ｃｌｅｍｅｎｔｉｎｅ
２：３７ｐｍ
The chains are cut, the ammunition is back in the firearms, Leon has his protective vest back on, the bruise on my face is already swollen... And the cabin's door is locked.
"God fucking damn it," Leon grunts under his breath as he kicks the door for the fourth time. Each time his face gives away just another small hint at how in pain he is. I think he has a broken rib, or at least a fracture.
"Leon you need to stop," I try telling him. "Let me at least see if it's a broken rib."
"No offence, but I'm done listening to you," he grumbles as he kicks it again. This time the handle budges a little and he tries to jimmy it open, but it's stuck. "How the fuck did he lock it without a key?"
I can't argue with him because he's right. But it hurts nonetheless. Because I never meant to hurt him.
He turns to look at me, but then his eyes scope the entirety of the room instead. His eyes land on me again, those baby blue eyes mixing with the hue of orange light piercing straight into my soul, before he shakes his head and sighs. "I mean Jesus Christ Clementine, how can you be so gullible?"
I shiver a little at the disappointment in his voice. "I had no choice—"
"No choice? You could've at least given me a heads up..." he continues, clutching his side as he leans against a shelving unit.
"Leon, he had a pocket filled with heavy grenades. He's not sane. He would've sank with this ship as long as we're on it."
I see the cogs in his brain turn as he considers this. "Yeah. Maybe."
I walk up to him. It makes my heart hurt to see his face busted up like this. "I'm sorry. I didn't think it through."
His face scrunches up as he exhales in pain, his eyes muddied by the agony, his fingers digging desperately into his side. "You're damn right you didn't think it through."
"Let me take a look at that," I tell him gently. "Please. We can find this ship's infirmary."
"No," he groans, turning to his side so that his afflicted side is out of my view. "I don't need any more of your—" He shakes his head. "I'll be fine."
My heart feels like it's breaking into ten different pieces. I have fucked it all up. But I need to push that all aside, push the mess of feelings aside, shove them deep down, and focus on making things better.
"Leon, you need painkillers at the very least," I say, placing my hand on his arm. He instantly jerks his arm away. "You know you can't go on in this condition. You know something's broken. Arguing with me is not going to improve anything. I deserve it, but this isn't the time."
He slowly hangs his head in defeat, his hair concealing his eyes, and turns to face me without looking at me, like a boy ridden with guilt.
"Come here," I tell him softly, pointing at the table where Arthur had rammed my face into the lighter fluid. "There's better lighting there."
He reluctantly walks up to the table, leaning against it, and slowly peels off his bulletproof vest. He doesn't look at me, instead very meticulously lifting up his shirt until one side of his torso is bare.
My heart sinks as I see the angry pattern of red bruises pooling around his ribcage. He has goosebumps all over his skin, and I very gently turn him around to see if the bruise reaches the back. It doesn't, which is a good sign. When he turns forward again, I see the marks I left on him what seems like an eternity ago. Small love-bites trailing down his side, just under his rib.
How did we go from that... to this?
He's rigid under my touch, all tense and unmoving, like a statue. But he doesn't stop me or move away as I trace my fingers up from my own marks to the fresh bruises he has. Instead, I feel him finally look at me again, but I'm too ashamed to look at him. All these bruises on his body are my fault.
When my fingers reach his ribs, he flinches, sucking air through his teeth, but he stays there, waiting obediently for my assessment, even though he must hate that I'm touching him.
"Definitely broken," I say, my voice low.
"Like everything else in my life right now," he sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes for a few seconds.
I quickly take a look at his lip too, hesitating before I lightly place a finger on his jaw to angle it towards the light. It's still bleeding, but not excessively. The cut on his cheek has already closed up.
"Leon," I say, and as his name tumbles out of my lips, the guilt takes hold of my tongue. I look down and feel the tears spill onto my cheeks, hot and rough. "Leon, I'm so sorry for all of this."
He doesn't say anything at first, but when I finally look at him, I see his face has softened. "Please don't cry, Clementine..." he says quietly.
"I should've been smarter," I continue, sniffling, my own tears choking me. "I almost got you killed."
"Stop crying," he mumbles as I'm wiping my nose with the back of my hand. "I can't handle it."
I look at him, already thinking the worst— he thinks I'm faking it. "I just need you to know that I didn't know anything. What Arthur said— I had no idea. I know you'll never trust me again, but I was just trying to find a way to corner him— I didn't think he'd knock both of us out."
