Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

             Chapter I

Waking up in the heat of sweat, alarm blaring, you remain in bed feeling powerless. It’s been years since Raccoon City. Six years and yet the nightmares of that godforsaken event continue to plague you… All you can say, for now, is that they don't leave you in despair as they did in your earlier years of recovery. As if routine, an unwanted memory begins reeling its way to the front of your subconscious. Remembering the unwanted doesn’t happen as frequently either, but when it does happen, it's one hell of a bitch to tuck back away. There’s no use in thinking about that, you think to yourself. Without that deep restorative slumber before work, you’d have to head out early for a good cup of coffee, or your day was screwed.

You veer off to the side, checking the clock. It's 6:15 s- IT’S 6:15! You panic, “Shit, shit, shit,” rushing out of bed into the bathroom. Luckily for you, work is about 10 minutes away, and you're required to wear a uniform. Yet you always find a way to take longer than necessary when getting ready. Might have to kiss that special cup of coffee goodbye and welcome in a shit day. Nooo, no, you need that coffee today. An espresso brew, more specifically. As you start a quick hot shower, you send out a text to your coworker begging them to grab you something on their way in. Knowing they’ll do it, you don't bother to check the phone as the notification goes off. And it goes off again… and for a third time. From the shower, you could telli t wasn’t a text but a phone call. Back-to-back phone calls. 

 

“Geez, they’ll have to fucking wait a minute,” and as if on cue, it rings again. This must be important… it better be, now that youre ending your shower earlier than intended to answer. “Carla? What the hell, are you okay?” phone tucked between your shoulder and ear, as you slather lotion over yourself. “Are you running late again? You are. Another nightmare, hun?” you groan, shoving on your scrubs, managing to put on deodorant at the same time. “Yeah, of course. Thats like the only reason I’m ever late, but its fine. I'm showered, nearly ready, and you're bringing me coffee. Why are you calling me like some crazed mother?”

 

“Sadie tried calling you, she said head of security is looking for you! Do you know what that could mean?” You froze. The head of security is searching for you? It could mean 3 things: you’re in deep shit for something you don't know about, or you’ve been accepted to go into the field for a mission, or you didn’t get accepted, but you're pretty sure you’d receive an email instead of an in-person visit. You’ve waited months for this. School and training, training and school. You’ve been nursing since before the incident in Raccoon City, but after, you’ve desired to do more… feeling as though preventing another event like that would ease your mind and maybe stop the nightmares. Being a medic in the field for research, protection, and care? “It means I need to get my ass over there pronto.”

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                        

 

In a worried rush, you check your watch on the elevator. 6:58, just in time. The chime of the elevator bing prompts everyone to pour out one after the other, but you stay behind until you reach the second ground level floor. Your home floor, where all patient care and observation is done for civilians and government officials who have witnessed or come in contact with bioterroristic weapons and hurt officials returning from their missions or training sequences. The elevator bings once again, and before the doors fully open youre practically running to your unit to clock in, finding Carla already at the badge reader.

 

“Okay im here, have they come back around yet?” she grins, shoving a lidded cup in hand, “You’d better chug that or take a few sips, I'm pretty sure they said to send you up to the presidential floor,” you squeal, heart slamming against your chest. “Give me your stuff, I’ll put it in your locker,” you both squeal in hurried excitement. She had been with you every step of the way, cheering you on for getting a chance in the field. “Shit, my hair, I didn’t have time to put it up! I just-” you groan, motioning to your head dramatically. “I just threw it into a sloppy braid. Help.” “oh you shut up. You look like a pretty brown doll with thick curly hair in a damn braid. Your little curly flyaways make it even cuter.” She takes your coffee, looking you over, 

 

“Just clean off those glasses and get your ass upstairs. Hurry so you can be back in time for your boyfriend, you know he’ll find a way in here.” You throw her a look, attempting to hide your smile. 

“Stop it, we’re good friends. You treat him if I'm not back in time.”

“No can do. He’s just gonna ask for you and you only.” you dont respond, as time is of the essence and you’re jogging to the elevator. 

 

You try not to think of him on the elevator ride up. God, he easily took up so much space in your mind the moment you hear of or see him. 

“No, no, focus. You have to focus, not think about your pretty DOS agent friend.”

Who only asks for you to treat him when he’s wounded. The elevator comes to a stop, doors open, waiting for you to exit. The presidential floor… but where to? You curse to yourself, realizing you have no fucking idea where to go from here. With each slow and careful step, you look over the corridor. Off-white walls decorated with American flag poles on either wall, antique frames of presidents generously spaced out down the hall. There's a dark oakwood antique desk right at the end, with a woman heavily engaged with the computer. Dressed in a fuchsia pink tweed suit and hat, her eyes flash over at you. She calls out your name in question to confirm you were who she expected. Suddenly, by the tone of her voice and demeanor, you feel out of place. 

The atmosphere of the floor was already notably different. Very old-fashioned and of a much more consequential nature. It made you feel out of place, and the woman ahead of you didn’t ease the feeling.

