Chapter Text
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"And you understand, with a job as important and hush-hush as mine, I'm a very busy man."
Leon nodded politely.
The man standing in front of him wore a cheap gray suit that fit him nowhere correctly. It pulled tightly across his protruding beer belly while hanging loose at the shoulders. His face was bright red from standing too long under the afternoon sun, and he repeatedly dabbed at his damp, receding forehead with a handkerchief.
They were gathered for the yearly neighborhood barbecue in the garden of the elderly couple Martha and Richard who lived across the street. They were sweet people, the kind who brought over pies and remembered the girls' birthdays, while Chris and Leon helped with odd jobs around the house or salted and shoveled their walkway during the winter. Because their son couldn't be bothered to visit his parents.
Martha had worked as an analyst and Richard as a drill instructor. Like many retirees on Cobalt Ridge, they had chosen to remain on base after retirement.
Leon knew their son, William, had ended up where he was largely because of his parents and a few well-placed strings they had pulled. William wasn't a bad person, just conceited and a little selfish.
He was a bachelor living in Washington, D.C., and he rarely visited his parents. According to Martha, his career came first. Admirable in some ways, perhaps. Leon himself was a workaholic. But never at the expense of his family.
But unfortunately, this was how this guy was.
Leon listened with half an ear, balancing Emy on his hip. She was content, her head resting against his shoulder while she played with strands of his hair and babbled quietly to herself.
Leon remembered the man worked at the White House in the mail room. It was a very basic desk assistant position with absolutely no security clearance worth mentioning, yet he talked about his work as if it was pivotal to the entire country's security.
"And naturally," the man continued, lowering his voice dramatically, "there are things I simply can't discuss."
Leon made a thoughtful noise. "Mm."
William nodded at Leon, twirling his glass of spritz. "It is classified, you understand."
"Of course," Leon answered, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the man's confidence. Did he actually remember he was standing on a military base so top secret that it required more than a month of clearance paperwork just to enter, even if his parents lived on-site? Every single person at this barbecue held a higher level of clearance than that man.
Emy grabbed his chin and turned his head toward her, small hands patting his cheeks. "Daddy."
"Yes, sweetheart," Leon murmured. "I know."
William cleared his throat. "Of course, most people don't really understand how things operate at my level," he continued, voice dripping with importance. "The White House mail distribution system is highly sensitive. Timing is everything. One misrouted envelope and you're looking at a potential diplomatic incident." He nodded to himself. "I personally oversee the intake triage. Anything coming in or out of certain offices goes through me first."
Leon took a slow sip of his non-alcoholic beer with a hum. Where the hell was Chris? The man made it his life's mission to rescue Leon from literally anything, but the moment he was actually needed he vanished.
William leaned in slightly in Leon's personal space and he shifted a step away from the man, uneasy. "It's a very high-pressure environment. It's national security infrastructure when you really understand it." He gestured vaguely toward himself as if it confirmed his authority. "My role, of course, is essential. Without proper handling at my stage, the entire communication system could destabilize."
William took Leon's silence as enthrallment and encouragement to continue. "Exactly. Not many people are trusted with that level of responsibility."
Leon looked down at Emy, and Emy looked back. For one brief moment, he was convinced his toddler understood the conversation and was also at her wit's end with this man.
"It's a heavy responsibility," the man said with a sigh. "The things I know."
Leon stared at him. "Must be," he said gravely.
Chris finally appeared at Leon's side and gave William a polite nod. "Hello," he greeted with a small smile.
William looked him up and down with a slight pinch of his mouth, openly judging. Chris, in weekend mode, didn't look like much, Leon thought in amusement; shorts, a loud Hawaiian shirt, Stan Smith trainers, and a relaxed posture that made it easy to forget what he did for a living. Outside of work, Chris couldn't be bothered with anything other than whatever was most comfortable.
Even years later, even after everything they'd been through, Chris's face still held that boyish, cheeky composure that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and left him looking ten years younger than he actually was. Leon loved that face, his mouth, his eyes, everything really.
And where Leon's own face had hardened over time—jaw sharper, eyes colder, shaped by everything he'd survived—Chris's brown eyes stayed warm. Open. Familiar and safe. Protective.
"Major Chris Redfield," Chris said, reaching out to shake William's hand with a bit too much force. Leon tilted his head slightly into Emy's blond curls and rolled his eyes subtly at the display of alpha posturing. William's expression shifted, his confidence wavering as his hand was crushed and as he registered who he was talking to. Chris noticed immediately and smiled wider. "And this," Chris said, turning slightly toward Leon, wrapping an arm around his waist, "is my husband. Leon S. Kennedy."