Leon pulls his shirt back over his torso. "I knew I could choke him out the second I woke up. I just needed to hear him do his little speech. I needed that information."
"But—"
He looks me square in the face. "No offence, but your ex-boyfriend was never really a threat. Lunatic or not."
My cheeks burn instantly. I was hoping he'd let the whole ex thing go. "So you weren't scared?" The idea of him knowing he had the upper hand does make me feel better.
He walks past me back to the shelving unit, inspecting the top of it. "I was scared. Scared you'll get hurt."
I don't reply, because words are failing me, especially with the way I see him clutch at his side, walking slightly bent as if to accommodate the pain. Every time I look at the cuts on his face I want to cry.
He turns back to look at me, his eyes on my cheek. I see his jaw clench as his eyes trace the outline of Arthur's handprint. When he speaks, his voice is flat, strained. "That the only place he marked you?"
I shake my head, I can feel the bruises forming on my shoulders from how tightly Arthur had gripped me.
Leon sighs. He walks back to the table and picks up his bulletproof vest. "Take it."
"No—"
"Put it on," he orders, unclasping it and inserting my hand into the arm hole.
"This wetsuit is protective enough—"
He cuts me off, his jaw tight. "This is not the time for you to be acting like a brat. You are putting this on. I can't have you getting hurt again."
I stare at him as he secures it around my waist. "What about you? You have a broken rib."
"I'll be fine."
"I have a bad feeling about this," I say quietly.
"I can't look at you right now," he says, finger-combing his hair out of his eyes. "I can't look at what he did to you."
He walks up to the shelving unit and puts all his weight into pushing it. I try to help him but he waves me away.
"You're fucking injured!" I shout at him, my patience wearing thin.
"I've been through way worse than a broken rib," he sighs, and points to a low-hanging air vent unit that had been hidden by the shelves. He looks back at Arthur's body, lying motionless in the corner. "Killing him was too kind."
"It had to be done."
"Maybe," he says, rubbing his jaw. "Or maybe I should've kept him alive and—"
I cut him off, taking a step closer. "And what? Tortured him? We're not like that. We're not like him."
He takes a last look at my cheek. I hate how we are physically so close but it feels like we're mentally on other sides on the planet. I could reach out my arm and touch him, feel him, but I don't, because it feels like the rift between us will never close.
"We need to find the rest," he says. He points to the air duct. "Can you unlock the door from the outside?"
I cross my arms over my chest and look at him. "I thought you were 'fine'? Can't you do it yourself?"
His jaw tightens and a small hint of defeat flashes across his eyes. "Please."
My heart instantly softens at his voice. "Fine. But we're finding the infirmary first."
"Yes ma'am," he drawls, and tries to raise his hands as if to say: fine, you win, but his right arm, the side of his broken rib, can't seem to move much at all. He winces and sighs in irritation.
I enter the air duct and crawl across it. When I'm outside the cabin's door, I try to unlock it, but it's still locked shut. Panic floods my body but then I realise why it couldn't be opened: the keyhole is jammed with a pair of pliers. I remove them, and finally, the door unlocks.
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２：４３ｐｍ
Inside the infirmary, Leon is grateful to find painkillers. He hopes they're not expired, but nonetheless he swallows them dry, sitting down on the beaten up sofa in the corner of the room, the light, feeble as it is, hurting his eyes and his pounding head.
"Oh thank God," he hears you say, and looks at you to see you bent over a large freezer, rummaging along the bottom of it. His eyes drag over your legs and he looks away before you turn away, sighing through his nose at the unfairness of the situation.
"Look! Ice packs! And... They're still frozen!" You tell him, pulling out a couple of ice packs and waving them around.
He registers the excitement in your voice and he thinks it's cute, how eager you are to help him after everything. He looks away, fighting the smile off of his face as he peels off his shirt again and takes a look at the bruises. They've deepened, and spread. It'll be a good six weeks before they heal.
Great, just what he needed.
"Here," you tell him, giving him one of the ice packs. "For your face."
He presses his face into the ice pack, the cold relief dimming the pain down. You wait for him to press the other to his side, but he shifts his position a little, edging close to the edge of the seat, wanting you to do it, a little gesture of peacemaking.
"Oh," you say shyly, and then press the pack onto the bruises. "Does that hurt?"