 

“Um, yes. I was told to come to the presidential suite. I'm not sure where I'm supposed to-” she peered at you over a set of glasses accompnied with beaded string, cutting you off. “Yes, you can come straight down here to the door on your left. You are meeting with the Secretary of Defense Wilson Meyers. Goodluck honey," She nods with a small smile, you returning the gesture as you knock before heading into the room. “Goodmorning sir, I apologize for the late arrival.” You stop short before the man in front of you, hands folded behind your back in a poor attempt to look disciplined. A man of short and slim stature turns with a smile. Crinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth. His hair was heavily peppered with gray, and favoring the look of someone who had been through war one too many times, yet kindness remained in those eyes.

 

“Oh no, I should be apologizing. We are usually much more appointed and organized than this. Please take a seat,” you do as suggested, anticipation eating you alive. Wilson pulls out a file with a photo of you clipped to it, reading your full name. “You’ve been working towards becoming a field agent. I see you’ve done a fair share of studies in virology and microbiology, working towards a PhD. You started a nursing career pretty early,” he pauses, reading more of the file and peeks over the folder.

 “You’re from Raccoon City?”

“Yes,” that's all you could muster to say in the moment.

“So you were there during the incident?” You freeze, anger broiling through your veins. The incident? That's what everyone says despite them knowing it was a fucking massacre.

 

 “Are you the one who made it through the city with S.T.A.R.S member Jill Valentine?” he places the file down in confusion.

“Yes. Raccoon City was my home. I was born and raised there. And managed to escape with Jill Valentine, when everyone decided to abandon it,” the mention of Raccoon City is deafening in your mind. Nothing else roams your brain but those horrific moments of death and terror. His face pales slightly, guilt writhing within him, “How is it that we are just finding out that it's you? We would have recruited you sooner had w-”

 

“I chose not to acknowledge the massacre of my home city for a while, as I lost everything and everyone in that… Incident,” You mock the term, despising it. A.fucking.massacre it was. “To be completely honest, I wouldn’t have been easy to work with. Nor willing. So I kept my head down and did what I needed for myself."

“I understand… I'm truly sorry for what you had to endure and all that you’ve lost. Forgive me for questioning you about this, but why join the USSTRATCOM now? What is different for you now, compared to then?” he looked you over with a pained understanding, knowing he, too, was allowing the cover-up of Raccoon City to happen. Shifting in your seat, mentally tucking away the unwanted memories of what was lost, again.

 

“Yes, again, sir, I lost everything in that city. The horrors of the virus is nothing, absolutely nothing compared to watching those you love either be torn apart or turned into those things.” With guilt, Wilson looked away, shifting your file on the table. You clear your throat, masking the anger and resentment peaking through your voice, “When I made it out of the city with Jill Valentine, I helped with emergency care, identifying those infected, and offering consolation. I thought being in the medical unit was enough for me. Giving care to those fighting against the viruses and helping the victims, but-” you fidget with your hands, focusing on the nothing that's there.

 

“Its not enough for me. I’d rather be in the field preventing people from weaponizing the viruses and wreaking havoc in someone else’s city. I want to be out there to stop it. Before it happens again.” Wilson removes his glasses, a hand brushing over his face. He could never understand what you went through, but the guilt of knowing the government was covering up the truth would surely keep him awake tonight.  You wonder if you said too much, showed too much emotion, but Wilson looks at you with sympathy and respect. It's bad enough that the truth behind Raccoon City would be covered up; he wouldn’t dare rob you of this opportunity. He’s heard of the rumors of your combat and knowledgeable skills with Jill Valentine, through a transferred report. You held your own really well for someone with no militant experience. Surely with additional training, psych evals, and your current medical and scientific knowledge, you’d be a good fit for a medic field agent. A small-scale position to build you up for higher positions in the future.

 

He wouldn’t rob you of this. He couldn’t.

 

                                                                                                                                                                                     

“She’s back, she’s back!” one of your fellow nurses yelled from her desk, signalling for Sadie and Carla to come running over. “Finally, you’re fucking back. We’re capped at 5 patients each right now, have about 3 more coming in for you, and your boyfriend is here. Been waiting, a while too,” Carla gleamed, gesturing over to a room. “Cut it out, he’s my friend for crying out loud,” you chuckled, earning scoffs and eyerolls from everyone. “We have 5 minutes max, how did it go? Did you get it? As shitty as it is losing you, we know you’ve really wanted this. So come on w-”

 

“Carla, shut up! Let her talk,” Sadie blew a bubble from gum. “So lovey?” You make a poor attempt to look disappointed, but truly, you suck at masking your emotions. “I am officially being promoted to field medic,” you grin, making little gestures with your hands. They all squeal and jump, drawing attention over to your group, “Ladies! These patients aren’t treating themselves! Let's get back to work,” your supervisor yelled out with a wink. He must’ve known before you. “We have to celebrate. Let's plan something at lunch. In the meantime, go take care of your lover. He said he doesn’t mind being seen last.” Carla winks before you could rebut her ‘lover’ statement. Grabbing a rolling computer, you head over to his room. You have 2 other patients in the queue, but they haven’t arrived yet, so he’ll have to be seen first. You knock on the entrance, announcing your arrival. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite careless DOS agent again,” you tease him with a knowing smile. He’s not careless at all, just works too hard because of that big heart of his. 

