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He fucked up. His first month at the BSAA and he’s already fucked it up. Right now, Leon is sitting in the back of an ambulance, the medic fumbling next to him, as they futilely try to cut the sleeve of his BSAA-issue shirt open. The fabric though is putting up quite a fight, even when it’s already singed to shit. If he could bring himself to move, he would but as it is Leon is frozen on the spot, sitting on the gurney, eyes fixed forward as he tries to suppress the pain.
His left side has some nasty burns that travel from his elbow up to his shoulder, while he’s pretty sure that he has at least one cracked rib and a light concussion. Another medic is dabbing at the cut above his brow with an antiseptic wipe, his blood drenching it a deep crimson. He wants to move, wants to shake the doting medical staff off and go to nurse his wounds elsewhere but Leon is so taken aback by the fact that he’s even allowed to sit here that his brain has short circuited and left him stunned.
To anyone else it must look like shock, the way he holds himself still, eyes wide and yet unseeing. In reality though, Leon is waiting. Waiting for the other shoe to finally drop. After all, it was him, who first acted counter to the orders they’ve been given, Chris had just followed suit. It hadn’t been his place to make these decisions, he knew that, especially considering Chris is the captain, while Leon still isn’t more than an asset.
He couldn’t do it though, consequences be damned, there had still been survivors in that mall and Leon wasn’t about to watch them be bombed to hell, just because someone else who sat behind a desk, did the math and deemed the situation too risky. If it hadn’t been for Chris sticking around with him, he probably wouldn’t have made it out of the building, before the bombs hit.
The medic now finally finds the right angle to begin cutting the fabric of his sleeve. They hiss in sympathy, as they peel back the scraps of his shirt, exposing the blistered skin beneath. Leon glances at the angry red stretch of tissue, glistening with fluid, the pain not quite reaching him. They start cleaning the wound, washing the worst of the debris off, the gloved hands keeping a gentle hold on his arm, as they work methodically. It should probably hurt, he figures, recognizing the dull droning that radiates from the agitated spots but Leon doesn’t feel it, having disconnected himself from whatever was happening to him long ago.
He watches the incident’s site warily instead, the decon team taking care of the survivors before ushering them to the tents that have popped up all around the wreckage that once was a shopping mall. There are several more ambulances administering first aid, or coming in and out with sirens blaring. Not far from him, he sees Chris, sitting in front of an upset medic, who is indignantly talking at him, while the man stretches out his bloody leg, BDU’s cut off just above his knee. Leon watches the two of them interact for a while, noting how they are obviously familiar with each other, before he has to blink against his vision going blurry out of nowhere.
“I’m sorry, I’ll be quick.” The medic working on his arm speaks up suddenly.
Leon is pulled out of his thoughts unexpectedly, nodding along to the unfamiliar platitudes, as they start wrapping a bandage around the burnt parts of his arm. The droning in his head gets louder, while he fights with the sudden haziness overcoming him. His eyes start to wander over the sheer mass of people who have come to assist in their mission, searching for any familiar faces. But he’s not with the DSO anymore and he barely knows anyone at the BSAA yet, so he stays overwhelmed to see the back-up that they have successfully mobilized, once Chris had set off the distress signal. He can’t remember when he’d last had one of his requests answered, much less to this extent. At the DSO it was either he managed with the resources they provided, or died trying.
Someone turns his left wrist with gentle fingers, before they fasten the bandage, placing a strip of tape over his pulse point. Leon doesn’t flinch, as the other one starts applying butterfly closures to his forehead, the bleeding now having eased enough to treat the cut.
“We should take a look at your torso too, do you need help with the vest?” They politely inquire, once the second medic steps back from his face.
It takes a moment for the words to properly process, ultimately urging him to shake his head, before he starts to unfasten the straps of his bullet proof vest by himself. He can see his hands shake, as he does it, exhaustion making him jittery, now that the adrenaline slowly subsides. Leon takes a deep breath, forcing himself to still the trembling, pushing it down, until it is nothing more than a slight vibration. He struggles with a few of the more fiddly belts, his movements still slightly uncoordinated, but finally manages to lift the vest over his head by himself.
He wonders if the BSAA always provides their agents with protective gear, or if today was an exception because he’s been assigned to Chris’ team. The medics start rolling the hem of his shirt up, cautious hands pressing against the bruising on his side.
“We definitely need to do an x-ray, Bailey you get the ambulance ready, while I take a closer look at this.” The medic to his right addresses the one who’s been treating the burn.
“I’m going to apply a bit of pressure now, please let me know if any of it hurts too much.”