As Chris said his name, the reaction was immediate. William's face drained from red under the sun to white, then settled into a greyish green, like he was going to be ill of embarrassment. He blinked rapidly, eyes flicking from Leon to Chris as if searching for a correction, anything that would turn it into a harmless joke.
Leon kept staring at him unblinking, just to be annoying, while Chris stood beside him grinning with entirely too many teeth.
Chris didn't like William. He hated how he couldn't be bothered to visit his aging parents regularly, and how working at a post office seemed more important to him than his own family.
Leon understood. Chris had had wonderful parents but lost them far too soon. He could understand how hard it was to watch someone with loving, caring parents treat that kind of connection so casually, taking it for granted, and how frustrating it was to see it wasted.
Leon leaned his head against Chris' chest, already disinterested in William's breakdown, and let himself be guided away toward the food table. Chris started loading a plate for them both to share while Leon watched him, finishing his drink and setting the empty bottle down on the table. They would stay behind later to help Richard and Martha clean everything up at the end of the day.
"What an asshole," Chris muttered.
Leon hummed in agreement, shifting slightly as he felt a hand on his arm. He looked down and smiled at Sherry. "Hey, Dad," she said. "Do you want me to take Emy?"
Leon nodded and carefully passed her her sister. "How are you?" he asked.
Sherry bounced Emy gently in her arms and grinned up at him. "Great. Happy I could convince Jake to come this year."
Chris huffed through a mouthful of carrot stick. "That boy is whipped," he commented.
Leon and Sherry both chuckled. From what they could remember, Jake had never attended these barbecues with his mother over the years. He only came this time because Sherry—his girlfriend of two years now—had dragged him here by the skin of his neck.
Leon leaned forward and rubbed his cheek against the top of Sherry's head and scented her. Now that she was at university, he missed her like crazy, even if they called each other once a day or sometimes more. Thankfully, she was studying Security and Intelligence at the University of Maryland, only thirty minutes away from home. She came home most weekends but stayed at her dorm during the week to study in a quieter environment.
Jake, for his part, had enlisted in the military. It didn't surprise anyone; his father had been a soldier too, though he had died shortly before Jake was born.
He suspected Jake's decision to enlist had something to do with Chris and Leon as well. Not because either of them had encouraged it, but because Jake had spent enough time around them to see the kind of people they were and the lives they had built. Also, maybe part of it was Jake trying to prove he was worthy of Sherry. Maybe it was his way of showing that the reckless, unruly, angry teenager he had once been was behind him now.
Whatever the reason, he seemed determined to make something of himself, and Leon respected that. Leon also suspected Chris was going to poach Jake into the BSAA at some point. Not into Hound Wolf Squad right away; Chris wasn't reckless enough for that. He'd probably stick him in a support unit first, make him earn his place, learn the ropes, and prove he could handle the work before even considering anything more demanding.
Knowing Chris, he was probably already planning it. The man collected strays, rookies, and promising soldiers with alarming efficiency. Jake likely didn't even realize he was being recruited yet.
Like with Jake, and depending on how Sherry was doing with her studies and mentally, Leon could consider getting her into FOS under Ingrid's tutelage. It would suit her. She was intelligent, disciplined and patient.
Still, he didn't believe he ever wanted Sherry to be his handler.
The thought sat strangely with him. Not because he doubted her abilities, quite the opposite, he knew she would be good at it, but because Sherry was his daughter.
It was difficult to picture her on the other end of a comms line—monitoring his vitals, seeing him take down so many BOWs that had once been people, watching him get hurt, and hearing him make operational decisions that might determine whether he came home alive or not.
Some part of him would always see his little girl before he saw the capable young woman she had become. And maybe that wasn't fair to her.
Sherry was brilliant and strong, but even the strongest person could waver when someone they loved was in danger. And Leon wasn't sure he'd ever be comfortable with her witnessing all of that.
Not just the injuries, the blood, or the near misses.
But him. The thing he became during a mission.
Too fast. Too strong. Too much. The black veins spreading beneath his skin. The instincts taking over. The way his senses sharpened and his body moved with a violence that no longer was entirely human.
A weapon wearing Leon's face.
He could live with it. Chris could live with it too. They both had lived with it for years now.
But the thought of Sherry seeing it over a cams and comms line, watching his biometrics spike, listening to reports of what he was doing in the field, seeing firsthand just how far removed from normal he sometimes became.
No. He didn't want that for her.
Because no matter how old she got, no matter how capable she became, Leon always wanted her to look at him and see her dad—not the thing he had become.
"Hey," Chris murmured, kissing the back of Leon's neck gently.
