precipitant
Title: precipitant
Fandom: Resident Evil
Series: Comrades to the End
Pairings: Leon/Krauser
Warnings: nothing of note
Word Count: 4364
Disclaimer: If I owned it, Krauser would be alive.
Summary: Over the course of his last mission, Jack Krauser falls in love.
“He's ready for you, Krauser. Go on in.”
Jack nods at the secretary and stands up, brushing his hands on his fatigues to hide his sudden nervousness. He still feels out of place in the USSTRATCOM building, everyone in suits and not a spec of dirt in sight. Maybe Jack should have tried a little harder to fit in, but he's a soldier through and through. He's never pretended otherwise.
Besides, USSTRATCOM should have known what they were getting. Jack assumes his record is why he got the transfer offer and, well, the money wasn't something he could afford to turn down.
So the soldier went and signed and it's been fine thus far. USSTRATCOM clearly spares no cost on facilities or equipment and his first few missions weren't all that different from his time in special forces: take a squad and ensure their target does not get out alive.
But something about this summons has Jack's nerves on edge. So he takes another breath before he walks through the office door.
“Ah, Krauser, glad you could join us,” Franklin greets him from behind his massive desk. The man is weirdly friendly during these mission briefings and Jack doesn't like it. The soldier is used to orders from the people who outrank him, not fake smiles that pretend he has a choice. He's comfortable with orders. That's part of why he never got promoted to command.
“Not like I could tell you that I had dinner plans,” Jack snarks and a muffled snort catches his attention. There's someone else sitting in one of the office chairs already and when Jack glances over, he's caught by warm grey eyes.
Those eyes fill his vision, sparkling with laughter, and the soldier is struck dumb by a sudden surge of want. He breaks that contact with an effort, but sweeping his gaze across this stranger doesn't help his issue none.
Because damn. Just damn.
The man's legs go on for miles and those jeans can't be regulation when they're painted on that tight. Neither can that haircut, but the long strands frame his face, highlighting sharp cheekbones, a stubborn jaw, and lips that deserved to be kissed red every night.
It's been a long time since Jack found another man this attractive and it's harder than it should be to shove that feeling down. But he's been a soldier for a decade; he's had a lot of practice at hiding through the years. Franklin certainly doesn't notice, ignoring both his snark and his distraction as he waves for Jack to take a seat.
“Krauser meet Agent Kennedy. He's going to be your partner on this mission. He's something of an expert in the field.”
Some bad blood there, Jack thinks, wondering at the man's odd emphasis. But the soldier doesn't give a crap about Franklin's opinion; he prefers to judge new people for himself.
“Good to meet you, comrade.”
“You too,” Kennedy replies as he reaches out to shake Jack's hand. He has a soldier's calluses, strength in those long fingers, and Jack doesn't let himself notice more than that. Not even the voice as smooth and rich as bourbon on his tongue.
“You'll be heading to South America,” Franklin says now that the niceties are over. “We've got intel that a local drug lord called Javier Hidalgo may have approached Umbrella about buying B.O.W.s. The two of you will head into the rain forest to meet our local contact and then hike to Emparo where Javier and his Sacred Snakes have been hiding out. Once you deal with the drug lord, you can call for extraction and USSTRATCOM will clean up.”
The task sounds simple enough, just like his other missions, but Jack can read between the lines. No weapons except what they can carry, no support except a ride home once the problem has been solved. It'll be just him and Kennedy against whatever threats these Sacred Snakes can offer. So I'd best make sure the man is actually competent.
The agent must be thinking the same thing; as soon as they leave Franklin's office, he turns to Jack and asks, “Do you want to hit the range? If we're going to be working together, I'd like to know what you can do.”
“Hell yes,” is the only possible response. Even without the mission, Jack is fucking curious.
The gun range is a revelation. Kennedy wields his Matilda like he was born to shoot it, loading and emptying the clip without a moment's pause. Their first spread of shots is almost exactly even and then, well, things get competitive.
“Think you can do better?” the other man starts with a smirk and Jack sure ain't going to back down.
So they run through the basic weapons, neither man able to pull ahead completely. Kennedy is better with a rifle but Jack wins the TMP. They're both dead even on the shotgun and the handguns, though they've got different preferences.
And then, well, then the men switch to moving targets and start really showing off. The soldier proves his mastery of bow hunting while Kennedy shows a knack for double pistols and, of all things, throwing knives.
“Did you grow up in a circus?” Jack has to ask after the third bullseye but the agent simply laughs.
“You're the one with a bow and arrow,” Kennedy shoots back cheekily.
By now the two of them have used a ton of ammunition, but what's the point of working for Uncle Sam if you can't have fun sometimes?
And it is fun, like Jack hasn't had since he joined USSTRATCOM. He's missed the easy camaraderie between soldiers. Most folks around here are buttoned up way too fucking tight. Kennedy, in contrast, swears like a navy man and meets him snark for snark. Jack has nothing to worry about with this man as his partner, no threat of friendly fire or being bored out of his mind.
“So, you want to do some sparring?” the soldier asks, not quite ready to stop yet. “You're all right with a weapon, but I'll kick your ass in hand-to-hand.”
“Oh, really? You think so, Krauser?” the other man replies. “Sure, I've got some time to prove you wrong.”