He explains, the cool latex traveling over the map of bruises on his ribs. Leon on the other hand, doesn’t complain, the pain of broken ribs, something he’s too accustomed to, for him to be taken by surprise, so he just lets the medic do his work, grinding his teeth together instead.
It’s only when he sees Director Reid weave his way through the bustling crowd, that he shows a reaction. The breath gets stuck in his throat at once, tension locking his muscles into place. His vision zeroes in on the man in a neatly tailored suit, his dark tie slightly askew, as he pushes past soldiers and medical personnel alike. Leon straightens his spine, his facial expression falling into a practiced mask of neutrality. Keeping track of Reid should be hard with the chaos they are in, though it's becoming more and more apparent that the director is heading straight for him.
He goes rigid, one hand instinctively going to his neck, pressing two fingers right at the nape of it, where he knows the scar sits. Reid isn't far from them now, certainly seeing Leon too and how he idly tarries in the back of the ambulance. In an Instant, Leon is on his feet, mumbling vague excuses to the medic at his side, while ignoring his protests. He pulls the remains of his shirt into place and strides towards director Reid, heart pounding in his chest with animal fear.
Reid stumbles to a stop just two feet from Leon, the latter falling into parade rest naturally. Director Reid is an older man, roughly the same age as Chris, with severe features that make him look stern and cruel. He is smooth shaven, his lips nothing more than a thin line, as he scrutinizes him with hard eyes. Leon stares back, unsure what the BSAA wants him to be exactly, if he's supposed to hold eye-contact at all. Sure they bought his contract but that doesn't mean he knows what for. Do they want him to be a soldier, or an agent, or a weapon, or just an attack dog, or… something else. He can't glean their intentions and it's driving him insane.
"Agent Kennedy." Reid greets him, voice cold.
"Director Reid, Sir."
Leon doesn't move, doesn't flinch. His head feels fuzzy and it's hard to breathe but he ignores it, pushes it down and away. Reid combs a hand through his black curls, fixing the ones that have escaped the gel holding them in place. He sighs then says:
"I've been told you've ignored orders, is that true?"
"Yes, Sir."
His heartbeat is pounding in his ears, he digs his thumb into his wrist, waiting for the repercussions to finally catch up with him. The director's posture deflates a little, shaking his head, as if in defeat.
"I didn't think Captain Redfield would rub off on you so quickly."
Leon opens his mouth to object, wanting to tell Director Reid that it had been his Idea. But the other just raises his hand and shakes his head.
"I don't want to hear it."
He commands and Leon's teeth click with how fast he shuts his mouth.
"We'll have a debrief in my office, once this mess is taken care of. You and Chris both."
Reid points over his shoulder with his thumb, where Chris now has a thick bandage obscuring most of his right calf. Leon lets his eyes linger on the sight for a moment, checking for any injuries on him that haven’t been there before, then he pulls himself back to the situation at hand.
"Of course, Sir." He nods.
The world has begun to tilt a little, softly swaying under his feet, though Leon doesn't have time for this. He focuses his eyes on Director Reid again, the hair at his temples is peppered with gray streaks, his eyes a mixture of brown and green, traveling up and down Leon's body like he's sizing him up. He has to keep from swallowing in discomfort.
"Do you have any injuries to report?" Director Reid addresses him suddenly.
Leon adjusts his posture, careful not to show the aching pain on his face. He doesn't know what Reid is getting at and it's ringing all kinds of alarm bells in his head, but lying will probably only get him into more trouble.
"Second degree burns on the left arm, some hematoma around the ribs and a minor laceration. The medics weren't sure if anything is broken, but if you don't-"
He rattles off the list of injuries with as much accuracy as possible, before Reid stops him again. This time Leon can't help but to swallow nervously.
"The paramedics should take you to the hospital and get that checked out, if you need to take some of your sick days let me know." He speaks matter of fact.
All Leon can think about is, this is a trap. Reid hasn't given him his reworked contract yet, which means the DSO's version of it is still in place. He doesn’t have sick days, never did with his previous employer. No matter if it’s DSO, or BSAA, breaching the contract would give the director enough of a reason to send him back. He can’t go back there.
"I will." He nods sharply, not wanting to argue with his superior.
He remains glued to the spot, as director Reid examines him, his eyes roving over the rigid set of his shoulders and sticking to the cut on his brow.
"Don’t keep Bailey and Thomas waiting." He orders, waving a hand towards the ambulance at his back.
"Yes, Sir."
Leon gives his affirmative, before he turns on his heel and steps away, the gaze of director Reid still burning on his neck. He stops abruptly, when he hears the director call out again.
"And Leon," He says, using his first name like he isn't talking to the object they bought. "I'm glad you're alive." The smile on his face looks honest but feels like another way to test him.
