Chapter Text
The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks could be heard in the distance, accompanied by the squawking of restless birds searching for food near the coast. It was the first day of spring after a long, cold season; the sun seemed to shine brighter, forcing the island's citizens out of bed, yourself included. It was eight in the morning, and you were walking down the base's corridors toward the laboratory. You took quick, firm steps, stretching your legs as much as possible to avoid running into anyone you knew who might interrupt your sacred morning routine. You were in a good mood, even if some wouldn't believe it; opening the curtains and seeing the sun's rays hit the sea, sparkling in the morning light, made your heart flutter as it brought back old memories of when you were happy. You sat on the balcony and looked at the coast while drinking your usual cup of tea during breakfast, although for a second something made your breath hitch: a prickling in your thumbs, much like a scene from Macbeth, gave you a strange premonition. Finally, you ignored any premonitory thoughts, went back to contemplating the sea, and slowly sipped your cup.
Upon arriving at the laboratory, you ran into your coworkers. Among them was Keith, your childhood friend, who greeted you in a good mood as he usually did, throwing in a joke or two. For your part, you sighed and let out a small smile at your friend's childish jokes. You left your things and your computer in your office and slumped into your chair. After that, you turned on your computer and reviewed the blueprints for your new project, which you were going to present to the committee today at noon. You were certain they would approve your new anti-infected weapon prototype; plus, you had the backing of David, the head of the West Coast intelligence base laboratory. Regardless, you wanted to get the matter over with once and for all and continue working on the project on your own. There were soft knocks on your office door before it opened without warning; it was Keith again, coming in to chat.
"Are you nervous?" Keith asked with a chuckle as he sat on the corner of your desk. Meanwhile, you intently observed your blueprints on the screen.
"Not at all," you replied without taking your eyes off the screen. It was just another routine meeting about combat equipment improvement. They had never rejected any of your project proposals, as you were a true prodigy among your peers. "David is happy with the idea. If something doesn't seem right to them, I'm sure he'll find a way to convince them." You were sure of yourself. Beyond egocentrism and arrogance, you knew you were good at what you did. The committee knew it, too, and besides, your name carried great weight in the history of the intelligence service.
"The DSO members are coming today, it's not just the committee. You know how they are when it comes to imposing their ideas, they think they know everything," Keith commented, crossing his arms. "You can convince the committee, that's for sure, but the DSO is a tough crowd."
"I will," you replied dryly, still without taking your eyes off the screen. You didn't want to argue about your capabilities, not today.
"Alright, I'll let you keep working," Keith finally said, leaving you alone. He knew how you got when something displeased you.
For the rest of the morning, you made minor adjustments to the new prototype. It was a new long-range weapon that would slow down the infected's ability to regenerate their wounds, giving the shooter more time to kill them easily. The plasma projectiles would disintegrate body tissues, replacing lead bullets. The design was still a prototype. Some adjustments had to be discussed to prevent the weapon from overheating and exploding in its wielder's hands, but you knew you could find a way to make your new project work.
At noon, you got up from your desk, closed your laptop, tucked it under your arm, and headed to the conference room. As you walked down the hall toward the elevator, you thought about the presence of the DSO members at the meeting. You disliked that strangers who knew nothing about weapon manufacturing had the power to voice their opinions on your project. Your family had a long history of working for the government and the intelligence service; you knew what was at stake. Upon reaching the elevator, you felt that same prickling in your thumbs. You tried to ignore it by directing your gaze to the elevator buttons, staring intently at the braille writing.
When you reached your floor, you found some committee members greeting each other outside the conference room. There were faces you had never seen before—DSO members, you assumed. Suddenly, you felt a hand on your back. It was David. You turned around, and he greeted you cheerfully, trying to convey confidence upon seeing your somewhat distracted expression.
"It's a crisp spring morning today. I missed seeing the sun and feeling the warmth on our cheeks. Hey! You seem a bit distracted. Is everything okay for today's meeting?" You were looking at some of the new faces. David, noticing this, fixed his gaze on the same spot. "They're DSO members, a familiar face or two. They won't cause much trouble today, I assure you. Let me introduce you to one of them."