He's grinning as he says it, bright and challenging, and Jack has a feeling that he's getting in too deep.
Always have to play with fire, don't you, but sparring with the agent burns so perfectly. Jack has the muscle but the other man is faster, leaving their fights balanced fairly evenly. Kennedy darts in and out of his guard, each blow quick and accurate, but when the soldier finally grabs him, he can't manage to break free. At least not without the kind of damage they're trying to avoid.
Both men are pulling punches and that's probably a good thing because Jack keeps getting distracted by the way the agent moves. He must be a sight in a real combat, graceful and deadly as he flows around his enemies.
The soldier is thinking about asking. He knows he shouldn't but he's thinking that a friendly drink wouldn't be so bad. No reason that it has to be any more than that.
“Hey, Kennedy....” Jack starts, but before he can finish, a strident ringing cuts him off.
At the sound, the agent's expression changes instantly. The smile drops off his face and his posture stiffens as he glances towards his phone.
“Sorry, I have to get that,” Kennedy tells him, already walking away, and Jack wants to curse reality for intruding. Maybe he should be happy that he didn't do something foolish, but he can't be glad of anything that makes the agent frown like that.
“Hello, sir.”
“Of course, but...”
“I already have a mission.”
With every word, Kennedy's scowl gets deeper and his voice more frustrated, but it doesn't seem like arguing is doing any good.
“Yes, sir, I'll be there,” the man says finally, snapping his phone shut and rubbing at his forehead with a sigh. “Sorry, I've...”
“Got to go?” Jack finishes when Kennedy trails off.
“Yeah, duty calls,” the agent tells him with a hint of bitterness. Jack can't pretend he's happy, but he gets it and it's nice to know the other man doesn't really want to leave.
“Not your fault. Go do your job,” he says, clapping the agent on his shoulder. “I'll see you for our mission.”
“Yeah, I'll see you,” Kennedy agrees with a flicker of a grin.
Jack watches him leave - hell, he's only human - before forcing himself to focus back on the task at hand. Sure he's got a solid partner but he still needs to prepare.
The soldier doesn't see Kennedy again before their mission, although he looks for the other man at USSTRATCOM every day. From what Jack gathers through the grapevine, the agent is working the whole time. No one seems to know exactly what he's doing but USSTRATCOM wouldn't send out someone if it wasn't serious.
At first Jack is curious, then he starts getting worried, and finally pissed off. Who the hell thinks that back-to-back missions is any kind of good idea?
Kennedy may be skilled but no one can fight forever without a chance to rest. Expecting him to go from one mission to another is an insult to the agent and an insult to Jack too. He's the one who's gonna die if the other man fucks up and if this is how USSTRATCOM treats its long-term assets, maybe he should rethink this transfer after all.
But the soldier can't refuse his orders. He's not prepared to burn those bridges or leave Kennedy in the lurch. Given the way that USSTRATCOM has been acting, they'd probably just send in the other man alone.
So Jack preps to leave despite his simmering resentment, the feeling growing stronger when he finds out that he's supposed to rendezvous with the agent on his own. He knew there wouldn't be support, knew he has no squad now, but he'd planned to have a partner from the start.
Instead the soldier finds himself dodging blockades with no ally but a calm voice in his ear. The woman is unflappable, her tone never changing even when Jack snaps at her. She gives him the coordinates as calmly as she tells him that Kennedy's plane was shot out of the sky. He almost thinks she's joking since the information about his partner was slipped into a comment about Jack being late. But for all this Ingrid's subtle snark, she doesn't seem the joking kind.
So he's more relieved than irritated when he finally arrives at the meeting point and sees Kennedy already there. The other man looks a little tired but is thankfully intact and his arm is strong when he claps the soldier on his back.
Still, Jack decides to take the lead on their long trek through the jungle. If he can watch out for Kennedy, shoulder the stress of navigation, their position will be better when the real mission starts.
Neither of them talk much during the first part of their journey, focused on moving through the jungle as efficiently as possible. But when they start making camp that evening - both well-used to roughing it - Jack just has to ask.
“So, I heard your plane crashed?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” Kennedy says with a low chuckle. “Charter plane was shot down right near the border, took out both engines and the pilot before we could react. But we had parachutes for everyone so the landing wasn't bad and I doubt this one was personal. No one in South America hates my guts just yet.”
The agent talks so cheerfully about catastrophic engine failure, giving Jack a smile that lights him up inside. He knows that kind of coping, knows the way that jokes can help push back the dark, but Kennedy's good humor is contagious nonetheless.
Although.... “You just happened to notice where they kept the parachutes?”
“Well, I haven't had the best of luck when it comes to vehicles,” the agent answers with another crooked grin. “I've gotten in the habit of checking just in case.”
Jack wants to know that story, wants to know everything that Kennedy will tell him, but he knows he shouldn't push. As much as he likes the man, the two of them are strangers and he doesn't want to tilt their balance by coming on too strong.
So the soldier finishes his meal and prepares to bed down for the night. This far out in the jungle, they don't need to set a watch and Jack sleeps lightly anyway. He takes a soldier's nap, his back pressed into the hollow of a tree. It's not exactly comfortable but he's slept in much worse places and Kennedy feels the same given how fast the man drops off.
