Chapter Text
Chris Redfield was listening intently to the mission re-brief, a gentle blue light washing over his features from the TV monitor. An operations officer stood next to the screen, gesturing towards an aerial view of a warehouse. He had studied this plan for days, but he never let himself get too comfortable. When you get comfortable, that’s when mistakes happen. The BSAA and DSO were running a joint operation; DSO had the intelligence, the BSAA contributed personnel and resources. Rumors of a black market bioweapon organization started to stir, eventually making its way to the DSO. Only recently did they receive intel that a seller was meeting with multiple buyers, and promptly made arrangements to apprehend their target.
A soft breeze rattled the tent they were in, allowing a metaphorical breath of air to shift the energy as Chris adjusted his weight. He drew out a cigarette and lighter, the soft glow of the flame reflecting off his face as he tried lighting it before feeling a slight bump on his shoulder. Chris feigned an offended look.
Leon’s eyebrow was raised as he peeked sidelong at him while listening to the briefing. Chris pretended to ignore him, continuing to light the cigarette, which prompted a sharp jab in his ribs. With a quiet grunt, he quickly raised his hands in defeat, discarding the unlit cigarette back into its box. He returned his attention to the monitor. They had both had their personal briefings days earlier from their own superiors, but for some reason, the BSAA felt the need to explain it to Leon. After all, he was on their base. What a waste of time, Leon couldn’t help but think.
“Remember, this is a covert operation. The seller’s identity is unconfirmed, so observation is crucial. If intel from the DSO is correct,” the officer shot Leon a judgmental look, “the sale is happening approximately 80 miles south of our command post. If things get hot, help won’t be so easily available. Am I clear?” He finished his briefing, the question hanging heavy in the air. It was directed at both of them, but for some reason, his gaze was fixed hard on Leon.
“Yes, sir.” Chris acknowledged. Leon nodded in silent agreement.
“Good. You leave in five minutes. You’re dismissed.” A loud snap was heard as he shut his binder and turned away from them.
Both men swiftly exited the tent, Leon stretching as he walked towards the truck they’d be using. He tilted his head back where they came from, an exasperated sigh escaping from his nostrils, “He seems fun. Do you think he likes me?” He was being sarcastic, of course, but Chris could tell the officer struck a nerve.
His cheek tugged as a smirk briefly flashed on his face. “Don’t mind him, he’s like that anytime there’s a joint op. Don’t take it personally.” Chris moved towards the driver’s seat, and Leon naturally headed to the passenger side, sitting down with a huff as he got comfortable. His arms crossed in front of his chest.
“I don’t think he realizes we’re on the same team.” A pause, and a crooked smile appeared. “Maybe I should tell him,” Leon looked far too pleased with himself. A static crackled through their earpieces.
“I think he knows that, Leon.” Hunnigan responded flatly. “Sending the location now.” Chris started the truck, engine roaring to life as it vibrated smoothly under them. Leon shrugged his shoulders, not pleased with her answer.
“I’ve got to make sure, for all I know, he could be the seller.” Chris let out a skeptical hum at that.
“Oh yeah? And what would you do to find that out?” He didn’t bother to look in his direction, his attention instead on his phone as the coordinates came through. ETA 1 hour, 34 minutes. Chris shifted into drive and started driving to the main road, heading south.
“Pfft, I don’t know. Maybe I can charm my way into his nefarious plans. Invite him to a nice dinner, you know?” He lifted his chin with a quiet confidence, trying to playfully provoke a reaction from Chris. It failed. Chris just kept his eyes on the road, the moonlight bathing the interior of the truck in a gentle silvery light. An unheard sigh slipped from his nostrils.
This is going to be a long drive. He smiled to himself.
—
Leon and Chris parked three blocks away from the docks where the warehouse was located, traveling the rest on foot. Chris was mentally replaying the mission plans in his mind while scanning his surroundings. Their cover had them posing as security consultants for a buyer who didn’t officially exist. Leon had the paperwork, the charm, and the easy arrogance that made criminals assume he was too expensive to be a cop. Chris had the build, the dark expression, and enough scar tissue to make people believe he spent his whole life hurting people for money. It was a little too easy and a bit uncomfortable realizing how little they had to act. Chris scanned the windows of the building they passed by. Unnoticeable to the random person who might see him, but Leon was watching him.
“You’ve been doing that for the past few blocks.” Chris gave him a flat look.
“Doing what?”
