#cleon fic

[delphi-shield]

Variations on a Theme

Claire Redfield x Leon Kennedy wc: ~2.6k post-vendetta, pre-death island. short fic that wouldnt leave me alone so i had to write it down. might write a continuation. happy sept. 30th, i miss my babies. dividers from @/adornedwithlight

summary: Sherry organizes a memorial service; Claire and Leon try to put aside their grief to mourn the way she does.

The call comes through at 11 PM the night before. Leon ignores most calls to his personal cell after nine, but for Claire, he makes an exception.

She never calls without purpose. Not anymore. There had been nights in the past when it had been anything and everything and the nothing in between that had kept them up until early hours of the morning. Calls crammed between operations and meetings, voicemails that still haunted his inbox. They had been better at this once.

The small talk hadn't been so stilted and forced like it was now. No ‘hey, I saw that report on Bali - was that you?’ because Claire would have known. He would have told her everything – or mostly everything. Leon would have redacted the parts that could get her into trouble. He'd leave out hostage scenarios gone wrong, spare her the inequity of his work even though she's sure to find out on her own.

Somewhere along the way, he'd started redacting so many details that his recountings had boiled down to ‘I'm glad to be back’. Somewhere along the way, Claire had stopped pressing for more.

Claire doesn't bother feigning interest in his last operation this time. She doesn't need to - TerraSave already put out a statement condemning the outcome.

She's good at small talk, always has been better at people than him. Conversation flows from her, connections come easy. He'd always admired that about her. Now, though, she's floundering. His short, to the point answers have her at a loss. That's new. Usually it just pisses her off.

“What’s going on, Claire?” he asks for the second time in their short conversation.

She lapses into silence. Redfield family trait - they love to go quiet on you when they've been found out. Like they're waiting for you to move on - like you'll forget if they just don't acknowledge it.

“Sherry's organized this memorial service,”  Claire finally broaches. “For - y'know. I think it would mean a lot to her if you were there.”

Dread weighs heavy in his stomach. Of course he knows. He's been dreading this kind of thing since Terragrigia, since the gritty details of bioterrorism had been shoved in the average American's home. It's not hard to put two and two together, to realize what the Raccoon City incident had been. Maybe the public would never know the full extent, the involvement of the government, but there's footage of a hunter on LiveLeak, for fuck's sake. You could cover this shit up in the 90's, but they hadn't been on top of things when the century had turned, when more information than ever had been pumped to the general populace. Now it was like sticking a bandaid on a hemorrhaging wound.

He didn't think it would be one of their own who did this, who dredged up Raccoon City's bloated corpse and put it on display. He thought some well-meaning intern, some politician looking for a bump in numbers, trying to seem empathetic might pull this stunt – but one of their own?

He can't tell if it's a dim sense of betrayal that's twisting his gut into knots or if it's anger. He's carefully curated his life to avoid this. The month of September is his memorial. He doesn't need the cameras, the spotlight - he doesn't need other people sobbing out their grief right next to him, not when he keeps his tight to his chest.

Jesus. Sherry couldn't have asked him herself? Not in person, God no – but sent him a calendar invite or emailed him a flier - something that would give him plausible deniability. Something he could ignore, slide into the recycle bin, claim he never received and curse technology. Sorry, Sherry. All this new technology is just tough for me to keep up with. As if he's not got the latest and greatest in hand at all times.

“Are you going?”

Claire is quiet on the other end of the line.

“It would mean a lot to her.”

Leon snorts. “That's a ‘no’.”

Claire's huff is almost lost through the phone, but he can picture her pout well enough. Lord knows he's the cause more often than not.

It's not just that he hates this kind of thing, or that he's still hot off the heels of Benson's death, that the media could have a field day with him showing up to an event like this. If the wrong people hear about this, they'll all be lambasted as nutjob conspiracy theorists. If the wrong people have found out about this, it could get dangerous fast.

Leon does the only thing he can think to. Deflect.

“She shouldn't be doing this shit,” Leon points out. “Raccoon City is still classified.”

He can feel Claire roll her eyes from the other side of the phone. He bites his tongue. Improvement, he thinks. A month ago he would have cut loose, blown this whole conversation up.

“She's not releasing classified info, Leon. It's a memorial.”

“Brass is gonna have a problem with this, and I don't know if I can bail her out.”

“She got it cleared months ago. You'd know if–” Claire stops herself. She's trying, too, he realizes when she swerves around the giant crater that was the way he'd spent a year drinking himself into oblivion. “You’d know if you actually checked your email.”

Damn. She's got him there. Maybe Sherry already tried the calendar invite and the flier. In his mind's eye, she's still 12 years old, ruddy cheeked and gap toothed - clicking clumsily around a computer to make a flier, sending it to him, waiting–

He stops that train of thought, pins the ache in his chest on a recently cracked rib.

“Nobody asks Valentine to go to this shit.”

“Jill's busy.”

“And I'm not?”

“Can you just show up for Sherry?”

“Can't we just take her out for ice cream after or something?”

“She's not–” 

Claire pauses on the other end of the line. Leon's not as good at this as he used to be, can't tell if she stopped herself so she doesn't laugh or so she doesn't snap at him.

Inhale. Shaky exhale. He can hear her struggling not to smile.

“She's not a kid anymore.”

He knows that. Of course he knows that. He's seen her in the field. She’s a powerhouse, full-grown and owning it.

Man up, Kennedy, he thinks. Do it for your girls.

The thought sends a jolt skittering across his skin, raises the hair on his arms. He hasn't thought of them like that in years - not sober, at least.

“I'm not sitting on the stage,” he says firmly.

“Me either.”

“And I’m not giving a speech.”

“I don't think it's a media thing,” Claire says, the way one might try to calm a spooked horse. “She just wanted to do something for people like us. It's gonna be low-key.”

Claire has a very different definition of ‘low-key’ than he does, but he hums all the same.

“All right,” he relents. “Send me the details.”

It doesn't take more than a few seconds for his phone to vibrate. She was ready for that, probably planned on sending it to him whether he said yes or no.

She sounds cheerful, reveling in her victory, when she winds up the call with the promise to see him next week. He can count the times Claire has been happy to see him lately on one hand; when he tosses his phone back to his nightstand, he counts that as a win.

The week flies by as if September 30th couldn't get there quick enough. Usually, the week of the 30th dragged - every hour of every day dedicated to a remembrance of the last normal hours of his life. Mourning is on hold for now - he’s saving it all up for Sherry's big event.

Claire texts him a reminder two days before. He types and retypes a response over and over, and somewhere in the revisions he realizes it's not just about him. She doesn't want to do this either. Not alone.

See you there. Ice cream after.

Leon’s locked in now. He prays for work to run long, for an emergency to crop up that sends him across the country - but the office is quiet. He's grateful not to run into Sherry, grateful that he won't have the chance to open his mouth and ruin things. There will plenty of time for that later.

You promised, he tells himself the morning of, phone in hand, debating on calling in sick. His feet are leaden when he dresses, hands heavy at the wheel of his car. He's in a daze the whole day, barely remembers driving to work. If anyone notices, they don't call him on it. He’s ghosting through another September unseen.

But the end of the day forces him back into his body. He'll be late if he sits in his car any longer. The engine turns over despite his prayers. He promised, he tells himself. He can't make them do this alone.

The park Sherry picked out for the memorial service is close to the office. He could walk, but he's not going to limit his options in case things go south, wants the ability to get in his car and bail. Halfway there, he realizes he's been followed. He stays in his car, watching the suburban in the rearview when they pull in a few spots down. Leon only relaxes when a gaggle of kids burst from the sliding door, run off ahead of their mother.

Claire's waiting for him when he hops out. She leans against her bike. Her hair is down - shorter than he remembers. Her thick jacket thrown over the seat of her bike, leaving her in a black turtleneck and a pair of orange corduroys.

“You know it's not formal, right?”

“I'm coming from work. Cut me some slack.”

Claire laughs, ducking her head. She pushes off of her bike and waves for him to follow. She swishes into the park ahead of him, her steps only faltering until he catches up to her side with a handful of long strides. Side by side like this, there’s enough room to slot Sherry in between them. Wherever she is - probably off playing party planner.

He always thought she’d be good at that. Sherry’s good at making sure people are taken care of, making sure they have what they need. She’s got a quiet sort of intensity that can spook people, sure, but she’s fun and exuberant - she could have had a shot at a real life, if things had been different.

