Chapter Text
Another black folder was slammed down on your overflowing desk. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the thickness.
How many files that you had to read and study were in there?
"I'm already drowning here, you can't just throw more shit my way." You huffed and stretched back in your reclining chair. Your poor back popped in satisfaction at the change of position.
Susannah just looked at you with pity in her eyes. "This takes priority over anything else. Boss' orders."
You moved the folder closer to you, curious about what could be so important. You opened it, just to get a quick peck at what you had to work with.
Your hand froze mid-air. You clenched your teeth. Your heart skipped a beat, laughing at your useless attempt to remain calm.
It couldn't be.
You read the name at the top of the file, right next to the picture that had destabilized you.
It could.
"Susannah." Your voice was colder now, distant. "I can't work on this."
She shrugged. This wasn't her fault, after all.
"I can't do anything about it, Miss. You will have to talk to Boss." She turned to leave your office.
Before closing the door shut, she looked at you one last time. "Oh, I almost forgot. You've got a meeting at 10, regarding...that." And she pointed to the folder still open in your unmoving hand.
You couldn't stop the groan forming in your throat. Nor the headache that would come soon after.
Well, you categorically, indefinitely refused to work with him. No way in hell could you keep a straight and professional attitude towards the man who had ruined you, broken you, forced you to change into something new.
Memories of the pain, the rain, the cutting words spoken in a cold tone flashed in your head.
No, you were not strong enough for this, for him.
All that was left to do, was talk to your boss and convince him to move the mission to someone else. Easy, right?
No.
"You're the only one I trust with this." Robertson's voice was definitive. There was no arguing with him when he was in such a foul mood, which was basically always.
"Sir, there are...personal matters which might compromise my professional relationship with the American correspondent."
No one knew much about your previous relationship with the D.S.O. soldier, or what you went through after Raccoon City, or anything at all about your life before London.
You were different now, sure, stronger, less insecure, but you still struggled with sharing your past or present problems. You liked to keep things to yourself, and that aspect of your personality would probably never change.
All your colleagues knew you came from the USA. Your boss knew you had worked for the F.O.S. before. That was one of the reasons you were granted such a good position in so little time. And that's basically it. That's all the information they needeed. No reasons to add anything else.
Robertson's eyes finally lifted from the paper he was reading, giving you the attention you demanded. He stared at you, cold, impassive, almost bored. "Have you worked with Agent Kennedy before?"
"Not really worked. I know him, but-" You were interrupted before you could finish the sentence by your boss' hand slamming on the table, not strong enough to hurt, but loud enough to make you jump.
"You already know him! That's perfect. You'll make a great team." Despite the change in pitch, his words held no real excitement.
He left you no time to retort further, snapping his fingers in front of your face. "If I'm not mistaken, and I rarely am, you have a conference in about..." He looked at the expensive watch on his wrist. "Two minutes. If I were you, I wouldn't risk arriving late and making a fool of myself in front of the Americans. Go, now!"
As much as you hated it, orders were orders. He was your boss and you had to do what he said.
So, you left the office without another word and closed the heavy wooden door shut behind you. You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration and sighed.
Everything was going so well.
You had a nice job, with a nice pay, that was also helping you get your revenge on the corporation that destroyed everything you had once loved. Your life was finally back to normal, more or less. You still had nightmares, of your parents, of Raccoon City, of the day you were kidnapped and tortured.
But you were fine. Not happy, not overjoyed, not grateful. You were surviving. And you were content with the way things were going.
You had already gone through enough changes to last a lifetime. You just wanted stability, now.
But, of course your past had to resurface and bite you in the ass.
You felt the familiar fire burn your stomach, anger rising fast from the darkest part of your mind. You wanted to punch something.
You closed your eyes, took a deep breath and counted to five. When you raised your eyelids back up, you were calmer.
You forced a professional smile on your lips and walked to the conference room.
The long table was already full, only five chairs were left unoccupied. One that belonged to you, the other four waiting for the American representatives that still weren't there.
With a grimace, you noticed that the free seats were all close together. You chose one and moved it as far away as possible from the others.
Time passed, and no one was showing up. You started to read the files handed to you by Susannah, just to do something productive and not go into the conference blind.
Three abandoned laboratories were discovered hidden in the Cambrian Mountains, which could be linked to Umbrella Corporation. The purpose of the mission was to scout the buildings to find evidences of any kind left behind by the scientists and secure the zones.
It would be easy work for you and your team of field agents. So you did not understand why the USA had to get involved.
You were twirling a pen in your hand, bored and annoyed. You had other things to get back to, this fucking late idiots were keeping you from your job.
Your colleagues around you probably shared your same frustration, given their hushed whispers and angry stares. You were just about to stand up and leave, when the door creaked open.
Susannah stepped inside first, with a fake, polite smile on her lips. Behind her followed three men wearing elegant suits and holding heavy leather briefcases. At last, a hunched figure passed through the door.
You didn't need to see his face to know who he was.
Your heart leaped to your throat when he raised his head and you saw a tired, miserable expression distorting his handsome features. Your eyes snapped right in front of you.
You refused to look at him.
