Chapter Text
Grace has always known she was different. Always known deep down, smothered under all that thick and imposing anxiety, under the constant thrumming of overthinking, that there was some defect to her. Something imposing that no words in the english language could begin to describe. Weeks after the nightmare inducing events at the care center and the revelations about Elpis have done nothing to settle these pressing, suffocating thoughts. She feels like she's drowning and there's no way out.
Her thoughts swim, thrash, flail in her head and she feels like the world is collapsing in on her. She feels absolutely, utterly, desperately insane. He hasn't called her once— Only a few texts checking in on her. She's losing her fucking mind, she thinks. Leon— Leon— Leon— The tall, imposing, twice her fucking age DSO agent that swept into her life like a storm. He smelled of gunpowder, metal and leather. Underneath it all his own distinct scent of rich cinnamon with a hint of whiskey and something else she can't quite place that had her blood bubbling underneath her skin. What exactly was she supposed to do with this? These feelings— These thoughts— The raw, aching need burning in her veins when she thought about him? Grace doesn't know but she's scared to know. Fucking terrified.
People never had scents to her. They never stirred any instincts the doctors always said she's supposed to have. There's an offending O sitting right next to the designation category on her ID. It irritates her every time she has the displeasure of seeing it. The rarest category and she's got nothing to show for it. She'd asked them to double, triple, quadruple check her designation every time she goes for a checkup but the results always come back the exact same. Omega. An omega with no ability to detect scents, no heat, no ability to discern others designations without being explicitly told, no instincts that come along with it.
So why can she distinguish that underlying scent that's uniquely his? Why does she know with utmost certainty that he's an alpha though he's never mentioned it to her? Her head spins and for a moment she's afraid she might slip right off the bar stool she's perched on in her kitchen. Her fingers grip the edge of the counter until her knuckles turn white as she heaves in a breath of much needed air. Clearly she wasn't going to get any work done any time soon.
The clock in the bottom right of her screen shows 3:24 am. Not that she'd ever guess with every light in her apartment on since she stepped foot back in there. It wasn't enough to ward off that thick, oppressing pressure in her head but if it didn't at least take the edge off it. She's going insane. Clearly. Maybe she really does need to see a therapist.
A harsh vibration jolts her from her own head, causing her to twist and turn it, eyes darting around frantically for any perceived threat. With her heart pounding in her ears, her eyes finally land on her phone a couple feet away on the kitchen counter where it rumbles with a call. "S-s-shit-" Her palms feel clammy as she grabs at it to read the caller id, pulse spiking with dread.
"Who would e-even call me at-" In big, bold, offensive letters at the top of her screen sits one Leon S. Kennedy's name. He's calling her— Fuck he's actually calling her. Her fingers are shaking like she just ran a mile but she fumbles to press the answer button, desperate to hear his voice for the first time since ARK. There's a low grumble from his end of the phone and she sucks in a breath before opening her mouth to speak. No words come out. Nothing escapes. Her vocal cords cease to work on her at the moment she needs them the most.
"…Grace?" Leon's voice is low, gravely, like he just woke up from sleep mere seconds before dialing her number. Like the first thing on his mind from sleep was her and— No no no don't think about it like that— Don't get your hopes up— Fucking hell he could ask her to jump and she'd ask how fucking high. "Y-yeah. Umm… S-sorry I'm here," She stammers out. He sighs. A deep, heavy thing that she convinces herself is because he's relieved, happy to hear her voice. At least, she wants that to be the reason. "Sorry to call you so late. I didn't wake you, did I?" He asks softly. She shakes her head, pulling her glasses off her face and closing her laptop. "No. No. I-" Leon let's out a soft snort then asks. "Can't sleep either?"
That elicits a quiet, almost imperceptible laugh from her. "It's been… difficult… since-" Her teeth dig into her bottom lip, stifling the words she can't bring herself to speak out loud. The undead wandering the halls, remnants of humanity spilling from their rotten mouths, the girl— Marie— with her impossibly large body and a jaw able to unhinge wide enough to eat an entire head in one snap. "Yeah… Yeah," He says, tone low and rough with sleep. "It's not something easy to move on from. I know." There's a rustling sound while he's speaking, probably him adjusting into a more comfortable position, and she wonders what he wears to bed before quickly stamping down that thought.
"I…" She chews on her bottom lip, debating on how much she should even say. Settles on telling the truth. "I'm t-terrified to be alone honestly…" There's another rustling sound, a grunt, heavy footsteps. "Want me to come over? Cant say I'll be falling asleep again any time soon…" Sounds of drawers opening, a clink from what sounds like a belt being latched, more grunts, the jingling of keys— He's not even waiting for her answer. Her face flushes hot and she sharply inhales through her nose like oxygen will wave off the heat radiating off her face. Be normal, Grace. Be. Normal.
