Chapter Text
Claire
The city was quiet at four in the morning.
Not peaceful.
Just… empty.
Streetlights hummed faintly outside the apartment window, their dim glow spilling across the floor. Somewhere in the distance, a car passed, its engine echoing too loudly through the stillness before fading away again.
Inside the room, Claire stared at the ceiling.
She had been doing that for hours.
Sleep refused to come.
Every time her eyes closed, the same images returned.
The island.
The cages.
The screams.
Their bodies changing into those creatures one by one.
People she had worked with for years. People who trusted her.
People she couldn't save.
Claire sat up in bed for the fourth time that night and stared at the clock.
4:02 AM.
That was enough.
Sleep clearly wasn’t happening.
She swung her legs off the bed and stood up, already knowing what she was going to do. It had become a routine lately—something to burn through the restless energy when memories clawed too loudly at the back of her mind.
Gym clothes. Hair tied back. Shoes laced.
Fifteen minutes later, she was standing outside one of the quieter satellite facilities used by the Division of Security Operations.
Technically she wasn't supposed to be here.
But she had borrowed credentials from Sherry weeks ago.
Use it whenever you want.
And Claire had discovered something very useful.
The gym.
The training room.
The shooting range.
All free.
All open.
And most importantly—
At this hour, completely empty.
Perfect.
Claire stepped inside, dropped her bag near the wall, and walked straight toward the heavy punching bag hanging from the center beam.
She didn't stretch.
Didn't warm up.
She just started hitting.
The first punch landed with a dull thud.
Another followed.
And another.
Each impact sent the bag swinging.
Each punch dragged another memory with it.
A terrified scream.
A transformation.
A body collapsing.
Claire’s jaw tightened.
Her punches grew harder.
Faster.
The bag swayed violently with every strike.
She barely noticed the sweat building along her forehead.
All she knew was that she needed to hit something.
Harder.
And harder.
And harder—
“What did the punching bag ever do to you?”
The voice broke through the room.
Claire froze.
She turned toward the doorway.
And immediately recognized the figure leaning casually against the frame.
Of course.
Leon stood there, hands in his jacket pockets, watching her with mild curiosity.
Claire wasn’t even surprised.
Somehow, seeing him here at four in the morning made perfect sense.
Because Leon was one of the few people in the world who understood exactly what sleepless nights felt like.
Memories had a habit of haunting both of them.
Leon
Leon had been walking the city for nearly an hour.
It had become routine over the last few months.
Walk.
Run.
Anything to keep moving.
Because the moment he stopped moving—really stopped—his mind dragged him straight back into memories he would rather keep buried.
And those memories had a way of leading him somewhere worse.
The bottom of another bottle of whiskey.
Leon exhaled slowly as he pushed open the doors to the training facility.
The gym usually helped.
Exhaustion was a good distraction.
But tonight, he hadn't expected company.
The sound reached him first.
A rhythmic pounding.
Heavy.
Relentless.
Leon stepped into the doorway of the training room.
And there she was.
Claire.
He watched quietly for a moment.
Each punch she threw into the bag made it swing violently.
Leon recognized that kind of anger immediately.
He had felt it himself more times than he could count.
So he spoke.
“What did the punching bag ever do to you?”
She turned instantly.
Claire wiped sweat from her brow and leaned briefly against the bag.
“Fulfilling its sole purpose," she answered dryly. "It is a punching bag.”
Leon chuckled softly.
They hadn't seen each other in a while.
Months, maybe.
But hearing her voice again—sharp, sarcastic, completely unapologetic—felt strangely familiar.
Comforting, even.
One corner of his mouth lifted.
“Want a sparring partner?”
Claire studied him for a second.
Then she nodded.
“Sure.”
—
They stepped onto the training mat.
The rubber surface gave slightly beneath their weight as they moved into position.
Leon rolled his shoulders loose, working out the stiffness from his late-night run. Across from him, Claire bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, loose but alert.
For a moment they simply circled each other.
Not rushing.
Watching.
Reading.
They both knew how the other moved—had known for years—but familiarity never meant predictability.
Claire struck first.
A sharp jab aimed straight for his jaw.
Leon leaned back just enough for it to miss, the movement smooth, almost lazy.
“Looks like you're out of practice, Red.”
Claire didn’t even blink.
“I’m just warming up.”