Jack wakes up early, the sun just cresting through the trees. It's getting hot already, a thick humid weight pressing down on him, and he knows that he needs to wake up his partner soon. The other man still looks exhausted, dark shadows beneath his eyes, but the two of them need to get moving before the heat gets any worse.
So he walks over to the agent but he doesn't even get close before Kennedy is snapping upright, his knife appearing in his hand. There's a hint of something feral in his expression before he shakes it off, and Jack adds that to his mental list of questions about this man.
Then it's back to hiking, a long slog through the jungle with only brief stops to rest. Jack swears every insect for five miles is trying to take a bite, not to mention the other wildlife, and he's looking forward to arriving somewhere that people actually live.
However, when the pair finally reaches their destination, the village feels... off. The main square is deserted, the only signs of occupation a wall of missing person posters and an unseen radio blaring out the news.
“Where is everyone?” Kennedy asks, sounding as uneasy as the soldier feels. Jack hates waiting. He hates not knowing where to find his enemies and the thought that the Sacred Snakes could be setting up an ambush sets his teeth on edge.
Even so, when the soldier sees a group of villagers stumbling towards him, his first thought is to help. These people look sick or injured; they shouldn't be a threat. So Jack lowers his gun and steps forward as Kennedy hangs back.
“Krauser, wait,” the agent says, an odd edge in his voice. But it's too late.
As Jack gets close, the stench of death suddenly slams into him. One of the villagers lets out a snarl, twisted and inhuman, and the soldier gets a flash of teeth and dead uncaring eyes. Only instinct saves him. Jack's arms snap up when the man creature corpse> lunges for his throat. It's strong - too strong - his boots slipping in the dirt.
Then he hears his name called frantically and the sharp crack of a gun. The thing's head explodes like a rotten melon, painting the soldier red as he stumbles from the sudden loss of force.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Bodies tumble to the ground and Jack's mind struggles to catch up. But there's no time. No time to panic or to shout or to demand that the agent tell him what the fuck is going on. There's just Kennedy at his shoulder urging him to move.
Because these things are everywhere, the entire village suddenly swarming and it takes every ounce of skill he has to keep from being torn apart by the endless fucking horde.
Jack knows he would have failed if not for Kennedy.
The other man is hardly calm. He shouts and shoves and dives for cover, looking just as panicked as the soldier feels. But he's also fucking steady. Whenever Jack is struggling, Kennedy is there to help him with a well-placed bullet and his knife.
The two of them fight corpses, giant spiders and some crazy water monster before they even get the chance to breathe. But in those quiet moments, the first thing the agent does is check Jack for injuries. Kennedy even makes the soldier eat and shares his knowledge freely, the kind of partner Jack can trust to never leave a man behind.
Really, he can't blame the girl they rescue from latching onto Kennedy. If he were in Manuela's place, he'd haunt the agent's footsteps too.
Jack almost wants to anyway, to wrap himself around the man and hold on for dear life. Because Kennedy bleeds care and kindness, willing to risk anything to help someone else survive. The agent wears his heart on his sleeve and Jack isn't used to that. He's used to stone-faced soldiers, men who pretend that they aren't frightened because they think that makes them strong.
Two days ago, Jack would have agreed. But during those long hours fighting and listening to the agent talk about Raccoon City, Jack finds Kennedy turning to Leon in his mind. It's Leon who coughs up water and leans against his side. Leon who gives the soldier the strength to carry on.
The agent is determined to finish what they came for, to stop the spread of T-Veronica at any cost and Jack wants to hate him for it. He wants to ask why they're the ones who have to stand against this tide.
But Jack can't hate Leon, not when the other man is right there with him. Leon has seen horrors enough to shatter men and yet he hasn't broken. Instead he's volunteered to fight against the monsters, these nightmares given flesh, and Jack refuses to show himself a lesser man.
Yes he's fucking terrified, but courage means running forward when he wants to turn aside.
So the soldier pushes forward through a literal zombie army, through muck and blood and nearly drowning until he's not quite fast enough.
Jack doesn't feel the pain at first as the spine impales him, just the sharp and sudden impact against his arm. Then the burning follows, doubling him over in shock and agony.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Jack can't be a one-armed soldier, his career is fucking over, but it's fight or die right now. So he digs into his last reserves, pulling strength from fear of death or maybe just the worry that he sees in Leon's eyes. Because they're in this together, partners to the end, and he's Jack fucking Krauser - he'll choke Javier Hidalgo on his corpse if all else fails.
The monster that greets their exit is more than big enough to swallow him. Javier has grown impossibly large, grotesque and towering, and their battered trio is heavily outmatched.
And yet.... Perhaps it's the blood loss or Leon's stupid optimism is actually contagious - Jack finds himself thinking, Time to die, you bastard. We're gonna take you down. As long as they've got bullets, Javier will bleed. Bleed and burn as their distressed damsel finds her fangs instead.
The soldier loses track of time. He remembers the fight in flashes: the crack of shots and panicked shouting, one close call after the next. He shoots and reloads, shoots and reloads, burning through every single weapon that he has.
