Chapter Text
You weren’t a stranger to the government's horrible track record, even, as the fact that whenever the agency for fighting bioterrorism seemed to only have five-to-ten-working-at-a-time agents that ever actually did anything to stop the fight against Umbrella for the past thirty years (not including the small clutch of squads that are given when needed) was self-explanatory. The day that Raccoon City got wiped out seemed to be a starting point in your career, as you happened to only be a teenaged intern at the time. Now, definitely not a teenager anymore, you now happened to be one of the few DSO's on-the-ground agents that helped in extraction.
Your latest mission had to do with human experimentation, or, at least, you think. Ireland’s docks were cold as you slipped into the piers at night, sneaking around pretending to be a longshoreman.
There was a shipping bin with your name on it – trafficking a few people in a large shipping container of whom all apparently contained special characteristics in their blood. All knocked out and meant to wake in some illegal laboratory, living and dying as guinea pigs for tests they wanted no part in.
How would you know they wanted no part of it if they were unconscious? After finding and opening the shipping container, they all eventually woke up and told you. Huge news, plastered all over European channels for a few weeks. Your name, of course, was kept hidden. To everyone else, you went on a fashionable vacation to the British Isles.
“How was Ireland?”
“Great. They make good lamb stew.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Almost everyone else. Anyone who was part of extraction knew you were on no vacation, and would give you a knowing nod when you walked into headquarters that morning for the first time in weeks. Bumping into Sherry gave you your first question of the trip. Still, you smile coyly.
“What? I hate the heat, and Ireland’s great at keeping cold. Got to see what James Joyce wrote so lovingly about. Perfected my Irish jig and listened to Enya and the Cranberries live. Ate a lifetime's worth of potatoes. Rick Steves would have been proud.”
“Uh-huh.” Everyone saw the news, including the private videos that you recorded that documented everything that was done in order to kidnap and transport all those victims. Even taped moments that shouldn’t have been recorded, like you bleeding out while hiding from paid muscles that nearly caught you, and you hastily reporting everything that you found and sending it to the cloud just in case worse came to worse. “Well, at least you got easy work back. There’s a big pile of paperwork waiting at your spot, just for you.”
You groaned, but secretly were relieved. Paperwork meant nothing was amiss on your mission – if you missed something, your desk would be empty and you’d be sent out as soon as maps were drawn. And, like gold to a pirate, there was a neat stack of neon-white waiting attractively at your desk next to your colorful Campus notebooks and Decomposition spirals.
“Thought I heard your footsteps.”
“Leon!”
He sat at the edge of your desk. Despite being only a few years older than you, he looked…different. Handsome – obviously, his blond hair, strong jaw, shamefully excessive muscles and voice – but for some reason, instantly aged. His hair wasn’t as blond as it was before you got shipped off to the Isles, and he had a curious slouch that was made obvious because of his large back’s silhouette. The fine lines around his eyes and mouth looked oddly defined.
Again, he was no spring chicken, but he wasn’t ancient either. An older man in a young man’s profession, it was odd that he looked so…
“How was Ireland?”
“Sherry already asked me that. Why don’t you ask her?”
“Sherry didn’t leave for ten weeks, you did.”
“You counted? How sweet.”
His pale eyes focused on you, surprisingly not sheepish at your tease. “I sit across from you in meetings, of course I noticed.” If anyone who didn't know what the two of you did for a living listened in on your conversation, they’d think you both worked in some boring finance job. “So, how was it? You look…new.”
You raised a brow. “New?” You did know what he meant, though – the sea air and ability to eat three square meals a day in between dodging bullets made huge improvements on your looks.
“Uh…yeah. New. Your face looks good despite all the bullets in your report. I mean...not that you look bad normally.” He shifted a little awkwardly. Despite his looks, you’ve known him long enough to know he wasn’t the smoothest compliment-giver (understatement). Not in the least, so you throw him a bone.
“Island tan. I got one of those. That must be the new thing.” Mind you, it’s Ireland in October.
He gave a small, handsome smile. His stubble was growing grey and blond. “Yeah. That’s it.” After nodding, Leon stood again with a quiet groan. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
His figure was clothed in a blue zip shirt that was oddly closed all the way up to his Adam’s apple. You’ve seen him wear that shirt before, and he liked to loosen the collar and roll up his sleeves even when it was cold out. He must be uncomfortable, especially with the black leather gloves on his hands…Sherry was also wearing the same kind of glove, only on one hand, though. Gloves indoors?
