Archive of Our Own

Grace grips the crank in her hand so tightly her knuckles turn white, yet the sweat lining her palms threatens to let it slip and clatter to the floor regardless. Her knees are aching from crouching and sneaking around this water treatment plant, the stale air down here is thick in her throat, and her thighs shiver relentlessly. Whether the shaking is from exhaustion or from fear is irrelevant because there's no helping either at this point. She inches her way out of the filing room and towards the control panel as silently as she can, holding her breath and praying for her luck to hold out for just a little longer. Once this last power distributor is online, she'll finally be able to get rid of the giant girl that is stalking them. Grace's bleeding heart aches momentarily at the thought—whatever this monster of a girl has turned into, it's still clear that's what she is under it all: just a little girl. Grace is certain that she used to be a captive at Rhodes Hill just like Emily, and while she flinches at the idea of hurting an innocent child, she's too late to save that one. She has to focus on talking the threat out and getting Emily somewhere safe; she has to save the one person she still can. Thinking about the sweet, shy child waiting for her makes Grace's breath catch in her throat, and maybe that tiny sound is what damns her.

Just as the panel is within reach, the Girl is suddenly upon Grace, lifting her by her head in one giant, clawed hand and throwing her out of the control room like she's a ragdoll. The floor surges up to meet Grace all too fast and she rolls on impact, her head screaming in pain and her back aching. This same Girl had already done a number on her when she'd thrown Grace into the radiator at the care center, and now she fears her kidneys have taken another beating. Scrambling to her feet with the Girl shrieking on approach, Grace spots the crank peeking out from behind the control panel, flung from her hand when she'd been thrown and now separated from her by a huge, slobbering monster.

There's only one thing she can think to do. She's long out of bullets for the gun Leon had given her, but she knows this creature hates fire. With only seconds to spare as the Girl closes in, Grace digs around in her hip pouch for the Molotov she'd found earlier, but in her haste to pull it out the cloth gets caught on the zipper and is yanked from the bottle.

"Oh fuck," Grace whimpers, lighter in one hand and useless bottle of alcohol in the other. The Girl is only a couple paces from reaching her now, snarling all the way, and Grace knows she's not fortunate enough to survive a third encounter with those enormous hands. Tears threaten to well up in her eyes; she's so sick of being scared. "Give me a break."

For what feels like the fiftieth time tonight, her saviour appears right on cue in the form of a rugged man armed with heavy artillery and stupid quips. Leon's voice rings clear from behind her, gaining quickly: "Take five on me!"

The sharp boom of Leon's rifle cracks against Grace's eardrums as he paces past her, his shot landing right between the bulging eyes of the Girl and still only managing to stagger her back a few steps, even at such close range. Relief at not being alone anymore washes over Grace so strongly that it makes the bottle shake in her hand, and a little giddily she notices something hanging off the barrel of his gun. Another ker-chink of a round being readied, another deafening whipcrack of a shot. The Girl screeches as a few hulking fingers are blasted off, but she's still far too dangerous for Grace to get close. Forcing herself to keep her head in the game, Grace rips the rag from her pouch and stuffs it into the neck of the bottle.

"Leon, watch out!" she shouts as she lights the wick, pulling her arm back. Leon barely has time to duck to the side before the Girl is stepping forward with fury and Grace is hurling the Molotov forward to smash at her feet. With monstrous shrieking echoing in her ears and the smell of burning vodka in her nose, Grace races forward, snatching the crank from the ground and skidding around the side of the control panel. She's still slipping against the floor as she slams the crank into place and turns it, an unnatural white instantly flooding the room.

Letting out another wail, the Girl's skin bubbles grotesquely under the light and she finally retreats from the control room. Grace has never minded harsh lighting – it's all she gets most days in the office anyway—but she's never felt grateful for it like this.

A shuffling to the side alerts her to the fact Leon is still here, and he's on fire, oh my god, he's genuinely on fucking fire. He's leaning against the wall away from the residual flames of the Molotov, but some burning liquid must have caught him in the blast and his left hand is literally up in flames. Grace's shoes slip against the floor again as she cries out and runs to help, but before she can reach him he's already sorted it out, patting his burning hand harshly against his chest until the flames are smothered. He does it all with little more than a grimace, whereas Grace feels like her heart's about to give out.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, are you okay?"

"Never better," Leon replies dryly, propping his rifle against the wall and sliding himself down to sit on the ground.

While Grace stands over him, she can see that all that remains of his left glove is singed tatters, the skin beneath it looking badly charred. "Y-you're not okay at all, you're hurt—"

"It's fine," Leon insists, pulling something out of his belt: another glove, shiny black and brand new. Grace can't believe he's so prepared. "Mierda," he hisses under his breath, so low she barely catches the word. While she recognises it as Spanish, she can only assume that it's a curse of some kind. He pulls the ruined glove off with his teeth and hastily replaces it as though trying to hide the damage. But bathed as they now are in the unforgiving fluorescent lights, not only is the blackened skin of his palm clearly visible, so is the ring on his fourth finger. The simple gold band glistens for only a moment before it's concealed by fresh leather.

Grace is about to insist that he let her look at the injury to his hand when Leon coughs heartily, turning his face into his shoulder. It's the kind of wet cough that's pulled up from deep inside the chest, and it goes on for just too long for her to be comfortable telling herself it's nothing. Once it subsides, Leon's breathing heavily even as he goes to rise from the floor. "Let's take a moment," Grace insists, her hands awkwardly hovering between them.

Remaining seated, something akin to gratitude flickers over Leon's expression before it's schooled into cool focus again. "What about Emily? Where is she?"

A now-familiar panic beats against Grace's chest as she feels herself being pulled in two directions. Of course they need to hurry to get Emily to safety, but the room she's resting in is at least brightly lit and seems secure, whereas Leon is in front of Grace now with breaths that rattle hauntingly. "She should be safe for a couple minutes longer," she answers, trying to convince herself as much as the agent, sitting next to Leon under the haven of artificial lighting.

Her thighs quiver and burn as she finally gives the muscles a rest. For a minute or so, she attempts to steady her breathing and slightly lower her cortisol levels, lest she have a heart attack before this ordeal is over. But urgency is still pulsing under her skin, her eyes flit around the room for any sign of the Girl, and the ominous humming of the industrial lights and machinery isn't helping to calm her nerves. In a desperate bid to find some kind of distraction, she flings herself way out of her comfort zone and initiates conversation.

"A-are you married?"

And this is why Grace should never try to be social. What kind of a question is that? She barely knows this guy!

Although they're not touching, she can practically feel Leon go still at her side with how tense the atmosphere becomes. Braving a glance towards him, she finds that he doesn't look angry, at least. Instead his gaze is lost somewhere in the middle distance and the fingers of his right hand are playing with his left, as though trying to twist the ring hidden under his glove.