David grabbed your arm and guided you toward a figure standing apart from the group, checking the watch on his wrist. The prickling in your thumbs intensified, your stomach tied in knots, and your breathing grew strained. That figure leaning against the wall was someone you thought you'd never see again—at least, you believed so. That dirty blonde hair, those broad shoulders, and those large hands were not unfamiliar to you. You tried to compose yourself when David turned his head toward you. The years apart proved to be in vain; you were annoyed with yourself for how your body reacted against your will. You believed that if you ever met again, nothing could perturb you: not the old memories, not the endless conversations, not the lingering glances, not the touches with nervous hands. But there stood that ghost from the past, leaning against the wall, restlessly adjusting the watch on his wrist.
"This is Leon, Leon Scott Kennedy, founding member of the DSO. Leon, this is Y/N, the head of the new weaponry project," David introduced, looking at each of you. Neither seemed to have the initiative to introduce themselves to the other. However, it was Leon who reacted and extended his hand first, but as he tried to say something, you spoke first and quickly took his hand.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kennedy," you said, masking the complete displeasure you felt, quickly letting go of Leon's hand after a brief shake, and then wiping your hand against your lab coat. You didn't want David to know that you already knew each other and that something had happened between you two. In reality, you didn't want to answer any questions about yourselves and relive the past. Leon, for his part, wore a strange expression on his face, confused that you pretended not to know him. But he played along anyway, quickly understanding why; he knew perfectly well why you were reacting like this.
"A pleasure. David briefly told me about the project, it looks promising," Leon said, trying to change his expression. But David seemed to notice something strange in the air and quickly looked at both of you, letting out a nervous chuckle.
"Did you already know each other?"
"No," you answered quickly, flashing a forced smile at David. "I think it's time to start the meeting, David. We don't want to keep our guests waiting." Your tone of voice sounded more cordial than usual, trying to send psychic signals to David so he would somehow understand your anxiety to get out of there without an explanation.
"Yes, we should start the meeting," David affirmed. He already knew you and knew something strange was going on, so he chose to ignore the situation and play along. "Shall we?" he asked, looking at Leon, who nodded and followed you both in silence.
David hurried the committee members into the conference room. Leon walked silently behind you, staring intently at your bare nape, remembering how it used to be covered with hair. Now, a birthmark shyly peeked out—one that used to be covered in little kisses. As for you, you walked robotically into the room; your back was tense, and you felt a small bead of sweat trickling under your clothes. God, you missed the sun's sparkles on the sea from this morning. If time had stopped in that moment... You knew you couldn't ignore the prickling in your thumbs. Maybe the sound of the waves this morning was sending warning signals, and you, ever stubborn, decided to ignore the broadcast. Fool, fool. You let out a small grimace as you reached your seat. Leon, on his end, sat across from you at that large table. He rested his gaze on you for a few seconds before looking at David, who was positioning himself in front of the projector.
When all the committee members had taken their seats, David gave a welcoming speech, warmly greeting and introducing each of them. You had always admired your mentor's talent for remembering every name. You knew a large part of it was to quickly gain their trust and secure potential contacts, but even so, you still admired that skill, being incapable yourself of remembering a name a minute after being introduced. David continued with the presentation, reminding everyone of the reason for the meeting and the new joint effort between the DSO and the laboratory in charge of developing the government's bio-organic weaponry. Some of the members made brief interjections, expressing gratitude for the meeting's purpose and the alliance between these two divisions. David agreed with each of them, flashing a wide smile. How did David and Leon meet? You had completely forgotten to ask David before going in. Unfortunately, you had interrupted that awkward introduction just a moment ago.
"Y/N," David interrupted your thoughts. You composed yourself and quickly looked at the person calling your name. "Why don't you present the new project to us so we can get started with the real reason for this meeting?"
You got up from your seat and walked hurriedly to the front. You hated feeling the gaze of others on you. You preferred to be in the lab or the workshop, working without being the center of attention in meetings full of bureaucrats and politicians. You had no interest in receiving praise for your achievements in military weapons creation; that was your mother, who preferred to be in the spotlight, amidst cocktail parties and glasses of champagne. Today, especially, you hated feeling Leon's gaze on you. Upon reaching the front, you quickly connected your computer to the projector, displaying the prototype you had designed under David's supervision. You briefly greeted the committee members and began presenting the design, explaining each component of this new weapon, its ammunition, the reload mechanism, and the controversial overheating issue it could have. David always reminded you that you had to be honest about the complications each project could have; however, you also had to anticipate a possible solution and how it would be executed. That always instilled confidence in the committee members. Nothing should be presented as perfect, and you knew it.