 

“Hmm, I don’t think I’d be receiving top-of-the-line care if I were careless.” 

“Hmm, you wouldn’t wait an-” you pause, briefly looking over when he was checked in and what for, “An hour! For fractured ribs!? Are you actually stupid?” you quietly shout at him, eyes wide as you look straight to his abdomen. “Why would you wait that long? And what the hell happened? Actually, I don’t want to know, it’ll probably piss me off.” he painfully laughs at that, letting out a shaky breath. You then assess the cuts, scrapes, and bruises riddled over his face and arms. Immediately you’re over him on the examination bed, taking his face in your hand to inspect the bruising on his face, and nasty gash in his shoulder “ I’m going to murder you. I told you to stop waiting for me if any of your injuries qualify for immediate attention.” you’re not thinking much of it at first, holding his face as if hes a child until your eyes meet his soft gaze. Those ice blue-grey eyes, that look so cold and hardened, hide the warm and sweet soul behind them.

The warm and sweet soul that enjoys being scolded and teased for getting battered on the job. That warm and sweet soul who hopes you're in for a shift when he checks in for treatment.That warm and sweet soul that's beginning to realize just how much he relishes and enjoys your touch. “Sorry,” you breathe out, quickly retreating to the supplies locker across the room. He smiles to himself, watching you rustle through drawers and gathering supplies into your scrubs pocket. Leon, at his core, is a gentleman. He’s always been, but he can help but allow his gaze to flow from the curls refusing to stay tucked in your braid, down below your shoulder blades, lower and lower and lower until they rest over your bottom. How was he supposed to control his gaze when your butt is so round, perfectly perched up, especially in those damned scrubs? His eyes bolt to your face when you turn, making your way back over to him.

 

“Why’d you say sorry?” he had an idea of why you said sorry like that. Would you really tell him why, though? Probably not. “I was dragging your face around like you were a child. Shirt off. Do you need help, or are we cutting it?” 

“It’ll be easier if you cut it off,”  you curse to yourself, not prepared to be in the room alone with a half-naked and injured Leon Kennedy. You hum in response, adjusting the bed for him to lie back on at a lower elevation. “Alright, you know the routine. Go ahead and lay back. Then name and date of birth,” you already know his name and date of birth, obviously, but it's protocol… and you need a sense of distraction while you cut his shirt down the middle, revealing chiseled abs bruised with a slight glisten. The act felt all too intimate as he watched you. You needed to talk to distract yourself from the moment, but couldn’t think of anything other than how fucking strong his build was. He could probably pick you with little to no struggle.

 

 “What was all that commotion about earlier? Someone getting married or something?” thank god he said something. You chuckle, helping him remove the shirt from his shoulders and arms, noting every wince and groan he makes. The feeling of his eyes burning into you kept you from looking at him. You couldn’t do eye contact right now, not while being painfully aware of the way his biceps flexed while adjusting himself. For fucksakes, he’s injured, focus. Some superficial cut along his abs, those beautifully sculpted abs speckled with blonde hair leading into a happy trail. He was beginning to bruise on his left side. It was pink and red now, but would surely be purple and blue tomorrow. Unintentionally forgetting his question, you look over for more injuries, that gash in his shoulder. Someone definitely did the bare minimum, just packing it to prevent further bleeding. They had to, considering he’s already been waiting for an hour. After placing two icepacks over his ribs, you take a deep breath, looking at him. Bruising along his cheekbone, superficial cuts along his brow. You’ve seen way worse on Leon, of course. He’s Leon Kennedy. This is practically child's play for him, but it doesn’t stop the concern that grows with each visit from him.

 

The worst condition you’ve seen him in was 2 years ago, after a mission went south. He lost his entire crew and somehow managed to finish his mission alone with the captain. He was going in and out of consciousness for a week, going under tests and questioning from his higher-ups. It was also after that mission that the light and innocence in his eyes began to dim. You remember your first encounter with Leon 6 years ago, a few weeks after Raccoon City. By chance, you both were at a secluded bar in D.C., both drinking away your experiences, making jokes to mask your distress. A bond over trauma developed at first, excited to have met someone else who survived Raccoon City. You didn't think much of it. He was handsome, hell yeah, and a sweetheart, but your mind hadn’t been focused on being with anyone at the time, dealing with trauma, and developing a toxic relationship with a stupid S.T.A.R.S member. Honestly, you thought you guys would drift apart at some point, but that wasn’t the case at all. Nearly every time he was hurt, you happened to be his assigned nurse, having the opportunity to bond, talk about holiday plans, or some drama with lovers you’d both encounter. It was purely friendly, always until he came back from that mission.