Jack throws Leon his last clip, drags Manuela out of danger, and nearly takes the claw himself. Javier's tentacles seem to be getting faster, though it's probably the soldier slowing down. He knows he's fading fast. Jack lost his makeshift bandage somewhere in the last five minutes and his vision is going grey as blood pours down his arm.
The only question left is who will falter first.
Jack is pretty sure it's gonna be him but then there's an explosion, Leon finding one last grenade to shove down that twisted maw. Javier shrieks out in pain and then that towering figure starts to topple to the ground. He lands with a crash that nearly topples Jack as well and for a minute, he stares blankly at the monster's corpse. The soldier didn't truly think that he'd survive.
Yet here they are - all three of them - filthy, battered broken, and somehow still alive.
Jack starts to drift a bit, his vision graying further as the adrenaline drains away. He blinks for just a second and there's the helicopter, Leon's gentle voice urging him to stand. The other man delivers him into the hands of the USSTRATCOM medics and then gets out of their way.
It's a damn long trip back to the USA as the medics do everything they can to save his arm. By the time they arrive, the soldier isn't bleeding any longer. His exhaustion has been lessened by a fitful sleep and his arm is thickly bandaged, wrapped and stitched like Frankenstein. The medics have assured Jack that he won't lose it but that doesn't mean he'll ever be the soldier he once was.
Stepping onto that tarmac feels like a chapter ending and Jack knows what's coming next. USSTRATCOM will put him out to pasture, one more forgotten soldier that no one cares about. Leon will say farewell and perhaps think of him fondly. But it's unlikely that they'll ever meet again.
“Take care of yourself, Krauser,” the other man tells him. Leon is visibly swaying, clearly dead on his feet, but his smile is still warm as he leans in for a half hug.
“You too, Kennedy,” Jack answers, clapping the agent on the back. He keeps the motion friendly instead of yanking Leon closer like he really wants to do. But the words still hold a wealth of meaning that he could never speak aloud.
He can't bring himself to say it and yet Leon understands. Jack can tell by the flicker of sharp heat in those grey eyes. That look warms him from head to toe, makes him dream of lazy mornings after long impassioned nights.
But then the agent pulls back and the moment's gone. The soldier knows the score. He knows that there's some things men like them don't speak aloud.
However, as he watches Leon turn and march away - still standing tall despite a limp and fucking beautiful - the soldier... no, the man thinks, What are you waiting for? What does it fucking matter if the army knows about him now?
“Hey, Leon!” he calls out and the other man stops instantly. Perhaps he was hoping for an excuse to turn around.
“You want to get a drink later? I mean, once they finally let me out of the hospital?” Jack asks, gesturing down at his left arm. He's already doubting his decision. A guy like Leon hardly needs to wait around to date his crippled ass.
But the agent just grins brightly and strides back across the tarmac, “Like a date?”
“Yeah, Leon, like a date,” Jack answers, trying to ignore the people who are watching this play out. The only man that matters here is the one who's leaning up to whisper against his mouth.
“You've got yourself a deal, Jack,” Leon murmurs before he closes that last inch. Kissing him feels like drowning, or perhaps the soldier's first real breath after a lifetime without air.
So he wraps his arm around the agent, the one that isn't bandaged, and pulls him as close as possible. Jack could stay here forever, chasing every gasp and groan as Leon melts against him. The other man should taste disgusting given how long it's been since they both showered but all Jack gets is sweetness and heat beneath his tongue. He barely even feels his arm, forgets their audience, blind to everything except exploring Leon's mouth.
But all good things have to end. Eventually Leon draws away, his lips bruised red from kissing and his smile shining bright.
“Fuck, I've got to go,” the other man murmurs, resting his forehead on Jack's shoulder with a sigh. “Don't forget about me.”
“Comrade, I wouldn't dare,” Jack tells him and he means every word. He lets go reluctantly, instantly missing the warmth of Leon in his arms.
“Hey, you have a pen?” the agent asks the medic who's still standing at Jack's side. The soldier feels a surge of fear when he looks over, a familiar stab of panic that someone might find out. But it's much too late to shove that cat back in the bag so Jack tries to take courage from Leon's utter shamelessness.
The agent doesn't seem to care that they just made out with a dozen soldiers watching and really, it's the medic who seems embarrassed now.
“A pen? Oh, yeah, sure,” he stammers, his face completely scarlet. The man roots around in his bag for a minute before he comes up with a battered pen and a scrap of paper too.
“Thanks, Aaron. Much obliged,” Leon says and somehow Jack isn't surprised that he knows the medic's name.
The agent scribbles down his number and tucks it into Jack's shirt pocket, his hands lingering on the soldier's chest.
“There you go. Don't lose it,” Leon tells him. “You'd better call me as soon as you feel up to it.”
“I'll guard it with my life,” Jack promises.
This time when the agent leaves, he doesn't stop his eyes from roaming. The soldier is done hiding and he finds himself grinning when Aaron mutters quietly, “You lucky fucking bastard. I kinda hate you now.”
Jack is still pissed at USSTRATCOM for their mission handling and a little terrified that he'll lose his arm entirely. He doesn't know how the fuck not to be a soldier - a civilian, it's a joke - and he has no idea if this thing with Leon will work out.
But right now, in this moment, Jack feels like a millionaire.