Heavy silence hangs between them for a few long seconds. Grace doesn't really expect an answer after that, so her shoulders jump when Leon's gruff tone pierces the air. "Not legally."

Only two words, yet they have the potential to reveal so much to Grace's analysing mind. This tidbit of information is already working its magic, temporarily pulling her from the horror of their current situation. She wracks her brain for all the reasons that Leon wouldn't have put a marriage on paper, shuffles through the filing cabinets in her head for something appropriate to say. "It must be hard," she settles on, "with how dangerous your job is."

Unexpectedly, Leon lets out a harsh bark of mirthless laughter. "That's not the problem."

Oh fuck it, when will Grace learn not to overstep? She's left distinctly cold in the wake of Leon's stony voice, the concrete floor beneath her chilling her bones. Taking a deep breath while she berates herself for sticking her nose where it doesn't belong, the metallic twinge of rust rushes in on the musty air and sticks to the back of her throat.

Before she can spiral too far self-pity, Leon surprises her again—it's becoming a habit. "We met on a mission, actually. Over twenty years ago now."

Grace turns her head to look at Leon properly. While there's a pause before the words come out, once he starts speaking his voice is strong and steady. He's not exactly uncomfortable, she thinks, but certainly not at ease with the conversation either. This is obviously a very private topic and she has no right to pry; she almost wants to interrupt, to tell him it's okay if he doesn't want to talk about it, but the steady rub of his fingers over his left hand stops her. Leon's clearly a severely capable man that has been hardened by years of ruthless efficiency, so surely he wouldn't go this far just to humour her.

Grace gives a small nod to show she's listening, letting Leon keep talking in fits and starts. "I was dispatched to Spain to retrieve a kidnapped asset. Thought I was gonna have to do it all alone, but I met this ex-Umbrella researcher there. A biologist. A genius, honestly, but an annoying one that stuck around like a bad smell. The mission turned to shit pretty quickly. I was sure we were all gonna die there." The frown lines on Leon's forehead deepen as he speaks, even as his voice maintains an even and controlled tone. "I would've been long buried without help. By some fuckin' miracle, we all made it out alive. Got back to the US, managed to wrangle a pardon from the President, then…" Leon gives a jerky shrug with one shoulder. "Had about five years together."

Grace is trying to stay very still as these sparse details of Leon's life are sputtering out of him, cautious not to scare him away. She's achingly curious to know more but holds herself back, waiting to see what else he may be comfortable sharing.

"I should've read the fine print more carefully, but that was never really my style." There's a sharpness emerging in his words, hands growing still. "The government changed around, new President got in, and they came to collect. Ex-Umbrella researcher, like I said. Far too dangerous and valuable for the States to let walk freely, despite all that time in which we did nothing but mind our own damn business. Luckily our friends gave us a heads-up and we could sort out a new identity in time, get a plan together to go into hiding. Except I had to stay, both in the States and in the dark. Government's got a tight leash when they want to show it off. So obviously I couldn't know the details, didn't get a single clue about the location or new name or fucking anything. Would kinda spoil the whole plan, right?" A barely-there scoff passes through chapped lips. "That was seventeen years ago."

A beat passes where everything Leon's just disclosed hangs in the humming air between them. Grace isn't naive enough to think that the US government wouldn't do such a cruel thing, but there's a difference between knowing these things happen in theory and looking directly at someone who has been subjected to such treatment. The man beside her is made from steel and bleached bone, all harsh edges and unyielding muscle, and she wonders how different he would be if his spouse hadn't been ripped away from him.

As it becomes clear Leon's not going to explain further, Grace's indignation and sadness for his story makes her clench her aching thighs and bite the inside of her cheek—it isn't fair. "A-are you saying… you never saw your wife again? For seventeen years?"

For some reason her question makes Leon grin, an asymmetric and jagged thing, but she can't comprehend what could possibly be funny about that. "Yeah. There were a couple of times where I felt like it was safe enough to go find… them, get them out of hiding, but some shitstorm or another would always start up before I could. Then this fuckin' year brought some spectacularly bad shit with it, and there's no way I'd bring them back when Umbrella's up to their old tricks. Those bastards would definitely try to get their filthy mitts on them again."

The topic has given Leon some strength if his steadied breathing is anything to go by, or perhaps it's forced him to hone himself back into the weapon this job needs him to be. Aware that their moment of vulnerability coming to an end, Grace flounders for a way to empathise with Leon and give back some of the openness he's shown. She's never had a significant other; the only person she ever cared for that deeply, the only one to be in her life for any noticeable amount of time, was her mom. Even know, thinking about her rips the wound of loss open to bleed anew.

"Do you miss her?" Grace asks quietly, thinking there's no way a human gun like Leon could possibly be weighed down with the same grief that she is.

He replies without pause, voice cold despite the sentimentality of his words. "Every damn day. Losing them is the biggest regret of my life, and it's not even close." Then Leon stands, swinging his rifle over his shoulder and holding out his right hand to Grace in economical movements, deftly closing the book of their conversation. "Break time's over."

Together they rush to the elevator, and when Grace sprints for the roof controls she can hear the wet snarls of the Girl pursuing her. Slamming her hand on the button to open the roof, Leon reads the situation with a proficiency that can only come from decades of experience, firing off a few shots with his rifle to make the Girl stumble back, shepherding her right into the spotlight of sun. With a horrifying squealing and the smell of burning flesh the deed is finally done, and Grace runs to retrieve Emily so they can get the fuck out of here.

But Emily's deathly still when Grace reaches her. As she searches for a pulse, she ignores the fire she feels burning along her exposed arms. She won't let this happen again, she refuses to accept that all she can do is scream and cry at the side of someone she cares about while they die in her arms. Her CPR training takes over and she lunges hard against Emily's chest, not allowing herself to worry about breaking a rib. Leon approaches trying tell her something, his tone one of caution, but Grace shoves him away with her shoulder and redoubles her efforts. He simply stands a few paces away after that, and in her periphery Grace absently registers the weariness of his face.

Right as her elbows start to buckle from the strain and her vision is blurring too much to see, Emily's hand twitches. Hope takes off behind Grace's ribs like a kaleidoscope of butterflies. "Emily? Hi, it's me. I-I'm right here." She grasps the young girl's arms; they're still far too cold. "You're okay. You're okay."

"Grace," Leon warns, "you need to—"

Emily's back arches and an inhuman screech ripples from her bloodied mouth, causing Grace to fall back. She can only watch on with abject horror as the cruelty of the world is paraded in front of her in the form of Emily's writhing body. The sweet little girl tumbles to the floor twisting and screaming, her bones shattering, her hands forming claws, the whites of her eyes flooding with red. The transformation is quick and merciless, her body encased by pulsating growths that morph her into something horrendous and tragic. Grace can feel the sting of vomit rising in her throat.