The committee members commented positively on the project and asked their questions. You answered each of them quickly, having already anticipated some. However, someone didn't seem convinced by the explanations you were giving. Leon was resting his cheek on his hand, looking somewhat skeptically at what you were saying. You tried to ignore his gaze, knowing it was only a matter of time before he dropped a comment about it. But it was David who reacted first, venturing to ask Leon directly.
"Leon, you don't look very convinced. Do you have any doubts about this?" David let out with a small smile and a tone slightly too friendly for his usual. You whipped your head toward David, incredulous at what had just happened. You felt utterly betrayed by your mentor, but at the same time, you tried to decipher what was behind that question. "Tell us what's on your mind."
"Mhm," Leon grunted as he shifted in his seat. He stuffed his hands into his pants pockets and stretched his legs out cockily. Without looking at you, he began to speak. "This prototype is undoubtedly quite innovative, we can all agree on that. However, this issue with the cooling system doesn't seem to have good distribution. The temperature concentrates mainly in the plasma chamber, partly in the stock, right? If I fire a burst for about 10 seconds, which is how long the overload lasts, and its cooling time is 5 seconds, considering the effective materials for heat dissipation, I can use the weapon again. But my question is, the proposed materials prevent the temperature from dissipating so the shooter doesn't burn their hand... Where does that heat go? I don't want to be annihilating an enemy and have my hand explode on the spot."
Cunt. It wasn't what he said that irritated you, but the tone in which he said it. You knew Leon had extensive knowledge in weapons engineering—largely thanks to you—but you hated that he spoke like an expert so nonchalantly, as if what was being discussed were something trivial. It was at this precise moment that you regretted having taught him all those years. You felt naive, thinking he only listened to you without much interest while resting by your side. You were never sure what was going on in Leon's head, and today you had just confirmed it.
"Right, Mr...?" you began.
"Kennedy," Leon replied quickly.
"Kennedy, right. Mr. Kennedy, I understand your concern about the cooling system. Although it is still a prototype, the bolts that form toroids in the plasma chamber are then sent through a superconducting barrel, propelled by electromagnetic claws as they exit, which also releases the heat emissions. While the prototype's materials make it unsuitable for prolonged field use, it features a longer average rate of fire, a more consistent delay between shots, an increase in the bolt's active charge time, greater accuracy, and a 30% increase in bolt energy. But again, it is still a prototype," you finished with a fake smile, not very happy with the answer.
"Thank you for the clarification," Leon finally let out after a few seconds, mimicking your smile. He settled into his seat, and the members fell completely silent. The sound of the waves crashing against the sea and the ticking of the clock hanging at the back of the room could be faintly heard.
After a couple of seconds, the committee members began murmuring among themselves, while you patiently waited for a response. One of the members gestured for David to approach, and he quickly went over to him. Your stomach churned, and you felt nausea quickly rising in your throat. It wasn't the committee's response that unsettled you, but how Leon kept his gaze fixed on you. You hated that he held such power over you; with just his gaze, he made your body react in an indescribable, almost chemical way. The taste of nausea reaching your mouth and a strange flavor of anguish made you open your mouth slightly, only to snap it shut. Leon, noticing this, smirked and directed his gaze to the rest of the committee. Shit.
David, after talking with the members, returned to your side and asked you to go back to your seat. While waiting for you to sit down, he fixed his gaze on the rest of the members and cleared his throat to resume his speech.
