Title: In the Nick of Time
Fandom: Resident Evil (Game-verse)
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~2800 words
Content notes: injury, infection, near death, sap, swearing
Author notes: "Late" gave me so many ideas that I couldn't settle on something until suddenly this happened - and it was none of the initial idea, of course.
Summary: Chris is stuck alone on a mission, having been infected by a T-variant and he's sure that help will arrive too late.




"Captain Redfield? What's your status?"

"Still breathing," he answered, voice terse. He had done his best to stop the bleeding.

"Evac is on the way. How many inhibitors are left?" Delta-Bravo's Hawk asked, tension also clear in her voice.

"Two," he said. And he knew with this new version of T that bought him another hour, at best an hour and a half, but he wasn't even sure he should risk spacing it out that far. If he turned because he fell unconscious from the blood loss or pain the inhibitor wouldn't do him any good, but how terrible would it be to turn because you put off taking the inhibitor Rebeca had specifically made "just in case" just one precious moment too long?

God, Rebecca. He'd left her in town and he was sure by now she was a target.

"Evac is on route," Hawk repeated tensely as if that would make their timely arrival any more likely.

Chris had done the math in his head twice already with the precision of the Air Force pilot that he was. The extraction team would have to take the fastest craft they had at the BSAA - and even then, by his calculation, they would be forty minutes late.

At least, he thought, someone would come to dispatch of the thing he would turn into before he could do any serious harm.

Hopefully.

He sat back against the wall, pressing a hand against the provisional dressing he'd put on the wound to at least try and stop the bleeding somewhat. In the darkness it was hard to see the edges of the walls boxing him in. The only escape route would be the hole in the ceiling that he'd fallen through. The rest of the lab outside had collapsed and the only door to this empty office he'd tumbled into was blocked by debris. The gaping hole in the ceiling was at least six meters above him though and he had trouble standing - even if thre had been anything to climb.

He had no way out.

And perhaps that was for the best.

At least he would be in a kind of prison when he finally turned.

The whole mess reminded him of the time he'd been infected recently…. Alcatraz — Claire in the next cell over gasping and moaning, afraid she'd turn and kill the person locked in with her, taking shaky breaths. It had been different then. He hadn't been alone. The pain and feel of it had been just as bad though.

His thoughts strayed to Leon. Of course. He remembered his form, as he leaned his back against the cell bars of Chris' cell, gasping for breath, keeping it together, but no longer able to get up or even turn around enough to look at Chirs while they both slowly went under. Chris himself had been too weak by that point to get up and lace their hands together or put a hand on Leon's shoulder despite them being so close. He'd sat on the cot, staring at Leon's back, heaving painful breaths, waiting for whatever was to come.

And one thought had gone through his head then: How had Leon kept it together when he'd been infected with a plaga and all alone behind enemy lines not sure there even was a cure?

Perhaps that was why Chris had kissed him that next time after San Francisco that they got to see each other. It hadn't been exactly out of the blue — but he'd still expected Leon to punch him in the face from sheer surprise. They'd had their share of falling into bed with each other and then not seeing each other in months, acting as if nothing had happened between them, but even that had stopped sometime before Edonia . Leon, in short, hadn't punched him for the kiss, but backed up and told him right out that he wasn't going to do any on again, off again situationship shit anymore. Which had suited Chris just fine, because he had never wanted that to begin with — but as he learned after finally talking it out, he'd been terrible at making that known.

That his communication skills outside of leadership needed work hadn't been news to him though.

But even old dogs could learn new tricks.

Or so Leon kept telling him. Leon who kept a lot to himself because he always expected to end up alone in the end but had slowly understood that Chris was in it for the long haul.

Leon. The thought was painful. Leon had been doing this just as long as Chris had. He'd lost so much.

What would he say when the news came?

The news that Chris wouldn't return and he was the one left behind again.

Chris didn't want to think of it. He still remembered the devastated look when they'd pulled Leon from the bottom of the bottle and right into the Glenn Arias mess. He didn't want him to be broken by this.

God, Chris, he told himself. You're not done yet. Someone is on the way.

But he was too much of a realist to fool himself. They would be too late. This wasn't Alcatraz. Jill wasn't here, still at large. Neither were Rebecca and Leon. The cards were stacked against him. And this time he had no reason to hope against all hope.