She reserved a little gazebo for the event. White chairs in a handful of neat lines, a little charcoal grill off to the side, picnic table lined with candles and framed photos. It’s sweet, the way she’s done everything up. Probably put hours into this, getting things just so. She’s done a good job, honest.

Leon just can't stop checking every angle. He's braced for the sight of a flash - camera or muzzle, he's not sure which would be worse. Couldn't Sherry have picked somewhere more private? Couldn't she have rented out the basement of some bar, given him an excuse not to show? Sorry, Sherry, I'm working on myself - can't put myself through the temptation.

No. Of course not. She'd probably considered that already. The kid is too considerate for her own good. Rented out a gazebo just so no one had to face their demons.

Claire pauses at a row of chairs, gesturing for Leon to sit. He forgets to smile when he tears his eyes away from a suspicious copse of bushes. His hand ghosts against the small of her back, urging her to go first. He needs to be on the end, needs to be able to get to his feet quick when something happens.

If, he reminds himself. If something happens.

Claire slips into her seat without protest. Maybe the occasion has her feeling off, too. He tries not to read into it.

Leon lets out a low whistle as he sinks into his chair. “There's more people than I thought there'd be.”

“I know,” Claire hums. “Sometimes it feels like we're the only ones.”

How many people had been there? How many had been on the streets, had escaped by the skin of their teeth? How many of these people were here to mourn someone who had wasted away before their time?

His eyes lock onto hands and mouths, tries to match them to ones he sees in his dreams. Teeth snapping, hands teasing at him, pulling him under a writhing mass of rot, ichor spilling into his mouth, choking him.

Claire nudges him, leans closer. Her shampoo wafts across him, the stench of decades old decay that stings his eyes soothed by cherries. Her fingers light on his wrist.

“Still doing ice cream after? I know a place.”

If they were here for anyone else, he'd have grabbed Claire's hand and pulled her out to the parking lot. They'd cut the shit, go get ice cream and pretend things weren't complicated. He'd get butter pecan and Claire would tease him for being basic. Ice cream is a fifteen minute treat, but they'd linger until the parlor closed, until the workers were shooting them dirty looks.

But they're here for Sherry. Leon makes himself smile, mouth thinning.

“Yeah. After.”

People file in, some alone, the same haunted look that he wears well, others with whole families. There's maybe thirty people - small number on paper, but packed in like this makes it feel claustrophobic. He scans the crowd for Sherry again and again, searching for a glimpse of her. Claire’s hand stays on his wrist, heavier now. He wishes he could turn his hand and capture hers. He doesn’t know how to.

“She still comin’?” He murmurs to Claire.

“She better. This is her thing,” she grumbles back. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. He knew she wasn’t all-in on this whole thing.

Before he can call her on it, Sherry beats down the center aisle, clambering up the steps of the gazebo. Leon clicks his tongue, sits a little straighter. There she is, digging Claire out of a moment of weakness once again.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” Sherry starts, shuffling note cards in her hands. 

Claire lets out a coo under her breath. She leans closer, presses against Leon’s arm to whisper, “she’s so nervous. Look.”

Leon doesn’t need to be directed to see the tremble of Sherry’s fingers, but he looks anyway. Public speaking isn’t the issue, he knows that much - it’s got to be the topic.

Leon sits a little taller. He nudges Claire’s knee with his own, a silent ‘watch this’. He coughs into his fist, louder and longer than necessary.

Sherry tracks the sound instinctively. Her eyes light on them in the crowd. The apples of her cheeks bunch up, smile so wide that she's transformed right back into that little girl he knew, that clung to his hand and swung his arm as they walked down the road. Her words trail off, pause long enough to be noticeable but not to be awkward.

“I’m so grateful that each and every one of you have taken the time to come here tonight,” she continues, her eyes lingering on Leon, flitting back to Claire.

There. That’s his good deed for the month.

“You’re buying,” he whispers to Claire once Sherry’s eyes have finally drifted away.

Claire snorts. She pats his arm. He can see it all over her face - yeah, right.

Yeah, right. His girls are gonna burn an ice cream-shaped hole in his wallet by the end of the night.

[executivenerd]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Claire Redfield, Sherry Birkin & Leon S. Kennedy & Claire Redfield, Ashley Graham & Leon S. Kennedy Characters: Leon S. Kennedy, Claire Redfield, Chris Redfield (Resident Evil), Jill Valentine, Sherry Birkin, Ashley Graham (Resident Evil) Additional Tags: CleonYear, Cleon Year, cleontb, Fluff, Family Fluff, Thanksgiving Dinner, Thanksgiving, Family Dinners, Dinner, Minor Valenfield, Light Angst, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Loneliness, Found Family Summary:

Claire forces a family Thanksgiving dinner on Leon.

X

He got up to open the door, finding not only Claire, but Chris and Jill behind her too, their arms full of containers and bags. They didn’t wait for an invitation. Instead, Claire pushed past him, the three spilling into his apartment and heading toward his kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“We’re making sure you don’t spend the holiday alone."

[bre-meister]

Hey

I hope you are doing well. Okay since you did ask. How about a short story where Claire comes back after the events from revelations 2 and Leon teases her about Neil that he was right about him all along. Just a fun little story, please?

Thanks for the kind words! So I guess this could be considered a continuation of the fic I wrote about Revelations 2. I hope I made it fluffy enough.

“You can say it, ya know.”

It’s dark in their room when she speaks. They’re in bed having finally turned in for the night after putting both of the children to bed. Isabel had been hardest to sleep in their room for the night - a habit she’d picked up while Claire was gone and had kept once she’d gotten back. Claire was loathe to take away this comfort from her daughter but it was a habit that did not need to be reinforced.

Not to mention this was the first time since she was discharged from the hospital about a month ago that she got to sleep in her own bed with her husband alone. Just the two of them. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying the comforting feeling of being held by him without another small body between them.

“Hmm?”

He seems so relaxed. One arm tucked behind his head, the other wrapped around her shoulders. She’s pressed so deeply into his side that she feels the rumble in his chest before she hears it.

“I told you so. I know you’ve probably been waiting to say it. I think I’m finally ready to admit you were right about Niel.”

“I don’t know what upsets me more, the fact that you think I’d say that or the fact that I can’t really say it.”

“What do you mean?” She shifts in his arms slightly so she could better see his face. He’s looking at the ceiling when he answers.

“I was totally convinced that Niel had a thing for you and I think past experiences proved me right there.” Claire snorts but Leon continues,

“Never would have guessed he was a money hungry, egotistical bastard that would quite literally sell out all of his employees to the very same people they were fighting against.”

They’re both silent and for a moment. Claire thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep. Finally taken over by the exhaustion of the day.

“Actually, what makes me the most angry is that I didn’t see it coming. I was so preoccupied with our dumb little dick measuring contest that I never realized what he was doing.”

“None of us did and we worked with him every day.” Claire traces her hands across his chest hoping that the small patterns would offer him more comfort than her words.

“No sense in dwelling on it now.”

Her hands still. She sits up slightly so she can look down at him, pleasant suprise written on her face.

“Who are you and what have you done with my husband?”

“I don’t know. All that time we spent not knowing where you were or if you were ok? I guess I just decided to stop worrying about things that don’t matter, that I don’t have control over. Life’s to short and we’re reminded of that everyday in our line of work.”

The arm he’d previously been using to hold her comes up to tuck a strand of her short hair behind her ears.

“I don’t want to spend all my time thinking about what I should have seen or done when it comes to that weasel,” he continues. Voice quiet and sincere in the dark,

“I’d rather think about you and our girls. All the ways I’m going to spoil you,” the hand in her had stills, fingers wrapped gently around a strand he’d been toying with.

“How beautiful you look with short hair.”

She smiles and hopes that he can see it in the dark. It’s the first time he’s directly acknowledged her new haircut. She’s shorn it off in their bathroom last week but had finally broken down yesterday and went to an actual salon to let someone fix the uneven ends.

She liked the new look and felt a small burst of appreciation that he did as well. It was a small bit of change that she could control after the island - cutting her hair. She knows Leon understands why as well. It’s one of the many things she loves about him.

“I love you,” she whispers as she settles back into the side of his body. Not wanting to speak too loudly for fear of ending this moment between them.

He plates a kiss on her hairline and returns the sentiments with his lips still on her skin.

“I don’t think I say that enough.”

“You say it everyday,” she giggles.