End
Fandom: Resident Evil
Series: Comrades to the End
Pairings: Leon/Krauser
Warnings: nothing of note
Word Count: 4364
Disclaimer: If I owned it, Krauser would be alive.
Summary: Over the course of his last mission, Jack Krauser falls in love.
“He's ready for you, Krauser. Go on in.”
Jack nods at the secretary and stands up, brushing his hands on his fatigues to hide his sudden nervousness. He still feels out of place in the USSTRATCOM building, everyone in suits and not a spec of dirt in sight. Maybe Jack should have tried a little harder to fit in, but he's a soldier through and through. He's never pretended otherwise.
Besides, USSTRATCOM should have known what they were getting. Jack assumes his record is why he got the transfer offer and, well, the money wasn't something he could afford to turn down.
So the soldier went and signed and it's been fine thus far. USSTRATCOM clearly spares no cost on facilities or equipment and his first few missions weren't all that different from his time in special forces: take a squad and ensure their target does not get out alive.
But something about this summons has Jack's nerves on edge. So he takes another breath before he walks through the office door.
“Ah, Krauser, glad you could join us,” Franklin greets him from behind his massive desk. The man is weirdly friendly during these mission briefings and Jack doesn't like it. The soldier is used to orders from the people who outrank him, not fake smiles that pretend he has a choice. He's comfortable with orders. That's part of why he never got promoted to command.
“Not like I could tell you that I had dinner plans,” Jack snarks and a muffled snort catches his attention. There's someone else sitting in one of the office chairs already and when Jack glances over, he's caught by warm grey eyes.
Those eyes fill his vision, sparkling with laughter, and the soldier is struck dumb by a sudden surge of want. He breaks that contact with an effort, but sweeping his gaze across this stranger doesn't help his issue none.
Because damn. Just damn.
The man's legs go on for miles and those jeans can't be regulation when they're painted on that tight. Neither can that haircut, but the long strands frame his face, highlighting sharp cheekbones, a stubborn jaw, and lips that deserved to be kissed red every night.
It's been a long time since Jack found another man this attractive and it's harder than it should be to shove that feeling down. But he's been a soldier for a decade; he's had a lot of practice at hiding through the years. Franklin certainly doesn't notice, ignoring both his snark and his distraction as he waves for Jack to take a seat.
“Krauser meet Agent Kennedy. He's going to be your partner on this mission. He's something of an expert in the field.”
Some bad blood there, Jack thinks, wondering at the man's odd emphasis. But the soldier doesn't give a crap about Franklin's opinion; he prefers to judge new people for himself.
“Good to meet you, comrade.”
“You too,” Kennedy replies as he reaches out to shake Jack's hand. He has a soldier's calluses, strength in those long fingers, and Jack doesn't let himself notice more than that. Not even the voice as smooth and rich as bourbon on his tongue.
“You'll be heading to South America,” Franklin says now that the niceties are over. “We've got intel that a local drug lord called Javier Hidalgo may have approached Umbrella about buying B.O.W.s. The two of you will head into the rain forest to meet our local contact and then hike to Emparo where Javier and his Sacred Snakes have been hiding out. Once you deal with the drug lord, you can call for extraction and USSTRATCOM will clean up.”
The task sounds simple enough, just like his other missions, but Jack can read between the lines. No weapons except what they can carry, no support except a ride home once the problem has been solved. It'll be just him and Kennedy against whatever threats these Sacred Snakes can offer. So I'd best make sure the man is actually competent.
The agent must be thinking the same thing; as soon as they leave Franklin's office, he turns to Jack and asks, “Do you want to hit the range? If we're going to be working together, I'd like to know what you can do.”
“Hell yes,” is the only possible response. Even without the mission, Jack is fucking curious.
The gun range is a revelation. Kennedy wields his Matilda like he was born to shoot it, loading and emptying the clip without a moment's pause. Their first spread of shots is almost exactly even and then, well, things get competitive.
“Think you can do better?” the other man starts with a smirk and Jack sure ain't going to back down.
So they run through the basic weapons, neither man able to pull ahead completely. Kennedy is better with a rifle but Jack wins the TMP. They're both dead even on the shotgun and the handguns, though they've got different preferences.
And then, well, then the men switch to moving targets and start really showing off. The soldier proves his mastery of bow hunting while Kennedy shows a knack for double pistols and, of all things, throwing knives.
“Did you grow up in a circus?” Jack has to ask after the third bullseye but the agent simply laughs.
“You're the one with a bow and arrow,” Kennedy shoots back cheekily.
By now the two of them have used a ton of ammunition, but what's the point of working for Uncle Sam if you can't have fun sometimes?
And it is fun, like Jack hasn't had since he joined USSTRATCOM. He's missed the easy camaraderie between soldiers. Most folks around here are buttoned up way too fucking tight. Kennedy, in contrast, swears like a navy man and meets him snark for snark. Jack has nothing to worry about with this man as his partner, no threat of friendly fire or being bored out of his mind.
“So, you want to do some sparring?” the soldier asks, not quite ready to stop yet. “You're all right with a weapon, but I'll kick your ass in hand-to-hand.”
“Oh, really? You think so, Krauser?” the other man replies. “Sure, I've got some time to prove you wrong.”
