Chapter Text
extra pickles and black coffee
Chris
Chris had the day off, and for once the universe had not decided to set the world on fire. No bioterrorist alerts. No texts from his HWS at three in the morning. The morning had stretched out in lazy, golden quiet, and Chris had used it productively: he had cooked. Not takeout, no; he actual cooked. Thick-cut sandwiches on fresh sourdough, roasted chicken with herb mayo, sharp cheddar, avocado, and a side of the spicy pickles Leon pretended not to love. A thermos of good coffee. Two of those ridiculous fruit tarts from the bakery Leon always lingered in front of whenever they walked past. Chris had packed everything carefully into a proper lunch bag like a domesticated husband who had finally accepted that domesticity looked good on him.
He drove to the DSO headquarters with the windows down, sunglasses on, the radio low. The building rose ahead of him — glass and steel and too many security checkpoints. Chris badged through with ease. The receptionist barely looked up; everyone knew Chris Redfield. The man who showed up in tactical gear or, occasionally, in a soft gray henley and jeans carrying lunch for Agent Kennedy. The elevators were slow. Chris shifted the bag from one hand to the other, already smiling to himself at the thought of surprising Leon. His husband worked too hard, and Chris had made it a personal mission to interrupt that work with food, affection, and the occasional well-timed glare at anyone who kept Leon past reasonable hours.
The bullpen was busy when the elevator doors opened. Agents moved between desks, phones rang, someone was arguing quietly about a report. Chris scanned the room with the automatic awareness of a man who had spent too many years hunting BOW’s. He found Leon almost immediately. He sat at his desk near the far windows, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just enough to look unfairly good. His hair was a little messy from running his fingers through it. He was smiling at the man leaning against the edge of his desk. He was tall, dark-haired, and had the kind of easy confidence that made Chris’s jaw tighten on instinct. Leon was saying something that made the other man laugh under his breath, head tipping slightly to the side. The colleague’s hand rested on the desk, close enough to Leon’s that their fingers nearly brushed. Too close. Definitely too close. Chris’s steps slowed. The lunch bag suddenly felt heavier, but he approached with measured calm anyway.
Leon looked up first. His whole face brightened the way it always did when he saw Chris, soft and unguarded in a way he rarely was with anyone else. “Honey, hey! What are you doing here?”
“Brought you lunch,” Chris said. He set the bag down on the desk with deliberate care and turned his attention to the other man. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
The colleague straightened a little, smile still in place. “No interruption at all. Just catching up with Leon here. I’m Noah Reyes. New transfer from the west coast office.”
“Chris Redfield-Kennedy,” Chris said, and offered a hand that was firm enough to make a point without being rude. Reyes shook it, eyebrows lifting slightly at the strength of the grip.
Leon’s eyes flicked between them, amusement already starting to surface. He knew that tone. Reyes, unfortunately, did not take the hint. “You are Chris Redfield? It's such a pleasure to finally meet you! Leon and I were just talking about the last op in South America. He still has the best stories. And I asked him if he'd like to show me around town a bit after work. Show the new guy the good spots.”
Chris smiled. It did not reach his eyes. “Oh, is that so?”
“Chris,” Leon said in a slightly admonishing tone. Then he peeked inside the bag and made a soft, pleased sound. “You made sandwiches. With pickles.”
“Extra pickles,” Chris confirmed. He remained standing, one hand resting on the back of Leon’s chair in a way that was not subtle in the slightest.
Reyes glanced at the hand, then at Chris’s ring – simple silver, matching the one on Leon’s finger – and still, somehow, kept talking. “Well, the invitation stands. For both of you, of course. Always good to have the famous Chris Redfield around. You are kind of legendary.”
Legendary? My ass. And it’s Redfield-Kennedy, for fuck’s sake!
He leaned a little closer to Leon’s chair, voice warm and just a shade too casual. “Appreciate it. But my husband’s evenings are usually spoken for. You know how it is.”
Reyes finally seemed to get the message. He pushed off the desk with a good-natured shrug. “Understood. Didn’t mean to overstep. Enjoy lunch.” He gave a small nod and wandered off toward the other side of the bullpen.
The second he was out of earshot, Leon tipped his head back against Chris’s hand and grinned up at him. “You are ridiculous.”
“He was flirting!”
“No, he was being friendly.”
“His hand was practically on yours.”
Leon sighed, but smiled softly. “Chris…”
Chris looked down at him, at the soft curve of his mouth and the way the afternoon light caught in his eyes, and felt the familiar, grounding rush of affection. “Sorry.”
Leon tugged at Chris’s wrist until he leaned down. Leon kissed Chris once, quick and warm, right there in the middle of the bullpen like he didn’t care who saw. “You drove all the way here on your day off with homemade sandwiches because you missed me. And then you got jealous of Reyes, who has been here three days and still doesn’t know where the good coffee is. You’re adorable.”
“I’m not adorable.”
“You are catastrophically adorable when you’re jealous. It’s one of my favorite things about you.” Leon opened the lunch bag properly and pulled out a sandwich, already unwrapping it. “Sit. Eat with me. You packed two of everything, didn’t you?”
Chris pulled a chair over from the neighboring desk and sat, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. “Obviously.”
They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the usual noise of the office fading into background static. Leon made appreciative noises over the chicken and stole one of Chris’s pickles without asking. Chris watched him the way he always did – like he still couldn’t believe this was real sometimes. The marriage, the quiet domesticity. The fact that he got to come home to the same person every night instead of empty safehouses and temporary beds.
“Reyes can bring all the friendly west-coast energy he wants. Doesn’t change anything,” Chris said eventually.
Leon glanced at him sideways, soft and fond. “Yeah, you’ve made that extremely clear over the years. Multiple times. Usually while glaring at waiters.”
“That waiter in Prague was staring at you.”
“He was bringing the check.”
Chris shrugged, unrepentant. Leon laughed under his breath and nudged their knees together under the desk.
After a while Leon finished his sandwich and leaned back in his chair, looking more relaxed than Chris had seen him in days. “Thank you for this. Seriously. I was going to skip lunch again.”
“I know. That’s why I came.”
Leon’s expression was gentle. He reached over and linked their fingers on the desk, thumb brushing over Chris’s wedding band. “Stay a little longer? I have about twenty minutes before the next briefing. We can share the tarts and you can continue silently intimidating anyone who walks past my desk.”
Chris squeezed his hand and smiled. “Deal.”
They sat like that as the afternoon light shifted across the floor, trading quiet comments and the last of the coffee. Every so often Chris’s gaze would drift across the bullpen, catching Reyes talking to someone else, and he would feel a small, satisfied curl of something warm in his chest. Leon caught him looking once and just smiled, shaking his head like Chris was the most transparent man alive. Which, when it came to Leon Redfield-Kennedy, he probably was.
When the twenty minutes were up, Leon stood and stretched, then stepped into Chris’s space for one more brief kiss. “Go home and enjoy the rest of your day off. I’ll be back at a reasonable hour. Promise.”
Chris rose as well, gathering the empty bag. “I’ll hold you to that. And if Reyes asks about after-work drinks–”
“I’ll tell him my husband gets jealous and once punched a boulder,” Leon answered solemnly.
Chris huffed a laugh, kissed him one last time, and headed for the elevators with the empty lunch bag and a light chest.