"O-oh uhh… Y-you don't have to do that! I'm managing! I-it's no big deal so d-don't go out of your way! I-i'll be totally oka-" Grace stumbles through her words, anxiety and desire to see him battling in her head. He huffs out a laugh that has her snapping her mouth shut. "Grace, Darling. It's fine. Like I said. Not sleeping any time soon. Let me do this for you. Consider it my apology for being… Indisposed the past few weeks. I should have called you earlier." Did he just call her darling? Leon fucking Kennedy just called her a term of endearment. Oh no no no— There's no way that's not just how he is. No way that's just for her.
"W-well- Uhh-" Well fuck. "Just… Drive safe, okay?" Her voice is small as she admits her defeat in this unspoken battle of wills. He hums low, the noise slightly dwarfed by the sound of a door closing. "Always do. Ask Sherry how great of a driver I am." He chuckles and she can picture that silly, half smirk he wore on his face when he told her he 'felt like a million bucks' down in ARK. "Actually… Don't ask her that. That might not end well." He deadpans, snorts. "Mostly for me." She couldn't help but laugh at that. "Okay. Heading over. 20 minutes give or take. See you soon." The call disconnects and she's left alone with only herself and her thoughts to keep her.
"Shit-" Her apartment is an absolute mess. Though she was given medical leave from work, Grace swears she spent more time working than resting. Between writing up her report (that she really wasn't required to do yet), obsessively checking her apartment day and night for any perceived threat or bug (the DSO already did this for her but tell her anxiety addled brain that), and dealing with paperwork along with interviews to get custody of Emily she hadn't really spent any time for herself. There's takeout boxes all over every kitchen surface because she's been too all over the place in her head to bother cooking. Her clothes are hanging off all her chairs and the lone leather couch she got used from a co-worker by sheer chance. The bed is unmade, blankets falling off onto the floor from her tossing and turning, the bathroom connected to her room is collecting dirty towels.
Well, nothing to do but do the quickest clean of her life so her home at least looks somewhat presentable for the man she may or may not have a massive crush on. The only saving grace, pun not intended, was that she, at least, didn't have a heat nor a scent so her apartment wouldn't reek like she rolled in her own filth for all those weeks… right? Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if it did, though. Maybe he'd show up, smell her scent and- "Nope. Not thinking that. Shut up, Grace." She shook her head to rid herself of that line of thought, too scared to even dig into it, and set to making her apartment as pristine as possible within the allotted time.
As Grace is tying off the final trash bag there's a firm knock at her apartment door, signaling Leon's arrival— Or… She hopes it's him. She grabs her gun off the counter, tosses the trash bag into the corner with the other, and peeks through the peep hole to confirm, fingers tensing on the safety of her gun. Leon is standing there, bag slung over his shoulder as he looks around the hall. It's just Leon. Just him. Nobody else. Safe, comforting, tall, muscular, breathtakingly handsome Leon. She takes in a shaky breath to steel herself and opens the door.
Grace hasn't seen him in person in weeks. Not since ARK. The gun is still gripped tightly in her hand behind her back while she stares up at him. Was he always that tall? Leon has that strong, rich scent of cinnamon and whiskey shes become so addicted to, so desperate to inhale again. He stares down at her, a slight smirk forming on his face before asking, "You gonna let me in?" Her hands shake, face going blood red as she steps back to let him step in, mutters out, "S-s-sorry." Leon just laughs at this, stepping into her apartment. She closes the door behind him while he kicks off his shoes, drops the gun on the table next to it.
Leon makes his way into the apartment, sets his bag on the bar stool she'd been sitting on when he called, eyeing the apartment with clear interest. "You've got a nice place," He states, no hint of sarcasm among the words. Grace snorts, mutters under her breath, "Should have seen it before you got here." He turns, head tilting a bit, hand placed on the edge of the counter as he considers her. Leon's brows pinch, corner of his mouth twitching, inhales sharply. She fidgets with her hands and the bottom of her tank top, shoulders tensing up to her ears almost. He continues to stare— She dares to peek up at him from under her lashes but his gaze is too intense so she opts to look at her own feet instead.
"…Grace." There's a hand on her upper arm now. She can feel the warmth of his palm through her thin sweater and greedily leans into it. He strokes her arm slowly, gently like any quick movement will send her skittering away. "I'm sorry-" A heavy sigh. "I know how it is after your first time dealing with-" Leon gestures vaguely with his other hand. "Well- All of that." Grace leans into his touch more, desperate for whatever warmth— Whatever affection he's willing to give. Her mouth feels dry, head spins. His scent is so calming but confusingly rousing at the same time. She wants to bury her nose in his warm palm and inhale until all she smells is him.
He makes a strange sound deep in the back of his throat, brings his other hand up to mimic the motions on the other arm. Grace has to dig her nails into the back of her palm to keep from sinking into him. "It's-" She swallows audibly then continues. "It's okay." Leon seems to hesitate for a moment, palms stopping their soothing movements, fingers tensing like he's battling something internally— It has her head buzzing like a hornets nest. "R-really, Leon. I-I'm s-sure you've been busy and-" His hand moves, threads into her hair, pulls her face into his chest. She squeaks out of surprise, a high pitched sound in the back of her throat that ends up muffled in his chest. "It's not fine," He states, sounding strained. His nose presses into her hair, inhaling deeply, opposite hand now rubbing soothing circles on her back— Has her melting into his touch and hands looping around to cling at the back of his shirt. The close proximity allows her to identify the third scent— Apple. Fitting combo.