Over Emily's pained whines, Grace only just catches the sound of Leon readying his pistol, and she clutches onto his calf from her place on the ground. "No! No, no, no, no, no!" she cries in desperation. "Stop! Leon, please listen to me, don't! Please don't!"

"I'm sorry." That's all he says.

A few precise shots ring out, slamming through Grace's skull as though she was the one to be hit, yet Emily is the one who falls with a heart-wrenching squeal.

Stumbling to her misshapen body with tears soaking her cheeks, Grace falls against the doomed girl, calling her name and receiving no response. Grief and disgust and anger make Grace's insides twist over on themselves. She snaps her head back to snarl at Leon, "I wanted to save her!"

"You don't understand, that's wh—"

"No! I never would have escaped without her." Leon flinches at that, but the movement is so small that Grace doesn't notice it through her agony. All she can see is her mom's neck spurting blood, all she can hear is Emily's screams as she was taken away by the Girl, and Grace is so fucking useless. "This is all my fault. Again!"

Leon takes a few steps closer, still utterly composed as though actions like the one he'd just taken are merely an occupational hazard. "Look, I get it. You know I get it." His demeanour stiffens as he stares Grace down, thin brows set firmly. "But we're still alive. We have to keep going."

Her eyes fall to Emily's mangled body and it becomes painfully obvious that Grace should have known better. She's no protector. She's poison. Hands surprisingly steady, she pulls out the gun Leon had given her and tosses it on the ground between them, the heavy weapon thudding against the metal grating. "No," is all she can muster with a shake of her head, a denial of this entire fucked-up ordeal.

Leon almost looks disappointed when she turns to leave. He calls her name but Grace hardly hears it as she slowly trudges away, defeat making her numb to the world. This is all far too much tragedy and responsibility for her, and it's ridiculous she'd ever let herself believe she could help. She's no action hero, she's just an awkward desk jockey with more than her fair share of trauma, and she can't soldier on after this. Leon has a practised hardness in his eyes and his voice had been so emotionless when he'd talked about losing his wife; if that's what Grace has to become to keep going, then she'll get off the ride here, thanks. Barely keeping herself from keeling over, she blindly walks away from Emily's lifeless form.

Sherry's manicured nails rap along the top of her desk restlessly. Leon's usually quite good at keeping her updated and it hasn't really been that long since she heard from him, but a sense of dread is tightening her stomach and worry for her father figure is cresting high. Figuring that if he's busy taking out hostiles then the worst he can do is ignore her until he's done, she puts herself through to his communicator. She doesn't even have time to say his name—as her earpiece crackles to life, the sound of a woman's crying bursts over the line.

"—eon! Leon, wake up, please wake up!"

God dammit. Sherry wishes her instincts weren't so good, and she's frustrated beyond belief that she hadn't listened to them and called in a little earlier. "Hey!" she yells down the line, hoping it'll be loud enough for whoever is with Leon to hear. "Do you read me? What's the situation?"

There's gasping breath and shuffling in Sherry's ear before she gets the woman's voice again, clearer but no less panicked. "Y-yes, hello! W-we need help!"

"You must be Grace Ashcroft." Sherry doesn't let any of her own distress leak into her voice while her hands dig tightly into the side of her desk. "What happened? Where are you? Are you two in a safe place? Are you alone?"

It's too many questions at once, Sherry's training slipping away as her worry for Leon threatens to take over. Thankfully, despite how shaken Grace sounds, the FBI analyst is able to parse what Sherry needs to hear. "W-we— We're in ARK, under the facility in some kind of dump, Leon tried to save me but he was injured and we had to run, and he just passed out. I-I don't know why. There's, um, this dark scarring, or like, bruising, and it's growing on his arms and face." Sherry's blood turns icy in her veins, her own t-Virus marks itching as Grace sniffles. "Please, you have to help us, please. He's still breathing, he's got a pulse, but I think he might be dying. A-are you Leon's, um, handler?"

"Mission coordinator," Sherry corrects, stopping herself from adding 'daughter' on as well. Her fingers hover over her keyboard as she frantically thinks for how she can help from the office.

What Grace requests next is something Sherry wouldn't have expected in a million years. "I-I think Leon's wife needs to know he's here. Can y-you contact her?"

In spite of Sherry's terror for Leon's condition, a strangled laugh leaves her lips. Leon's wife, huh? How on earth did that miscommunication come to pass? She can picture it now, just how smug Leon would have felt, how funny he thought he was. Her chest tightens further.

Grace continues, "Isn't she a scientist? Maybe sh-she can help, I don't know, but I really think she should know where he is."

Before she's made the conscious decision to do so, Sherry's fingers are flying over the keyboard, pulling up contact details she'd been given almost a year ago and assembling a folder of information from Leon's mission so far. "How do you even know about Leon's, uh, wife?"

On the other end of the line, Grace gulps. "Just, um, by chance I guess. I saw his ring." There's some more shuffling before she speaks again, her voice a little stronger. "I know it might not be my place to ask, but… Leon's saved my life so many times already, and I don't know what else to do. This can't— surely this is the right thing to do?"

Confidence is starting to replace the dread in Sherry's bones, and she encourages it to keep growing. "You're right. This has gone on long enough. By the way," she ponders as she finishes assembling the file, "I think you and I are gonna get along great. Make sure to stay alive, Grace, and stay by Leon's side. Hopefully he'll wake up soon. I wish there was more I could do for you, but I'll contact Lu— his spouse, and send a squad to collect you both."

"Thank you," Grace breathes, her voice all soggy. "Thank you so much, oh my god."

"Gotta go." Before she ends the call, Sherry allows herself one moment of premature gratitude. "I'm glad you're looking out for him. It's a tough job."

Then she's off, working with an efficiency she didn't know she had. Her call to Leon's 'wife' is only as long as it needs to be to hash out the details, confirming that he's still near Raccoon City himself. They're lucky he knows Leon well enough to have predicted Leon would be pulled back to the city in his quest to find a cure for Raccoon City Syndrome. After sending the file to him she quickly pivots to another call, putting herself through to the captain of Hound Wolf Squad and flicking the same file over.

"And Chris," she adds before he can get carried away and end the call in his rush to send the unit out, "there's something else you need to pick up on the way."

As Leon flexes his hand, the texture of the leather glove is actually discernible on his palm for the first time in a year. Wandering amongst the industrial ruins above ARK with Sherry on the line, he feels unmoored in a way he hasn't since his twenties, and for once it's not because of anything bad. He's still alive. What the hell. Stretching out his fingers again, he revels in the fact there's no resistance, the skin no longer pinched by the t-Virus' contractive bruising.