She pivoted and snapped a kick toward his ribs. Leon caught her ankle mid-swing, steadying it in one hand before pushing it gently aside.
“Is that all you got?”
Claire’s eyes narrowed immediately.
“You're holding back on me, Kennedy.”
Leon grinned.
“Well, I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Oh please.”
She lunged again, faster this time.
Her fist came for his shoulder, but Leon pivoted smoothly, catching her wrist and redirecting her momentum past him. Claire spun with it instead of fighting it, planting her foot and whipping around with a backhand strike that cut sharply through the air.
Leon ducked just in time.
"You're still holding back,” she said through clenched teeth.
"You think you can take it?"
That lit the fuse.
Claire attacked again.
And the rhythm shifted.
Punch.
Block.
Kick.
Dodge.
Their movements sharpened instantly, the pace quickening as instinct took over.
Claire drove forward aggressively now, forcing Leon backward across the mat. He redirected her strikes where he could, catching her wrist once, twice, stepping around her with frustrating ease.
“You always this competitive?” he asked lightly.
“You always this cocky?”
She lunged again.
This time Leon caught her arm and twisted sideways, using her own momentum against her.
Claire’s back collided with his chest.
For a split second they were perfectly aligned.
Chest to back.
Leon felt the shift in her body the instant it happened—the way her spine went rigid beneath his arm, the sudden stillness where there had been motion a heartbeat ago. He had meant the move as part of the drill, nothing more than muscle memory and reflex, but now he was aware of everything—the quick rise and fall of her breathing, the tension coiled in her shoulders, the warmth of her pressed against him. He loosened his grip just slightly, not enough to release her, just enough to remind himself this was still a sparring match.
Claire also felt it all at once.
The heat of him behind her. The solid line of his chest against her back. His arm braced across her shoulders, strong and steady, holding her in place with an ease that told her he could keep her there as long as he wanted. Her heartbeat quickened. For a second, her mind scrambled to focus on the mechanics of the hold—how to break it, where to shift her weight—but the closeness muddled her thoughts.
Leon leaned closer, his voice low near her ear, his breath warm against her skin.
“Careful, Redfield,” he murmured. “You're getting predictable.”
His breath was warm against the side of her neck, his voice still lingering in the air between them, sending an unexpected shiver down her spine.
“Cocky bastard.”
She drove her elbow backward hard.
Leon released her just before it connected with his ribs.
Claire spun out of his hold and shoved him away, creating space between them again.
“You're annoying.”
Leon smirked.
“You're slow.”
Claire launched forward again.
Now they were moving fast.
Really fast.
Leon blocked one punch, barely slipped past another, then swept his foot forward in a quick counter.
Claire stumbled.
But instead of falling, she grabbed him and dragged him down with her.
Leon rolled with the impact, twisting so he ended up above her, one arm pinning her wrist to the mat.
But the moment they hit the floor, something changed.
He barely registered the impact of the mat beneath them because suddenly Claire was right there—her face inches from his. For a second, the entire room seemed to narrow down to that single distance.
Her eyes met his.
Steady. Bright. Challenging.
His grip on her wrists was firm, pinning them above her shoulders, yet he found himself hesitating instead of pressing the advantage.
He could feel the quick rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of it brushing his jaw. The faint scent of sweat and soap clung to her. Small details his brain had no business noticing in the middle of a fight.
Focus.
The word flickered through his mind, sharp and disciplined.
But his concentration kept slipping.
His eyes flickered between her blue eyes and her pink lips, betraying the sudden distraction he couldn’t quite shake.
They were both breathing harder now.
Claire glared up at him.
“Had enough?"
Leon raised an eyebrow.
"You want a break?"
But Claire wasn’t done.
She shifted beneath him, subtle at first. Just a small movement of her hips, a twist of her shoulders. The kind of adjustment he normally would have caught immediately. Normally he would have anticipated it before it even started.
Instead, Leon was still staring at her.
Still caught in the strange tension humming in the air between them.
He didn’t notice the way her leg slid into position until it was too late.
In one swift motion Claire used the opening—hooking his balance, rolling her weight with practiced precision. The world flipped in a blur of movement and suddenly Leon felt the mat at his back instead.
Claire landed above him.
For a split second he simply blinked up at her, stunned—not from the maneuver itself, but from how easily he’d let it happen.
