Work Text:
“Here,” a voice says, its owner gently nudging Leon’s arm. “You’ve earned it.”
Leon looks up skeptically to find Carter, an older recruit, offering him a flask. He knows that they’ve been given a weekend off and that the others had joked with each other about spending the next day hungover—but still. Leon is the rookie. He knows there are different rules for him.
It feels like a test. Everything does here, in this forsaken blacksite in the middle of the jungle. Even amongst the recruits, Leon feels young and out of his depth. Some of the soldiers here have been training for years just to qualify for STRATCOM, so Leon can hardly blame them for wondering why some baby-faced little cop, as they like to call him, ended up in the same place.
Against his will—though Leon knows he’s forbidden from telling his comrades that part. He’s probably told too much as it is.
The first time they were allowed to relax, Leon made the mistake of opening up about his background. He told them about Raccoon City, about the hordes of undead he faced. He explained the terror of believing that he could be eaten alive at any moment, the sound of thunderous footsteps echoing around him as he ran for his life from a monster capable of crushing a human skull in one hand. The sickening, wet tearing sounds of human bodies being ripped to pieces. They had listened in awe, and for just a moment, Leon felt as if someone understood.
Leon had felt good, telling them that. It was something he usually kept to himself, though it ate at him every day and night. The faces of the people he couldn’t save, the ruins of the city he was supposed to serve, the painful question of why he, out of everyone else, managed to survive.
Then, the jokes started. Leon would hear them in the showers, in the mess hall, whispering behind him on the training field. It became apparent that they viewed his testimony as an elaborate ghost story rather than something he’d really experienced.
Of course he hadn’t been forced to sign away his right to speak of Raccoon City. They must have known that nobody would have believed him anyway.
Now, Leon watches his every action. The idea of being drunk and spilling more secrets than he already has is concerning.
It makes him feel more young and naive than ever. Not only in age, but also in experience. While the other recruits have harrowing tales from the battlefield, Leon only has something that he alone can truly understand. Something with disastrous repercussions if someone actually believed his stories. Leon figures it’s better to let them laugh it off than to try and prove it.
He can’t blame them, really. Leon himself would have brushed off some of his own stories before the night he had the misfortune to drive straight into that nightmare.
Leon does, however, care deeply about his training, forced as it is. In the back of his mind lingers the fear of what the government will do with him—and Sherry—if they decide he’s no longer useful. He also knows that if Raccoon City happened, another incident like it is inevitable. There could be more labs, more companies, more governments—it would be naive to think it’s over. Pandora’s Box is open.
The inevitability of facing down another apocalypse haunts Leon. He can’t control if—when—it happens, but he can prepare himself. He trains hard, even after hours. He follows everything Major Krauser tells him as closely as he can, and tries not to let the humiliation get to him when he inevitably winds up face-down in the mud or flat on his ass while sparring.
It’s important that the Major approves of him. Critically important, as Krauser is decidedly not one to trifle with. He’s blunt, to the point, and has no reservations about sending unruly recruits back home if he decides they can’t be straightened out.
And Leon? Leon has no home. For him, the stakes are different—if he fails, he faces the very real prospect of becoming a science experiment. Of watching Sherry’s life get stolen from her as she’s poked and prodded and injected to discern the lasting effects of the G-virus on her body.
Leon cannot afford to fail. He cannot give the Major any reason to doubt his capabilities, especially when he has so much on the line.
That’s why now, Leon feels like a deer in the headlights as Carter dangles the flask in front of him while Krauser watches him from across the fire.
What is the correct response? Leon doesn’t know. He hesitates.
A look around reveals that Carter is far from the only one with a flask—he sees Harrison pull one out and Johnson already taking a heavy drink from his own. The Major even appears to be indulging, which eases Leon’s nerves about the situation.
The boss is doing it. Must be fine. Even if he’s about to wind up as the butt of yet another joke, Leon is reasonably sure that it won’t result in him getting sent home.
“What’s the matter, Blondie?” Grant asks from his other side. “Can’t hold your booze?”
Leon glares. He’d been stuck with that fucking nickname as a result of his adamant refusal to cut his hair, but he’ll be damned if he’s forced to part ways with the last piece of his identity he has left.
“I can hold it just fine,” he retorts, snatching the flask from Carter and taking a long drink to make a point.
It’s frightening how good the familiar burn of alcohol feels down his throat. The first time he ever drank it, Leon violently coughed, wondering how anyone could stomach straight liquor. Now he hardly even feels the burn…just a warm, pleasant numbness.
Ever since Raccoon City, Leon feels like he’s been trapped in a never-ending nightmare. He was allowed all of two hours to rest before being picked up and interrogated by the government, threatened into service for the foreseeable future. Leon’s family was stolen from him at an early age, and he’s now lost contact with the few friends he’s made—if he can even call them that.