"I'll be damned. Can't believe that antiviral actually worked."

For fucking real though, he almost thinks he died and this is all a dream because it's so damn miraculous, especially considering the cure came from a place as cursed as Raccoon City. But this must be real life because the imperfections are still there; as he walks past police cars and unit members, the lights flash sluggishly and everyone's speech is distorted. The adrenaline still racing through his system is making it hard to take in more than one thing at a time, and also making him feel terribly alive. While the injuries he's sustained during this mission—of which there are plenty—still smart, his lungs are clear of blood and his thoughts are as sharp as the blade of his hatchet.

"I feel better than I have in ages." Some awe creeps into his words.

The comms line clips when Sherry's sigh of relief goes straight into the mic. "Thank god. I'm glad you're okay."

"I've got a dose with your name on it. You'll be back in action in no time."

"Thank you, Leon." He can hear the smile in her voice, and shit, if it isn't a beautiful thing after these long months of them both growing sicker. He would go through that last hell ten times over if it meant she'd get to live the rest of her extremely long life carefree and happy.

As his brain starts to accept his current state of safety, his sarcasm is the next thing to rear its head. "Would've been a lot smoother if Chris hadn't been so late to the party." Coming to a stop, Leon scans around to get eyes on the hulking man. Old 'Umber Eyes' had said he'd be waiting up here somewhere, after all. There's a few choppers that have landed in the area and to the side there's a prep tent that's absolutely packed with people, presumably all suiting up appropriately to check out the remains of the bioweapons lab. Leon isn't able to register any of it properly as it all blurs into a non-threatening mass, still too wired to soften his focus.

"I wouldn't be too harsh," Sherry chimes impishly. "Maybe he had his reasons."

"Hmph. Whatever, I'm sure I'll run into him at some point." Another time Leon might've ribbed her for just what was so funny, but as he turns he catches sight of Grace. She's perched at the side of a grounded chopper, a thin blanket draped over her shoulders, a squad member handing her a styrofoam cup of what is surely terrible coffee. The other guy leaves Grace to stare into her cup and Leon feels something inside him twinge at the sight. It's the same feeling from when he'd first met Sherry on the train, the same as when he saw Ashley cough blood into her hands in Valdelobos. "I'll call you back," he promises his for-all-intents-and-purposes daughter, then he heads towards the slumped blonde.

"It's over, then." It's the best opening line he can scrounge up, testing the waters.

Grace looks up almost all the way but doesn't quite meet his gaze—a quirk of hers that he's noticed before, not cause for concern by itself. But the wobbly smile she puts on is plainly fake, barely affecting her lips, let alone her eyes. "Yeah. Elpis really was our last hope."

Leon can't stop his next sentiment, decades of cynicism bleeding out. "Well, let's hope Umbrella hasn't left us any more nasty surprises."

There's a pause, then Grace's shoulders droop even lower, a forlorn sigh rippling the surface of her watery coffee. "I wish we could have saved Emily."

It's not lost on Leon that she says 'we', that Grace considers them partners in this mess, that she trusts him as much as he does her now. Recognising that mutual faith, he decides to let her in on the sliver of foolish hope he'd held when protecting them from what Emily had mutated into.

"Grace." He steps forward to get her attention, not continuing until he's sure she's listening. "I didn't hit any of her vitals."

Fully meeting his gaze with an expression of tentative anticipation, Grace leans closer. "What are you saying?"

For a moment, Leon second-guesses whether this is the right thing to do, wondering if he's about to make a promise he isn't sure he can keep. But Grace is like a mirror of himself at 21 on his first day as a cop, so he selfishly wants to do what he can to keep the innocence in her eyes—and despite all of his past experiences trying to beat the hope out of him, he truly believes his next words. "Maybe we can save her."

The smile Grace gives him then is fragile, but it's real.

Slowly, the adrenaline in his system is subsiding and allowing Leon's sensory input to widen, the metaphorical blinders loosening. Now that he can hear more than one thing at a time, it's clear there's a commotion at the prep tent; he can just make out Chris' booming baritone over the din. Leon scoffs internally, knowing he ought to make his way there now to debrief the Captain and hand over Elpis, but fatigue is creeping in where adrenaline used to be and he's less than eager to deal with the other man right now. Leon pulls his gloves off, pockets them, silently marvels at the unmarred skin while studiously ignoring his ring, and stalls for time by wondering how to say goodbye to Grace. He doesn't have to think too hard though, because the sky falls down around him in an instant.

"Leon!"

He must give himself whiplash from how violently he snaps his head to the side, staring at the prep tent where he can't have just heard an impossible voice, thickly accented and slightly rougher than in his memories. Spine straightening, his eyes widen as an innocent hope blooms to life in his chest, a votive candle he's kept burning for almost twenty years flaring brightly. Out of the corner of his eye, Leon can see that his sudden change in demeanour has set Grace on edge but he has no capacity to comfort her, his brain spluttering and sticking because there's simply no fucking chance.

A tall figure is pushing through the suited bodies surrounding the tent, their lithe form immaculate as usual in fine slacks and a matching vest over a crisp white dress shirt, looking like they have no business being in the aftermath of a battlefield. Leon's barely able to register that the wavy brunette locks are longer than they used to be before the man has sprinted forward and barrelled into him, and all of a sudden he's completely surrounded by the only person he's ever been able to really surrender to.

"Mi amor," Luis rasps into his ear, manoeuvring his arms between Leon's weapons to wrap around him and cling on for dear life. "Mi cielo, mi corazón, mi vida—"

Terms of endearment pour out of Luis in an endless stream, and Leon's stupid, thick head wastes a couple precious seconds processing what's happening. But once he inhales the familiar scent of spicy cologne and cigarette smoke, he finally kicks into a higher gear and his arms stop their useless hanging to hold Luis in return. Leon grips onto the back of Luis' vest so tightly that his fingers threaten to tear the expensive fabric. As he turns his face into the warm, tanned skin of Luis' neck and feels the pulse rabbiting within his jugular, a hot pressure abruptly builds behind Leon's eyes.

"Te he echado de menos," Leon chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut tight and clutching the man in his arms even tighter. A sharp inhale comes from Luis, his long fingers tangling into Leon's greasy hair without hesitation. "Luz de mis ojos. Te he echado tanto de menos."