His hands were still on her arms.
Their faces were still inches apart.
And now, with her hovering over him, the closeness felt even harder to ignore.
Claire leaned slightly forward, close enough that loose strands of her hair brushed his shoulder.
“Who's out of practice now?” she shot back.
Leon chuckled under his breath.
For a second they stayed like that.
Claire’s weight pinning him down.
Leon still tried very hard to focus on the fight.
Not on how close she was.
Not on the warmth of her knee pressed against his side.
Not on the way her hair brushed his shoulder when she moved.
He cleared his throat.
Then suddenly rolled sideways, slipping out from under her hold with a quick shift of his hips.
They both scrambled back to their feet.
Breathing harder now.
Eyes locked again.
The air between them had changed.
Neither of them mentioned it.
Claire struck again.
Leon dodged.
Again.
Again.
"Whoa—"
But now she was relentless.
Faster.
Stronger.
He could see the shift happening.
Her punches carried something heavier now.
Not just friendly fight.
Emotion.
Leon tried to slow the pace.
“Claire—”
Too late.
Her fist shot forward.
SMACK.
The punch landed clean against his mouth.
Leon’s head snapped sideways.
The room went silent.
He touched his lip instinctively.
His fingers came away red.
Blood.
Claire
The second Claire saw the blood, her stomach dropped.
Her eyes widened. Her hands flew to her mouth.
“Oh my god.”
She rushed toward him instantly.
“I’m so sorry, Leon. I—I lost control. I didn’t mean to—I'm sorry.”
The guilt hit immediately.
She hadn’t meant to go that far.
Leon blinked at her for a second.
Then he laughed.
“It’s fine.”
He wiped the blood away casually.
“I’m not gonna die from a busted lip.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Busted ego, maybe.”
But Claire wasn’t laughing.
Her expression had already shifted to pure concern.
“Come on, sit down.”
She grabbed his arm and guided him toward the bench.
“I’ll grab the medical kit.”
Leon
Leon watched her hurry across the room.
He didn’t argue.
Partly because his lip hurt.
Partly because he was exhausted.
But mostly—
Because he knew exactly what she was doing.
Sherry had told him about the island.
About TerraSave.
About how only Claire, Moira, Barry, and a little girl named Natalia, were the only ones who made it out alive.
Leon knew that kind of guilt.
That kind of grief.
And if letting her patch him up helped distract her—He’d sit there all night if he had to.
Claire returned moments later with a medical kit.
She knelt in front of him, already opening it.
“Hold still.”
She dabbed ointment onto a cotton swab and pressed it carefully against his lip.
Leon winced and turned his head slightly.
Claire frowned instantly.
“Don’t be a baby.”
“It hurts.”
“Oh please,” she scoffed. “You’ve had worse.”
Leon chuckled quietly.
He had missed this.
Their back-and-forth.
The normalcy of it.
“Oh well,” he muttered. “In that case maybe you could stab me next time.”
Claire shot him a glare.
“If you don’t stop talking, I might.”
They fell quiet for a moment.
Claire focused intently on the wound.
They were close.
Very close.
Leon suddenly became very aware of his heartbeat.
Not from the fight.
From something else entirely.
He cleared his throat slightly.
“Remind me not to go sparring with you again.”
Claire didn't even look up.
“It was your fault. You baited me.”
“I was motivating you.”
She looked up sharply.
Leon felt absurdly proud of himself.
For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, getting that reaction from Claire always made him smile.
“You're too cruel,” he said.
“And you're an idiot.”
Leon’s grin widened.
“But I made you smile though, didn’t I?”
Claire
Claire blinked.
Just slightly.
Then she realized—
He was right.
Somewhere during their ridiculous sparring match and his terrible jokes—
She had smiled.
For the first time since the island.
For the first time since the nightmares started.
Something inside her felt lighter.
She looked at him.
Leon was watching her, that smug little smirk on his face like he was ridiculously proud of himself.
If it were anyone else—
She would have punched them again.
But with Leon…
It felt different.
Natural.
Comfortable.
Like slipping back into something familiar.
Still.
He couldn’t get the last word.
Claire pressed the cotton swab firmly against his busted lip.
Hard.
Leon flinched.
“Ow—!”
Claire smiled sweetly.
And that only made her grin grow wider.