Leon blinked out of his thoughts and looked up at him, rising slightly onto his toes to return the kiss. "Hey."
Chris watched him with worried brown eyes. "Where were you?" he asked softly, thumb brushing along Leon's cheek.
Leon closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. "Nowhere," he murmured. "Right here."
They both knew it wasn't true. Leon had a habit of disappearing too far into his own head, and it usually took a familiar voice—or a familiar touch—to pull him back out again.
"C'mon," Chris said, grabbing Leon's hand with the one not holding the plate. "Let's find a quiet place to eat." They crossed the wide garden together and settled in a shaded corner beneath a tree. Sitting down, Chris balanced the plate on his knee and nudged Leon gently until he started eating. "What were you thinking about?"
Leon blinked at nothing for a moment, then shrugged one shoulder. "I was thinking about the kids," he said quietly. "About Jake and how you're probably going to recruit him into the BSAA. And—" he paused, exhaling slightly, "—how I might get Sherry into FOS."
Leon was only thirty-four, and sometimes it felt like he had already lived through several entire lives. Chris was ten years older, but somehow always seemed so established, so steady, like he had decided what he was and refused to drift from it.
Most days, Leon felt like he was improvising everything. The girls, the house, the normal parts of life. He could pretend competence well enough, but it never felt natural.
Control only came during missions. That was where things made sense. Clear threats. Clear decisions. Clear outcomes. Gun, bullet. That was what he was built for.
Fighting BOWs was easy.
Raising daughters was not.
He felt his chest tightened. Was he ruining their lives?
Was he ruining Sherry's life if he brought her into this world—if he confronted her to the worst side of humanity? Made her see what people were willing to do for power?
He stared down at the plate for a moment, appetite gone.
Chris didn't speak. He just sat there beside him, close enough that Leon could feel the heat coming off his body, like a furnace Leon loved to bury himself into. Then he set the plate down, leaned back on one arm, and used the other to pull Leon in—slow, steady, like he was building a small barrier between them and everything else. His protector. There was no place in the world where Leon felt safer than in Chris' arms.
Chris' hand stayed around Leon and gently caressed the skin at his waist under his white shirt.
"Am I ruining her life?" he asked out loud.
Chris didn't answer immediately, and Leon was grateful for it. For the fact that Chris was actually thinking of the question instead of rushing in to smooth it over with whatever he thought Leon needed to hear.
After a long moment, he finally spoke. "No," he said firmly. "You don't love someone the way you love her and ruin her life at the same time."
He paused, furrowing his brow slightly. Leon noticed it. Chris didn't love Sherry less—never that—but when it came to her, he often let Leon lead. Like he understood there were parts of that relationship that belonged to Leon first and only.
Chris exhaled slowly, his hand still steady around Leon. "She's not fragile," he added. "She's not made of glass. And she's not you, either. She's not going to walk the same path." His thumb brushed along Leon's skin. "You were alone. She's not. She has people around her. People who love her and will help her into this world." He paused, gaze lowering slightly. "I think it was always going to be impossible for Sherry to stay out of this fight." His voice roughened a little. "Like Claire. I would've preferred she never had to see any of it. But Sherry—she already saw things."
Leon shuddered at that. Because he knew that. Raccoon City wasn't just something that happened to him. It had happened to her too. To their family. And afterward, even when they tried to build something normal around her, that world kept leaking in through the cracks—Leon going half crazy with grief and pain, Chris nearly leaving, then missions, separations. Things she was never supposed to fully understand, but somehow always did anyway.
And so, when she was older—just before university—they had told her everything. Not a softened version, not a half-truth. They told her the ugly truth. What BOWs were; things that used to be people and needed to be put down because they weren't people anymore. They told her about Spencer Mansion, about Raccoon City, about Spain, about China, about Romania. They showed her pictures Rebecca had managed to get them.
And she hadn't broken.
She had sat there straight-backed, eyes bright with intelligence, absorbing every word, every information so she could organize and categorize them. She had asked smart questions. The kind that showed she was understanding the things they were telling her.
And then she had looked at Leon. Right into him, into his soul. She told him she refused to let him fight alone anymore. That she was now a new ally beside Chris.
That she was going to be by his side until he was sick of her. Which was impossible. Because Sherry wasn't just someone he loved. She was his baby. The part of him that made all the rest feel bearable.
Leon swallowed slightly, breath catching at Chris' words. Chris didn't say anything more. He just held him, letting Leon feel him, his warmth and his scent. In this quiet little place under the tree, Leon understood what scared him most wasn't Sherry entering that world. It was how much she already was part of it.
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