Leon forces his lips out of the emotionless front he usually puts up and smiles back wordlessly.
When he comes back to the doting pair of paramedics they look at him strangely but continue working without questioning him. It's only once he sits back down on the gurney that he realizes his heart is racing.
Turns out he has one broken rib and two cracked ones, the bruising having turned a blue-black colour by the time he’s in med-bay. When the doctor asks him if he’s in any pain, Leon isn’t sure. He doesn’t know when he’s last been asked that either. The doctor looks at him skeptical, as Leon shakes his head, absently picking at the clean slacks they’ve given him, also BSAA property of course. Ultimately they give him a bottle of pills anyway, advising him to take them as needed. He rolls the orange bottle around in his hands, like he’s never seen it before. They dismiss him soon after, all of his injuries treated and properly documented. As soon as Leon is out of the building, he shakes two round pills into his hand and swallows them dry, finally letting himself relax as he makes his way to his flat.
He doesn’t call in sick the next day, or the day after, expecting to be put on another mission soon enough and wanting to get some paperwork done in the meantime. But no one comes to call him in, even though he knows there are other teams sent out to take care of an outbreak at a remote location in Alaska. He wonders why that is, until Chris walks up to his desk in the open space office, saying that Reid wants to talk to them. In an instant, panic seizes him, his stomach tying itself into knots and cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
“Yeah, sure.” Leon mumbles, getting up from his chair robotically, as he follows him to the elevator.
He can feel himself shaking, his gait unsteady, as they move through the office and it takes everything he has, for Leon to not stumble and fall right then and there, clinging to whatever is left of his dignity. He glances down at his hands, clumsy with adrenaline, trembling so hard Leon’s surprised Chris hasn’t noticed yet.
They are already on their way to the upper floors, when he realizes he’s forgotten his leather jacket. Inside the lift, he’s assuming parade rest again, even though there’s no one here who could see them. It keeps his hands out of the way though. Chris, on the other hand, stands relaxed beside him, thumbs hooked in his pockets. Of course he’s unbothered by this, Leon reminds himself. Chris is a captain, has been with the BSAA since its founding, while Leon is just the burnt out weapon the DSO didn’t want anymore. If anyone’s taking the fall for this, it’ll be him. When he looks in the mirror running around all three walls of the elevator, he sees himself staring back, skin pale with dark circles under his eyes, fear written all over his features. He glances hesitantly at Chris' reflection, taking in his body language, the casual set of his face, before he tries to mimic it.
He manages a weak imitation of it, before the elevator doors open and they step out into the carpeted hallway. The walk to Reid’s office is short, his secretary greeting them both and pointing them to knock on the big double door that leads into the director’s office. Leon keeps to Chris’ right side, just one step behind the man, like that’ll change anything. Chris knocks unceremoniously, startling Leon with the volume of it. He curses himself for reacting, already twitchy even though nothing has happened yet.
“Come in.” A voice sounds from behind the heavy door, snapping him out of his own head.
Chris pushes against the handle confidently, stepping into the spacious office like he’s done it a thousand times before. Leon slinks in behind him, shutting the door silently and taking position next to Chris, hands behind his back, gaze fixed on the man in front of them, who is casually leaning against his mahogany desk. He breathes evenly, despite his own heartbeat tripping over itself.
“You’ve wanted to talk to us?”
Chris has his arms crossed over his broad chest, dressed in simple cargo pants and a form fitting shirt, while Leon is in jeans and a black button-up, still not having figured out how formal the BSAA wants him to dress.
“Indeed, it shouldn’t take long but I thought we’d still need to discuss this.” Reid begins, fiddling with the silver cufflinks, as he plucks his suit into place.
“You must be aware that the last mission the both of you were on, didn’t exactly go as planned.” He reiterates.
Leon nods jerkily, jaw clenched shut so hard it hurts.
“I wouldn’t necessarily-” Chris disagrees, before Reid resumes talking, not paying his objection any mind.
“And since I’m not waiting for the both of you to hand your paperwork in, I am asking you now, what has possessed you two, to ignore active orders and endanger not only yourselves but also the rest of the team that was there to back you up?”
It’s a set up, he’s heard it often enough to recognize what Reid wants instinctually, no thought necessary on his part. But Chris beside him, takes a deep breath again, actually going in to explain himself and there is nothing Leon can do. To speak now, would be to break rank and he’s already in enough trouble.
Leon grasps his good wrist forcefully, digging his nails into it.
“We’ve reported to HQ that there were civilians in the building, we couldn’t have given clearance for the detonation while the evacuation hadn’t even been complete. I was led to believe that reducing casualties is our prime objective, no matter the contents of the mission.”