“Counting windows. Scanning rooftops. Watching to see if the rats make an attempt on our lives.”
“It’s called situational awareness.”
“I call it turning a romantic walk into a threat assessment.” A faint smile tugged on Chris’s lips.
“Romantic?” He teased.
“We’re undercover as business partners aren’t we?”
“Business partners don’t usually call this romantic.” Leon offered a playful wink.
“Depends how committed they are to the bit.” He said, an imperceivable shoulder nudge followed.
Their target warehouse finally came into view, code named Site Iron. They waited across the street, studying the surroundings. It was a large complex; multiple buildings and warehouses surrounded the area. Chain link fence bordered the entire perimeter, albeit with a few posts that were knocked over or ripped away, and in the middle was Site Iron. Broken glass littered the concrete around the windows and rusted metal siding flickered briefly in the breeze, the metal quietly tapping. Some of the walls were completely torn away. Tarps spread across the openings made for a lame attempt at blocking elements from entering. Perfect for someone to use for illegal means. The smell of seawater was stronger now, seagulls called occasionally from the bay and the air smelled like rain that hadn’t quite decided if it wanted to come down.
The few neighboring blocks were quiet, but not quite abandoned. Nearby, local dockworkers could be seen arguing with each other, arms waving around furiously. Down the street, a drunk man stumbled out of a bar, talking loudly on the phone. Half of the streetlights in the district flickered with a broken orange glow. Definitely perfect for someone to use for illegal means. Chris adjusted the cuff of his jacket and resisted the urge to touch the handgun concealed beneath it while the earpiece tucked snugly into his right ear crackled softly.
“Alpha One, status check,” Hunnigan’s voice said. Leon glanced at Chris from the corner of his eye, the movement small enough that anyone watching would have mistaken it for boredom.
“Alpha One is green,” he murmured.
“Condor, status check,” Hunnigan asked.
Leon gave a quiet sigh. “I keep telling you, if we’re doing undercover work, I need a better callsign.”
“Condor. Status,” she repeated, utterly unmoved.
“Condor is green,” he acknowledged, “and emotionally wounded”.
Chris didn’t look at him, but he felt the corner of his mouth twitch. There was a brief pause over the line. Somewhere behind Hunnigan, someone coughed like they were trying not to laugh.
“Try to survive your emotional injury,” she said. “Thermal confirms six bodies inside Site Iron. No sign of additional perimeter security.” Chris shifted uncomfortably.
“That’s either good news or very bad news pretending to be good news,” Chris noted.
“That optimism is why people love working with you,” Leon responded.
“They love working with me because I keep them alive.”
“That too.”
They crossed the street at an unhurried pace, keeping to the rhythm of two men who belonged there. Chris glanced at him, quick and quiet. Leon’s hair had been combed back for the cover, revealing pale blue eyes sharp as ever. A few strands of hair had already escaped and fallen near his cheek. He had to admit he appreciated the look. He wore a dark coat over a fitted shirt, clean enough to sell wealth, worn enough not to look like a costume. His eyes were moving constantly despite his loose posture, tracking doors, hands, and sightlines. To anyone else, he looked relaxed, but Chris knew better. Leon was coiled wire under silk.
“Perch to Alpha One,” another voice came through the comms. Jill. She was posted two blocks away with overwatch from a neighboring structure to the north. She had already been briefed on the mission but arrived earlier in the day to get a good nest. “I’ve got eyes on your approach. No visible tails.”
“Copy,” Chris said.
“Condor,” Jill added, “your left shoe is untied.”
Leon looked down, and Chris looked too. Both shoes were tied. Leon clicked his tongue.
“Cruel. Very cruel.”
“Just checking your situational awareness.”
“I am seriously hurt by my own team tonight.”
“Still operational?” Hunnigan asked dryly. She couldn’t see him, but he rolled his eyes.
“Unfortunately.”
Chris exhaled through his nose. The sound was almost a laugh.
They reached the mouth of an alley opposite Site Iron, where they were to wait for the other buyers to show up so their arrival blended in. From here, they had a partial view through a broken strip of windows near the loading dock. Nothing clear other than the faint silhouettes shifting behind dirty glass. One person was pacing. Another was seated. A third standing still to the far wall, possibly armed. Chris slowed as if checking his phone and Leon stepped beside him, angling his body so the movement looked casual while shielding Chris's hand from the street. He opened a secure message, glanced at the latest image capture, then tucked the phone away.
"Target's inside," Chris said quietly.
"Ugly tie?" Leon asked.