 

You’d never seen him so battered, beaten, and quiet. Normally, he was making the cheesiest jokes during treatment, asking for updates on life, and talking about his own. But during that stay, he was either sleeping or in deep thought. He still spoke to you, but it just wasn’t the same, and that’s when you felt things shift for you. You watched him go through testing for infection, constant questioning… and no support. The sweetest guy you’d ever met, forced to become an agent for the government and risk his life countless times, doing this job without anyone to make sure he was really okay. Everyone treated it as if it came with the job, but you don’t believe in that. You believe in having a support system. That's how you were raised. You chose to step up and be more of a true friend. On off days, you visited him during his hospital stay, trying to crack a smile out of him, which you eventually did.

When he was discharged, he had left flowers with a thank-you note, disappearing for a few months. Until he was hurt from mission… again, asking for you personally to treat him. It became routine for the both of you. Chastising him for always being badly hurt and not taking a break, and him baiting you with more stories of how he nearly died during his mission. It was always a friendly banter between you both, but you hadn’t noticed that these interactions were only watering a seed that had been planted 2 years ago. And now that seed, those feelings were beginning to fully bloom. “You know… I know you're the Leon Scott Kennedy and all,” he snorts at your use of his middle name,

 

“And you’re on your way to becoming the nation's hero, for good reason, but I really worry about you sometimes.” You try looking at him sternly to showcase anger, but you can’t. Not when all you see right now is that battered man from 2 years ago.“I'm perfectly fine, this is nothing. You know that.” The worry in your face makes his heart flutter a beat and pokes your nose playfully. “So, back to what I asked, the commotion out there?” he hisses lightly, as you take syringes of saline to rinse out his wound, 

 

“Changing the subject. So typical. Well, you remember how I asked you to help me train for becoming a field agent?” Part of you stepping up to be a friend was drawing him in to talk to more after that fucked mission of his. You needed to work on combat, and he… he needed a friend that was practically in the same business. “Yeah, what about it? Did you get it?” A slow grin pulled on your lips while you dabbed cotton pads on the wound, gently drying it.

 

 “Yup. I’ll be a field medic now. Well, after some paperwork and meetings, I’ll be officially starting next week.” You stay focused on the task at hand, missing the flash of disappointment on Leon's face. He was happy for you, knowing how hard you worked for the position. Studying non-stop, to learn more about these viruses, training with him and other colleagues to be ready for any potential attacks, although you already seemed to hold your own in that area. You worked so hard over the last few years for this, and yet he can’t find the same joy in this accomplishment that you have.

 

It’s because he knows what it’s like in the field. Sure, you won’t be doing the same missions as him, but it’s dangerous for anyone working in the field. It's a heinous job to have, and you… You’re nothing but a flower in his eyes. A rare one. Everywhere you go, no matter the conditions, you bring a semblance of hope and life into the room. And that smile… that damned smile that he itches to see, every day if he could, sweetens any and everything around it. 

Leon believes you’re more than capable of handling yourself out in the field, shit, you’ve knocked him and a few others down on their asses during training more times than they’d like to admit. He just doesn’t want you to lose that loving heart of yours. Or that damn smile. And he’d hate to hear that you didn’t come back from an assignment. The thought makes his chest tighten.“I knew you’d get it. I had no doubts. Congratulations,” you smile, trying not to blush from his simple praise, thanking him.

 

“Next week, though? No additional training?” Moving you into position so early like that is odd, even if you’ve passed all the prerequisites to join, he thinks to himself. “I thought it was quick, too, but who cares. Better to jump on in though, right? Combat training and lab research will never amount to actually being in the field, right hero?” he blushes at that nickname, breath hitching as you lean over him to look over the scrapes around his temple. He knew it was innocent, as you were always so focused when working, but today you don't have a t-shirt underneath that scrubs top and the smell of vanilla and peonies is very tempting.

“You’re right. Nothing prepares you for it, ever. Are you sure you want to do this? Do you feel nervous or in need of more training?” Inhaling deeply, subtly enjoying your favorite combinations of perfume and lotions, he looks up at you. Enjoying how oblivious you are to his stare; how your lashes flutter with nearly every movement of whatever the hell you were doing up by his brow; how your lips were pursed in thought to answer his question. You were so pretty, so beautiful. You had the look of a delicate angel or fairy, yet when the time called for it, you were menacing. 

 

When did he start looking at you this way? Is he just very fond of his friend, or is it more than that now? After ‘Operation Javier’, he was in a really dark space, but before he could veer off the deep end, there you were. Being the light in his tunnel, guiding him out. Catching him in the bar, not caring about how cranky and irritable he was. Visiting him during his longest hospital stay, managing to make him laugh with some of the worst jokes and home stories he’d ever heard. Then helping him to work out his frustrations while training you. He knew you needed the help, so when you constantly reminded him not hold back, he wouldn’t; well, just a bit actually, but you’d never learn that. He knew you were doing it for you and him. You always had his back… looked out for him during his worst moments and did it without pushing too hard. He’s had his run-ins with women who tried to be there for him, but he just wasn't enough for them, and he knew it. They weren’t horrible women, but he couldn’t be what they needed, so dabbling in casual relationships is what he settled for. You would encourage him to try for something long-term that you thought would be good for him. In those moments he would disagree, feeling slighted but never understanding why. He’s beginning to figure out why now. He’d rather be encouraged to try with you. But if that's what you wanted, it would’ve happened already, right?