He bites his lip a little to allow him to endure the pain a little better. "I'm fine."
You chuckle a little, and he buries his face back in the ice pack, the condensation dripping down his face. "Are you ever not fine?"
He smiles while his face is still obscured by the ice pack. He feels better now, having calmed down from everything. "I'll let you know if I'm not."
He looks at you and you nod shyly, and he feels the tips of your fingers brush against the skin of his ribcage, and for a second, they're the only thing he can feel, despite the cold of the ice pack and the pain emanating from his ribs.
"You're smiling," you tell him quietly, after a few seconds of comfortable silence.
His fingers find yours as he places his palm flat against the back of your hand, pressing the ice deeper into his skin. "And what if I am?" he asks, trying so hard to bite his tongue, to hold back the damn words. But he just... can't.
"Nothing. I like seeing you smile," you say, one corner of your lip tugged upwards.
"Is that right?" He exhales a little, the pain echoing through his chest.
You notice the change in his face, and lighten the pressure on his skin. "I've been telling you you need to smile more."
"Difficult to smile when everything has become one giant shit show."
You hang your head. "I know... I'm partly to blame."
He feels bad for you then, a mixture of guilt and empathy and something else brewing deep inside his chest. There's a battle raging inside of him; on the one hand, his feelings are muted, discarded, pushed aside and wilfully ignored; on the other, your face gives him hope, being with you helps him remember who he was a decade ago, what life could be if he tapped into that side of him more often. But he just can't seem to find the right balance, the right things to say at the right time, the right line to toe.
"I can't really be mad at you." He places a finger under your chin, willing you to look at him, but quickly retracts it, unsure of what your reaction will be. "This is the same sort of shit I used to pull when I was your age."
"When you were my age, like you're so much older than me," you say, giggling softly.
The sound of your laugh sparks something in the pit of his stomach, but he swallows, wanting to bury it, to snuff it out. "You'll know what I mean when you're twenty-seven. That's four years of learning I have on you."
You lean your hand back into his touch of his hand, and he melts at the familiarity of it. "I think you have every right to be mad at me," you say quietly. "I thought we could... You know... Trick him."
Your voice breaks a little and Leon thinks about how fucked up this all must be for you two. Going through a break-up is hard enough without being almost killed by a grenade, whisked away to a rotting, half-sunken ship, surrounded by manmade horrors, and seeing your ex's neck being snapped in half.
You sniffle and continue. "Well, I guess you did, in a way. I'm just lucky you are smarter than I am."
He wants to hug you close and keep you there, to feel your warmth and the safety he realises he still associates with you, your smell. "I know what it's like to act on a whim. To be impulsive," he murmurs, cupping your cheek in his hand. "But this situation we're in... I think we're making a mistake, letting our feelings control our judgement like this. Back there? I trusted you without hesitating."
You close your eyes. "Do you really think it's a mistake?"
"The innocentest of things can be mistakes on these fucking missions..." He sighs, thinking fuck it fuck it fuck, and pulls your head close into his and places his lips on yours. Just a final peck, a small kiss, that's all. For now. The more things mess themselves up, the more the finishing line seems to stretch out in the distance. It feels like the nightmare will never end, and he finds himself thinking how all of this is fair.
The answer is that none of it is fair, and he knows life isn't fair, and he can handle it, like he always has. But that doesn't mean he can't indulge in a minute of whatever this is. Just one minute.
One last time.
He pulls away, already composing himself and readying himself to leave the infirmary and move on with the mission. But you drop the ice pack and and grab his face in your hands and pull him into a kiss, the kind of kiss he most definitely doesn't need right now, but the kiss he wants above all else.
The kind of kiss that shouldn't be at the forefront of his mind, of your mind, but for some reason it stays there, persisting and thriving among the mountains of problems that keep growing and growing.
"We can't," he mumbles against your lips, kissing you harder.
"I know," you whisper back.
He wraps his arms against your waist — telling himself it's just for one second. He deserves this.
"Clementine," he murmurs. "We need to go back."
"Just one more kiss," you say as you kiss him, your hands still on either side of his face.
He nods. "Okay."
"One more."
"Okay." Yet his lips are still slowly moving against yours.
"Last one, I promise."
He smiles for a second before kissing you again. "Seriously."
"What is wrong with us?" You ask him before finally actually pulling away from him, wiping your lips with your knuckles. "You specifically. Aren't you a special agent or something?"