It’s been months since he’s heard anything from Claire. Leon can only hope she’s alive, that she managed to find her brother and that both of them are safe. But Leon doesn’t know. He has no contact with the outside world whatsoever.
Leon keeps drinking.
Anything that can dull that pain, even for a moment, feels like a blessing.
Leon rarely indulges, fearing the effect of alcohol over his performance in the field. But tonight, they’ve just finished a two-week-long expedition through the jungle, and nothing is expected of them for a couple days. If there was ever a time, it was tonight.
Besides, it’s hard to relax and be social in this environment without the assistance of booze. Leon finds himself turning back to the bottle—again and again—despite himself.
The other recruits talk about their families back home, laughing at the notes sent to them by loved ones. Leon smiles like he understands, trying not to think about it too hard. He tries not to think about how he has no loved ones, how he’s not even allowed to contact anyone outside this compound, and even if he was, he’d have nobody to reach out to anyways. Leon remembers the few friends he’d made at the Police Academy, even his ex-girlfriend. The last they’d heard of him, he’d been headed off to Raccoon City for work. Do they even know he’s still alive?
Leon finds himself getting tipsy as the night continues on. He seizes every flask offered to him, wondering how much it will take for him to stop hurting.
In the back of his mind, Leon knows this is bad. He knows it’s embarrassing, how far he’s going. A little drinking amongst colleagues is good for morale, but Leon knows he’s not supposed to be throwing back liquor like he’s in a frat house.
It’s not that bad, he assures himself. He’s not that bad…yet. Just one more drink couldn’t hurt…
Somehow, Leon finds himself seated on a wooden crate next to Krauser.
The Major talks to him about training, and Leon responds automatically, not knowing exactly what he’s saying. But this is a positive…right? It means that he’s finally being accepted by the others, that he’s on his way to being a skilled operative and not some silly little rookie telling scary stories…right?
“Say, Rookie,” Krauser drawls. “You got yourself a lady back home?”
That question cuts through the haze of alcohol. The first person who comes to mind is Ada—the woman who saved him, kissed him, betrayed him…and fell to her death right in front of him. A cloud of emotions Leon desperately tries to keep repressed wells up, and he swallows thickly.
“I don’t,” he says quietly, wishing for another drink, but he forces a smile regardless.
Krauser laughs heartily, evidently oblivious to Leon’s inner turmoil. It suddenly occurs to Leon that he’s not the only one well on his way to getting sloppy drunk. “You ever had one?”
“I…what?” Leon asks, confused as to what Krauser is implying with the question. “Just one. A long time ago.”
Krauser smiles strangely, and it suddenly occurs to Leon exactly how close he’s sitting. Leon feels the heat of his breath, smells the stench of the hotdogs and mustard they’d eaten earlier on his breath. He can’t help but wrinkle his nose.
The strange smirk on Krauser’s face deepens as he leans in even closer, as if he’s about to whisper something secret. “So…do the ladies still turn you on?”
Leon feels heat light up his cheeks—he never expected to be asked a question like that, especially not from his Major of all people.
“Yes…?” Leon asks, assuming it should be obvious. He just said he’d had a girlfriend.
“Why are you acting so strange, Rookie?” Krauser jests. Accuses, really, his hot breath still assaulting Leon’s face with that putrid, half-digested hotdog smell.
Normally, he would have laughed such a thing off. His comrades talk openly about their love lives, Leon being an exception in that he finds the subject too painful. He would have expected the odd joke from a fellow recruit, but Krauser?
Although…it doesn’t feel like a joke.
Especially not when Krauser shifts closer towards Leon on the bench, so close that their thighs and shoulders are touching.
Leon is no stranger to physical contact, whether it be a clap on the shoulder, a rough hand correcting his form, or even a full-blown wrestling match. He even showers together with his male comrades, as in the norm in a compound like this.
But something feels different.
Krauser’s eyes bore into him, expectant, hopeful even.
Is this what the test is? Does Krauser think he’s…gay? Is he looking for an excuse to kick him out of training…? Surely—
But then, Krauser’s hand creeps up his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades and around to his collarbone. The hand lingers too long, massaging, stroking, brushing the edges of his hair…
Leon feels himself freeze in his drunken state. He’s only been touched like this by one person in his life. His ex. Right when she’d wanted to fuck him. This…oh god—
“Krauser…I like women,” Leon blurts out before he can think of a better response, alarm bells blaring in his intoxicated brain.
It clearly wasn’t the right response.
Krauser’s hand stills on his back before his eyes widen in anger.