They stay like that for an undisclosed amount of time— Wouldn't be able to pinpoint it if asked. Tears well up in the corners of her eyes, cheek nuzzles against his chest. He smells like safety— Like home. She's been so alone for so long now. Felt alienated from society for her defect. Leon makes her feel normal— He makes her feel more alive than she's ever been after her mother's murder. Makes her feel wanted. Grace wants to wrap herself up in him and never let go. It pains her to think, no no, to know he doesn't see her the way she sees him. She's nothing more than a young girl old enough to be his daughter and if he knew her feelings he'd laugh at her silly little crush. What a stupid, foolish, childish, broken omega she is to hang on the every word of a man with double the life experience as her.
Her breath hitches on a choked sob— Tears fall without her permission and soak his shirt. His hands continue their soothing motions, never once stopping, and she can't help but tighten her hold on him as she cries, sobs for the first time since she stepped foot back into her apartment that no longer felt safe or like home. "I'm- s-so s-s-sorry-" A hiccup, pause. He says nothing, just let's her work herself through all the baggage rattling loose inside her mess of a mind. When she thinks she finally has a hold on herself, she pulls back, leaves mere inches between her face and his chest, refuses to look at him as the flush of embarrassment colors her cheeks. "T-thanks…" Leon chuckles into the crown of her head, pats her back and mumbles, "Any time."
Grace inhales deeply, an attempt to right herself, disentangles herself from Leon to wipe at her eyes to clear the remnants of her emotional breakdown. When she feels like she can speak without sounding like the obvious train wreck she is she asks, "Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? Coffee?" His hands don't leave their place on her but she's not going to tell him to let go— sniffs quietly and internally chastises herself before continuing,"Ah. Maybe not coffee. Too late. Ran out a week ago, actually." Oh she definitely looks like a child to him now. Can't even be a proper adult that keeps coffee stocked in her home, apparently. Leon makes a small, confused sound— Presses his nose to the side of her head to sniff. He's got her blush returning two-fold with this action, head snapping up to give him a startled look. She can't decide what to be alarmed by most— That he'll realize she has no scent— Or that he'll find a scent. Oh god, that he's even doing it in the first place has her nerves fizzling and frying and she wants him to keep doing it.
There's a hint of a smile on his face when his eyes make contact with hers, tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear that has her breath catch. "Tea is fine," He says softly. She nods, maybe, surely she does and he's letting go of her and she aches at the loss of contact. "Right-" She states. This time she nods for sure. "Right. Let me just-" Grace sets to busying herself in the kitchen, hears him mumble something about vanilla and milk— Thinks maybe he's too polite to request a flavor so she makes sure his tea tastes of the two. "How's Emily?" He asks, The bar stool makes a dragging sound on the cheap linoleum flooring. She throws a look over her shoulder to catch him taking a seat, smiles at him. "Oh. She's doing good. Yeah. They're keeping her there to run tests. Her eyesight is slowly coming back. Saw me for the first time about a week ago."
She's thankful for the distraction he's unknowingly given her, gushes endlessly about Emily's progress, about how annoying and mind-numbing all the paperwork is. Complains about the interviews and the judging eyes from cps workers, the raised brows from her co-workers the one day she stepped into the office to grab some files to work on at home. Leon listens quietly, makes small comments, asks questions, eyes never leaving her— He's always got that intense look the entire time. It makes her heart flutter and beat straight out of her chest. She sets the warm mug of vanilla flavored tea in front of him when all is said and done. "I didn't have coffee but I did have creamer, at least," She says. A nervous laugh escapes before she bites down on her bottom lip. God Grace shut up!
Leon breaks his gaze on her to peer down at the tea, leans down to take a whiff while he starts to stir the spoon in it. When his gaze returns to hers there's confusion and questioning in his steel blue eyes as he asks, "Vanilla with milk?" Grace covers one palm over the other on the counter, drags the nail of her thumb along the soft skin between pointer and thumb of the other hand— Digs— Digs the nail into the skin to distract her disaster of a mind from going straight to rock bottom negative while she attempts to make a cohesive statement in response, "Y-y-yes? I swore I heard you say- I-I-If you don't want it I-I-I can make-" The confusion in his eyes is replaced with a softness alight with amusement. "Vanilla is great. Perfect, actually," He says. The corner of his mouth pulls up into a little smile as he continues, "My favorite, actually."
There's a tenderness and fondness to the way he states it like he's speaking about more than just the tea. It makes Grace's heart pound out of her chest— Like she's a witness to something private. That he's probably thinking about someone that smells of vanilla tea with milk, wishing to be with them instead of the silly, crushing omega in front of him that, at best, smells like whatever soap was on sale at the time of purchase. It breaks her from the inside— A slow crack that splinters out from the center of impact. She can't look him in the eye, focuses her attention on the grainy pattern of the counter beneath her palms, gross and clammy as they stick to it.
Grace is in too deep and she doesn't know how to swim.