Leon slowly sucks in a breath, steeling himself against Reid’s reaction, waiting to be caught in the inevitable crossfire of their argument. He feels clammy with sweat, his chest tight from how hard he’s trying to reign in his breathing.
“And it is, but that doesn’t mean you’re making these decisions by yourself.”
Reid bangs his fist on the desk behind him, anger etching itself into the groves of his face. It’s familiar, Leon knows what’ll come next, knows what’ll be expected of him. The urge to apologize sits high in his throat, the words pushing themselves into his mouth already but Leon can’t move, not when Chris is still in the room with them.
“The mission was successful wasn’t it? Do you want to imply we should’ve let the people in there die?” Now he is getting irritated too, his arms flying wide as he gesticulates.
Leon doesn’t like where this is going at all, he’s not sure how the BSAA works, or what Reid’s and Chris’ relationship is towards each other, but talking to his superiors like that has never gotten him anything but pain and Chris right now, is positively escalating the situation.
“Of course not, but we have a chain of command for a reason. This could have serious repercussions for your position.”
The breath hitches in his throat with more panic. He knows what the director is getting at here, is so sure of it, that he can’t help himself, he needs to-
“It was my fault, Sir.” Leon speaks for the first time since leaving the office, his nails claw at his forearm, trying to center himself.
“What?” Reid looks at him incredulously.
Leon’s eyes flick to the desk, wondering anxiously where he might’ve stored the remote, or if he’s carrying it on him.
“I forced Captain Redfield to disregard our orders because I wanted to save the civilians. I’ll take full responsibility for that.” Leon explains, his voice monotone, despite internally being on high alert.
If he gets Chris punished because of his mistakes, he’ll never forgive himself, he needs to convince Reid to take it out on him instead, he needs to-
“Is that true? Because if it is, I’ll definitely need to reevaluate your position as captain.” director Reid takes his attention off him, looking back to Chris.
All of Leon’s muscles are tense now, keeping him frozen in the middle of the room, trying not to dissolve on the spot. Blood is pooling under his fingernails, dripping from the pits he dug into his wrist.
“No. Leon made me aware of the situation but I agreed with him. He was acting under my command.” Chris speaks, voice severe.
“It was still my idea though, Captain Redfield had nothing to do with it.”
Leon doesn’t look at the man by his side, keeping his head straight forward, eyes fixed on Reid, on every motion the other does, as he lingers on his desk, looking curiously between the two. He won’t let Chris get hurt over his stupidity, he won’t. The implant on his spine twinges sharply, his tense muscles having aggravated the oversensitive spot.
“No matter who of you was the infamous genius behind your little stunt, I won’t-”
The rest of director Reid’s speech is lost on him, as Leon tries and fails to hang onto the tail end of his words. The anticipation is too much, his brain expecting the pain to come at any second now, as Leon keeps his body still, not being allowed to fight back.
Leon blinks and between one moment and the next, he’s not with Chris and director Reid anymore. Instead he’s back at the DSO, the vague shape of Benford circling him, shifting through the decades they’ve known each other.
It’s either you, or her, I’d advise you to pick the smart choice and just sign the contract and I’ll promise you nothing will happen to her.
Leon’s shoulder is aching, he’s exhausted and feverish. He pulls at the handcuffs fixing him to the interrogation table again, his wrists already bloody. They took Sherry from him, having no idea where she is right now, just knowing that he can’t let her get hurt. Leon will do anything, no matter the consequences. Anything.
I think you need a reminder of where your place is.
Benford’s voice has gone cold, icy, pulling out a set of keys, as he unlocks the top drawer in his desk, the metal screeches on its hinges. He plucks the tiny remote from the box it’s been in. Leon is young enough to still flinch at the sight, young enough to think he will not beg for it to stop.
You really don’t learn, do you?
Leon stands in parade rest, eyes lowered to track the tips of Benford’s perfectly pristine shoes. His own are thickly caked in mud, he’s covered in all kinds of filth, probably bleeding on the floor, as Benford grabs his bruised face with unforgiving fingers.
You should’ve considered that, before stepping out of line. It would be a shame if poor Sherry had to bear the consequences of your actions.
Sherry is the threat Benford’s been dangling over his neck for years now, he’d hoped if he proved himself useful enough he’d at least grant her freedom, a normal life away from this BOW madness. He stopped hoping once Benford was voted president. Hatred curdles in his gut, for the man that has held his leash for longer than he could bear, then his vision whites out at once.
Leon’s head smacks on the spotless tiles, as he screams. The electric current running from the implant through his body burns like nothing else can. It’s like someone is bleaching his brain, wiping every last thought from his mind. There’s just the agony, filling him, becoming him, as Leon’s muscles contract uncontrollably.