Shit—Leon just fucked up. He really fucked up. What could possibly make this—
“You little bitch,” Krauser slurs in a low voice. “You think I’m fucking stupid, Blondie? I know you have eyes for men.”
The harshness of Krauser’s tone catches him off guard. It seems like there is no choice but to tell Krauser what he wants to hear.
“I…do,” Leon mumbles, face hot from alcohol.
He immediately feels his breath seize in his throat, his chest tighten with panic.
Why did he say that? Fucking hell, why did he say it! In his drunken state of mind, it had sounded like a good idea, but Leon regrets those words as soon as they leave his mouth.
It’s something he’s made a point to never discuss. A part of himself he’s still very uncertain of that he vowed to keep hidden. Especially here. He could be kicked out for this. They’d send him—
“So which is it? Ladies or gentlemen?” Krauser’s hot voice cuts through, grabbing Leon roughly by the shoulders as he struggles to stand.
“It’s—both—I don’t know…” Leon grits out, hoping—please god—that nobody else can hear this conversation.
“You have to pick one,” growls Krauser in a low voice that worries Leon. “Which is it?”
“I don’t know!” Leon shoots back as he grabs Krauser by the arm, frantically trying to prevent them both from falling flat on their faces. “Just—it doesn’t matter! It’s none of your business!”
“I’m your commanding officer!” Krauser barks in a tone that chills Leon to the bone. “It is my fucking business who—want to fuck—”
From there, Leon isn’t aware of much else. Maybe it’s the alcohol, the shock, or both.
Either way, he experiences the world in fragments.
Krauser is yelling at him. Leon yells something back. He doesn’t know what. It might not have even been anything coherently English.
Eventually, he sees someone hauling Krauser off to bed while someone else hauls him off in the opposite direction.
At least it’s over. Whatever the fuck just happened.
And then…Leon somehow ends up in his bed, the room spinning above him, as he finally loses consciousness.
—————
Leon’s head is killing him.
That’s the first thing he notices when he wakes up. Then the nausea. Then the dehydration.
Leon hurriedly rushes to the bathroom as fast as his wobbly legs will move, before emptying his stomach into the closest toilet. He kneels next to it, his tired body trembling, head pounding.
Why does he do this to himself?
It isn’t until Leon finally scrapes himself from the floor and heads towards the sinks that the events of the previous night start to return.
Why is he still fully clothed? Why does he feel so awful? What did he do last night?
Krauser.
Leon feels his world freeze as he remembers.
Fuck, how could he have been so stupid? Getting sloppy drunk in front of the Major and all his comrades—they must think he’s a fucking moron.
Not to mention…whatever the fuck that was with Krauser.
Leon sinks back to the floor, his head spinning. It just—it makes no sense. Krauser is a 43-year-old man with a wife and two kids at home. He’s tough and stern and good at what he does. He runs this camp. He’s Leon’s superior, his mentor.
So why did it feel like he was…like he was coming onto him last night?
And…why the fuck did Leon think it was a good idea to tell him…that?
The implications start to set in and Leon feels his blood run cold. He has no idea why he said that. Truly no idea. These strange feelings he’d felt since puberty, buried both out of shame and his existing attraction to women. It doesn’t make any sense. Leon has never told anyone at this camp so much of a hint of it and now…
It could ruin him. Leon knows the rules. He knows not only that he’ll face ridicule from his comrades, but also that the rigid rules of the military would provide him no protection. He could be discharged for this. He could be—Sherry could be—
Leon forces himself to drink some water despite the protests of his stomach, desperate to calm his racing heart. He takes deep breaths as he checks the showers. Nobody seems to be around, thankfully. Judging from the brightness seeping in from outside, Leon figures he must have slept much longer than his comrades.
Damn. He must have been really fucked up if they didn’t even draw something on his face or leave some giant fucking bug under his pillow. The one upside to being stuck with a raging hangover. Hopefully this is a sign they hadn’t heard…any of that last night.
At least there is nobody around. Leon turns on the shower and scrubs at his skin under the hot water, willing himself to forget the feeling of Krauser’s touch on his back and shoulders, the stench of his breath. He hopes the heat and the water will help the headache and nausea subside.
The more Leon sobers up, the angrier he begins to feel. At Krauser, at himself. Leon worked so hard, so damn hard, to be strong. He trained tirelessly, refusing to allow himself to be that weak, helpless rookie again. Hell, he even felt like he was doing a good job. Over the grueling weeks of training, he felt his form improving, his muscles strengthening, and his confidence building. He finally started to feel prepared to take on the challenges ahead of him.
But this?
What was he supposed to do when he was being fucking felt up by the man who holds his life in his hands? Leon hadn’t resisted, he hadn’t even fucking said no in a straightforward way. All that training, but it still didn’t matter.
