of survival he experienced when he finally ran away from the city with Claire and Sherry in tow. It has been replaced by guilt and exhaustion and anger, that he got to live again, be the hero again.
When does this end, indeed.
(No rest for the wicked, you think. The wicked undead, and the cursed men.)
Men descending from the sky, no one fires at the man and woman remaining in the crumbles of steel and concrete.
(Modern angels wear body armour and combat boots. You don’t have energy to punch the comment out, but you laughed quietly inside.)
It’s the wolves. But Leon doesn’t find the familiar burly figure among them.
One of the wolves, face disguised behind the tactical helmet, speaks into their headset with respect and confidence. He can barely pick up the voice from the other side of the comms.
“Is he alright? Are they safe?”
“Yeah, they’re safe. I got’ em.” The man replies with ease and confidence. Each step steady.
Where is Chris?
“Yes, Sir.”
The man kneeled down, explains that Captain Redfield has a message for him.
Where the fuck is him? Why can’t he give his message to his face?
“Can I say no?” Leon winces, not because he’s scared what Chris will say to him. His back is sore, his hips are fucked. He’s too old for this shit, even Elpis can’t fix arthritis and compressed discs.
“No.” Chris says firmly once he holds the ear piece close. His voice is cracked and hoarse. God knoe how many cigarettes he has smoked today.
Leon clears his throat. What a demanding asshole his saviour is.
“Husband.”
Chris didn’t laugh. Shit. “Husband.”
Uneasiness seeps through the radio signals, even his wolf can sense it. The man shifts awkwardly on his feet, walking off to join his team before the tension claims another victim.
“Sherry had to call me because she couldn’t get into contact with you.” He probably missed the check-in. While he’s trying to keep himself and Grace alive.
“You feeling alright?”
So much to tell him. About Elpis. About Zeno. About the crazy doctor. “Yeah.” Not now though. “Where are you? Only sent your pups. Worry the big bad dog is gonna crush the party?”
(Hell of a party it is.)
The comms remains silence, fuzzing white noise is too loud in a space like this.
“Sure, you can’t tell me. Now, what’s the message, Captain?”
(You feel a bit frustrated. Isn’t everyone saying that marriage holds no secrets? Every time he doesn’t share the details of his missions, as he shouldn’t, you are uncharacteristically antsy. In your mind, not knowing enough never helps with survivals.)
“Put your damn ring back on.”
What?
“What?” Oh. “Feeling a bit insecure, aren’t we?”
Chris took a deep breath, by the sound of it. Likely with a drag of smoke. Lung cancer be damned.
Bioweapons beat incurable genetic mutation for the cause of death on their autopsy reports.
“Whatever. I resized it before you left. Could have told you if you waited to say good bye.”
(You don’t want to say good bye. It could have been the Good Bye. The one people tend to say to their loved ones one last time. You didn’t get to say goodbyes to your parents. You didn’t get to say goodbyes to anyone. You are not good at saying good byes.)
“Wait. That’s your message?”
“I will see you around, Leon.”
Chris cuts the comm sharp and clean. Clearly he’s on a mission himself, sudden burst of shots in the background reminds him again who they are.
(Husbands. Survivors.)
Leon throws the earpiece back to the hound wolf, before having a good stretch and lifting Grace off the ground.
“Everything’s good, Mr Kennedy?” The man catches the equipment carefully.
“Yeah. Get us out of here.” Chris could be somewhere on the other side of the town. Maybe in the woods. Maybe in the ruins. Maybe in a lab far, far away from here.
He’s sure he’s gonna run into him at some point.
Better put the ring back on now.
(It’s slightly bigger now. He needs to resize it again. After he gets the antiviral back to Sherry.)
The warmness from the ring permeates through his skin. Like an anchor of a drifting boat. Like a beacon towards home.