“Not enough.” She can feel the earnest love in his voice.

“Well, you have the rest of our lives to make up for it.”

[all-our-turf]

everything sweet comes with a warning

5 conversations Mercy has with each of the Warriors about her developing relationship with Swan. She learns more about all of them in the process.

--

read under the cut or on ao3

+++++

Unsurprisingly, it started with Cleon. 

It took a week, mainly because Swan refused to leave Mercy’s side, but eventually, Cleon managed to corner her alone. 

Swan was still asleep, and when Mercy wandered into the kitchen she froze for a moment at the sight of Cleon sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee. She briefly debated turning and going back to bed, because curling up with Swan under the warm covers seemed a much better alternative than facing the cold stare Cleon was directing at her.

“Mercy,” Cleon greeted. “Come sit.” 

Mercy swallowed, but she knew it wasn’t a request. She sat across from Cleon.

“Swan’s been pushing for me to get you your official colors.” Cleon didn’t bother with small talk. “Is that what she wants or what you do?” 

Mercy tilted her head, meeting Cleon’s gaze head on. “I want to be a Warrior.” 

“Why?” Cleon raised an eyebrow. “Because of Swan?” 

Mercy paused, considering her answer carefully. Cleon studied her, and Mercy couldn’t help but feel she was being tested. “No. Because I want more out of my life. I saw a group of incredible and badass women, a community, and I wanted to be part of it. It was never just about Swan.” 

“Hm.” Mercy doesn’t know how to interpret that. 

“I can go through whatever initiation -” 

Cleon immediately shook her head, lifting a hand to cut her off. “I’m not interested in fighting with Swan about it. She says you more than proved yourself that night, and the others seemed to agree.” 

Mercy idly wonders how extensively Swan’s been arguing on Mercy’s behalf when Mercy isn’t around. It’s sweet, but part of her wishes Swan would quit trying to fight her battles for her. 

“But you weren’t there for that.” Mercy sits up straighter, tilting her chin up. “So what do I need to do to prove myself to you?” 

“I trust my girls. If they think you’re good enough to be a Warrior, I don’t intend to turn you away. Especially not when we’re already down two.” Cleon sighs heavily, taking a slow sip of her coffee. “I trust that you’re being honest about why you want to be a Warrior. Normally, that’d be all I care about.” 

“Okay..?” Mercy’s voice trailed off in question. “So then what’s the issue?” 

“I believe you’d be good for the Warriors.” Cleon leaned in, her eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t mean you’ll be good for Swan.” 

Mercy swallowed. “I’m doing my best to be.” 

“Swan cares about you, a lot more than she should for someone she met a week ago, and that worries me.” Cleon’s voice lowered dangerously. “If you’re with her because you were lonely and looking for a warm body to latch on to -”

“Swan’s not just a warm body to me,” Mercy snapped, offended by the mere implication. She didn’t bother to consider that interrupting Cleon was probably the last thing she should be doing, especially not in such a blatantly disrespectful way. “She’s the most incredible person I’ve ever met. This isn’t some fucking fling to me. I’m in her corner for as long as she’ll have me.” 

“It’s been a week,” Cleon deadpanned. 

“And how long did it take for you to become attached after finding Swan under the boardwalk?” 

Cleon blinked, her eyebrows lifting in surprise, but she didn’t counter the point. 

“I know it’s been a week. But I’ll still be here next week, and the week after, and however long it takes to prove to you that my feelings for Swan are genuine. Swan deserves that and more.” Mercy met Cleon’s glare with her own, and there was a beat of silence. Mercy refused to look away. 

“Okay. It seems we’re in agreement.” Cleon rose slowly to her feet, coming around the table to stand next to Mercy. Mercy tilted her head back to look up at her, doing her best not to flinch. “You don’t have an out anymore. I’ll get you your colors, make it official. If you try and bail on the Warriors - on Swan, I don’t care how fucking far you run, I will find you. Are we clear?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Cleon stared down at her a moment longer before her lips finally quirked into an amused smile. She nodded to herself and wordlessly left the kitchen. 

Mercy let out a breath, going boneless in her chair. 

+++++

Cochise was next, pulling two bottles of beer from the fridge and offering one to Mercy with a small smile. As a rule, ever since That Night, the Warriors never left anyone on their own, so Cochise had come to stay with her while Swan and Cleon went out on a job. Mercy didn’t mind the company. Cochise tended to be the most laid back of the Warriors, and Mercy appreciated how easy she could be to talk to. 

“Seems you’ve been breaking in your vest,” Cochise observed, sliding into the seat across from her. “It looks good on you.” 

Cleon had given her her official colors a few days ago, and Mercy hardly took the vest off, wearing it even if she wasn’t leaving the apartment. It had been a quiet ordeal. With the state of everything, the Warriors weren’t exactly in the position to be throwing a celebration. She got congratulations, an acknowledgement from the other members, and that was that. 

As if knowing where her mind had wandered, Cochise added, “I’m sorry we couldn’t make it more special. If you were joining up any other time we would’ve, but - well.” 

“It’s alright. I get it,” Mercy dismissed with a wave. She didn’t mind. The way Swan tugged her in by the lapels of her new vest and kissed her that night had been more than enough. 

She’d been excited to be one of them, had hoped there’d be some sort of change once she had her colors, and yet…

Mercy huffed, cracking the lid of her bottle and taking a gulp. “It’d be nice if I could break it in by actually going out.” 

She hadn’t been sent on a single job, and Mercy felt like she was going a little stir crazy. Cochise grimaced in sympathy. 

“Don’t worry, it’s not just you. Cowgirl and I haven’t been sent anywhere outside of Coney ever since that night either.” 

“Swan and Cleon keep going alone,” Mercy grumbled. “I don’t like it.” 

“Yeah, me neither, but,” Cochise shrugged. “The two of them are paranoid. Everything’s still too recent, and things are still strained with the other gangs. A lot of them are reluctant to join an alliance if Cyrus isn’t the one leading it.”

“Shouldn’t that be more reason for them to take us as backup?”

“Most of the jobs Cleon’s going on are purely diplomatic. And I don’t think she does anything without Masai and the Riffs with her. She would be going alone if Swan didn’t nearly lose her mind when Cleon suggested it.” 

Mercy groaned, falling back in her chair. “How am I supposed to prove myself as a Warrior if they don’t let me fucking do anything?” 

Cochise was quiet for a moment. 

“That’s probably why Swan and Cleon haven’t sent you anywhere.” 

Mercy looked up, her brow furrowing. “What? What do you mean?” 

Cochise’s expression sombered. She hesitated. 

 “It’s not a bad thing that you want to prove yourself. Hell, we’ve all been there - if anything it’s good that you care that much. It’s just…dangerous, too. The last Warrior who was desperate to prove herself ended up on the tracks of Union Square.” 

Mercy inhaled sharply. It was startling to hear someone bring up Fox so directly. The others tended to do their best not to mention it. Swan spoke of her sparingly, and only in the dark when her nightmares wouldn’t let her sleep, and even then it was in bits and pieces. 

“You sound like her, sometimes,” Cochise murmured. “It’s hard not to look at you and remember what we’ve lost.” 

Mercy flinched. That hurt to hear, even if she could understand it. She felt the urge to apologize, despite knowing that Cochise didn’t mean it maliciously. 

“I imagine it’s harder, for Swan,” the older woman continued, her eyes unfocused as she voiced her thoughts. “For her, it’s not just what she’s already lost but what she still could lose. And I don’t think she’d survive losing you.” 

Mercy picked at the label of the bottle, not knowing what to say to that. She understood - she didn’t even want to entertain the thought of losing Swan - but she was a Warrior now. Swan couldn’t protect her from everything. 

Cochise sighed. “Look, it won’t be like this forever. It’s just - like I said, everything’s still too fresh. Swan and Cleon are frustratingly similar in the way they try and carry everything on their own shoulders. They blame themselves for that night, and they don’t want anyone else to get hurt on their watch. Especially since we don’t have Ajax to back us up. It’s overprotective as fuck, and they’ll get past it eventually once they realize how unreasonable they’re being, but it’ll take time.” 

Mercy frowned. “I get that, but I hate it.” 

“I know. Cowgirl’s getting restless too. And lord knows once Ajax comes back she’s not gonna sit on her hands for long.” 

“Why don’t we push them about it, then?” 