Luis tugs Leon's head back just a fraction using his grip on his hair, his wedding band catching in the tangled tresses, and Leon gladly lets his husband guide their lips against one another. This too is slightly different than he remembers: Luis has let his facial hair grow into a closely trimmed beard and the hairs above his lip drag against Leon's own stubble. Leon relishes the change, bathes his battered psyche in the evidence that Luis is really here, almost twenty years older and frantically pressing his soft lips to Leon's. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss, hands running up Luis' back to grasp his shoulder blades, his body melting against the taller man with a muscle memory that's been dormant for far too fucking long. Inhaling deeply through his nose, Leon pulls their mouths apart yet keeps their foreheads pressed together, running his fingers up the nape of Luis' neck to feel the new hairstyle. His exploration is interrupted by something, a hair band—half of Luis' hair is tied up. A dumb grin breaks out over Leon's face while he keeps his eyes closed, pressing the side of his nose against his lover's.

"Luis." He utters the name like a prayer. "What are you doing here?"

"Sorry I'm late, darling," Luis jokes, warming the air they share. His hands migrate to Leon's face, thumbs massaging over his cheekbones. "Those cabrones were trying to put me in a hazmat suit like I'm some civilian. Can you imagine? As if I would let them put some useless plastic between me and you, mi hermoso Sancho."

Sentimental and stupid as it might make him, Leon doesn't give a shit; his old nickname spilling from Luis' lips makes his heart soar, a crackly laugh rumbling from his chest. "A fine knight as always." He doesn't try to resist the urge to share in another chaste kiss, their mouths unable to fit together properly due to the smiles they both wear. "You know what I mean. How are you here right now?"

"Tu hija, how else?" Luis murmurs, peppering a couple kisses onto the corner of Leon's mouth and his cheek. Leon makes a mental note to thank Sherry for her meddling. "Although, I believe this wouldn't have happened without the help of a certain señorita from the FBI?"

At that reminder, Leon reluctantly accepts that the world exists beyond the sanctity of Luis' arms, pulling his head back and opening his eyes. The first thing he sees is a warm grey gaze, and though it's nothing short of torture to leave the sight, he assures himself he has the rest of his life to be bewitched by his husband. Turning to look at Grace, Leon finds her with her eyes averted and a blush blooming over her cheeks, obviously trying to give them some privacy. Leon's had one too many near-death experiences to be embarrassed, but for her sake he moves away to stand beside Luis, leaving a more publicly appropriate space between them even while one arm stays firmly linked around his lover's waist.

"Hey, Grace," he calls gently, and she jerks her head up at the sound of her name. With his free hand, Leon waves her over. "Let me introduce you to Luis Serra, my wife."

Grace's approach halts while Luis' delighted laugh brightens the world. "Tu mujer?"

"U-um, oh shit Leon, I'm so sorry," Grace stutters, her face reddening further and eyes flitting between the two men with matching smirks. "I really shouldn't have, uh, a-assumed like that—"

Luis is the one to end her suffering. "No worries, señorita. I am quite beautiful, no? Easy mistake."

Tanned fingers rub at the space between Leon's ribs and hip. He sinks into the comforting touch, looking at his mesmerising spouse. "I'd be a dead man without her."

He receives a peculiar, sharp look from Luis, one Leon recognises well from their years together. He knows Luis has a lot to say about that, probably plans on giving Leon hell for how reckless he's been, and yeah, he might deserve it. Leon has been a horrific coward this past year, after all. But Luis tearing him a new one still means having Luis in front of him, and nothing can dampen the joy firing over Leon's skin from that simple, infinite fact.

In any case, he's safe from reprimand at the moment because Luis has a new person to charm the pants off of. "May I give you a hug, Grace?" he asks politely, and at her shaky nod the Spaniard slips from Leon's side to collect Grace into his arms. It almost looks like Luis is going to sweep her up into the air, but evidently he holds himself back from doing so. "Gracias, señorita, for saving my stupid husband. Muchas gracias. It's not an easy feat, eh? You've done so well."

Leon's relieved to see Grace grow limp and comfortable from the combination of Luis' hug and gently spoken words. His husband always was the more interpersonally gifted of the two of them, and it appears that he's been magicked back into Leon's life just in time to share his easy charisma with someone else in desperate need of it.

Luis runs a hand over Grace's blonde head a couple times before unfolding her from his arms, fixing her with a dazzling smile. "Come and have dinner with us sometime. There's a whole ragtag family of us girls, you know, and you've definitely earned your seat at the table, chica valiente. Let me cook you something delicious."

As charming as his husband may be, Leon can read in the way Grace casts her gaze around that she's a bit overwhelmed by the intensity of it all. He interjects before Luis can insist further. "There's no pressure. We'd just like to stay in touch. For now, focus on healing and keep me updated on how things go with Emily. Alright?"

"Yeah," Grace agrees, eyes going misty. "Okay. Yeah."

Before sending her towards the medical team to have her nasty puncture wound checked out, Leon makes sure to grab her contact details as well as handing her one of the vials of Elpis he'd snagged on their way out. "For Emily," he curtly explains. Grace accepts it with a trembling hand. Then Leon himself is dragged over to face the music and debrief with Chris, an ordeal he simply doesn't have the patience for when Luis is hovering outside the tent and patiently waiting for him. Leon hands Chris the other two vials of the cure and is sure he demands one be rushed to Sherry, but beyond that he has no idea just how badly he butchers his rushed mission debrief.

"For fuck's sake," Chris snaps mildly, cutting Leon off, "just go home already. We can talk tomorrow."

Standing next to their designated chopper, Leon and Luis wait for the pilot to join them so they can be dropped near Leon's apartment. Leon fidgets with his rifle, checking for the fourth time that he's unloaded the cartridges, and Luis lets out a hum of amusement. "I see you still like your cute little charms," he muses as he flicks the mini BSAA emblem hanging off the barrel of the sniper.

A lifetime ago in Valdelobos, Luis had teased Leon mercilessly for the charms he'd added to his attaché case. Now, Leon's 49 and still enjoys collecting them like a teenage girl hoards keyrings from Gashapon. "Helps me shoot better," he mutters. He absolutely does not blush, because he is a grown-ass man who doesn't get embarrassed any more, god dammit.

"You are too precious for this world," Luis declares with characteristic flair, as though Leon's life and quirks weren't built on bloodshed and loss.

Slinging his rifle over his back, Leon laces his fingers between his husband's. They're not alone yet, but it seems no one else will be demanding Leon's attention tonight except for the one person who has any right to do so. Incapable of waiting to say it any longer, he tugs Luis into a bone-crushing embrace. "Don't go," he mutters into silky hair.

Returning the fierce grip, Luis takes the hopeful candle from Leon's chest into his own, feeding the flame until it is strong and steady. "Never again, mi amor. You're never leaving my side again."

The first thing Leon did once they were finally alone in his apartment was deliver a searing kiss to Luis' waiting mouth. His aching body hummed with the rightness of it, unspeakably pleased to have the tall Spaniard back in their home and between Leon's arms, right where he belonged. But age had brought wisdom to them both it seemed, because they had mutually pulled apart to broach the topic of the last seventeen years.