You leave me no choice but to do this, imagine the chaos if all of our weapons just did as they pleased.
Please. Leon begs, turning on his side to curl around his aching middle. Please, stop.
Benford loves to punish him, drilling every percieved transgression into him, because who is going to stop him? Leon has signed the contract willingly, knowing he’d put his life in the hands of the US government. He’s nothing more than an object to them, needing to be adjusted if he dares to malfunction. Everyone knows what is happening, they can hear him cry out for the entirety of it. Benford's secretary has ear-plugs sitting on her desk, next to a vacation photo of her and her husband.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He sobs, drool and tears running down his chin, as he grasps at his own shoulders, trying to hold himself together. I’ll be good, I swear.
Benford hums like he’s considering his words, then the remote clicks again. Leon loses track of time, while he writhes to Benford’s feet, arching his back against the unbearable pain coursing through his every cell. His spine is on fire, every nerve aflame with the electricity. Sometimes he thinks it'll never end, sometimes he thinks this will be the time they actually kill him. He starts hoping for that instead.
Tell me why you are here, Kennedy. Benford nudges him with his dress shoe, making him aware of where he is again.
Leon can barely form words, speech slurred where he tries to piece together a sentence. But what Benford wants from him is like second nature to him by now, he doesn’t even need to think about what to say.
I d-d-deserve it. I deserve it. I- He brabbles, wide eyes fixed on the shiny leather only inches from his face.
And why is that?
A shudder runs through him, out of his control, as his body isn’t quite done twitching.
Bad dogs deserve to be punished.
Leon waits for him to respond, breathing shallow. His skin prickles and his throat feels raw from screaming.
They do, don’t they?
Y-Yes.
Leon swallows a whine, as he watches him play with the button on the remote, thumb applying pressure incrementally, it’s a special torture in itself, to watch from the ground, as Benford weighs the pros and cons of continuing. Ultimately he relents, turning his back to him, before he drops the remote back into its drawer unceremoniously.
Leave, Kennedy.
He struggles to his knees, whole body aching as he scrambles to get his feet under him, terrified that Benford will change his mind, if he takes too long. His knees buckle a few times, as he clings to the wall to steady himself, stumbling towards the door shakily.
It doesn’t feel like Leon ever truly leaves that office, coming into the hallway beyond and seeing Hunnigan waiting there, looking at him like she’s seeing a ghost. He straightens his spine, winces from the pain flaring through his nerves, tries to fix his posture anyways and fails again. Hunnigan watches the ordeal with patience, ready to catch Leon should he crumble completely. She’s always there, afterwards, even when Leon wishes she wouldn’t be but it’s her who makes sure he doesn’t break apart completely, takes him to her office afterwards and lets him rest, safe behind a locked door.
“You are dismissed, both of you.” Reid’s voice cuts through the memory like a knife through bone.
Leon isn’t all there, as he follows Chris out of the room, the door falling shut behind them loudly. He still expects something to happen, for the metaphorical trapdoor to open right under his feet and plunge him into his personal hell. He stares down at his hands, frozen in front of the room they’ve just exited. They don’t look right, vibrating from shock and pulsing rhythmically. There’s blood on his fingertips, drying brown, though he can’t remember how it got there.
“Leon, are you alright?”
A hand comes down on his shoulder, large and strong. Leon flinches, expecting pain to follow the brief contact. He needs to stop remembering, he needs to forget this ever happened, he wants to claw the implant from under his skin and rip it out.
“Hunnigan?” He asks, voice thin, barely there.
But Hunnigan isn’t here, will never be here to lead him to safety anymore, because she is still with the DSO and Leon isn’t. Because he’s useless and broken and the BSAA will figure that out soon enough. He’s all alone now, trapped in a new maze he hasn’t figured out how to traverse yet.
“Leon, hey look at me. Tell me what is happening.”
They grab his face. Leon sucks in a harsh breath, not moving, just trembling like it’s the only thing he remembers how to do, before suddenly his knees give out beneath him and he falls out of the hands that hold his cheeks. He reaches out to break his fall, gripping at the body in front of him, hard muscles meeting his uncertain fingers, he rips at the fabric, going down fast, as his legs refuse to function. Then there are arms around him, heaving him upwards again and bracing his left elbow over broad shoulders.
He’s being dragged away from the office door at his back into another room he doesn’t recognize, someone pushing him down to sit. Leon’s breaths come hard and fast, as he slips into the flashback again.