Cochise huffed, a little sad and defeated. “I don’t want to fight them on it - not yet at least. They’re dealing with enough, we shouldn’t make it worse. If us staying on Coney is what they need, if it’ll make them feel better and make it easier for them while they handle all the bullshit, then that’s what we’ll do for now.” 

Mercy buried her head in her hands. She knew Cochise was right, knew she was in even less of a position to be causing any sort of trouble, but that didn’t make it any easier. 

“This fucking sucks. I feel useless.” 

She stewed in silence for a moment. Cochise tilted her head at her. 

“You aren’t though. I don’t even want to imagine the state Swan would be in if she didn’t have you.” She reached forward, gripping onto Mercy’s arm to make sure she was listening. “She needs you. That’s your job for now, and it’s an important one. So don’t you dare think for a fucking second that you’re useless.” 

Mercy’s eyes widened, the gravity of what Cochise was saying settling on her. She nodded quickly. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ve got her.” 

Cochise grinned. “I know.” 

+++++

Out of all of them, Mercy wasn’t expecting Rembrandt to be the most intimidating. 

She had been getting used to Rembrandt’s staring. It unsettled her at first - the way the smaller girl’s piercing gaze would follow her every time they were in the same room - but eventually she’d learned to live with it. 

Mercy had tried to bring it up to Swan initially, but Swan wasn’t much help. 

“Rembrandt’s just like that with new people. She’s observant, pays attention to details - don’t stress yourself out about it.” Swan squeezed Mercy’s hands. “She’s just trying to figure you out.”

“She could try talking to me,” Mercy complained. 

Swan gave a tight smile. “Just give it time.”

So, Mercy did. She knew Rembrandt was grappling with Ajax’s absence, knew all the Warriors were still struggling in the wake of Fox’s death, so Mercy was doing her best not to start shit. Which meant not calling Rembrandt out on her obvious staring. They were hardly ever alone together anyways, so it became easier to ignore, even if she still didn’t really understand it. 

Mercy finally got an explanation after around a month. The Warriors were gathered in the living room after dinner, idly discussing upcoming plans. Rembrandt was nestled into a corner of the couch, occupied with a sketchbook in her lap, although her movements seemed almost idle. Her eyes were unfocused, practically staring through the paper in front of her. 

Mercy was startled from her thoughts when Swan rose to her feet, disentangling herself from Mercy in the process. 

“Rem, you gonna be okay staying here for the night?” 

Swan was off on a job, one that Cochise and Cowgirl were getting to come along for, and likely wouldn’t be back until early morning. Mercy hadn’t put together that this meant she’d be staying home alone with Rembrandt. 

Rembrandt looked up, staring blankly at Swan. “I told you it’s fine.” 

Swan nodded, looking back at Mercy and raising an eyebrow. Mercy just offered a smile and reached up to tug Swan into a quick kiss, ignoring the way Cowgirl whistled at them from where she was shrugging her colors on at the door. 

“Get home safe.” 

Rembrandt was staring at them again.

Swan hummed, lingering for a moment. Her eyes darted between Mercy and Rembrandt, but then Cleon called out for her and she turned to leave with the others. 

The door closed behind them and silence blanketed the apartment. Mercy fidgeted nervously. 

“You mind if I turn the TV on?” 

Rembrandt just shrugged, looking back down at her sketch. Mercy took it as a yes, and busied herself with watching a shitty sitcom to resist the urge to watch Rembrandt and blurt out something to break the weird quiet.

They passed the next half hour like this, until Mercy jumped about a foot out of her seat when she felt someone tap her shoulder (how the fuck did Rembrandt move so quietly?)

She looked up and found the tagger holding out her sketchbook and staring impassively at Mercy. 

Mercy’s breath caught when she saw the page being shown to her. She had never seen Rembrandt’s art before, and she gaped a little at the detailed drawing of Swan. 

She looked…soft. Her mouth was curved in the faintest ghost of smile, the graphite somehow conveying how her eyes brimmed with affection. Her curls fell messily around her and over her shoulders as she looked at something to her right, the harsh lines of her face completely smoothed out. 

“Rembrandt,” Mercy breathed, unable to pull her eyes away. “What…?” 

“It’s the expression Swan always wears when she looks at you,” Rembrandt explained quietly. 

Mercy’s eyes snapped up to meet Rembrandt’s, and found Rembrandt’s gaze sharper than she’d ever seen it. Rembrandt shuffled through the pages of her sketchbook, finding a different sketch further back and then holding it out again. 

It was another one of Swan, only this time it was her as a Warrior. Cleon’s number two. Her brows were drawn low over her eyes, her lips pursed. Even so, she was dangerously beautiful. Mercy stifled the urge to trace the outline of her face with a fingertip.

“Why are you showing me these?” 

“Because I don’t think you realize what you have.” 

Mercy bristled. “Of course I do -” 

“You don’t,” Rembrandt snapped, and Mercy startled at the heat in her voice. “Of course you don’t. How could you? You didn’t know Swan before. You don’t get how rare it is for her to be like this.” Rembrandt flipped back to the first sketch she had shown. 

“People like Swan…” Rembrandt trailed off, clenching her jaw for a moment and shaking her head. “She doesn’t do things halfway. She’s all in with you, and she’s been like that since the first night. Otherwise she would’ve chased you off before we even left Orphan Town.”

“You think I don’t feel the same way?” Mercy stood, feeling suddenly defensive. 

“I think that you don’t realize what it means to be loved by someone like Swan.” Rembrandt glared up at her. 

“Someone like -?” Mercy stopped, the pieces clicking into place. “Oh. Swan and Ajax are similar, aren’t they?”

Rembrandt breathed out a laugh, but it was sad and a little broken, and it was enough for Mercy to know she was right. 

“The two of them, they hate being vulnerable - hate having a weakness. Except for some fucking reason they’ll let themselves bleed out for us, and they’re incapable of hiding it. Everyone thinks they’re all strong and protective, and they are, but it’s our responsibility to make sure they can stay that way.”

Rembrandt jabbed a finger into Mercy’s chest, and Mercy took a step back at her sheer intensity. “You think I run from danger because I’m scared of getting hurt? Fuck no. I run because there are very few things that can hurt Ajax, and I know that I’m one of them.” 

Mercy blinked. “But -”

“I’m not telling you to start running from fights. I know that isn’t possible for you,” Rembrandt cut off her protest before she could even start it. “I’m telling you that if you’re not careful, you’ll ruin her.” 

It was the most Mercy had heard Rembrandt speak since That Night, and she felt her own words leave her as she processed this. Rembrandt didn’t seem interested in letting her respond, considering she was already making her way back to the couch. 

“There’s nothing quite comparable to being loved by someone like Ajax or Swan.” Rembrandt’s voice was softer now, almost reverent. “They love fully, dangerously, and it’s exhilarating. You’ll never have to doubt what she feels about you, because all those carefully guarded walls seem to crumble whenever she’s around you.” 

Rembrandt looked at her, and Mercy felt frozen under her stare. “Don’t fuck that up.” 

Rembrandt settled back into the couch with her sketchbook like nothing had happened. 

+++++

It was brief with Ajax, but she managed to get the point across just fine. 

Mercy and Swan had been watching a movie, but Swan drifted off ten minutes in, and Mercy was grateful to see her getting the rest she so clearly needed. 

Mercy quickly gave up on watching the movie, scratching idly at Swan’s scalp and staring down at her, tracking her steady breathing. 

Ajax was swinging by to drop something off for Cleon and found them like this, Swan asleep with her head in Mercy’s lap. She wandered into the living room and stopped short at the sight, studying the pair with an expression Mercy couldn’t quite read. 

“Cleon’s not home,” Mercy murmured, keeping her voice quiet to not disturb Swan. “I can tell her you came by.” 

Ajax nodded slowly, leaving a package on Cleon’s armchair, but she lingered in the doorway and watched them, her eyes flitting over Swan’s relaxed form. Mercy tilted her head in question, a little unnerved. Ajax hadn’t been out of prison for long, and Mercy didn’t think they’d had a single one on one conversation. Mercy had been mostly keeping her distance, giving Ajax the space to process everything she’d missed without a stranger around acting right at home. She tried not to squirm under Ajax’s impassive stare. 

Finally, Ajax broke the silence, her voice low. 

“If you hurt her, I’ll kill you.” It was almost casual. A given fact - a promise - not a threat. “Got it?” 