He tilts his head to one side. "Doesn't make me less of a person with feelings."
Your face shatters and you quickly move to hug him. "God no, I was joking! I— I didn't mean it like that. It was a joke."
His rib screams in pain but he lets you hold him like that. "See? I'm a master of manipulation."
You pull away and study his face for a second before a smile brightens your face. "I hate you."
"Good," he says, standing up from the sofa and putting his shirt on again. "You definitely should if you want to get out of here sooner."
"Well, you should hate me too. Double the hate, double the speed at which we get out of this fucking mission?" You ask, tongue in cheek.
"I definitely can't stand looking at you," he says, teasing. He can't look at you for a lot of reasons, but hatred is definitely not one of them.
"Great. I didn't even like kissing you. Thank God we stopped," you tell him sarcastically, checking the ammo in your handgun.
"Don't push it, princess," he tells you, before giving you a final knowing look and stepping out of the infirmary.
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３：００ｐｍ
"Leon? Clementine? What the fuck happened to you guys?!" Jill shouts as soon as we collide with each other in one of the cramped corridors leading to the observation deck. "What the fuck happened to keeping an open line of communicaton?!"
"It's a long story," Leon replies, clutching his side. "What's the sit-rep?"
Chris eyes Leon's face and then my own, no doubt reaching his own conclusions as he studies Leon's cut on his cheek and lips, and the handprint still pulsating on my cheek. But I can tell he trusts Leon's reason for dismissing of the story, and he doesn't push it further. I expect some stupid comment from Jessica but she is pacing around the room, biting on her thumb's nail, her brow furrowed, like she's panicking.
"The sit-rep is that this damned mission is more messed up than when I found my cousin fucking his sister," Grinder mutters down my ear-piece. Leon and I share a look and we both smother a smile. What?!
"Y'all know about Regia Solis right?" Jackass tells us.
"Affirmative," Chris confirms.
Jackass continues. "Right. That thing is responsible for the destruction of Terragrigia. And they're about to do it again, with wider devastation. We're talking all of Europe here. And y'all know Europe ain't that far from the States, and I don't know about you but—"
"Get to the point," Parker says, looking at Jessica, who has one finger pressed into her ear-piece, listening intently, the usual stupid smirk wiped from her face.
"Riiiiight, right. I get why you're impatient." Jackass types something, before clearing his throat. "The UAV we left on the helipad. That's what you guys need. It will confuse the targeting system on the Regia Solis satellite. It is your literal only hope of surviving this mission. I know y'all can do it. But haul ass or else you won't make it in time!"
"How much time are we talking about here, Grinder?" Chris and Jill ask at the same time.
"Well, the data we have is not as accurate as they make it out to be in those hacker movies, you know the ones?" Grinder asks as he types furiously.
No-one replies, as we all stare at each other, each one of our faces paler than the next. What does he mean, we won't make it in time?
"Tough crowd," Grinder says. "Anyway. Lansdale has activated the satellite. It takes a few minutes to be set up... The activation pass was some quote about a man and false gods from Dante's inferno. Y'all read that? Anyway, don't answer that. The people you're dealing with definitely have, though."
Leon and I look at each other bewildered. Man once I was, during the time of false and lying gods. That was the code Arthur had needed from me. It was an activation code. Tripp must have been needed to be in the same room as Lansdale to activate it, which is why Lansdale sent his son to do the dirty work. But how the hell did he manage to get it to his father in time...? Leon killed him before he could leave the room.
"I've calculated how much time you have to get to that UAV and launch it as far from the ship as possible. Four minutes. Make like Forrest Gump and run! Get that shit launched! Good luck, Grinder out."
"O'Brian?!" Parker shouts into his earpiece, as the frequency changes. "Did you know about this?"
"You need to get us out of here now," Leon tells O'Brian. "This ship is not built to withstand the waves that satellite—"
"I'm sorry," came O'Brian's voice over our comms line. We're all standing in a circle, our fingers pressed into our ear-pieces, making sure we don't miss a single word. Leon and Parker share a look of disbelief, and I see Leon's face harden, while Parker's jaw drops.
"I'm sorry," O'Brian repeats. "But I can't authorise that."
(a/n: do you guys think this story is getting a bit longwinded? because i don't think i have the courage to end it soon LOL i wanna keep writing it forever 🥹)