 

“Yeah, this is something I want to do. For now, at least. Of course I’m nervous, but that's not gonna stop me. And more training? Does Leon Kennedy think I need more training?” You hold back a smile to look at those cold eyes again. God, when did it become so hard to look at him without wanting to melt into him? “More training wouldn’t hurt. You’re not me so,” you both chuckle as you finish dressing his wounds. “Exactly, I am not you. Which explains why I’ve knocked you on your ass how many times now? We‘re almost at 12 times now, I believe.”

“And I’ve unarmed you how many times? Oh, double that, right? Might even be more than 24. I don't know, it’s happened so much that I stopped keeping track.” You pettily pat his wound, after it's been dressed, making him flinch in pain. “All right, you’re all bandaged up, hero. Here’s a new shirt. You hand him a large-sized white tee, watching his muscles flex as he goes to put it on, wincing in pain. It takes everything in you to fight the urge to help him, not overstepping boundaries. “I can still help you train, if you think you need it,” he prepares to get up before you step forward prevent him from standing. You did it instinctively, not thinking, and now you're too close for comfort, staring at one another.

 

 “You can’t help me train, unfortunately. Doctor has orders for you to remain on light duty for about 4 to 6 weeks, so your ass better be at home resting or in an office, in front of a computer screen.” You poke at his chest, noting the way his hands were gripping the bed, veins bulging up those strong forearms and biceps. “You have to take better care of yourself… I mean it, Leon.” You look at him, eyes soft but still cold. “I hate seeing you come in here with all these injuries. Just, I don't know, be more careful?” You brush a thumb over his bruised cheek quickly, making sure not to linger, as you know you’ve overstepped your boundaries at this point. 

 

“But if I'm more careful, i wont get to see my favorite nurse,” with an exaggerated eyeroll, you cross arms, earning a laugh from him. A sound you wouldn’t mind hearing more often.

“I guess I don't exist outside of this building, huh?”

 “Well, this is the only place you wear those scrubs.”

Your frown in confusion, “what does th-”

 Leon abruptly stands up, a devious smile on his face, removing the space that was between you two.

“I’ll promise to take care of myself, if you promise me to do the same. And to let me know every time you have an assignment. Deal?” You were fairly shorter than him, head slightly tilted to geta better look at his face. He was so close, too close. You could smell the faint lingering scent of musk and dirt hanging onto him. 

 

You held out a pinky finger, making his smile grow wider, “I pinky promise. Now what does my scrubs have to do with anything kennedy?” You had an idea of what he might’ve meant by it, but refused to make that assumption. He hooks his pinky onto yours, amusement and something warm dancing in his eyes “Hm, I don’t really remember anymore. Oh would you look at the time, I should go home and start my recovery yeah?” he shifts around you quickly, with another quick tap on the nose, heading towards the curtains to leave “I’d better hear from you the moment you get assigned to a case” and with that he’s gone. Leaving you flustered by the close contact and these taps on the nose. You wondered, was he really hitting on me?

 

                                                                                                                                                                                             

 

It was late and gloomy out, remnants of rain lingering in the cool summer air. Your coworkers insisted that you all go out to celebrate your promotion during lunch, saying things wouldn’t be the same after this week. You couldn’t turn down a good drunken night out, so here you are, shielding yourself from the drizzling rain, running into the newly opened and damn lively bar.

“Shit, I think my hair got a little wet.” 

 

“Sadie, it's barely raining.” Sadie frantically ran her fingers through her hair while Carla tried to stop her.

“It’s drizzling, that's more than enough,” you replied to Carla, smoothing your own hair down. 

You kept your hair in curls but brushed the front of it down in a side swoop, tucked behind your ears. Cute and simple. 

“Ooh! There’s a table right there, come on,” They both link arms with you, while you're too busy enjoying the bar's scenery.

 

 There was an 80s flare to it with industrial bulbous lights hanging from the ceiling, black circular tables, and red stool seats. A jukebox with neon signs surrounding it rested in the corner. There was a DJ here, so that had to be for decor. The table Carla picked sat by the open floor, sectioned off by a short wall, for you to see everyone dancing, and across to the bar. 

 

“Damn, we all look good, don’t we? Think I’ll treat myself to some lucky hunk tonight.” A waiter comes around and takes your orders. 

“Carla… 15 shots to the table, are you fucking insane?” You figured 5 shots per person, but you expected cocktails. A slow journey to a drunken haze.

“No. You are. You chose to become a dso field agent, babe. Your freedom is gone after this week. Enjoy the last bit of it while you can,” Carla held your face in her hands, giving you a pitiful look.

 “Yeah, seriously. And don’t act like you can’t handle more than 6 shots in one night. We’ve watched you go all out how many times now?”

 

They both laugh in unison, remembering their first time meeting you was by cheering you on for chugging beer like 21 year old frat boy.