He's grinning as he says it, bright and challenging, and Jack has a feeling that he's getting in too deep.
Always have to play with fire, don't you, but sparring with the agent burns so perfectly. Jack has the muscle but the other man is faster, leaving their fights balanced fairly evenly. Kennedy darts in and out of his guard, each blow quick and accurate, but when the soldier finally grabs him, he can't manage to break free. At least not without the kind of damage they're trying to avoid.
Both men are pulling punches and that's probably a good thing because Jack keeps getting distracted by the way the agent moves. He must be a sight in a real combat, graceful and deadly as he flows around his enemies.
The soldier is thinking about asking. He knows he shouldn't but he's thinking that a friendly drink wouldn't be so bad. No reason that it has to be any more than that.
“Hey, Kennedy....” Jack starts, but before he can finish, a strident ringing cuts him off.
At the sound, the agent's expression changes instantly. The smile drops off his face and his posture stiffens as he glances towards his phone.
“Sorry, I have to get that,” Kennedy tells him, already walking away, and Jack wants to curse reality for intruding. Maybe he should be happy that he didn't do something foolish, but he can't be glad of anything that makes the agent frown like that.
“Hello, sir.”
“Of course, but...”
“I already have a mission.”
With every word, Kennedy's scowl gets deeper and his voice more frustrated, but it doesn't seem like arguing is doing any good.
“Yes, sir, I'll be there,” the man says finally, snapping his phone shut and rubbing at his forehead with a sigh. “Sorry, I've...”
“Got to go?” Jack finishes when Kennedy trails off.
“Yeah, duty calls,” the agent tells him with a hint of bitterness. Jack can't pretend he's happy, but he gets it and it's nice to know the other man doesn't really want to leave.
“Not your fault. Go do your job,” he says, clapping the agent on his shoulder. “I'll see you for our mission.”
“Yeah, I'll see you,” Kennedy agrees with a flicker of a grin.
Jack watches him leave - hell, he's only human - before forcing himself to focus back on the task at hand. Sure he's got a solid partner but he still needs to prepare.
The soldier doesn't see Kennedy again before their mission, although he looks for the other man at USSTRATCOM every day. From what Jack gathers through the grapevine, the agent is working the whole time. No one seems to know exactly what he's doing but USSTRATCOM wouldn't send out someone if it wasn't serious.
At first Jack is curious, then he starts getting worried, and finally pissed off. Who the hell thinks that back-to-back missions is any kind of good idea?
Kennedy may be skilled but no one can fight forever without a chance to rest. Expecting him to go from one mission to another is an insult to the agent and an insult to Jack too. He's the one who's gonna die if the other man fucks up and if this is how USSTRATCOM treats its long-term assets, maybe he should rethink this transfer after all.
But the soldier can't refuse his orders. He's not prepared to burn those bridges or leave Kennedy in the lurch. Given the way that USSTRATCOM has been acting, they'd probably just send in the other man alone.
So Jack preps to leave despite his simmering resentment, the feeling growing stronger when he finds out that he's supposed to rendezvous with the agent on his own. He knew there wouldn't be support, knew he has no squad now, but he'd planned to have a partner from the start.
Instead the soldier finds himself dodging blockades with no ally but a calm voice in his ear. The woman is unflappable, her tone never changing even when Jack snaps at her. She gives him the coordinates as calmly as she tells him that Kennedy's plane was shot out of the sky. He almost thinks she's joking since the information about his partner was slipped into a comment about Jack being late. But for all this Ingrid's subtle snark, she doesn't seem the joking kind.
So he's more relieved than irritated when he finally arrives at the meeting point and sees Kennedy already there. The other man looks a little tired but is thankfully intact and his arm is strong when he claps the soldier on his back.
Still, Jack decides to take the lead on their long trek through the jungle. If he can watch out for Kennedy, shoulder the stress of navigation, their position will be better when the real mission starts.
Neither of them talk much during the first part of their journey, focused on moving through the jungle as efficiently as possible. But when they start making camp that evening - both well-used to roughing it - Jack just has to ask.
“So, I heard your plane crashed?”
“Yeah, you could say that,” Kennedy says with a low chuckle. “Charter plane was shot down right near the border, took out both engines and the pilot before we could react. But we had parachutes for everyone so the landing wasn't bad and I doubt this one was personal. No one in South America hates my guts just yet.”
The agent talks so cheerfully about catastrophic engine failure, giving Jack a smile that lights him up inside. He knows that kind of coping, knows the way that jokes can help push back the dark, but Kennedy's good humor is contagious nonetheless.
Although.... “You just happened to notice where they kept the parachutes?”
“Well, I haven't had the best of luck when it comes to vehicles,” the agent answers with another crooked grin. “I've gotten in the habit of checking just in case.”
Jack wants to know that story, wants to know everything that Kennedy will tell him, but he knows he shouldn't push. As much as he likes the man, the two of them are strangers and he doesn't want to tilt their balance by coming on too strong.
So the soldier finishes his meal and prepares to bed down for the night. This far out in the jungle, they don't need to set a watch and Jack sleeps lightly anyway. He takes a soldier's nap, his back pressed into the hollow of a tree. It's not exactly comfortable but he's slept in much worse places and Kennedy feels the same given how fast the man drops off.