Huh.
Oddly discolored skin. Weird, hunched slouching. Tired, low voice. Weak smile. And his eyes – now that you think about it, the whites of Leon’s eyes were more a pale yellow than actually white.
You follow Leon into the locker rooms that the agency had for mission prep. Something about forgetting something in your bags, or whatever. Making sure to avoid his line of sight, as he was always so watchful, and walking until the agency’s fine marble floors were replaced with blue linoleum. Your footsteps were silent as you made your way to the girl’s section, trying your best to time yourself so you caught him just as he was leaving, just to check –
“Y'know, you could at least take me out to dinner first before watching me change.”
“What!? I - I wasn’t – ”
“Mhm, sure.”
He knew you were there, because of course he did. Your face burned a million degrees, as if the hours of cold wind in your past mission did absolutely nothing now. “I mean it, I wasn’t trying to peep!”
Leon raised a blond brow, now pulling his leather jacket over his shoulders. His belt was strapped with an axe, two guns, and a small knife. “Oh yeah? Then what?”
You cross your arms defensively, coming from the small aisle of lockers for other agents. “You’re about to go out on an investigation, but you’re limping when you think no one is watching. And you slouch. You never slouch. Not like you're carrying a ton on your back.” Your eyes flicker to his hands. You developed a bad habit of staring at them when they weren’t gloved. “And your hands are sore. Sherry’s got the same kind of glove on, and she winces whenever she types too much.”
“Could be because Sherry doesn’t like computer work.”
“Sherry’s whole position relies on computers.”
“Work fatigue, then.”
“And the secret limping?”
“I’m old.”
“Not that old, Kennedy.”
“Shucks. You make me blush.”
“Leon. Stop it.” After a pause, you add, “you shouldn’t go out on missions unless you’re physically ready. You know that.”
Instead of getting some smart-assed one-liner, Leon sighed. There was a tired resignation in his eyes as he looked back up at you. “...you’re too observant for someone who's supposed to be taking it easy.”
After a moment’s pause, his gloved hand went to his shirt’s zipper and slightly undid the neck. The flesh on his thick throat wasn’t pale like it normally was, but splotchy with purple and black, like ink from a fountain pen branching out after its nib was pressed against paper for too long. Then after another moment, he took off his glove – same thing, but on his weathered hand. The whole back of it was black, though it stopped at the wrists. The worry in your stomach made you take his palm into yours before realizing, but even then not caring.
“How long has it – does Sherry – ” you struggle to say anything, a familiar dread building in your throat. Everyone who worked in the bioterrorism circuit knew what the symptoms of an infected person looked like, T-virus or other.
“Just on her hand,” he says, as if that’s somehow supposed to soothe you. You’ve known Sherry since she was a fresh-faced newbie in the agency. Leon’d vouched for her, along with Claire, and you both grew to have a friendly report with each other. Girlfriends, gal pals, coworkers who talked trash about others while trying not to spill yogurt over redacted government documents. “She’s helping me with this investigation.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“Just you. I don’t want anyone else to worry.”
“Leon – ”
Leon said your name with a gentle finality. Still, there was a whisper of desperation near the end of his voice as he continued, “no one can know. Alright? It’s my job to keep people safe, and if – ”
“You're also people! You also need to – ”
“I don’t!” He quietly hissed. His jaw locked slightly as his nostrils slightly flared. You only realize it’s not out of anger when he avoids eye contact with you. “...sorry. But I don’t need help here. Not when there’s worse people out there, hurting innocents.” He licked his lips. “Besides. We’ve already scoured different lab reports. Research docs. What we have is foreign. It’s not like we have a ready-made cure for it.”
“But you don’t think it’s…y’know.”
“...I think you already know the answer to that.”
This didn’t feel right, not in the least. Despite your words, the low tone and slight shake made it clear you were nervous for him. “Leon, you look like shit. I can’t – if something happened to you and I knew that I could have said something…”
His brow furrowed. “So what? You’re gonna tell on me to Chris, or something? Call Jill?”