The waiter came back with your shots and food. Before he could get away, you called for him, “Can we get some water too? A LOT of it.” They were right, life is going to be very different after this. You might as well enjoy the last bit of normalcy. 

You each were 4, no 5 shots into the night. Thank Gold you decided to eat before taking even one shot, or you would’ve been done by the 4th shot. At some point, Carla ordered more shots, all of you pacing yourselves… your own ways. 

 

“Guys, this is the last damn time I’m doing shots. Cocktails, wine, and water from here on out, agreed?” Sadie laughs obnoxiously,

 “yeah maybe it's time to move on to the more mature methods, 26 is starting to kick my ass.” You all agree to that statement with one more shot. Shit, “was that our 5th shot? Or 6th”

“Our 5.” 

“No, our 4th.”

 

Damn it, you all laughed, the music becoming more of a feeling than a sound. 

Carla and Sadie are on either side of you, arms over your shoulder, “WE’RE GONNA FUCKING MISS YOU! SO GOD DAMN MUCH”

 

“YES, AND CRY EVERY DAMN TIME YOU LEAVE FOR THE FIELD. GOD YOU’RE STUPID FOR GOING OUT THERE"

“YOU’D BETTER KEEP YOURSELF SAFE, RUN AWAY IF YOU FUCKING HAVE TO”

“I'm going to always see you both inbetween assignments! And no, no running. I get to keep my two favorite girls safe now,” you squeeze them tightly. It's bittersweet. You love them, but this is something you need to do for yourself.

“Oh fuck off with that. You’re our little baby that needs protecting. If you come back as a patient, I'm going to kick your ass even worse than whatever assignment you have. So you’d better run for safety.” Sadie holds your face, and you can't help but peck her on her freckled nose as you notice tears welling in her eyes. 

“Goddamn it, stop,” she giggles, wiping at her eyes.

“Hmm… didn’t you just treat your boyfriend earlier today?” Carla gripped your shoulder, brows frowned confused.

“My boyfriend? Did I miss something?” you asked, never giving her the satisfaction. Though with the tequila reaching your brain, you nearly slipped up with a yes.

“Don't play stupid with me. Your lover, Kennedy. Did he not get checked out today for fractured ribs and a nasty stab wound?” Carla's eyes were narrowed now in some direction.

“My f r i e n d,” you spell the word out for her, trying your damnest not to blush, “Kennedy, yes, why? Why are we mentioning him?” You didn't mind talking about him, but you were tipsy… borderline drunk. You would definitely say something that these ladies would never allow you to live down.

 

“Oooh, what a troublesome boy. I’m pretty sure that's him over at the bar right now.” You whip your head around to the bar, looking for that pretty, dirty blonde head of his.

“You should go over and teach him a lesson. Reprimand him. He seems fine enough to be taught a free lesson, don’t ya think?”Your friends snicker as you narrow your eyes, trying to find him, 

“Shut up, both of you. I don't see h-” just as you were about to finish your sentence, you catch him in view, sitting down with another guy, both in jackets and jeans. Leon walking as if he has nothing to worry about

“That son of a bitch. I just told him, less than 24 hours ago, that he was meant to be resting.”

“He’s a man who works for the government. This probably is resting for him.” Carla smooths your hair down while you’re too busy staring at him in disbelief, 

“I don’t care, people can have drinks at home,” you feel the tightening of your halter top straps, still staring at him, now debating if you should bother him. 

“You’re so right. I think you ought to tell him how disappointed you are,” I literally just treated his wounds today, you think to yourself.

 

If you were sober, you might’ve left him alone, but you’re not. “I think I will.” You go to walk off, only taking 2 steps. “Wait, how do I look? Not too drunk or sloppy?” Your hand smoothed over your open halter top,  fidgeting with your necklace. You had kitty heels on with low-rise flared jeans. 

 

“Your hair is great, but I smoothed it down already,” Carla winked

“I fixed your top already, boobs look dashing,” Sadie patted one of your boobs,

“You could never look sloppy, and who cares how drunk you are. Make him take you home since he’s feeling good enough to be in the bar.” 

 

You roll your eyes with a smile, “Oh no. We came together and will be leaving together. I’m just going to tell him that he’s a damn fool. That's all.” You purse your lips, looking away in defeat. “Anyway… gum? mints? Tic tacs?  Either of you?” Refusing to look at them, you put your hand out. “Nooo. He WILL be taking you home. We trust him to be alone with you. We’ll be fine. You have no choice. You can tell him we’re horrible friends, but we aren’t taking you home. Try fucking him in the car or something so we can get some deets too. He’s too hot to keep passing on!” Sadie gives you a pack of Altoids. Folding her arms, a showing of her finality in the conversation.
“He’s a wounded warrior… that’s my friend, how many times do we have to go over this?”