Jack wakes up early, the sun just cresting through the trees. It's getting hot already, a thick humid weight pressing down on him, and he knows that he needs to wake up his partner soon. The other man still looks exhausted, dark shadows beneath his eyes, but the two of them need to get moving before the heat gets any worse.
So he walks over to the agent but he doesn't even get close before Kennedy is snapping upright, his knife appearing in his hand. There's a hint of something feral in his expression before he shakes it off, and Jack adds that to his mental list of questions about this man.
Then it's back to hiking, a long slog through the jungle with only brief stops to rest. Jack swears every insect for five miles is trying to take a bite, not to mention the other wildlife, and he's looking forward to arriving somewhere that people actually live.
However, when the pair finally reaches their destination, the village feels... off. The main square is deserted, the only signs of occupation a wall of missing person posters and an unseen radio blaring out the news.
“Where is everyone?” Kennedy asks, sounding as uneasy as the soldier feels. Jack hates waiting. He hates not knowing where to find his enemies and the thought that the Sacred Snakes could be setting up an ambush sets his teeth on edge.
Even so, when the soldier sees a group of villagers stumbling towards him, his first thought is to help. These people look sick or injured; they shouldn't be a threat. So Jack lowers his gun and steps forward as Kennedy hangs back.
“Krauser, wait,” the agent says, an odd edge in his voice. But it's too late.
As Jack gets close, the stench of death suddenly slams into him. One of the villagers lets out a snarl, twisted and inhuman, and the soldier gets a flash of teeth and dead uncaring eyes. Only instinct saves him. Jack's arms snap up when the man creature corpse> lunges for his throat. It's strong - too strong - his boots slipping in the dirt.
Then he hears his name called frantically and the sharp crack of a gun. The thing's head explodes like a rotten melon, painting the soldier red as he stumbles from the sudden loss of force.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Bodies tumble to the ground and Jack's mind struggles to catch up. But there's no time. No time to panic or to shout or to demand that the agent tell him what the fuck is going on. There's just Kennedy at his shoulder urging him to move.
Because these things are everywhere, the entire village suddenly swarming and it takes every ounce of skill he has to keep from being torn apart by the endless fucking horde.
Jack knows he would have failed if not for Kennedy.
The other man is hardly calm. He shouts and shoves and dives for cover, looking just as panicked as the soldier feels. But he's also fucking steady. Whenever Jack is struggling, Kennedy is there to help him with a well-placed bullet and his knife.
The two of them fight corpses, giant spiders and some crazy water monster before they even get the chance to breathe. But in those quiet moments, the first thing the agent does is check Jack for injuries. Kennedy even makes the soldier eat and shares his knowledge freely, the kind of partner Jack can trust to never leave a man behind.
Really, he can't blame the girl they rescue from latching onto Kennedy. If he were in Manuela's place, he'd haunt the agent's footsteps too.
Jack almost wants to anyway, to wrap himself around the man and hold on for dear life. Because Kennedy bleeds care and kindness, willing to risk anything to help someone else survive. The agent wears his heart on his sleeve and Jack isn't used to that. He's used to stone-faced soldiers, men who pretend that they aren't frightened because they think that makes them strong.
Two days ago, Jack would have agreed. But during those long hours fighting and listening to the agent talk about Raccoon City, Jack finds Kennedy turning to Leon in his mind. It's Leon who coughs up water and leans against his side. Leon who gives the soldier the strength to carry on.
The agent is determined to finish what they came for, to stop the spread of T-Veronica at any cost and Jack wants to hate him for it. He wants to ask why they're the ones who have to stand against this tide.
But Jack can't hate Leon, not when the other man is right there with him. Leon has seen horrors enough to shatter men and yet he hasn't broken. Instead he's volunteered to fight against the monsters, these nightmares given flesh, and Jack refuses to show himself a lesser man.
Yes he's fucking terrified, but courage means running forward when he wants to turn aside.
So the soldier pushes forward through a literal zombie army, through muck and blood and nearly drowning until he's not quite fast enough.
Jack doesn't feel the pain at first as the spine impales him, just the sharp and sudden impact against his arm. Then the burning follows, doubling him over in shock and agony.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Jack can't be a one-armed soldier, his career is fucking over, but it's fight or die right now. So he digs into his last reserves, pulling strength from fear of death or maybe just the worry that he sees in Leon's eyes. Because they're in this together, partners to the end, and he's Jack fucking Krauser - he'll choke Javier Hidalgo on his corpse if all else fails.
The monster that greets their exit is more than big enough to swallow him. Javier has grown impossibly large, grotesque and towering, and their battered trio is heavily outmatched.
And yet.... Perhaps it's the blood loss or Leon's stupid optimism is actually contagious - Jack finds himself thinking, Time to die, you bastard. We're gonna take you down. As long as they've got bullets, Javier will bleed. Bleed and burn as their distressed damsel finds her fangs instead.
The soldier loses track of time. He remembers the fight in flashes: the crack of shots and panicked shouting, one close call after the next. He shoots and reloads, shoots and reloads, burning through every single weapon that he has.