Mercy blinked, forcing herself not to look away from Ajax’s intense eye contact, and lifted her chin up instead. “Got it.” She was proud of the way her voice didn’t waver. 

Ajax’s expression changed unsettlingly fast, the dark look quickly replaced by a sharp grin that somehow felt just as dangerous. “Good.” 

She turned and left without another word. 

+++++

Cowgirl was little drunk, but that didn’t diminish the sentiment at all. Their conversation became one of Mercy’s favorite memories, a story to tell that usually led to amused laughter and affectionate smiles. 

For the first time since That Night, the Warriors were taking a night off. Cowgirl had managed to cajole them into dressing up and going to the club, promising alcohol and music and fun. Swan nearly refused, but Mercy pouted and Cleon all but ordered her to come, and that was all the convincing it took. 

They had needed this. Mercy wasn’t sure she had ever seen them all smiling as easily as they did that night, and the fact that they were all together made it all the more special. 

Mercy was giving her feet a break from all the dancing when Cowgirl threw herself into the booth next to her with a wide grin, ignoring the concept of personal space to press herself right up against Mercy’s side. Mercy didn’t mind. 

“I need to start using you as my wingwoman.” 

“Oh yeah?” Mercy giggled. “Why’s that?” 

“Because, I don’t know what kind of witchcraft you used to pull Swan, but I think I need some of it.” Cowgirl pouted. “I’ve been trying to set Swan up with women for years, and somehow you pulled it off in three hours. You have to teach me your ways.” 

Mercy laughed, bright and delighted. “What, you got your eye on someone?” 

“No, no.” Cowgirl furiously shook her head, and Mercy reached out to straighten her hat, wondering idly how Cowgirl managed not to lose it in the press of bodies. “Tonight’s for the Warriors. But next time, you’re helping me out.”

“I’m afraid step one is to stop going after men,” Mercy teased. 

Cowgirl groaned dramatically, burying her face in her hands. “Being attracted to men is a curse. That bite mark still hasn’t faded.” 

It faded three weeks ago, but Mercy didn’t bother saying so. She patted Cowgirl’s back sympathetically. 

“Mercy. Mercy.” Cowgirl’s expression turned serious as she tugged at Mercy’s sleeve, head snapping up suddenly. “This is the best day of my life.” 

Mercy snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Jesus, how many drinks have you had?”

“I mean it.” Cowgirl shook her head vehemently. “Swan’s dancing.” 

They turned to look back out to the dancefloor, where Swan was currently with the rest of their crew. It was somehow unbelievably endearing and attractive, the way Swan was so clearly out of her element and yet easily followed along with the other’s movements. 

“She is,” Mercy agreed with an affectionate smile. 

“This is the best day of my life,” Cowgirl repeated in disbelief. “I need you to stick around forever.” 

Before Mercy could respond, Cowgirl dragged her out of the booth and back to the dancefloor, shoving her directly at Swan in the most unsubtle way possible. Mercy stumbled, but, as always, Swan was right there to catch her, wrapping steady arms around her waist. Mercy grinned at her, their faces flushed from a combination of proximity, alcohol, and excitement. Her heart pounded in her ears in time with the bass thrumming through the speakers. 

And as Mercy easily fell into step with Swan, and as the other Warriors pressed in around them, creating an exhilarating bubble that felt a lot like home, Mercy couldn’t help but hope for forever too. 

[gay-barbarian]

The warriors brainrot is getting worst I fear.

[asthedeathoflight]

Like you / Like me

Hi guys. Today I was reading Metal From Heaven by August Clarke and was suddenly seized by like I don't know some kind of fucking spirit. So I went home and I wrote this in essentially one sitting, with a break for dinner in the middle in which I was still kind of writing it on my phone.

CWs for this fic for depiction of a panic attack from a POV character, and also the fact that it is rated M for lesbiaM.

~ ~ ~

People wonder - aloud, even - at how it was that Ajax had come to join the Warriors. If it was in a moment of violence, or bravado. Ajax tolerates the younger girls’ wild speculation and knows the truth will never live up to the legend. The place where everybody gets it wrong is that they expect her to have joined the Warriors as Ajax. Ajax is a Warrior. Ajax has always been a Warrior. Ajax has always been a Warrior. But she didn’t come to the crew as Ajax. There was a girl, once upon a time, who Ajax remembers now in fits and starts, and the story of how she became a Warrior isn’t worth telling to anyone who wasn’t there. And almost everyone who was there is gone. 

The girl who would one day be Ajax became a Warrior in a tense, quiet conversation in which she did not speak at all. She stood near a wall in the tiny, dingy office above a butcher shop and stared sightlessly past where the woman who had maybe always been Cleon spoke with steel in her voice and fire in her eyes. Ajax could never look at her when she was like that. Cleon like that was like the sun, like something that was too much of what Ajax was meant to look at, so much of what Ajax had been made for that she was poisoned by it. 

Cleon was leaning over the desk to speak urgently to the woman behind it, quiet like the ocean was quiet, like she knew her power and didn’t care if you heard her coming. 

Something changed in their conversation. The woman Cleon was speaking to sat back in her chair, scraping a hand along her jaw thoughtfully. She wasn’t safe to look at either. She was rough-hewn like a boulder or an unpaved road, and her shoulders and hands were broad and square. She had a moth-eaten wool cap pulled over her dreads, even inside - no use paying for heat in a building where most of the inhabitants would spoil at room temperature. Her name was Daedalus, and looking at her made Ajax feel a little bit like throwing up, like the spinning feeling of having taken a hit before the pain came. 

So Ajax looked at the wall past them, where it was yellow with smoke residue near the ceiling, and tried to hear their words without understanding them. She had always been shit at not saying everything she felt with just her face, and Ajax wasn’t sure how she was feeling at the moment, so she couldn’t afford to give any of it away. 

Cleon continued intently for a few moments, leaning her weight on the desk for just a second, and then Daedalus nodded slowly. Cleon rocked back on her heels, breathing out like the venting of a steam engine; like wheels spinning slowly to a stop. “Okay, great,” she said, and Ajax had lost whatever rare focus was allowing her to let the conversation slip over her without sticking. 

“Okay,” Daedalus echoed, more gruffly. “You better have meant all that shit. I don’t take kindly to exaggeration.”

Cleon nodded fervently, and Ajax made a mental note to have her explain the bargain she had made on Ajax’s behalf. Oh, Ajax was sure she worded it for both of them, but Ajax was faster and stronger than her. She would shoulder most of it. Cleon didn’t have a choice about that. 

The door to the little office swung open, and a woman stepped in without waiting for any acknowledgement from Daedalus. She was wearing a threadbare bathrobe and a silky little slip of a nightgown and carrying two mugs of coffee. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said with a jazz singer’s husky contralto. 

 As she entered the office she passed through Ajax’s eye line and caught her eye for a moment. She winked. Not safe to look at. Ajax moved her head to look up at the buzzing, flickering overhead light instead. 

“You’ve got perfect timing as always, Twitch,” Daedalus rumbled. “We were just finishing up.”

“How’s the latest litter of strays?” Twitch asked. 

Ajax blinked at the light, and the imprint of it glowed blue-green on her eyelids. It hurt just a little bit. She let the discomfort swallow up any other sensation. 

“Eager,” Daedalus replied.

“Aw,” Twitch cooed. “Patriotic. Cute.”

Ajax could hear that Cleon was smiling when she spoke. She could almost see that smile, cheerful and happy to help and unimpeachably angelic. Her Girl Scout smile. “Just doing business, ma’am.”

“Only one kind of business here in Coney, girl. Don’t go forgettin’ that.”

“Of course not,” Cleon said, a little bit sharper. A little bit more cat-with-the-cream. “Sir.”

Ajax failed to duck away from the chill that ran through her. Her body came back online all at once, without her permission. She dropped her gaze from the light down to the room, barely seeing anything except what she needed to - the door, Cleon’s back, the skeptical upward tilt of Daedalus’s eyebrow. 

Cleon’s hands were clasped behind her in parade rest. Her fingers twitched once in the moment of silence, but Ajax couldn’t imagine it had shown on her face. A heartbeat of silence in the room, and then Daedalus threw her head back and laughed. 

“Christ,” she said, chuckling, “You’re something else. Okay, run along. We’ll be in touch.”