As if to underline the unlikeliness of timely rescue, a tremor went through the walls and somewhere he could hear the groan of a zombie, followed by the loud screech that he knew to be a licker. He remembered the boiler room and the pump that had been damaged during his fight with one of the mutated Gs. Well, he'd prefer death by explosion to turning, but the more likely outcome was the collapse of the building — and him coming back from death, not Chris at all.

He let his head fall against the wall.

The dizziness was from the blood loss, not from the virus, but he looked at the watch on his wrist anyway to make sure how many minutes he had until he'd have to take the inhibitor. It was nearly time.

There was another shriek, this one from much closer.

Chris listened into the darkness and tried to gauge whether the Licker he'd heard was on the other side of the debris sealed door or above him.

When he didn't hear any skittering or movement from above, he let his head fall back again.

"Try to relax," he told the darkness. "Nothing you can do about it now."

Giving up wasn't like him, but the pain in his side was getting worse and he had a feeling that he would have to find something to keep himself from drifting or nodding off or he would miss the window to take the final inhibitor shot. He toyed with the fucking idea to call Leon.

But did he really want to put that on his… partner, boyfriend, lover? Even now, had they ever put a label on it?

He pulled out his BSAA phone, debated the wisdom of typing in Leon's private number from memory. Chris had learned to distrust all organizations, even the ones he'd built himself. Even with something small.

And then… What would he say if Leon wasn't on a mission and actually picked up?

He pondered that for three long minutes, before he finally gave in to the impulse and typed in Leon's number, waited for the call to go through. His heart beat a little faster when the tone on the other end indicated the call had gone through and Leon was free and then after three toots, it went straight to voice mail and Chris lost his nerve. He had wanted to hear Leon's voice at least and… but he ahd no idea what final words to leave him with.

He heard something from the room above him. Quiet thumping.

Something had disturbed the debris there.

He held his breath.

What would it be this time? And would it be the last thing he saw instead of the person he really wanted to be with?

Then a light shone down, blinding him.

Torchlight, he reasoned. Someone was looking around.

But the rescue team couldn't even be close-by.

So who?

He kept quiet, holding up a hand to try and see who was up there.

"Sorry, I'm late," a familiar voice called down from above, the exact voice he'd been longing to hear. "You look like shit, Chris."

"Leon?"

A rope fell down. "Yeah," the voice said and then Leon swung himself down into the room with him, letting himself down on the ground gently.

Chris could only stare as Leon quickly used the torch to look around and take stock of the situation. Then he was over and by his side in just a few strides of his long legs. Perhaps Chris was running a fever, or just getting into the stage where he was delirious. Perhaps the wound was festering and now he was really not going to last until help came… Only…

"How are you here?"

When Leon stood above him, Chris tried to gauge his expression, to make sure this was real. He'd seen too much shit lately and how could Leon be here? Leon understood and held the torchlight a little to the side so that they could see each other better but Chris wasn't blinded.

"Hey," he said softly, "you really don't look so hot."

"Not what you tell me when you get me without a shirt," Chris said, trying for unfazed but sounding like death warmed over.

Leon sighed a little and then crouched down before him, so Chris could look directly into his eyes. Even in the weird light he could see they were the right shade of blue and full of worry. "I'll get your shirt off of you in a moment. But maybe not in the sexy way. You don't look like you're up for that."

"Always up for that," he slurred unconvincingly.

"Wow," Leon said and started to rummage through the small bag he had with him.

"Medkit?" Chris asked, following the movements of Leon's clever hands and thinking: I wanted to see him, not have him watch me die.

Leon looked at him through his bangs. "Present," he said and pulled a syringe from his bag.

Chris stared at it. He needed to tell Leon the truth, warn him. "Adrenaline won't help. I have about ten minutes till I need to…"

"Hold still," was all the answer he got while Leon pushed the syringe into the side of his neck without so much as a warning.

"Ouch," he complained and took a deep breath as a tingling sensation spread out from the place where Leon had injected him. "I'm sorry, Leon, but it…" He fell silent. He needed to get Leon away from him before it was too late. He'd have a few minutes more with the inhibitor, but…

Leon fell back a little to sit on the floor in front of him, watching him intently and then smiled a little: "Now that Rebecca's cure can work its magic, let's come back to your shirt."

"What?"

"Shirt, Chris." Leon indicated the wound. "Cure was important but we still have to take care of that. You're not out of the woods yet."

The word "cure" and then the name "Rebecca" sank in. "Oh my god. Is Rebecca alright?"