"I want to thank every committee member for your participation today. With today being a beautiful sunny day and the start of a new season, it is my pleasure to announce that a consensus has been reached to greenlight this new project, which will undoubtedly be a great leap forward in combating the bioterrorism that concerns and torments us every day. Paving the way, in turn, for a great advancement for humanity and a prosperous future. As the head of the laboratory, alongside Dr. Y/L, the main person in charge of creating this project, we will do our utmost to create a new tool that will help with this mission," David said with his usual calmness. He paused briefly, then directed his gaze toward you and smiled slightly. What comes now? "It is also my pleasure to inform you that alongside this project, a new opportunity and a new future will open up with the forces of the Division of Security Operations. I especially appreciate the presence of Mr. Kennedy today, who will be responsible firsthand for collaborating on the design of this prototype alongside the laboratory team. Thank you very much for your attendance today, and I hope you all have a splendid day."
The squawking of seagulls could be heard in the distance. The cigarette smoke floated straight up, splitting the landscape in two; there was no wind, and tiny waves formed in the sea, crashing against the breakwaters at the foot of the base. You were on the roof smoking your third cigarette, leaning your arms on one of the retaining walls. Images of old memories and that morning's meeting flashed quickly through your mind, like a film roll stuck in a loop that does nothing but repeat the images endlessly. Leon's face had changed over the years. In your memories, he still had bright eyes, full of the vitality and innocence of a young man still in the police academy. Now, his eyes had lost their shine, looking more tired, and his face sported a light stubble.
Your past with Leon felt like a wound that still hadn't fully healed. For a long time, you thought you would never manage to see him again. He could have died, you thought repeatedly, given the circumstances you lived in and the constant advance of bioterrorism. He could be dead. Just thinking about it made your heart clench, betraying you. No, I shouldn't care. That's how the years went by, forgetting and remembering his existence. Even so, you hid a small box with souvenirs and photographs you shared years ago: little seashells collected on the beach, a bracelet, his old ID badge. And the memory of the last time you saw each other still haunted you—a young Leon with tears in his eyes as you closed the door, making his image disappear.
Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening along with heavy footsteps. You didn't need to turn around to know who they belonged to; your back was sending signals via shivers. The footsteps sounded closer and closer, and then—total silence. When you turned around, you found Leon standing a few feet away, wearing a small smile. The sun's rays hit his hair, making that dirty blonde shine and creating tiny golden glints. His eyes sparkled slightly, causing your heart to skip a beat.
"I finally found you," Leon says, breaking the silence. He smiles slightly again, but seeing no reaction to his words, he breaks the silence once more. "Got a light I can borrow?"
"You don't smoke," you finally let out in a dry, sharp tone.
"You're right."
"What do you want?" you ask quickly with the same tone of voice, a bit fed up with Leon's jokes.
"Nice to see you too," Leon jokes and smiles again, biting his lip slightly. You raise an eyebrow, impatient with Leon's attitude, crossing your arms and waiting for him to continue. "Come on, it's been 14 years since we last saw each other. You don't need to be so hard on me."
"What are you doing here?" you said, emphasizing the last word.
"The DSO offered me a job here on this project. Besides, it was the perfect opportunity to come back to the island after so much time. I still have a fondness for this place," Leon admits in a more serious tone than before. "Don't think I'm doing this to annoy you."
"If you don't want to annoy me, then don't talk to me while you're here," you respond, fed up.
"We have to work together on this, you heard David—"
"I don't care. Limit yourself to speaking only in meetings and stay out of my sight," you finally answer, and you walk toward the exit door. You looked straight ahead, ignoring Leon's presence. When you got close to where Leon stood, he grabbed your arm tightly to stop you.
"You don't have to be like this with me. I'm not asking you to forget the past between us, but I hope we can get along from now on—for the sake of the project, at least," Leon says, looking at your profile. You jerk your arm out of his grip roughly and keep walking. "I missed you."
"Fuck you."
Upon reaching the door, you step out and slam it shut. You leaned one arm against the wall and briefly closed your eyes. Shit, shit, shit. Leon's words, spoken so lightly, made you gag; you were incapable of saying something like that. Memories flood back into your mind like a whirlwind: the tears in Leon's eyes and an "I'm sorry" escaping his lips; the door closing, and your forehead resting against it with an "I hate you" tumbling from your lips in an eternal loop. When you open your eyes, everything is silent again. You let out a sigh and slowly walk down the stairs without looking back. Leon, for his part, watches the waves without a single thought, letting the sea breeze gently move his hair.
"I missed you so much."