Chapter Text
The file sits neatly on the coffee table. The morning is slow, coffee steaming from the cup placed on a stack of books. There’s a plate with a slice of buttered toast and a sliced boiled egg, the yolk still runny, the butter melted into the bread. A glass of homemade apple juice stands beside the file.
Leon has read it several times this morning.
Deployment Duration: Minimum 3 months, subject to extension
Operational Constraints:
Partially limited external communication
Contact with a spouse granted
Autonomous decision-making authorized under Directive 14-C
Extraction Clause:
Extraction not guaranteed outside mission-critical parameters
The more he goes back to it, the more that indescribable feeling settles in his stomach.
Agent Kennedy demonstrates:
High adaptability in unstable environments
Strong independent judgment under pressure
Continued suitability for isolated operations
Recommendation: Assignment approved without reservation.
Of course he does. He’s perfect for this mission. He knows it.
He takes a sip of his coffee and looks out the window, lost in thought.
It’s been a month since Rhodes Hill and Raccoon City. A month since Chris made sure he made it home safe. Since they mentioned what now sits heavily on Leon’s mind.
A family.
Something of his own.
A better future.
He knows Chris got his own file. It’s in the drawer of his nightstand. As far as Leon knows, Chris took one glance at it, jaw set, brows furrowed, and closed it.
Leon didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.
It’s a reassignment. Chris is pushing his fifties. Too valuable to risk in the field anymore.
Leon smiles.
As opposed to the file in his lap, Chris’s is about stability.
He picks his own file back up, thumb running over the lines again. He should take it. He should.
But every line feels like a reminder, months away. Months without mornings like this. Months away from Chris.
It used to be enough, nine years ago. The work, the missions, the time they carved out for each other in between. They compromised. They worried. But they never asked for more than what they were given.
It worked because Leon never wanted anything for himself.
Except Chris.
But now he does.
He wants something that stays.
Something that isn’t measured in deployments and return dates.
Something that’s theirs.
He’s so deep in thought he doesn’t hear the footsteps in the hall, not until a large, steady hand settles on his shoulder.
“Morning.”
Chris’s voice, rough with sleep, followed by a soft kiss to his hair.
Leon smiles.
“Morning.”
He watches him move toward the coffee pot, scratching his back, movements slow, heavy with sleep.
“Haven’t heard you get up,” Chris says, pouring himself a mug.
“Yeah… slipped out quietly. You looked like you needed extra rest. After last night.”
Chris glances at him, a knowing look, a quiet chuckle into his cup.
“You recovered pretty fast,” he says. “Should I be worried?”
Leon rolls his eyes, shifting slightly in his seat, still feeling him.
“Your worries can rest safely,” he mutters, wincing just a little.
Chris grins, takes a sip, then notices the file.
“Mission?”
“Yeah.”
Chris moves to sit across from him, their legs tangling automatically. They always sit like this. It settles something in Leon, eases the edge off everything else.
Leon hands him the file.
Chris takes it.
And looks at him first.
His eyes don’t read through the introduction and the mission description, they land straight in the middle.
Deployment duration: Minimum 3 months...
He pauses.
Briefly.
Leon notices it.
He keeps on reading, exhaling through his nose.
Contact with a spouse granted.
There’s a small shift in his jaw. A minuscule sign of tension.
As if we need to beg for that, he thinks.
Extraction not guaranteed.
That one lingers.
He closes the file somewhat carefully and sets it on the table.
“Three months or longer,” he says.
It’s not a question.
“Yeah,” Leon says, taking a bite of his toast, then offering it to Chris.
His husband takes it, leaning back, eyes studying Leon.
Not the file.
Him.
“You’re hesitating?”
Leon looks away, desperately trying to find a quick answer.
“...”
“Then don’t take it.”
It’s simple and direct, very much like his husband.
Leon pushes a hand through his hair, says nothing. Lets the silence stretch, then reaches for his coffee instead.
The quiet, rainy morning settles into a slow day in. They both love these kinds of days, when the world outside dims under heavy gray clouds, when late November rain taps softly against the windows.
It’s around four in the afternoon when Leon finishes the laundry.
Chris has turned the bedroom into something else entirely.
He made the bed like they’re staying in it.
They’re not.
Leon looks around.
Candles lit. Sheets changed. Curtains drawn.
A tray of snacks set carefully on the bed. The soft orange glow of the electric fireplace flickers beneath the large screen, casting warmth across the room.
Leon pauses in the doorway.
The candles burn lower than they should for this early in the evening.
He pushes the thought down before it can take shape.
Afternoons like this shouldn’t be rare.
They shouldn’t only exist like this, on the edge of something.
Not when one of them is leaving the next day.
Not when neither of them says it out loud, but both know, there’s no guarantee this time.
“Here.”
Chris steps up beside him, handing him a protein shake.
“You’re gonna need it.”
Leon takes it, nodding faintly, drinking slower than he normally would.
His duffle bag sits open on the bed.
He could still not take it.
Packing is mechanical now.
Three months. He knows exactly what that means.
How many shirts.
What fabric works best.
What he’ll actually use.
What he won’t.
No second-guessing. No thinking.
Just… repetition.
And that’s a problem.
Chris, on the other hand, is not packing.
Leon zips the bag halfway, and Chris’s hand settles over his.
He stills.
Doesn’t look up as Chris lifts his hand slightly, pressing a quiet kiss to the ring on his finger.
“Come back to me, yeah?”
Leon nods.
There’s something in his throat he can’t quite push past.
It was never this bad.
He never wanted to stay this much.
Chris studies him for a moment, as if he’s trying to place something.
Then lets it go.
Outside, the rain keeps falling, the sound of it steady, unchanging.
Tomorrow, he leaves anyway.