"She looked a lot better than you, sweetheart."

Suddenly his mind was reeling. The tingling sensation made sense. It felt like last time, when the virus had been pushed back and he'd recovered within minutes. He looked at his hand and saw that the black blotches were already receding just a bit. "I thought this is it."

"I know the fucking feeling," Leon replied. "Also, you're bleeding out. Can I…?"

"Yeah," he sighed and helped Leon to get the protective west and the uniform fabric out of the way.

Leon whistled through his teeth. "You Redfields don't do things by half, huh?" He asked and then set to work, surprisingly careful for someone Chris had seen impatiently glueing a knife wound on his own shoulder shut to get back into action.

"You would be the expert."

"I am," Leon said lightly, and grinned a bit, pleased with himself. His fingers were carefully brushing Chris' skin above the wound, sending goosebumps up his arm. Despite the pain he was already feeling better. "That must be painful," Leon remarked.

"Hmm," he said, still trying to catch up. Suddenly Leon was close enough that he could feel his breath, as he leaned in close to get a better look. When his bangs fell into his eyes, Chris couldn't help himself, and he brushed them away, amused at the soft feeling. Leon looked up to meet his eyes. "I thought I wouldn't get to see you again," Chris admitted.

Leon smiled, his eyes brimming with emotions — sadness, happiness, something else entirely that Chris couldn't place. "I know," he said. "You're extremely lucky I was close-by already. You should leave the solo missions to me, huh?"

"So DOS gets all the praise? Not a chance," he quipped, his fingers still playing with strands of Leon's hair.

Leon rolled his eyes. He wasn't invested in the usual inter-agency rivalry that most operatives were engaging in and thought it was ridiculous, not least of all because he hadn't joined STRATCOM willingly to begin with and even though he'd gotten some influence in building up the DOS, like Chris, he knew too much about how easily people in power strove for more power at the expense of anyone standing in their way — even if that meant sacrificing their own agents or innocent civilians.

Turning back to the wound with a wistful expression, Leon bit his lip. "I can patch you up enough to get you out of here or we can wait for extraction," he suggested, not commenting on the way that Chirs fingers were threading through his hair.

"Out of here," he replied decisively. "Then you can fuss over me some more and we can incinerate the shirt."

Leon looked at him sideways, keeping half of his focus on pressing a fresh pad from the medkit over the wound carefully. Not going to argue the point, he nodded at Chris. He was infamously the worst possible patient, so Chris would have called him out on it if he'd insisted on getting him to a doc first. They could still call in Rebecca, as Leon knew where she was, apparently.

Something warm settled in Chris' chest, the realization that Leon was really here, that this wasn't the end just yet and… that he really was glad that they were finally making this thing between them work even if it had taken them years to even get the attempt at it right.

"Marry me." It slipped out before he could stop himself because that had been on his mind for a while but it had never seemed like the right moment. Was there ver the right moment?

Surprised, Leon looked up, studied his face for a long moment. Chris' heart was beating fast enough, he suddenly felt more lightheaded than he had before Leon arrived and somehow just as filled with dread.

"Okay," Leon said, his expression turning soft, and then turned back to what his hands were doing, giving the wound his full attention.

His heart missed a beat, then another, then he dared to smile and let himself relax against the wall. Nearly he'd missed any chance at this — and they were not out of hot waters yet by any definition of the word. But he had a new reason to make it out.

"Did you kill Lickers on your way in?"

"Lickers, T-carriers, something really heavily mutated that I have no name for, you name it, I probably killed it. No sign of Las Plagas though, thank god."

Chris chuckled softly. "I thought I had done some clean-up."

"You were easy to find. I only had to follow the gore."

"Will you tell me why you were here in the first place?"

"Later," Leon said and gave him a tight half-smile. "And only what's not classified. And I'll let Rebecca give you a dressing down first for coming here without back-up. The way you would set Claire on me if roles were reversed."

Leon, usually the one who got an earful from Chris, Claire or Sherry — and Chris suspected sometimes from people inside the DOS who had come to know him better — for the crazy stunts he pulled, sounded just a little too happy about that prospect. But Chris was not going to complain.

A pained grunt escaped him, when Leon pressed the wound a little too hard. "You have to get me out of here first," he reminded him.

"I have a plan."

"Is something going to explode?"

The shrug and half-grin, made him grin in turn. Something usually did.

"Trust your awesome fiancé."

He laughed.

God, he loved the sound of that.