 Carla lets out a frustrated groan, “Well, fix him… and then FUCK HI.M” A few people in the crowd look over at you three, “Now get going, or we’ll have to embarrass you in front of him.” They turn you over to Leons direction, smacking your ass as encouragement to keep walking. With each step, you grow increasingly nervous. Why? You can talk to him normally any other time. Maybe it's the alcohol, you might slip up and say the wrong thing. You’re friends though, you could play it off, and surely he wouldn’t mind. As you approach Leon, the man he entered with noticed you, licking his lips like a wolf that had just spotted its prey. All the while, Leon hadn’t bothered to turn around.

 

“Well, hello sweetheart,” you raise a brow, smiling at his bold assumption that you were coming over to him. 

“Hi, handsome,” you tease the friend, “Is this man next to you Leon Kennedy?” his face frowns, and he looks to Leon, who’s slowly turning towards you.

“Oh yeah, it is you. Excuse me, sorry,” boldly sliding in between Leon and his friend, they shifted in their seats slightly to get a fuller view of you. “No need to apologize, sweetheart.” His friend was more than intrigued and okay with you squeezing in between the small space between them. It gave him all the time in the world for his eyes to glaze over the way your shirt and jeans accentuated your curves, the natural arch in your back from how round and shapely your ass was. You couldn't care less about him checking you out, while you watched Leon fighting to keep his eyes locked on yours. 

 

He laughs nervously while saying your name, “I did not expect to see you here.” he took a sip of his drink, fighting to keep his gaze above your neckline.

 “Funny, right? I didn’t either. Considering that you were just treated for fractured ribs and a stab wound. If I remember correctly, you promised me that you'd take care of yourself, yeah?” 

You bite your lips, the intensity of Leon's gaze making you hotter than you should be. Liquor or not. “I did promise that… and, technically, that's what I’m doing.” he colleague goes to grab your arm, wanting attention for himself, but Leon tries to subtly kick his chair. “So handsome, do you consider this,” you gesture to the bar, “to be taking care of yourself after being treated for a stab wound and fractured ribs?” You tilt your head slightly, raising a brow. You keep repeating his injuries outloud, hoping to drill into his head how irritated you are with him. “Kennedy, did this lovely lady tell you take care of yourself?” You roll your eyes and sigh dramatically. You were leaning back against the bar counter, both men catching your chest rise as you sighed. It truly wasn’t intentional, but it didn’t matter whether it was or not. Any movement you made was going to catch their attention.

 

 Leon looked at his colleague, a warning written all over his face, as he knew they both were having similar thoughts; his friend's more crude and raunchy in contrast to his own. His attention returned to you, stealing glances of your hair, jewelry, outfit, and skin gently shimmering under the light, while you looked to his friend.

 

“Yes, I did tell him to take care of himself. Right after patching him up,” you poked at his stab wound, “Oh! Is this the nurse you're always after?” this friend of his shouted, with an appraising look. 

“He’s gonna be waiting on a new damn nurse if he keeps this up.” “Well, shit, you can be my nurse. I’ll keep my promises for ya,” he goes to reach for your hand, biting his lip. 

“Alright, enough of that.” Leon swats his hand, pulling you over to fully face him. “This is how I take care of myself,” he takes hold of your hand, turning you to face him. You were between his legs while he still sat on the stool. This kind of proximity would normally make you nervous, but these 4, 5? Maybe 6 shots of tequila are making you feel daring. “You have fractured ribs. Newly fractured. Why not have a drink at home?” “To be fair, if I had a drink at home, I wouldn’t have been able to see you.” his gaze slowly takes you in again. Appreciating every curve, every notable beauty mark, every inhale of breath that makes your chest rise.

 

 In the 6 years that you’ve known each other, he’s never seen you get dressed outside of the simple long-sleeve tee or tank with jeans. You were always dressed casually, not that it mattered at all. You made anything you wore look good to him. For you, this outfit was the bare minimum, but for him. That top exposes the mole resting on your right breast, and just how deep the curves in your waist go.

You smile shyly, suddenly feeling undressed and tempted, heat rising in your belly. “How is this different from seeing me in scrubs?”

“Oh, it's very different.” he grabs his cup, it's of something dark, eyes meeting yours as he goes to drink, but you pull the cup away from him, taking it for yourself. You gulped down what tasted like whiskey. You might have to count that as another shot. Shot and a half even. You don’t know why you did it, but you did. Maybe you’ll find a way to convince him to go home. And why? You have no fucking clue at this point. You hear laughing from behind you, forgetting his friend was there, “Whoo! And you’re a nurse? I like it! You want another?” Leon's face is stern, yet the look behind those cold and hardened eyes is hungry.

 

“No, she doesn’t want another.”

“Oh, but I think I do,” leaning slightly into his gaze, challenging him. You being in his space like this felt right, it felt good, and the amusement in your eyes was making him warm in the groin.

“What was that you had? Whiskey? Neat? I’ll have whatever it is he just had,” you call back. “Got ya!” his colleague gave the order to the bartender.

 

 Leon watched the bartender prepare the drink you thought you were getting, eyes narrowed. You stand up straight, “How much have you had to drink so far?”

“I dunno. 4,5,6 shots maybe? Your drink might’ve made the little over seven” Leon curses under his breath, getting up from his seat and sitting you down. 