"I couldn't tell from the thermal."
"Then how are we supposed to know he's the villain?"
"International bio-weapons trafficking probably helps."
"Sure, but aesthetics matter."
Chris murmured, "Hunnigan, confirm the other buyer’s ETA."
"Three minutes," she replied. "Your job is still observation only until we have confirmation of the seller’s identity and product exchange."
"Copy."
Leon shifted his weight, shoulder brushing Chris's for half a second. Not accidental, but a tiny point of contact. A quiet check-in. Chris didn't respond visibly, but some part of him settled. They had done this too many times to need words for everything. The wind moved down the street in a cold blanket, rattling a chain link fence and a few metal sidings. Somewhere nearby, a sign creaked against its post. The harbor lights glittered in puddles left by earlier rain. Leon leaned closer, still facing the warehouse.
"You know what I miss?"
"What?" Chris already regretted being curious.
"Government salaries."
Chris stared ahead. "You do make a government salary."
"Exactly. That's the problem."
"Leon–"
"I'm serious. You ever look at what private contractors charge for consulting? We should've retired into morally gray paperwork years ago."
"You'd last two days behind a desk."
"I’d have a comfy chair."
"You'd spin in it until Hunnigan revoked your clearance."
"Maybe, but for those two days, I'd be comfortable."
Jill's voice cut in. "For the record, I would pay money to see that."
"Thank you, Jill."
"I didn't say I'd support it. I said I'd watch."
Chris let the banter flow around him while his attention moved elsewhere. A dark window across the street reflected a sliver of movement, but when he focused on it, there was nothing there. His jaw tightened, and Leon noticed. The humor in his face softened by a fraction.
"What?" He asked, his gaze trying to match Chris.
"Something's off."
Leon didn't ask if he was sure. That was one of the reasons Chris trusted him more than almost anyone. He simply let his gaze drift, lazy on the surface, predatory underneath.
"Where?"
"High ground, maybe. Could be nothing."
"Your nothing has a bad habit of turning into something." Chris touched his comm, static cutting through the silence.
"Perch, sweep rooftops to the south and west again."
"Already on it," Jill said. "Give me ten seconds."
The street seemed to stretch during the wait. The rain made a decision to start coming down. It was a very misty light rain, the type to seem like you’ll be ok without an umbrella, only to be soaked in 5 minutes. So much for Leon’s combed-back hair. A man exited a bar at the far corner, laughing too loudly into his phone. The dockworkers near the loading bay stopped arguing and lit cigarettes. A motorcycle passed at the end of the block, its engine roaring and fading into the dark. Leon's breathing stayed even beside him. Chris heard it because he was listening to everything.
Hunnigan broke the silence, "Buyers are one minute out."
Jill followed almost immediately. "West rooftops clear. The south roofline’s partially obstructed by old signage, but I'm not seeing movement."
Chris didn't like partially. Leon gave him a sidelong look.
"We can reposition?”
"If we move now, we might spook the meeting."
"Well if we stay here, your blood pressure files for divorce."
Despite himself, Chris huffed. Leon smiled, pleased with the small victory, and turned his head just enough for the streetlight to catch the edge of his face. For one second, he looked almost untouched by all of it. The years, the missions, the things neither of them talked about unless the night was very late and the room was very quiet. Jill’s voice crackled through the static.
“Perch to Alpha One, visual confirmed on the buyers. Four SUV’s approaching from the west.”
Chris and Leon watched from their position as the SUVs pulled in front of Site Iron. Multiple men emerged from the vehicles, and the identities were obvious who the buyers and hired protection were. Chris and Leon started to move from the alley, casually making their way to the warehouse. Leon sighed.
"After this, when Hunnigan inevitably tells us we need to write six reports, I say we fake our deaths and move to–"
The loud crack split the air.
Chris didn't see the muzzle flash, but he saw Leon's body react.
The impact struck high through his torso with a sickening force that twisted him sideways. The rest of the sentence disappeared from his mouth, tearing a harsh grunt from him before he could even process what happened. Blood burst across the front of his shirt and sprayed warm against Chris's neck, jaw, and collar. For half a heartbeat, Chris could not understand what he was seeing.
Leon stared at him. Not scared, not yet anyway, only startled. His brows drew together in a mild, almost offended confusion. His hand lifted slowly toward his chest, fingers spreading over the sudden red blooming beneath his shirt.