Leon went first, admitting that at multiple points he'd started to track down Luis' location before he was always sucked into another mission. He'd never really thought he'd be able to get Luis back, if he's being honest; he's just always been a glutton for punishment. Luis, as it turns out, had bounced around Europe for the majority of their time apart, carefully lending his knowledge and experience in biology to different governments. Similarly to Leon, every time he'd thought things were calm enough to reconnect, some bioweapon fuckery would pop up to keep them separated. However, once the first victim of RCS had been discovered almost a year ago, Luis' instincts had led him to connect the dots long before the rest of them. He'd become determined to find Leon again and had gotten in contact with Sherry, as even though she was also an agent, her data wasn't protected behind quite as many government-mandated security walls as Leon's.

Leon remembered clearly when Sherry had told him Luis was back in the States; Leon had immediately shut the conversation down. The black spider-webbing was spreading over his palms by then, his lungs feeling wetter by the day, and he refused to get Luis involved in this type of shitshow again. It had been awfully selfish, of course. He'd been convinced he was dying and a vain part of him wanted to make sure Luis would always remember him as young and healthy, not the wrinkled and gray man he'd become.

In the end, Luis forgave him as soon as Leon had told him his reasoning, kissing him again with no less passion than before. Relief made Leon's bones turn to jelly. Of course there was far more to say, but with Elpis released and his husband in front of him, Leon genuinely believed for the first time that they had time on their side. So with a lightened heart, he'd allowed Luis to herd him into the bathroom for a long-overdue shower, where scalding water now pounds against the muscles of his aching back, turning a tan colour before it spirals down the drain.

Weakly rubbing a soapy washcloth over his torso, Leon's mind wanders down the time-worn path of overanalysing the mission he's just completed. What keeps stabbing itself into his thoughts is the note he'd found inside the RPD building: 'You can't save anyone'. As if he needed the fucking reminder. Returning to the ruins of that city had been harrowing enough, but then he'd overheard Zeno explaining that children had been experimented on and thrown aside for years before the outbreak, and add on finding the skeletal remains inside Kendo's gun shop… By the time Leon had made it to ARK, there were so many ghosts of the past hanging off him that it was hard to walk straight. He'd avoided death by a hair's breadth multiple times: narrowly taking the win against that Umbrella Commander; passing out in the dump yard; bouts of delirium on his way to destroy Elpis, coughing up deep crimson and falling unconscious outside the doors to PANDORA. He's ashamed to admit it, but at that point he'd almost given in.

Leon presses his temple into the cool tile of the shower, trying to will away his chronic headache and wincing as his ribs twinge—must have bruised them during his fight with the Tyrant. While he goes through the motions of washing his hair, he thinks of how glad he is that Luis took the liberty of inviting Grace around. If she hadn't roused Leon to consciousness outside PANDORA, he would've let himself slip away right then and there, and if she'd listened to his jaded ass and destroyed Elpis, then he wouldn't have been cured and there'd be no hope for the others. Leon owes her and Sherry everything for not only keeping him alive, but bringing Luis home to him.

Despite how the past haunts Leon, he's never let himself linger on it consciously for long and he's certainly not going to start doing so tonight. That's probably something a therapist would have a field day over, and who knows, maybe he'll actually have the luxury of seeing one now? With the cure for the t-Virus released, Leon can feel the shell of his little world cracking open, a plush carpet of opportunity unrolling at his feet. He's far too fatigued to think further into the future than his immediate needs, however, so he steps onto the bathmat and quickly dries off, slipping into a pair of boxers and padding to the bedroom where the love of his life awaits him.

His large bed is usually uninviting and empty, but tonight a familiar shape is buried under the covers and beckoning Leon to join. Sitting on the unoccupied side, Leon takes a moment to check his phone first and sees that Grace has sent him a couple messages. Panic almost swells in his throat but her message is short and sweet: a confirmation that Emily is alive and has been given Elpis, along with a link to a news article detailing how the girl has been rescued from RHCCC. The last of the tension Leon's been holding melts out of him.

Rustling noises come from behind him before sleep-warmed arms snake around his bare chest. Luis drapes himself over Leon's back, skin caressing skin, and Leon idly drags the fingers of his free hand through the hair on Luis' arms. His husband sows easy kisses into the crook of his neck, reading the message over his shoulder before pressing a satisfied grin under his jaw. "Look like our dinner party just got a little bigger."

Leon grunts absentmindedly, distracted by the pulse of Luis' heartbeat against his scapula before he remembers to ask, "Who the fuck are the girls?"

"Hm?"

"You told Grace there's a family of 'us girls'. Who the hell did you mean?"

"Oh," Luis huffs into the ticklish spot below Leon's ear. "You know. Sherry, Ashley, Claire, Chris. The girls."

A snort escapes Leon. He'd just love to see Chris' face at being told that. For his part, Leon's long accepted that Ashley at least views him as more of a sister than a brother, and he's not gonna complain if it means he gets to keep her company.

Tiredness is pulling heavily at his eyelids, only further encouraged by the soothing movement of Luis' mouth over his cheek, so he lets his weight sink back into his husband's hold. Like a well-oiled machine they move around each other to get into bed properly, Luis pulling the covers over them both while Leon wraps his arms around his naked torso. Their legs entwine as Leon tucks himself tightly against Luis' side, resting his ear on his chest so he can hear the steady bah-thump of his heart. As he starts to succumb to sleep, he realises with delighted astonishment that Luis' skin still smells the same.

"Love you," Leon manages to slur out, the nightly habit returning easier than breathing.

"Love you too," Luis replies, just as he always used to, allowing Leon to drift off into dreamless rest easier than he has in decades.

When Leon wakes in the middle of the night, it isn't due to mission-necessitated adrenaline, or nightmares, or any of the other unsavoury things that have become common over the years. Instead what rouses him to waking is a soft, lazy heat deep in his gut, stirring the blood between his legs. It's an arousal that's almost slothful in its security, and when he registers the weight of the arm locking him into being the little spoon, that heat is gently stoked a little higher.

Blinking his eyes open, the bedroom is brighter than expected. With the curtains open, the warmth of the city streetlights is free to spill through the glass, slanting over the bed and catching the ring on Luis' finger where his hand rests before Leon's face. A breath sticks in Leon's throat at the sight before he extracts his legs from his husband's and twists under his arm, turning to face him. In this dramatic lighting Luis looks like a renaissance painting, Leon thinks, a genuine work of art that people from all over would flock towards just to catch a glimpse of his majesty. Somehow Leon's gotten lucky enough to have this heavenly man in his bed again; he must have saved a hell of a lot of puppies in a previous life.