Jack throws Leon his last clip, drags Manuela out of danger, and nearly takes the claw himself. Javier's tentacles seem to be getting faster, though it's probably the soldier slowing down. He knows he's fading fast. Jack lost his makeshift bandage somewhere in the last five minutes and his vision is going grey as blood pours down his arm.
The only question left is who will falter first.
Jack is pretty sure it's gonna be him but then there's an explosion, Leon finding one last grenade to shove down that twisted maw. Javier shrieks out in pain and then that towering figure starts to topple to the ground. He lands with a crash that nearly topples Jack as well and for a minute, he stares blankly at the monster's corpse. The soldier didn't truly think that he'd survive.
Yet here they are - all three of them - filthy, battered broken, and somehow still alive.
Jack starts to drift a bit, his vision graying further as the adrenaline drains away. He blinks for just a second and there's the helicopter, Leon's gentle voice urging him to stand. The other man delivers him into the hands of the USSTRATCOM medics and then gets out of their way.
It's a damn long trip back to the USA as the medics do everything they can to save his arm. By the time they arrive, the soldier isn't bleeding any longer. His exhaustion has been lessened by a fitful sleep and his arm is thickly bandaged, wrapped and stitched like Frankenstein. The medics have assured Jack that he won't lose it but that doesn't mean he'll ever be the soldier he once was.
Stepping onto that tarmac feels like a chapter ending and Jack knows what's coming next. USSTRATCOM will put him out to pasture, one more forgotten soldier that no one cares about. Leon will say farewell and perhaps think of him fondly. But it's unlikely that they'll ever meet again.
“Take care of yourself, Krauser,” the other man tells him. Leon is visibly swaying, clearly dead on his feet, but his smile is still warm as he leans in for a half hug.
“You too, Kennedy,” Jack answers, clapping the agent on the back. He keeps the motion friendly instead of yanking Leon closer like he really wants to do. But the words still hold a wealth of meaning that he could never speak aloud.
He can't bring himself to say it and yet Leon understands. Jack can tell by the flicker of sharp heat in those grey eyes. That look warms him from head to toe, makes him dream of lazy mornings after long impassioned nights.
But then the agent pulls back and the moment's gone. The soldier knows the score. He knows that there's some things men like them don't speak aloud.
However, as he watches Leon turn and march away - still standing tall despite a limp and fucking beautiful - the soldier... no, the man thinks, What are you waiting for? What does it fucking matter if the army knows about him now?
“Hey, Leon!” he calls out and the other man stops instantly. Perhaps he was hoping for an excuse to turn around.
“You want to get a drink later? I mean, once they finally let me out of the hospital?” Jack asks, gesturing down at his left arm. He's already doubting his decision. A guy like Leon hardly needs to wait around to date his crippled ass.
But the agent just grins brightly and strides back across the tarmac, “Like a date?”
“Yeah, Leon, like a date,” Jack answers, trying to ignore the people who are watching this play out. The only man that matters here is the one who's leaning up to whisper against his mouth.
“You've got yourself a deal, Jack,” Leon murmurs before he closes that last inch. Kissing him feels like drowning, or perhaps the soldier's first real breath after a lifetime without air.
So he wraps his arm around the agent, the one that isn't bandaged, and pulls him as close as possible. Jack could stay here forever, chasing every gasp and groan as Leon melts against him. The other man should taste disgusting given how long it's been since they both showered but all Jack gets is sweetness and heat beneath his tongue. He barely even feels his arm, forgets their audience, blind to everything except exploring Leon's mouth.
But all good things have to end. Eventually Leon draws away, his lips bruised red from kissing and his smile shining bright.
“Fuck, I've got to go,” the other man murmurs, resting his forehead on Jack's shoulder with a sigh. “Don't forget about me.”
“Comrade, I wouldn't dare,” Jack tells him and he means every word. He lets go reluctantly, instantly missing the warmth of Leon in his arms.
“Hey, you have a pen?” the agent asks the medic who's still standing at Jack's side. The soldier feels a surge of fear when he looks over, a familiar stab of panic that someone might find out. But it's much too late to shove that cat back in the bag so Jack tries to take courage from Leon's utter shamelessness.
The agent doesn't seem to care that they just made out with a dozen soldiers watching and really, it's the medic who seems embarrassed now.
“A pen? Oh, yeah, sure,” he stammers, his face completely scarlet. The man roots around in his bag for a minute before he comes up with a battered pen and a scrap of paper too.
“Thanks, Aaron. Much obliged,” Leon says and somehow Jack isn't surprised that he knows the medic's name.
The agent scribbles down his number and tucks it into Jack's shirt pocket, his hands lingering on the soldier's chest.
“There you go. Don't lose it,” Leon tells him. “You'd better call me as soon as you feel up to it.”
“I'll guard it with my life,” Jack promises.
This time when the agent leaves, he doesn't stop his eyes from roaming. The soldier is done hiding and he finds himself grinning when Aaron mutters quietly, “You lucky fucking bastard. I kinda hate you now.”
Jack is still pissed at USSTRATCOM for their mission handling and a little terrified that he'll lose his arm entirely. He doesn't know how the fuck not to be a soldier - a civilian, it's a joke - and he has no idea if this thing with Leon will work out.
But right now, in this moment, Jack feels like a millionaire.
End