Chris heard Hunnigan say something sharp in his ear. He heard Jill swear, heard himself say Leon's name, but it came out wrong. It was too quiet. Too human.
Then the second shot came.
It screamed past Chris's shoulder close enough that he swore he felt the air move before it punched through the brick wall somewhere behind them and the world snapped back into motion.
Chris grabbed Leon’s waist and drove them both down and sideways behind a parked delivery truck. Leon's weight folded into him wrong, all the strength gone from his legs in one horrifying rush. Chris took most of the fall on his hip and shoulder, bracing Leon’s fall as they crashed into the ground. One arm was locked around Leon's middle, the other already dragging his weapon free. He positioned them in front of the delivery truck’s wheel, knowing it was their best cover.
"Sniper!" Chris barked into comms. "Leon’s hit. Shooter to the west, high ground, exact position unknown."
"Perch moving," Jill said, voice hard now, all humor gone. "I need a line."
Chris could hear men shouting towards the warehouse, orders being directed. Doors slammed shut as tires screamed, and within seconds, the sound faded in the distance. They seemed spooked, panicked even, which made Chris confused. Was this a trap? A setup for them? Or a lone gunman who waited for them alone?
Leon made a small sound against him and Chris looked down, his attention back on the situation. Blood was spreading fast, too fast. Leon had nearly collapsed when Chris dragged him behind the truck, and now he sat half-slumped against him, his back braced against Chris's kneeling form. Chris kept his sidearm trained toward the alley, refusing to take his eyes off the surrounding rooftops for more than a second at a time. His free arm was hooked across Leon's chest, reaching down to press hard against the wound on his left. The position felt awkward and insufficient, more like trying to hold somebody together than actually treating them. Blood continued to force its way between his fingers and ran in dark lines toward Leon's belt.
A wet cough rattled from Leon's lips, harsh enough to make Chris wince. It sounded and looked painful, judging by the way Leon curled inward towards his injury. When it finally passed, he was left breathing in short, uneven pants, carefully avoiding anything deeper.
"You’re ok," Chris said, trying to reassure Leon as well as himself. Leon blinked up at him, eyes unfocused for one dangerous second before they found Chris's face.
"You've got..." Leon swallowed, his throat working around pain. "You've got blood on you." Chris almost lost his mind.
"Yeah, I noticed."
"Not mine, I hope." Chris drew a deep sigh, trying to compose his thoughts.
"Bad joke?"
"Bad timing."
"Still funny." Leon chuckled. A violent cough wracked him again, forcing him to double over. Leon wiped his mouth instinctively, but not before Chris caught the flash of red on his fingers. Another round punched through the truck's side panel with a scream of twisting metal. Chris reacted instantly, flattening himself over Leon as debris rattled around them. Beneath him, Leon sucked in a sharp breath and went rigid, his face tightening as the movement jarred the injury.
"Alpha One! Get out of the open," Hunnigan ordered. "Backup is thirty-five minutes out."
"We don't have thirty-five minutes!" Chris shouted. Unfortunately, they didn’t have a choice. Leon tried to take a deep breath and failed halfway through. His face was growing pale beneath the streetlight. Chris pressed harder against the wound and Leon gasped, body arching under his hand as a groan betrayed him.
"I know, I know," Chris said, “I'm sorry”. He hated how useless the word was.
"Don't be." Leon's hand closed weakly around Chris's sleeve. "Just... maybe don't make that your bedside manner."
"You can complain later."
"I'm planning to."
The truck wouldn't hold. The shooter had elevation, patience, and enough angle to chew through their cover one piece at a time. Chris glanced toward the alley they had just come from. Fifteen meters, maybe less, and exposed to the sniper. It was far with Leon bleeding like this, but not impossible. Nothing was impossible until Leon stopped breathing. Chris tightened his grip.
"Jill, give me suppressing fire on the west roofline. Hunnigan, map me to the closest enclosed structure east of our position."
"Old warehouse annex," Hunnigan answered immediately. "One hundred-twenty meters. Door is on the north side. It should be empty."
"Should be?" Chris repeated.
"Records say condemned."
Leon gave a breathless laugh that sounded dangerously wet. "Great. Romantic and condemned."
“I think I see their position, laying down cover fire,” Jill announced through the comms. Chris hauled Leon closer.
"Hold onto me."
Leon looked at him, pale and sweating, but still somehow Leon.
"Always do."
Chris didn't let that land. He couldn't. Not yet. He waited for Jill's first shot to crack across the rooftops, then lifted Leon against him and ran.