Desire kindles further, low in his stomach as he luxuriates in Luis' face, expression lax during sleep and breathing deeply. Leon puts his hand to Luis' chest, hypnotised again by the beat of his heart under his palm. Alive, here, and for whatever reason, still Leon's. The crow's feet that decorate Luis' eyes betray that he hasn't lost his sense of humour in their years apart. His long hair is streaked with silver now, similarly to Leon's, although the gray hairs are more concentrated at his temples.

Leon kisses him there first, worshipping the evidence that Luis isn't a mere apparition this time concocted by Leon's lonely mind. Once he starts he can't bring himself to stop, addicted to this man anew, feeling for all the world like he's 27 again. Kisses are strewn over Luis' cheek, dropped along his beard, lightly dotted against his shapely mouth. When Leon's lips trace over his neck and Luis sighs in that familiar way that signals he's waking up, Leon mouths more intentionally at the tender skin, slotting his thigh between Luis' legs to press up against his groin.

"Oye, mi hermoso." Judging from the rough quality of his voice Luis is still half asleep, although the way his hands run over Leon's sides says he's waking up quickly. "Everything okay?"

The rasp of his words is almost enough to make Leon hard all on its own—just from the constrained movement of his thigh and the taste of Luis' skin, Leon can physically feel the blood leaving his brain to supply his stiffening cock. He sucks harder, creating a bruise in the crook of Luis' neck. Maybe giving him a hickey is a little juvenile, but Leon thinks the instinct is appropriate given that he's been blessed with a second chance from decades ago. Once he's satisfied with the mark, he allows Luis to tug his face up to look him in the eyes, his thigh still comfortably grinding against Luis' hardening length.

"Nothing wrong," he mumbles, entranced by how the angled light reflects in Luis' smoky eyes. "Just need to kiss you."

It's a desire they evidently both share, as Luis is quick to acquiesce. His hot tongue slips into Leon's mouth and licks over the back of his teeth, causing a shiver to ripple down Leon's spine. He bites Luis's bottom lip, tugging on it before letting go to simply look at him again.

Ever in sync, Luis is also looking Leon over, his fingers dancing over Leon's scruffy jaw and running through his hair. "Same haircut," Luis notes reverently, brushing Leon's bangs from his eyes. "I thought for sure you'd have changed it. Thank god you haven't, it suits you far too well." He traces the frown lines between Leon's brows with the gentle touch of someone handling an injured animal. "Oh, you have aged like a fine wine. You are so alluring. Guapísimo."

"Says you." Leon can feel the heat of a blush rising on his face, so he ducks back to hide against Luis' neck. Fuck, he really does feel like his younger and more repressed self, getting all flustered from the compliments that roll off his lover's silver tongue. Luis lets himself be pushed onto his back as Leon burns a trail over his collarbones with his lips and tongue, and Leon distractedly pushes the covers back for access to all of Luis' body. He kisses the tanned skin of his chest, the hair littered over Luis' torso tickling his lips, then tongues at one brown nipple.

A tiny noise leaves Luis at the attention and Leon feels it like a blade between his ribs. "Fuck," he swallows, greedily grabbing at Luis' hip. "Fuck. You're so fucking gorgeous." He rasps his tongue over the jagged line of Luis' scar from removing the Plaga; in response, Luis tangles his hands more firmly in his hair.

Kissing and suckling his way down Luis' body, Leon's head spins over the fact he's able to relearn how to make his husband melt beneath him. He takes his time, avoiding the ticklish spot beneath the ribs and paying close attention to the raised muscle near the hips which always serves to rile Luis up, and by the time he's pulling Luis' underwear down long bronze legs, Leon's half-hard while completely untouched. Positioning himself between Luis' legs, he doesn't have the patience to drag it out any longer in spite of how badly he's missed the taste of Luis' thighs. Holding his lover's hard cock in one hand, Leon runs the flat of his tongue over the head several times, the tangy flavour seeping onto his tongue when his practised movements begin to draw precum from the slit.

"¡Joder!" Luis hisses from the pillows, his hands moving restlessly between holding Leon's bangs back and running over the hard lines of his shoulders. Letting saliva gather in his mouth, Leon pulls the cockhead into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the foreskin because he knows it makes Luis' breath catch in that irresistible way. He slowly bobs down onto his solid cock, his gag reflex showing itself to the door and allowing him to sink far enough down that his nose is nestled in the trimmed hair at the base. One hand holding Luis' hip tightly and the other fondling his balls, Leon swallows around Luis' cock, celebrating internally when that wrings a tense groan from the angel beneath him.

Luis' hands leave Leon and his body cants to the side, then Leon can distantly hear rummaging from the bedside table. Not to be deterred from his current obsession, Leon sucks at the cock in his mouth while rising up before taking it all in again, maintaining his leisurely pace even as he pushes his own erection into the mattress. If his eyes weren't closed, he thinks they might roll back into his head from how delicious the taste of Luis' cock is, from the rapture of having his heavy length weighing against his tongue again. Hips twitch beneath him, then all too soon Leon is being pushed off Luis' cock by his shoulders. His husband's hardness shines in the low light, wet with precum and Leon's spit.

Leon allows himself to be dragged up the bed, Luis lying him on his right side so they can face each other. Luis' hands roam his torso, too distracted with their exploration to remove Leon's tented boxers, so he tugs them off himself while Luis admires him.

"Mierda, you are still carved from marble. It's so unfair." Luis squeezes Leon's bicep, feeling the solid muscle that lies just beneath the skin. "Your arms, for the love of god. You drive me crazy. The most beautiful man in the world."

"I've seen a lot of the world by now," Leon says matter-of-factly while Luis reaches behind him to procure a bottle of lube. "And not a single person I've met came close to you."

Something about that gives Luis pause—maybe it's the sincerity in Leon's tone, or maybe the frankness of his words. Regardless, Luis only buffers for a moment before sweeping Leon into an intense, dizzying kiss. In all the lonely nights spent with his own hand and the few disastrous one-night-stands, Leon had always missed the simple act of kissing Luis the most. The pecks they'd share over morning coffee, the heated make-outs after a successful mission, the sloppy and lethargic way their tongues would dance together after sex. It's such an ethereal thing to be kissing Luis freely again that he actually might astral-project for a second there, because all of a sudden Luis' lubed hand is settling around Leon's cock.

The sudden stimulation makes Leon gasp, his weeping hardness twitching in the gentle hold. Luis' mouth moves to his jaw while he shuffles closer, pressing their bodies right against each other and aligning their cocks to take them both in a loose fist.