A surprise small laugh escaped your throat. It was slightly bitter. “No, no. It’s not like they’d even be around to even hear me.” After a moment, you make your peace: “I want to come with you. Just be an extra pair of hands, ears and eyes when needed.”
Leon stiffened at that. “I can’t ask that of you, you just got back from – ”
You sighed. “And I’m done relaxing. I slept on the plane back, that’s enough. I’m coming with you.” A pause. “Unless you feel a hundred percent ready, healthy and physically able to pull this off without lady luck on your side?”
“When has lady luck ever been on my side?” He grumbled. His pale eyes studied your face. When you first met, he was completely torn a new one after the events of thirty years ago. Barely year one into your job, and he mostly kept to himself. You don’t even remember a proper introduction, just one day you bumped into each other in the hallway and he apologized and said your name despite never giving it to him. It’s been much warmer between the two of you since.
Leon’s palm overturned, leaving your grasp and slipping under the back of your hand to cocoon it. It was reliably warm, slightly hardened from old scarring and age, but comfortable all the same. You could feel the coolness of the ring on his finger, the same kind Sherry has on hers. Something about surviving the same hell. “It’s just an investigation. Shouldn’t be too much trouble. All this will do is make me feel like some old geezer who finally needs an aid.”
“Is that a no?”
Leon sighed and finally let go of your hand. “No. C’mon, the snooping shouldn’t take too long. I’ll let Sherry know you want in.”
“She’ll be okay with it?”
A funny huff escaped his throat. “She’s been considering asking you to be our consultant the entire time you were overseas. You’re her favorite viral specialist, after all.”
DSO required unnecessary expertise in many things, optional like coding, virology, even ancient languages, for some reason – “Glad to know the random class I took twenty years ago finally paid off.”
The agency’s lower levels held all the cars that everyone had driven into work that day. The garage was grey, as large as a warehouse, with a ramp instead of stairs, and was lined with different rides from trucks to motorbikes. Leon’s car stood out because of how fancy it was, and you couldn’t help but make the jab of – “I’m surprised they gave you the Cayenne, considering how terrible of a driver you used to be.”
Leon snorted. “I wasn’t that bad.”
“Wasn’t that ba – doesn’t your insurance have a special warranty because of your driving skills?” He absentmindedly mentioned it once, complaining while on a stakeout forever ago about how he had to have ‘special clearance’ because of his mishandling of government vehicles. You still wonder if he knows the difference between driving a car and a motorcycle.
“Yeah, but because of the fact I’m an agent, not because I’m…me.” You both stop walking once the black Porsche makes it into view. He goes to the passenger side of the front and takes his car keys from his pocket, pressing a button before the sound of car doors automatically unlocking hits your ears. He opened the door. “Ladies first.”
You get in, the scent of old leather and cologne filling your nose. Your cheeks heated up instinctively, despite already associating the smell with him. The liquor stench was finally gone, at least, but the racing feeling in your chest began again. Shit. Your feelings always felt mildly dubious for him, a passing crush, but after so many years this was just getting ridiculous.
VROOM!
Just as the car roared to life, the sound of the comm’s broke through.
“Sherry, it’s Leon. I’m on my way now.”
A lighter voice spoke slightly staticky on the other side – “Alright, I’ll start your tracker.”
“Also, I got that consult you’ve been wanting.”
“Huh?”
Leon’s head turned from the driver’s wheel to your face, tilting slightly to the small screen and indicating for you to speak. “Hey, Sherry. Leon’s letting me tag along.” You say that casually, as if you didn’t hastily strap yourself with your guns under your coat before leaving.
The blonde’s voice brightened over the speaker. “Oh, really? That’s great! Wait, does she know about – ”
“Yep,” you both say at the same time.
“And that no one else – ”
“Uh-huh.”
“And that we don’t know – ”
“Yes.” A slight smile forms on both of your mouths at your vocal synchronization. You finally break the little spell. “I’ll just be there to help keep an eye on things, that’s all. Make sure nothing’s amiss.”
“Alright then. I’ll hear from you guys when you get there.”
As the car makes its way out of headquarters' hidden exit and into the dark grey, rainy outside, you do your best to busy yourself with the files Leon had given you to help catch up with what he and Sherry knew.
It was either that or trying to ignore the pit that was forming in your stomach, which you weren’t sure if it was from your feelings for the man next to you or the fact that he’s likely slowly running out of time.