And in the release of the imminent-danger feeling in her body, Ajax became aware that she had missed something. Daedalus, not just a facial expression and proximity to an exit. She sprawled back in her chair comfortably, mug of steaming coffee in one hand. Twitch had come around to stand on her other side , both hands around her mug, standing in the corner formed between Daedalus’s body and the chair and the desk. Daedalus’s other arm was hooked comfortably around her waist beneath the bathrobe, fingers splayed over her hip.

Daedalus and Cleon finished having some kind of silent exchange Ajax wasn’t privy to, and then Daedalus turned to Twitch in a way which plainly signaled the end of Ajax and Cleon’s relevance to the conversation. As Cleon was turning to her so they could go, Twitch leaned down and kissed Daedalus on her still crookedly-smiling mouth. Casual, easy, like parents on TV. 

Ajax wasn’t frozen. Frozen implied an external force that she could strain against. It was just that, suddenly, there was nothing for her to move. She was dropped into cold water. There was no relationship between Ajax and any moving part of her body. Cleon noticed her not leaving. She rolled her eyes and grabbed Ajax by the hand and tugged her towards the door. Whatever had been left in the shell of Ajax that she had abruptly vacated followed obediently behind her, down the stairs and out to the street and back to their apartment. She could feel Cleon’s fingers between her own more like pressure than warmth. 

Cleon fumbled with their keys one-handed when they got to their door and Ajax watched her without seeing, without being able to just goddamned move and let her go so she could open the door. Cleon exhaled in relief as she dragged Ajax across the threshold and shut the door. Her inhale bubbled up and over in her until she was giggling uncontrollably as she bent over to unlace her boots. Ajax stared at her mutely, the ice water slowly draining from her. 

“Holy shit,” Cleon whispered to herself as she straightened up. “Holy shit!” she said again, louder, gleeful. “Holy shit, we did it!”

She stomped her feet and rubbed her hands together a little bit like it was cold, like she did when she was excited. She kicked her boots off to land vaguely next to the coat hook and took a few steps further into their apartment before she noticed that Ajax still hadn’t moved. She turned back to her, still grinning - vicious, giddy, victorious. Whatever she saw on Ajax’s face made her stop. 

What had she seen on Ajax’s face? This was the problem with being Ajax, a problem she had inherited from the girl she was before. Anyone looking at her could tell how she was feeling, but Ajax’s perspective was all wrong. She couldn’t see herself. She didn’t know. 

Cleon’s eyebrows drew together in concern. “Hey,” she said, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Something was wrong? Yes, yes, Ajax realized, something was wrong. The cold water was gone from her and she could feel the raw ache of ice on her insides, a feeling that could have been fear or anger. But oh, how Ajax’s body loved anger. 

“Did you know?” Ajax’s voice was hoarse to her own ears. Not hoarse like Twitch or Daedalus, with time or cigarettes, but hoarse like it was after she’d broken in a moment of weakness and started to scream. 

“Know?” Cleon still looked a little confused, like she wasn’t sure what was going on. Like maybe they were still kids, and Ajax had just skinned her knee. 

“Becca, did you know?” Was it still Becca, then? In their apartment that afternoon, Ajax doesn’t know what to call either of them. They would climb out of that time-between when Daedalus finally called, Cleon leaving Beck Waters in a closet like an old coat and Ajax leaving the girl whose name she sometimes no longer knows in a grave. 

“Is this because of me?” she had demanded, and the vice grip of the glacier had caught her around the ribs. “Because I'm not -” She'd choked on the words, then. “I'm not like that. I'm not like them.”

Realization came to Cleon like dawn, like pity, and in the futility of that moment Ajax had never hated anyone other than herself so much. 

“Ajax,” Cleon says in her memory, and her lips make a different shape. The sound scraped across her in that moment and she shook with the sudden collapse of all her failures, with the sudden snap of a lie. 

“Nooo,” Ajax had said, a lost and animal sound. Where was anger when she needed it? “No, no, no.”

She couldn’t breathe in. She raised her arms to ward off the blow that would not come, forgot the years since she had been small enough for anyone to hit her from above. She couldn’t hear Cleon’s soft footsteps over the sound of her failure to breathe. She put her arms over her face, instead, to protect herself from having to see. 

She felt Cleon’s hands on her shoulders, felt how they were steady over the shaking thing she could hardly recognize as herself. 

“If this is about - I’m sorry - I didn’t mean it, it was a mistake, please -” Ajax could hear herself speaking, beginning unforgivably to dissolve into sobs. “Please, I didn’t mean it, I’m not like them.”

And the lie scorched her throat on the way out. 

The world melted around her and she felt Cleon’s hands on her face, her careful soft fingers wiping away the tears that were spilling from her like blood from a wound. Ajax felt that kindness in her like venom, like briar in her airways. Her chest heaved and no air came in. Cleon tried to draw her in, to press Ajax’s face to her shoulder, but Ajax could only see Daedalus’s broad bicep tucked comfortably into the curve of Twitch’s back. 

She struggled in Cleon’s arms, shoved and fought against the encroaching gentleness without any of the strength she had clawed from her body. She was small and weak and helpless, and the last time she had allowed herself to be overtaken by the softness and heat of Cleon’s body she had nearly ruined them both. 

“Please, please,” she begged, “I can’t. I can’t - I can’t-”

Cleon’s thumb traced little circles along her temple and the wanting jolted through Ajax as a pain too big for her body, rising and falling in waves as it kicked and screamed to be heard. 

“You have to breathe,” Cleon said. As Ajax’s vision refocused on her she looked stricken, looked like it was her heart threatening to collapse into a black hole. There were tears wavering at the corners of her eyes. “Please, for me, you have to breathe.”

And Ajax’s only hope for salvation was some kind of self-immolation but she was too wicked and bruised for martyrdom and she could never deny Cleon anything, not even to save her. 

She breathed rabbit-fast and shallow and broke to pieces as Cleon put a hand on her chest, over her heart. The pain was nothing in the face of how completely Cleon held her then, how utterly at her mercy Ajax was. Even the wanting she surrendered to breathing as Cleon breathed, their foreheads pressed together. For a moment between the person she was and who she would become, Ajax forgot what it meant to fight altogether. 

When Ajax went limp in her arms like shaken prey, Cleon exhaled a shaky breath. “God,” she said, and she sounded like she might cry. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Ajax protested, and she felt like a child who was just barely learning how to speak. “No, I’m sorry,” she reminded Cleon.

But Cleon hardly seemed to hear her. “God, I should have known, I should’ve been stronger, I’m so sorry.”

Bathed in the soft light of having given in, Ajax could only sit up enough to look Cleon in the eyes - they were on the floor? When had they started sitting on the floor? “This is all my fault,” she said gently. “It wasn’t you, it was me. And it was a mistake. You said you believed me.”

She put her hand on Cleon’s jaw in unconscious mimicry of Cleon’s earlier gesture. She could feel the kickdrum of Cleon’s heart. 

Cleon winced, like the words were an accusation she couldn’t deflect. “I should’ve been stronger for you,” she murmured, almost to herself, “I shouldn’t have let you carry it alone, shouldn’t have let you think -”

Very carefully, Cleon reached up and moved Ajax’s hand away from her face. She pressed her thumb into the center of Ajax’s palm, and her hand spasmed under the pressure even as Cleon held her fast. 

Cleon closed her eyes and took one deep breath in and out. When she looked at Ajax again, the specter of the scared girl begging her to breathe was gone. “I’m like that,” she said calmly. Resolutely. “I’m like them.”

The words were just noise. Ajax couldn’t make them make sense. 

Cleon must have seen it on her face, must have known she was beyond words right then. Or maybe she saw the breaking dawn in her of a new kind of desire. Ajax had always been a cage-creature, accustomed to the weight of slamming doors in the face of wantings for freedom. The feeling of wanting something right across from her, something she could have, was alien. She hardly could have recognized it for what it was. But some ancestral monster woken in her body must have known, because when Cleon leaned in, Ajax was already reaching for her to drag her closer. 

For a moment, Ajax was a totally new kind of animal, an animal that had never been anywhere or anyone except here, shoved up against the doorframe with another body on top of her, breathing in another body’s air. 

“I thought I’d die,” Cleon whispered into her mouth, “God, baby, I thought I was gonna die if I never got to do this again.”

Ajax wasn’t totally sure the imminent threat to her mortality had passed. She arched up into the weight of Cleon above her until Cleon kissed her again. 

Cleon kept wanting to pull back to talk, and Ajax kept feeling like she would suffocate if Cleon wasn’t kissing her, so they worked out a kind of compromise where Cleon kissed her in between every other word and Ajax tried really hard to comprehend language. 