Because, even after everything that happened, you felt butterflies awake in your stomach without your permission. Digging all the feelings you had tried so hard to bury, back up was the last thing you needed.
You did not hear Susannah introduce the newcomers, too focused on biting every single cuticle left on your fingers until they bled.
You did not turn around to see who had taken the chair next to you. But from your peripheral view you noticed the mop of blond hair sitting last, way too close to you for comfort.
You could feel his gaze burning in the back of your head, but you kept your eyes locked on the screen opposite to him.
It was hard to ignore it. His stare. His presence. Him.
But you did your best and listened to your colleagues debrief the mission in detail, without taking breaks to think, because you knew your mind would drift to lost memories.
They explained how the operation was supposed to unfold.
Leon was to infiltrate the laboratories on his own, while a squad of soldiers from your section waited a few hundred meters away, hidden, for the clear signal. Once he'd confirmed nothing dangerous was still roaming in the buildings, the other agents would search the rooms for whatever they deemed of interest. And leave as soon as everything was confirmed safe.
Your role? You'd be the one on comms with Leon the whole time, guiding him and keeping him safe. Lucky you.
Another man took the place of the one currently speaking, and he showed the possible routes planned to explore the first building. You took notes of the layout and secret passages, notes that you would study later that night, if insomnia decided to keep you awake.
You felt Leon stare at your back the whole time.
It made you wonder if he was even paying attention to the information discussed in the meeting. Information that could save his life later on.
You doubted it.
The brief lasted a couple of hours. The American side of the table was completely silent the whole time. You were dying by the need to ask why the hell were they here.
You were sure you did not need Leon for this. Mathias, or Leya, or John were more than good enough for the mission. You really did not understand. The USA always wanted to step into shit that did not concern them.
After the last questions and a few goodbyes, your colleagues started to take their leave around you, talking about lunch or just a quick break.
You kept to yourself, finishing mapping better routes on the copy of the building's layout and underlining information about the territory on the files previously handed to you.
Your mind was already working on the best steps to take to approach the mission, everything around you an unregistered blur of moving bodies and hushed conversations.
You didn't notice everyone leaving you alone in the big room. Everyone except one. Not until that one spoke.
"Still obsessed with work, eh?" The observation was meant to sound playful, but it just ended up being awkward and tense.
You froze, hand letting go of the pencil. You didn't want to admit it, but you had missed that voice.
The voice that had whispered sweet nothings in your ears in the dead of night, to soothe you from nightmares. The voice that had made you laugh so hard you'd struggled to breathe so many times. The voice that had broken your heart with only a few words spoken without restraint. The voice that still haunted you in your sleep.
You looked at him for the first time in over a year. Really looked at him.
Your heart skipped several beats, buried emotions stirring to life deep in your guarded mind.
"You look good." There was an empty grin on Leon's lips. The same soulless expression you had seen so many times before, but never aimed at you.
It pained you, but you pushed the feeling away, swallowed down the sting of tears.
"You look like shit." Your words were crude, but true.
He was still the handsome man you remembered, but there was something wrong in the way he carried himself. His eyes lacked the shine they held when he was with you, and they were hidden under dark bags. His hunched shoulders made him look tired and older. He was pale. New scars littered his defined arms.
And every time he breathed, you could smell a waft of alcohol coming from him. "And drinking before work, really?"
Seeing him this miserable made you...sad.
"Guess who's fault that is." He was staring at you with dead eyes. His words held a provocative undertone.
You gasped, taken aback by the accusation. Did he really just-
You had pushed yourself through traumas and tortures for him. You had been ready to stay by his side even if that meant facing more pain and fears than you could imagine. You had tried to change, to be better, just for him.
And he had left you behind after the first bump in the road, because he was too scared to keep driving through a run-down, dangerous path with you.
How was that supposed to be your fault?
You scoffed.
You felt the familiar anger burn in the pit of your stomach. Your face reddened. And you started to shake, adrenaline coursing through your veins like a river after an apocalyptic downpour.
That was everything you needed to understand that there would be no happy reunion, no 'I missed you', no 'let's make this work'. Absolutely nothing.
The less time you spent in his company, the better. Both for you and for him.
Because you were seriously on the verge of strangling him. Refrained only by the knowledge of how much stronger he was.
You gathered all your papers and got up in a hurry.
You looked him straight in the eyes, burning embers staring at detached icicles. "Fuck off, Kennedy."
The expression of pure anguish on his face almost made you hesitate. Almost.
You still found enough strength to turn around and bolt out of there.
He called your name, tried to reach your arm to stop you. "Wait, I'm-"
'Sorry' was muted by the sound of the heavy door slamming in his face, missing his nose by mere millimeters.
You heard a frustrated 'shit' on the other side, but you did not pay it any mind. You just kept walking, straight to your office, steps heavy and furious.
You plopped down on the chair, head buried in your hands. "Why?" You asked no one.
Your heart was pounding in your chest. You tried to swallow all the contrasting feelings that were trying to reach the surface.
You could not let love blind you once again.
You were different.
You were stronger.
You would get through this shitty turn of events unscathed.
Just a few weeks of work with a ghost of your past and everything would go back to normal.
It would, right?