He feels just as naive and weak as he did before.
Leon doesn’t realize tears are rolling down his cheeks until he tastes salt in his mouth and feels his breath shudder. It only makes him hate himself more. Weak. Stupid.
Quickly, he shakes the feeling away and finishes washing himself off. It’s a public shower for fuck’s sake, he can’t be caught sobbing pathetically on the floor naked. He would never hear the end of it.
Leon dries and dresses himself quickly, knowing it would probably be a good idea to attempt to eat something. He wonders what everyone else is up to on their day off. Hopefully having a better time than him.
Oh god…everyone else. Fuck.
Did they see what happened? Did Krauser tell them? What did they all think? Do they think that Leon initiated that? Do they know he’s—
What terrifies Leon the most is that…he doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember much of what happened. He doesn’t remember everything he said. He doesn’t know who was there, who saw, what they heard…
Heart pounding, Leon wishes he could just crawl into the ground and die. He doesn’t want to have to look any of them in the eyes again after that.
But he has to. There’s no escaping it.
The sunlight hurts when he walks outside and heads over to the mess hall. He sees a few recruits jogging opposite the barracks, but they don’t pay any attention to him.
Maybe that’s a good sign.
When Leon enters the mess hall, Carter locks eyes with him and waves him over with a laugh.
“Blondie! How are you feeling this morning? Done puking?”
Leon rolls his eyes, trying to hide how anxious he feels. “Fuck off.”
“Guess he can’t handle his liquor,” Grant scoffs before Carter elbows him.
Leon does his best to ignore him. Of all things to joke about, his hangover is probably the best.
“Say, the Major had quite a night, didn’t he?” Johnson says in a low tone.
Leon freezes. Fuck. They saw.
“I’ve never seen him that fucked up,” Carter agrees with a snort. “Couldn’t even stand on his own, and I’m pretty sure he pissed himself while I was putting his ass in bed.”
The whole table bursts into laughter at that, and Leon does his best to join in, feeling his nerves ease.
It seems that he wasn’t the biggest spectacle that night.
“Has anyone checked on him?” Johnson asks as he absently chews a piece of toast. “Wouldn’t want him to die on us or anything.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Carter groans. “I checked on him this morning. Cranky as hell, but fine. Doesn’t remember a damn thing from last night.”
Leon’s heart lurches. “He…doesn’t remember last night? Nothing?”
“Appears so,” Carter says with a shrug before his expression morphs into a smirk. “What’s the matter, Kennedy? Afraid he’s going to bust your ass for getting shitfaced and fighting with him over a flask of shitty whiskey on base?”
“No! No…that’s not it at all,” Leon mutters, trying to hide his sigh of relief. “I need something…easy on the stomach.”
His comrades laugh and carry on as he searches for the least offensive breakfast option, but Leon still can’t shake that uneasy feeling.
Krauser doesn’t remember anything…and it seems nobody else does either. Not anything important, anyway. Apparently, Krauser and his antics were the highlight of the evening, and Leon’s were barely a footnote. That should put all Leon’s fears to rest, but it somehow…doesn’t.
There is also the fact that while Krauser had suspicions about Leon’s sexuality, he’d all but revealed his own. Mutually assured destruction…but that still isn’t comforting to Leon. The stakes for him don’t change. Neither do Krauser’s feelings towards him.
Did Krauser really forget everything? Even if he did, does he still hold that same curiosity about Leon’s sex life?
What Krauser said, what he did…that didn’t come from nowhere. The alcohol might have loosened Krauser’s inhibitions, but those feelings were still lurking in the back of his mind.
Where did they come from? Why did Krauser feel that way about him, think he was—
Leon always did his best to be helpful, to be a good recruit. He volunteered for shitty jobs, he asked for instruction when he needed it, he did his best to follow every order given to him. He greeted Krauser with a smile where appropriate and he always did his best to look sharp. It was important to endear himself to the Major without acting like he was an ass-kisser, a difficult line to toe. But Leon did it, because he had to.
Succeeding here is all he has. It’s the only thing left within his control, the very thing his survival depends on.
Did Krauser somehow mistake his efforts as…interest?
The very thought makes Leon shudder. He wasn’t, he didn’t—that was never his intention.
Why did Krauser think that? Why did Krauser think he wanted to be touched like that?
But Krauser doesn’t remember, if Carter is to be believed. It shouldn’t matter. Krauser forgot, so Leon should too. It never happened.
Leon thinks it should be over.
But as training continues, as Krauser stares a little too deeply into his eyes as he barks commands, Leon can’t shake the feeling that Krauser remembers.