“I’m so sorry,” Cleon said, breathless and with a giddiness that belied her words. “I’m sorry, I was stupid, I was waiting for you.”

Cleon laughed at Ajax’s expression of consternation as she tried and failed to parse this new sentence. She kissed Ajax on the nose, and then the temple. She settled herself higher in Ajax’s lap, with her cheek pressed to the top of Ajax’s head. “I thought you needed more time, I thought - I thought this would help, I thought knowing we weren’t alone would help.” 

Time. That was the thing that was forcing Ajax to experience the interminable interludes between Cleon’s mouth being on hers. Ajax hardly needed more of it. She made an impatient noise. 

Cleon laughed again and put a hand in Ajax’s hair to drag her head to an angle where Cleon could kiss her again. That was another sensation that Ajax could not consciously understand but which the ancestral monster of her body understood intimately. The first time, Cleon had felt like a wilderness, swallowing her in newness and uncertainty until she had gotten lost and pulled back in horror at what she had done. 

On the floor of their apartment, Cleon handed her back the memories of a life she had forgotten, the trembling and hunger that Ajax suddenly couldn’t believe she’d ever been able to turn away from. 

Ajax was unsteady as a lamb as Cleon guided her to her feet and lured her one step at a time across their apartment. She navigated the doorknob to her bedroom from behind her with one hand still gripped in Ajax’s braids, which was good because Ajax wasn't sure she could have managed it even facing the door. 

When Cleon’s calves hit the edge of her bedframe she kicked out her foot and tripped Ajax and spun her around in a move that temporarily jostled the circuits of Ajax’s brain long enough for her to have her first coherent thought in what felt like hours, which was that she needed Cleon to teach it to her. This momentary clarity was immediately derailed by the thought that teaching it to her would probably involve Cleon demonstrating it on her again. Maybe even more than once. 

And then her back hit the mattress and Cleon was pressing her down into the bed that had been Cleon’s that morning and became theirs long before Ajax’s brain managed to come back online. 

~ ~ ~

Ajax came to herself in pieces that week and the weeks that followed, not like recovery but like new construction. She stood in the wreckage of the girl, the smoking ruin of someone she was already forgetting how she’d ever pretended to be. 

Twitch was smoking behind the counter when Ajax finally went back. She flicked ash to the ground and smirked. “Little lamb,” she drawled, “I almost don’t recognize you.”

And that was a kind of mercy, a kind of allowance for becoming something new. Ajax hoped nobody who had ever known her before would ever recognize her again. 

Ajax grinned and held out her hand. “I don’t think we’ve properly met.”

Twitch put her hand in Ajax’s, long fingers just brushing Ajax’s palm, and Ajax remembered the twinkle in her eyes, the knowing wink. Bold as anything, bold as the person she would one day be and was already becoming, Ajax brought Twitch’s hand to her mouth and kissed the backs of her knuckles. Her skin was cool and smooth and smeared with just a little bit of blood. 

Twitch’s smirk broke into a smile. “So,” she said, “I hear you’re calling yourself Ajax now.”

Ajax’s grin broke wider like a break in the clouds. Ajax could care less if anyone recognized her, because she finally did. 

~ ~ ~

This fic is dedicated to @alexihollis and her fic where Ajax has internalized homophobia. That fic is foundational to my understanding of Ajax as a character and it was the blueprint for this fic.

[crimsonwolf715]

I am deep in the trenches of post-Resident Evil 2 fics that are Cleon or somewhere kinda borderline Cleon. I’m so deep in the trenches that I’m writing them. I’m so glad that my friend on Discord recommended this game series. (I’ve played through 2 and am working on 3.) If anybody has any fics like what I described that doesn’t have any sexual content, please send it my way. I even made a wallpaper out of fanart I found (not posting it since it’s not my art).

[anundyingfidelity]

me at 4 am writing cleon/brother day fanfics again

since foundation fandom is not giving me the fics then i will give them 🗣️🗣️

[finalfantasyx]

If Cleon ever got married, it would be a la Pirates of the Caribbean--like they'd just be in the middle of fighting off a horde of zombies and Claire will be like, "You wanted to get married, right???" and poor Leon will just be over here gunning down the five zombies around him going ??? while Jill rolls her eyes, says, "FINALLY" and starts officiating and killing the zombies in her way.

They'd probably head to the courthouse right after for their marriage license, tell the courthouse clerk to have a nice life and then head right back out to save the world from bio-terrorism

[executivenerd]

Chapters: 1/12 Fandom: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Claire Redfield, Leon S. Kennedy & Original Child Character(s), Claire Redfield & Original Child Character(s) Characters: Claire Redfield, Leon S. Kennedy, Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: Found Family, Adoption, Custody Arrangements, Custody Battle, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Family, Family Fluff, Family Feels, Family Bonding, Light Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Resident Evil 7, Pre-Resident Evil 8 | VILLAGE, Established Relationship, Marriage Series: Part 3 of Moving Forward Summary:

February to December 2019 - Claire and Leon adjust to their new life with Nora, including custody battles, toddler temper tantrums, cute family moments, and birthdays.

X

Claire laughed, pulling him down for another kiss, this one interrupted by a book being pressed into her calf. “No kissing. Book!”

“No kissing?” Claire asked, scooping up the toddler and placing a smattering of kisses across her cheeks and forehead; Nora erupted into a fit of giggles.

All the sleepless nights and difficult moments were definitely worth all of this

[all-our-turf]

honey, you're familiar (like my mirror years ago)

Fox is unsure about her place among the Warriors. Swan understands that more than anyone.

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Read under the cut or on ao3

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When Swan came home to a quiet apartment, she didn’t think much of it initially. She knew Cochise and Cowgirl had managed to convince Rembrandt to go out with them, which means Ajax likely went along too. Cleon mentioned that she’d be out for a meeting, and when Swan peered down the hallway she noticed the light to Fox’s room was off, so she figured Cleon had taken the younger girl with her. 

Fox had only been around for nearly three months now - hadn’t even been officially initiated yet - and Cleon seemed to be determined to keep her close for the time being, despite the girl’s protests about wanting to be more involved in the gang. 

Except, when Cleon came in through the front door half an hour later, she was alone. Swan was on her feet in half a second, and Cleon raised a curious eyebrow at her, casually shedding her colors and draping them over the back of a chair. 

“What? Did I -” 

“Where’s Fox?” 

Cleon went still, staring blankly at Swan. “She’s not here?”

Swan turned back down the hallway and knocked - slammed, really - on Fox’s door. “Fox! You home?” 

No response. 

When she turned back around, Cleon was already shrugging her vest back on. “I’ll go check if she managed to convince the others to let her tag along at the bar. Go look for her in any of the other usual hangouts.” 

Swan nodded, trying to ignore the anxious pit in her stomach as she donned her own colors and locked the door behind them. If it was just Cowgirl and Cochise, she wouldn’t be surprised if Fox managed to get them to take her along. Fox had a killer pout and (unfortunately for all of them) knew how to use it effectively. 

But there was no way in hell that Ajax would let Fox anywhere near that place while she was underage. Hell, even when Swan was old enough it still took a fight for Ajax to let her come along. Fox - who was small and pretty and still looked like she’d fall over at the slightest gust of wind, even after three months with the Warriors? No chance. 

Swan was just starting to feel the edges of panic creep up on her when she finally found Fox. The girl was near the edge of their turf, arguing with a guy nearly double her size. He was affiliated, judging by the jacket he was wearing, but Swan didn’t recognize the colors. She didn’t really care at the moment. 

Swan was at Fox’s side in half a second, and the guy cut off mid sentence at the sight of her. 

“Hey. We got a problem?” She placed herself in between him and Fox, tilting her chin up to glare up at him. He took a step back. 

“He was on our turf,” Fox explained from behind her, and Swan tilted her head to the side. 

“Fucking barely! I didn’t even realize I’d crossed over, but she was already coming at me!” He threw his hands up, gesturing wildly towards Fox over her shoulder. 

“Why are you still here? You didn’t realize this was Warrior turf, now you know, so fuck off.” 

He hesitated.

“Unless there is a problem?” Swan took another step towards him, raising a challenging eyebrow, and he immediately backed off. He stalked away, grumbling under his breath. Swan kept her eyes on his retreating back until he was gone, and then whirled around to stare at Fox, who looked way too nonchalant for someone who Swan had just spent the better part of an hour looking for. 