It’s Simmons this time, palming the remote to his implant, hiding it in the pocket of his suit. For a second Leon thinks he'll let him leave like that, before the man steps forward with a sneer on his face. A hand comes up to his throat, squeezing like Simmons is trying to figure out how much it takes for Leon to fight back. But he doesn't so much as twitch, always good at holding still, going with the push against his adam's apple until his back hits the wall. Simmons isn't choking him per se, not yet at least, but rather holding him in place like a captured animal, displaying the power he has over him.
Kneel down. Is all he says.
Leon does it, would do anything if it meant Sherry is safe, as long as he can do that one thing, he can take anything they throw at him.
Open your mouth.
Silent tears drop down his face as he does it, Simmons hooks his thumb over his tongue pressing down on it. Leon wants to gag, wants to beg for it to stop but knows that he doesn’t have a choice. He’s been free of agency for too long now. When he signed that contract, he forfeited his right to decide what happens to him, gave up his whole life to be sure they didn’t hurt her. Simmons caught on fast, that this included his body.
He'll do anything for Sherry, he tells himself, over and over. Anything. Anything.
A hand is in his hair.
Don’t bite, or the girl loses a finger.
He hears a zipper open, feels the pull on his scalp.
Leon screams .
He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, he can’t- Leon gags, again and again. There's a pained keening sound droning in his head, that he can't make out the source of, until he realizes the dying dog cry is coming from him.
He’s in a room he doesn’t recognize, blue carpet under his hands, as he kneels on the floor and heaves against the sensation in his throat. Someone throws a bowl under his face just in time, for Leon to vomit into it, bile and the meagre contents of his breakfast spilling into the porcelain. He doesn’t know what is going on, or who is with him, just that Leon's been bad and he deserves to be punished and it hasn't happened yet. Why hasn't it happened yet?
He vomits again, barely getting a breath in between the sound escaping his mouth involuntarily and the violent gagging. He feels the hand again, warmth spilling over his shoulder blade that leaves him feverish and trembling, thinking he'll die if he gets touched any more.
Torn between playing dead or biting back, Leon twists under the contact, curling himself around his middle and bringing his hands up to protect his head. He claws his fingernails through his hair, into his scalp, rakes them down to his neck and digs. There's the hard outline of the metal hooked into muscle and bone, his skin tearing when he scratches harder.
"Hey, no, don't do that."
Someone grasps his wrists, tugs them away from his neck. Quiet sobs spill out of him, as he pulls on the arms forcing his hands away to leave him open and vulnerable. He keeps his head bowed though, pressing it to the floor in desperate submission, his legs folded beneath him. On his knees is where he belongs, if he already debases himself, then maybe they have fewer reasons to hurt him.
"Leon, can you talk to me, please, tell me how I can help."
The voice filters through his frantic thoughts, the deep rumble of it familiar. He tries to form words, swallows down on the pained noises that vibrate through his chest but can't get his mouth to cooperate. In the end Leon falls silent, the only sound he makes, his irregular huffing. When they release his wrists, Leon leaves them where they drop, spilled over the carpet like the disjointed pieces of a doll.
"Can you sit up for me, love?"
His brain stutters on the endearment, not knowing what to make of it in the middle of this downward spiral. It's so unfamiliar to be called anything but his name that Leon takes a moment to just let the words wash over him. He carefully brings his arms in to uncurl himself from the floor, shaking muscles pushing him upwards until he's kneeling, back bowed.
"Would you mind looking at me?" He asks, tone gentle.
He's not Hunnigan, but Leon can feel his heartbeat slow, the fog lifting from his mind gradually. When he finally looks up, warring with the unease inside of him that this could be another test, he sees Chris in front of him, face creased in concern. Relief washes through him so suddenly, he trembles with it.
"There you are." He smiles fondly.
Leon says nothing, just stares like a deer in headlights, as he's coming out of the episode he's been thrust into. He's still not quite there yet when Chris continues.
"Can I touch you?"
He's known Chris for almost two decades, and is certain that he is reliable and trustworthy and safe. Despite it all, it's still a small conquest for him to nod yes. Chris takes him by the shoulders, carefully, brushing his thumbs over the thin fabric, like Leon is the most precious thing in the world. At this moment, he mourns the lack of his jacket, usually a comfortable barrier between him and the rest of the world. Now the shake in his limbs is persistent, as Leon holds his breath, wide eyes searching Chris for any trace of bad intent. But he finds none of that, only worry and that word he'd used earlier. Love.
He guides him up on the couch, he must’ve fallen off of, a steady grip on his arms that feels more reassuring than forceful. Chris settles next to him, leaving some room between them, but keeping a hand on his elbow that Leon doesn't know what to do with.
"Can you tell me what happened, love?"