Fuck, the sensation of Luis' slippery cock rubbing against Leon's is heavenly. Filthy, fleeting memories stream through Leon's mind: bending Luis over the back of the couch, sprawling on the kitchen counter while Luis railed him, being tied up with Luis' silk scarves to be edged over and over. A part of him is desperate to stop now and make that happen, because they're both at an age where round two is a bit of an ask and he's starving for them to be given to each other completely. But the more rational part of him knows neither of them are prepared for full-on anal sex, and they're both operating on the hazy line between arousal and exhaustion. Honestly, Leon's not gonna complain about how things are shaking out anyway—he's always found jacking off with Luis to be insanely sensual and fulfilling, and this way he can keep that perfect face in full view.

They both rock their hips the little they're able while being so close. Luis maintains a slow pace, his light grip riding the line between not being enough and marching Leon straight towards rapture. Luis wraps his top arm around Leon's waist like an iron bar and Leon's bruised ribs are all but forgotten with the gesture, the ache chased away by this fragile and beautiful pleasure. Twining his hands around the back of Luis' neck, Leon locks their faces close enough to share panted breaths, then Luis finds that one spot at the corner of his jaw with his clever lips. As he attacks that sensitive place Luis also makes teasing touches to the heads of their cocks, his thumb and fingers alternating to skim over the heads; the combination drives Leon so far up the fucking wall that an honest-to-god whine is wrung from him.

"Dios mío," Luis growls, "I missed how you whimper for me."

Leon wants to interject and clarify that he hasn't made such pathetic noises in almost twenty years, but his higher reasoning is kicked to the curb when Luis' hand finally tightens around their cocks and he starts to pump them faster. The taste of relief makes Leon moan even louder.

With the more substantial pressure, Leon can now feel climax building ever-so-gently in the base of his spine. Eager to help it along and determined to make Luis cum at the same time, Leon brings a hand to join the tanned one at work around their dicks, closing the grip and tightening it further. The palm pressed into the small of Leon's back creeps downwards to his ass, lean fingers digging into the meat of his backside. Messy half-kisses are shared while their breathing grows more laboured, then there's a barely audible clink: the sound of their matching rings knocking against each other.

The innocent sound threatens to shatter Leon's composure. Suddenly, there's a warmth flooding behind his eyelids, a pressure in his sinuses, and his throat feels thick. He barely manages to hold it back with a shuddered breath. "Luis," he begs with a tone of warning, terrified for a moment that he isn't strong enough.

Bronze fingers wrap more steadily around his, restarting the stuttered movement over their combined hardness, and Luis drops a soft kiss to Leon's cheek. "Sí mi amor," he whispers, "I'm here."

And just as quickly as the pressure came, Luis gifts him the release. That's right, Leon thinks dumbly, who am I trying to fool? It's just Luis. It's just the long-lost love of my life. So he lets the dam burst.

Unhurried tears aren't accompanied by heaving breaths or sobs. Instead they plainly well up to fall unceremoniously down Leon's cheeks, a manifestation of his overwhelming emotions. No tears get too far because Luis diligently kisses them all away, some of the salty wetness soaking into his surprisingly soft beard, his grip and pace around their cocks never faltering. The liberation of crying unspools something inside Leon's stomach, so while the tears don't flow for long, they do serve to propel his pleasure higher and higher. He ruts against Luis, pumping their cocks at a brutal pace with little strangled moans being punched from his chest, chasing the drop that he can feel so tantalisingly close. Luis' mouth goes slack against his skin and with a gasp, Leon is utterly consumed by his husband's presence—the taste of his breath, the roughness of his hand, the smell of his sweat. On the next tug of their hands, Luis twists over the head over Leon's cock, expertly sending Leon plummeting over the cliff into a quivering, fearsome orgasm.

Pure pleasure bursts out from his spine with such force that Leon screws his eyes shut, his ears filled with the sound of his own blood rushing, his extremities curling and tingling. Luis' hand gives a few more pumps and Leon can feel more cum being pulled from his spent cock with the action, then with a strained sound Luis joins him in climax, warm ropes of sticky spend landing on Leon's torso and coating their hands.

Disentangling their fingers, Leon pulls Luis close to envelop him with all of his limbs, cradling the other man as completely as he can while he comes down from his high. After a few breaths he realises the trembling of Luis' body has evolved into a more noticeable shaking. As it turns out, it's his turn to cry now, and he's being just as stubborn as Leon in his efforts to stave it off and stay quiet. Leon repays the grace he was just given by wordlessly swiping Luis' tears away with gentle thumbs, his mouth pressed to Luis' temple. Push and pull between them, ebb and flow, as always. Like two magnets of equal strength. Leon had suspected it when he was younger but now he's certain—this man is his soulmate.

Once Luis' tears have abated, Leon retrieves a towel and cleans them both up enough to sleep comfortably. Curling himself back into Luis' side and tucking his head under his bearded chin, Leon takes his lover's left hand with his own to hold them above them. Their matching rings shine in the amber glow from the streetlights outside while Leon's fingers move to spin Luis' band around on his finger.

"I know you're a man of simple pleasures," Luis starts, voice scratchy from the sex and the crying and the tiredness, "but these rings really are so boring. How did I ever let you convince me we should get plain gold?"

"We can do it again, if you like," Leon suggests casually. "Properly this time. Make it official. It's legal now."

From where Leon's head rests on Luis' shoulder, he can feel his partner's abrupt intake of breath. That means Luis is feeling uncomfortable, probably self-conscious, and that means a self-deprecating joke is coming. Leon drops Luis' hand to twist and lever himself up on an elbow, hovering close over Luis, momentarily stunned by the sight of his dark hair spilling over the pillow. Luis' mouth is open, his undoubtedly stupid comment primed, so Leon makes sure to speak first.

"I don't care how long we've been apart." Luis snaps his mouth shut at the sharpness of Leon's tone. He's not angry, he just needs Luis to understand that he isn't fucking around with this. "I'm still in love with you. You're the only thing I've ever been certain of. When you had to leave, it nearly fucking killed me. I'm serious. I never want to wake up without you again."

As the lava of Leon's confession spills over Luis, his handsome face, half concealed in the angled light, melts to a softness Leon has only seen in their most private moments. Placing his warm palms on either side of Leon's slightly frowning face, Luis answers him in a purr. "Of course. It's the same for me. I love you so much it hurts. Leon, there's nothing more I want in the world than to be your husband, and to make you mine."

Swallowing past the lump in his throat because they've shed enough tears for one night, Leon nods hurriedly. "Good," he concedes, lowering himself the short distance to speak against Luis' lips. "That's good."

Inside their sleepy kisses, Leon realises that the endless opportunity that stretches out on all sides of him now is much less intimidating than he first thought. The answer is finally simple again because where Luis goes, he goes, and he knows his husband feels the same. The next steps are clear: get Elpis to Claire and Chris and everyone else who needs it; have their girly dinner party; then, with as little planning of the insignificant details as Luis will let him get away with, Leon's finally going to marry the stupid, brilliant man, and he'll never let him slip away again.