“I could’ve handled that,” Fox tried with an innocent smile. 

Swan was distinctly not in the mood. “Fox. What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Patrolling.” 

“No the fuck you aren’t.” Swan pinched the bridge of her nose, taking a breath and trying to calm down before she snapped a little too harshly. “What the hell were you thinking, sneaking off like that without telling anyone? What if something had happened to you? What if that guy decided to -” 

“That guy was a wimp,” Fox scoffed, crossing her arms defiantly. 

“God, you sound like Ajax,” Swan groaned. 

“Really?” Fox seemed a little too excited at that. 

“That is not a compliment, quit smiling. You should not be picking fights for no reason like Ajax does, that’s -”

“It wasn’t for no reason! He was on our turf!” 

“He was one guy on the very edge of our turf. And that isn’t even the point, considering you aren’t supposed to be out here at all! Kid, -”

“I’m not a kid!” 

“Sure, you’re a teenager who should not be out at this hour, especially not alone this fucking close to the edge of our territory. Cleon’s going to -” 

“You’re a hypocrite!” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Weren’t you even younger than I am when you joined the Warriors?”

“Yeah, and Cleon didn’t let me out alone either! You can’t just -” 

“You guys aren’t my parents, I can go out whenever the fuck I want!” 

Swan blinked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “Maybe we’re not, but -”

“And I shouldn’t have to ask for permission every time I step foot outside the apartment! And -” 

“Fox! Can I get a word in without you fucking interrupting me?” That definitely came out harsher than Swan meant it to, judging by the way Fox’s mouth snapped shut immediately. The younger girl was glaring at Swan, and Swan took another carefully measured breath. 

“Okay. First of all, I don’t give a shit how old you are, if you go out somewhere at night, especially alone, then you tell someone. That has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with the fact that we’re in a gang, and sometimes shit happens, and when shit happens there needs to be at least one other person who knows where you are. Got it?” 

Fox looked away, glaring at a spot on the ground instead, but grudgingly nodded anyway. 

“Second of all, you definitely shouldn’t be out doing anything like patrolling unless Cleon asks you to. None of us decide to do that shit on our own, so why the hell would you think it’s a good idea?” 

“Cleon won’t even send me out with anyone! It’s been almost three months and I’ve barely gotten to actually do anything for the Warriors! None of you treat me like I’m actually one of you!” 

“Is that what this is about?” Swan tilted her head to the side, some of her frustration fading into concern.

Fox shrugged, her crossed arms now wrapping around her middle. She sighed, sitting at a bench and staring down at her knees. Swan watched how she seemed to curl into herself, and sat down carefully at Fox’s side. 

“Fox?”

“I was just alone in the apartment and I didn’t like it, okay? I’m not allowed to join whenever you guys go out to the bars and hangout, I’m not allowed to join whenever you guys go on jobs, and even when I do get to go it’s like -” She made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “I’m tired of feeling like the kid you’re all stuck babysitting.”

Swan felt an ache bloom in her chest, something painfully familiar echoing in Fox’s words. “That’s not what we think of you as.” 

“But it’s how you all treat me. I’m not - I’m not fragile, you know?” Fox rubbed furiously at her eyes, trying to scrub the wetness away before it got a chance to slip down her cheeks. 

“Of course I know that. We all do. You’re tough, Fox. And crazy smart, too. We’re not stuck with you, you are one of us, but - you just have to give yourself time.” 

Fox’s mouth twisted in displeasure, unconvinced. 

“Look,” Swan said. “I get how hard it is being the youngest in the group. Like you said, I’ve been in your position. I know it sucks.” 

“It’s not the same,” Fox scoffed and shook her head. “You’re - you’re you. You’re all intimidating and badass and I’m me. It’s been three months and I don’t think anyone sees me as anything other than the stray picked off the street.” 

Swan stared at the teenager, disbelief creeping into her expression. “You haven’t heard the story of how the Warriors found me?” 

Fox looked up curiously, furrowing her brow. “No? I know that until I came along you were the only one who joined up as a teenager, but…”

“Oh my god, and you think-?” Swan cut herself off with an amused chuckle, turning to fully face Fox, whose face was twisted in confusion. “Fox, I was in worse shape than you were. Cleon found me sleeping under the boardwalk, practically half dead already. I was smaller than Rembrandt and scared out of my mind. It took me nearly two weeks to even say a word to anyone.” 

“Wait, are you serious? But - but now you’re so..!” Fox trailed off, making an ambiguous gesture towards Swan. “I mean, you’re Cleon’s number two. You can keep up with Ajax in a fight!” 

Swan shrugged. “But it took time, Fox. Cleon didn’t make my position official until I earned it. And I spent a lot of sessions getting my ass kicked by Ajax before I could even land a punch on her. I get that it’s frustrating, I know how badly you want to prove yourself, but just…be patient, yeah? With yourself and with us, and eventually, you’ll be just as much of a badass as you seem to think I am.” 

That pulled a smile out of Fox, and Swan felt like she could breathe a little easier again. 

“You really think so?” Fox stared at her with watery eyes, big and earnest and, god, so young. “You really think I’ll be like you someday?” 

Jesus, was this how Cleon felt when she was a recruit? 

“No.” Swan shook her head. “I think you’ll be better. And I think the Warriors are very lucky to have you.” 

Fox grinned, a bright smile stretching across her face for a moment, but then it dimmed again and she looked back down at her hands. 

“I’m sorry for running off. Did I ruin everyone’s night?” She sounded painfully small, picking at the edges of her fingernails. 

“No - Fox, you didn’t ruin anything, okay?” Fox nodded, but it was clear she wasn’t very reassured. 

“Listen,” Swan nudged her arm gently. “I’ll talk to Cleon, see if I can get her to ease up on the overprotectiveness a little. But only if you promise not to pull something like this again, okay? You freaked us out - not because we think you’re weak. But because we look out for each other. That’s what we do as Warriors.”

Fox inhaled shakily, nodding her head again. “Yeah, okay. I won’t do this again, I promise. You’ll seriously talk to Cleon, though?” 

“Believe me, I know how overbearing she can be sometimes. She still drives me crazy every now and then, and I know she’s been worse with you. So yeah, I’ll talk to her, see about letting you come along for more jobs. Just - it’s important that you know she’s only like this because she cares about you. All of us do.” Swan reached out, affectionately patting the top of Fox’s head and ruffling her hair. “Your time will come, Fox, I promise. It won’t feel like this forever.” 

Fox half heartedly batted her hand away, but the beaming smile across her face and the way her shoulders seemed about twenty pounds lighter told Swan that she was feeling better. 

“Come on, kid. Let’s go home before the others lose their minds.” 

“So when are you guys gonna quit calling me kid?” Fox whined as the two of them began walking back. 

“Up until you came along, the others were still calling me kid. I’m just glad it’s not me anymore.” 

“What - but you’re old now! Is this nickname gonna be stuck forever?” 

“Hey, what the fuck? I’m not old, we only have a couple of years between us.” 

And even as Fox launched into an explanation as to why Swan was, in fact, old, Swan couldn’t help but smile, grateful that the girl was in a much better mood than earlier. Fox brought a brightness that the Warriors desperately needed. Maybe she wasn’t sure where exactly she’d fit yet, but that was okay. Fox was still young. 

They had time. 

[brotherdusk]

from david s. goyer's r/television foundation AMA: his personal headcanon on what happened after the events of 1.10

christ!!!

[asthedeathoflight]

I need to stay humble about my headcanons because I spend so much time trying to justify ajax and rembrandt being in love in my brain and it's just occurred to me that Ajax and Cleon are not, in fact, canonically best friends, and in fact only have one interaction in the entire musical which is in roll call Ajax saying ugh I don't wanna go to the meeting. And then they never directly speak to each other literally ever again.

[msrandonstuff]

there aren't enough fics on the father-son relationship (i've crafted in my head) between cleon xiii and cleon xiv

brother day used to take dawn to picnics when he was a baby and no one can take that from my mind

[gracklepopp]

A watched pot never boils

Leon's making dinner. ~200 words

AO3 Link

[prolestariwrites]

Unforgiven by lickitysplit Resident Evil | Rated T

When Sherry goes missing, Leon and Claire reunite to try to find her. To do so they must solve the mystery she is chasing, as well as face the issues that have separated them all this time.

Final chapter!