When Chris talks to him like that, he can almost pretend he's human, almost forget that he's just the DSO's plaything, who is not supposed to break down and cry over being treated as he should be. It sounds so wrong in relation to him, to call him 'love'. He's never done that before and Leon has to wonder if Chris knows , wants something out of him too.
Leon inhales, exhales, parts his lips to answer him, but somewhere between his brain and his mouth the words get stuck, which leaves him gaping like a fish on land, pressing his fists into the cushion they're sitting on. At last, Leon shakes his head, eyes stuck on his kneecaps.
"That's okay, do you need a moment?" He continues.
Leon nods again, unable to speak. The DSO had hated it when he got like this, though it's never been a habit he could control. When he was in too much pain, or afraid, or overwhelmed, Leon's brain had the tendency to shut down, no matter how hard they tried beating it out of him, his brain clutched him anyways and held him in that silence until the hurt passed. But Chris doesn't seem to mind, letting him sit in the quiet, as he processes, getting his thoughts in order.
It takes a while, before Leon is entirely back in his own body, his limbs feeling heavy with the way they dangle uselessly from their sockets. Chris has taken to running the palm of his hand over his back in soothing circles but Leon barely feels it, the numbness slotting into the hollow space the panic-attack has left. He turns his head to catch a glimpse at the man beside him, hands tangling in his lap nervously, as he stares at Chris' bearded jawline, the hair dark and coarse, trailing down the side of his neck.
The slow caress stops, coming to rest on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. Leon has to consciously relax the muscles there. He wonders how utterly ruined he must look, if they're going to toss him away now too, realizing that he's broken beyond repair.
"Do you feel better?"
The blood smears between his fingers and he knows there must be claw marks embedded in his neck. Under his sleeve, the other wound seeps little drops of red into his black shirt. Leon nods.
"Yeah."
His voice comes out like shards of glass grinding onto each other. The disgust over it makes him cough again, until he manages to swallow the phantom sensation down. It's all about pushing things away isn't it? Nothing can touch him if he isn't there. It used to work once too.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He really doesn't, if Leon can help it, no one will ever know. Simmons is dead, he shot Benford himself and the DSO discarded him, it doesn't matter anymore.
"Do you know why I transferred to the BSAA?" He asks darkly, despite everything.
Chris has been nothing but kind, even though Leon freaked out on him. He owes him something at least. The other shakes his head, his touch wandering down his biceps, to lay lightly on Leon's forearm. He breathes deep, averts his eyes, so he doesn't have to see Chris' aversion that he's sure will be there soon enough.
"The DSO sold m-, sold my contract to them, once I wasn't of use anymore."
The explanation falls between them like a stone in water, it makes Leon shiver, the ripples of it lapping at his feet. Chris says nothing, his calloused hand circling his wrist lightly, the contact stings a little on the fresh wounds, though he is more worried about the blood. He continues unbidden:
"I had a seizure on a mission. Nearly cracked my skull open and scared the shit out of the new recruit. I was lucky we were already heading to evac."
He pauses, not sure how much to reveal. Punishing him right before sending him on a mission hadn't been their smartest move. The device’s proximity to his brain had triggered seizures before, sometimes showing hours after the fact. This one had only been the first time where it hindered him at completing his assignment. their hands are tangled on his thigh now, Chris running his thumb over his knuckles, Leon tracks the motion for a while, struggling to let himself feel it.
"I didn't know…" Chris trails off, then says "but there must've been a reason, right? Seizures don't just happen."
Leon nods tersely, swallowing against the lump in his throat. Carefully, he wraps his fingers around the back of Chris' hand, guides it upwards to his neck.
"Leon," He gasps in warning, at the sight of the scratch marks.
But Leon doesn't mind the dull ache, bows his head anyway, as he presses Chris' fingers onto the square piece of metal, wedged between muscle and bone.
"Do you feel it?"
He asks, like he hasn't prodded the thing relentlessly himself, knowing that it was obvious, once one was aware of it. Chris lets his fingers wander, the pressure tender over the damaged skin. Leon doesn't think he could dig it out of himself, even if he wanted to.
"What is that?" His voice is quiet, shocked.
He withdraws his touch, staring at his blood speckled digits in disbelief. Leon lifts his head again, builds himself up to his full height, face settling into the mask he's learned to wear easily. His eyes are hard, as he explains:
"A device for administering electric shocks. Remote controlled." There's a crack to his voice he can't get rid of.
They implanted it as soon as he had signed the contract, the bullet wound still near fresh. If the threats to Sherry's life didn't work, they said, this was sure to get him back into line. The worst thing though was, that he's never been even close to enough, to begin with. Simmons had gotten his research anyway and Sherry traded her life for the freedom Leon hadn't been able to provide.
"Who has it?" Chris asks, face grim.
"Director Reid, it came with my contract."
His expression goes even darker, if that's at all possible, he's angry and Leon has no idea what for, he hasn't even really told him anything.
"He has no right to have that. They had no right to even do that to you. Why did nobody tell me?"
The longer Chris talks the more upset he seems to get, so Leon opens his mouth to smooth over the waves rising in the water. He wants to assure him that it's fine, that it wasn't that bad and he's certain the BSAA is different. But the lie gets stuck in his throat, too heavy to push past his lips after he's re-experienced the memories only moments ago. The silence stretches long between them, feeling like a storm brewing and Leon really doesn't want to get caught in it, he's about to start apologizing, when Chris suddenly blurts out:
"I'm so sorry Leon, if I'd known I-"
He shakes his head, shakes the pity off like a bad touch.
"Reid is already reworking my contract, to better align with the BSAA's-'' Leon hesitates, searching for the word the director had used. "Values."
He's just repeating what he's been told but it feels like lying anyway. Reid had put his hand on his shoulder in a gesture that was supposed to be reassuring but only served to make Leon even more uneasy. It all feels like a set up, where at any moment the rug will be pulled from under him.
"He better fucking be."
Chris’ eyebrows are tight with frustration and anger, before his hands rake through his buzzcut.
"Do you trust him?"
Leon asks the question that's been prey on his mind, his voice wavering as he does. Chris locks eyes with him, gaze boring into him like he's trying to read his thoughts. He looks back, into the warm brown of his irises, face drawn in seriousness.
"I do not work for people I don't trust and if Reid would ever lay a hand on you, I'd make him regret it for the rest of his life."
His gaze blazes with an intensity so devastating Leon has to avert his eyes to not get stunned by it. Relief washes through him at once, not because he believes Reid is an honest man but because he trusts Chris to have his back. Leon nods mutely, the taste of bile in his mouth and his bangs falling to hide one half of his face. Despite it all, he misses Hunnigan, mourning for that anchorpoint that's kept him afloat for so long. He rubs his hands over the cushion nervously, imagining it's the carpet in her office. If he’d leave now, he wouldn’t find a room for himself anymore, stuck working in a cubicle that can barely hold the stacks of paper piling on his desk. He doesn’t want to go back to the DSO, but the thought of what he’s left behind still stirs something like grief in his chest.
A touch to his chin jerks him out of his musings, just a single digit, lightly turning his head to face Chris. He holds his breath, reminds himself that it's Chris who's cradling his face, someone who would never hurt him, no matter if he could get away with it or not.
“I promise you the BSAA doesn’t take to torture lightly.” His eyes flit to his neck, back to him, searching his face for– something.
He throws his head from one side to another, squeezing his eyes shut. “It wasn’t torture.” He blurts out automatically.
It can’t be, if he isn’t a person, if he’s just a weapon to point at whatever needs killing, if he’s not supposed to tell anyone to begin with. His movements still, when Chris puts his fingers to his jaw, right under his earlobe. It feels nice and intimate and dangerous, because there’s never been a reason to touch him like that. The hair on his neck bristles.
“No matter what they called it, things don’t work like that here. I hope you know that.”
He searches to catch his gaze again, but Leon has retreated behind his hair once more. He’s said too much already and he doesn’t want to offset the precarious balance between them any further.
“Some people don’t care.”
He mumbles. He couldn’t get every wrong touch off of him, even if he’d tried, they’re embedded under his skin, together with the damned device on his neck.
“I’ll make sure they will. Leon, you’re out of the DSO and you belong here now just as much as everyone else.”
Chris angles his face tenderly upwards, his expression sincere and deeply worried, Leon gets lost in it for more than a minute, his lips pressed into a thin line, because he can’t say what he’s really thinking. That he isn’t like everyone else, that something inside him is rotting and sick and too unsightly to ever be brought into daylight.
“Promise?”
His voice breaks on the syllables, the blue of his eyes blurring with moisture but Chris doesn’t pay it any mind, only continues trailing his touch over his cheek. Just like people do when they want to calm someone they love.
“Yes, of course. I swear it.” The gravity in his voice hits him like a blow to the chest.
Maybe it’s unfair to make him swear, maybe Chris will change his mind anyway, once he knows the whole truth and maybe then he’ll see the twisted animal the DSO has made him into, deciding it needs to be forced back into its cage. But until then Leon can pretend promises have any merit when it comes to him, can find some semblance of peace in the fact that he trusts Chris to not be unnecessarily cruel, should he decide differently one day.
It’s okay. He thinks.
It’s okay to be hurt like this.