 

“Can she get some water too?” he calls out to the bartender, who then slides the whiskey over to you. Leon catches it before you can, keeping it out of arms reach. “I think we’re good for the night.” he says, taking a sip, while looking down at you. You smile innocently, raising your brows as he decides to finish the rest of his drink in one gulp. “I’m perfectly fine to have another drink. I can hold my liquor… and don’t have fractured fucking ribs.”

“Your other drink is right here, water. And I had the best nurse today, so me and my fractured ribs are fine.” You roll your eyes lazily, feeling the drowsiness kick in. It wouldn’t hurt to drink some water right now. Damn it, damn it, damn it. You drink the entire cup of water, each sip slightly sobering up enough to know you’re so fucked. You pray the room won't start spinning until you hit the bed.

“Leon, go home. You should be in bed resting. Have a drink at home. You promised you’d take care of yourself.” Even when you were drunk, you were a compassionate person. He shouldn’t be surprised, though. “And here, sit back down,” the nurse in you preferred that he’d be sitting and not you. You attempt to get up, but Leon gently pushes you back onto the stool, with his hand against your stomach. That touch, it felt possessive.. protective.. and affectionate? Sending butterflies through your stomach.

 

“I told you I’m fine. I swear it. I wasn’t planning on staying long anyway. Two drinks, one you already took, and then bed.” He watched as your gaze went from being bright-eyed to a heavy-lidded gaze. You're getting tired… he knew that, but the look on your face was almost sensual. “Looks like she's going to bed with you now, too,” his colleague chuckled. You peeked around Leon to see him. Finally taking a good look at the mans whose been here all night, a man with scarily large biceps, short cut brown hair, and stubble along his jawline. “Would you find someone to go dance with or pester?” Leon clenched his jaw, nodding to the dance floor.

 

“There are two gorgeous, gorgeous girls over at the first table, who might enjoy your company.” You nod your head over to Carla and Sadie, who were dancing with one another, laughing at who knows what. “Well its fuck me then, huh. Get home safely or whatever,” you giggle, watching him grumble his way over to your friends, his mood instantly changing. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be annoying about this, but why not take care of yourself at home?” You gesture to the cups of alcohol littering the bar counter. You already knew the answer to that, but you just want to scold him a bit more.“Aren’t you supposed to be drunk? How are you still so…” he trails off, eyes narrowing in though, while you mindlessly watch him thing, his heart fluttering in response. 

“How am I so what kennedy”

“Attentive. And concerned. And not enjoying yourself,” he asked in genuine confusion.

Most people, when they’re drunk, are going on about their night, no care in the world but you’re here, willing to fumble out of this seat for him because of some injury thats childs play for him. “How many times do I have to tell you this, you goddamn super soldier,” You take a handful of his smooth, grey t-shirt, closing the space between you both. “I worry about you. A lot. More than I should really.” You feel yourself losing restraint on your words and thoughts, fucking drunk, you surely are.

 

 “You’ve been different since that operation, and I don’t know. You’re such a sweet guy, and we’re friends, whether you like it or not, and… and” he’s still, what you were saying felt almost like a confession, frustration, and hesitation in your voice, furthering his idea that it was near a confession. The way you looked up at him, those round brown eyes somehow still oozing with sensuality, was stirring up something inside of him. His jaw clenches, trying to keep his composure neutral, as a friend would, but he can’t help wanting to grab you at the base of your neck, to hold you in place while he takes your mouth in his. He wants to kiss you quiet, kiss your concerns away, to reassure you in so many other ways that he is fine because of you. But he won't. Not right now, not yet.

 

“And I care about my friends. A LOT. especially you…” You notice a look in his eyes that beckons you to say more. “Stop looking at me like that before I say too much,” with a lazy, failed attempt to push him back, he laughs.

 

 “I'm not looking at you in any kind of way, but do say more. Think I like hearing about how much you adore your friends, especially me. He’s holding your hand, thumb massaging your inner palm. You knew he was just teasing you, but since the room was beginning turn, you had to cut it short. 

 

“Oh fuck off, I'm being serious. I’ve reached my limit anyway and will be heading home now,” you declare matter-of-factly.

 

“I know you are. And I want to hear more of what you have to say.” You frown gently, as that statement was laced with something deeper, but fuck, you’re too out of it to think any further.

 

“Sorry, Kennedy, I am too drunk to continue now. I've enjoyed seeing you tonight. It’s time for me to call for a taxi. You hop off the stool, breast brushing against him as you slide away from him and the seat. 

He stumbles after you, confused by your sudden switch to sobriety. You weren’t sober, of course, but to the stranger on the side, they would've thought you were. A woman of determination, he guessed. Following you out into the now chilly air, you hugged yourself, eyes squinting to spot a taxi in your drunken haze. He chuckled to himself, kicking at the ground. It was cute, he thought. You're trying your best hold it together and go home alone, but he had no intentions of allowing that. What kind of a friend would he be? And for fuck sake, you should see yourself, just how good you look. He definitely wasn’t letting you get a taxi home alone tonight.

 

“My car is down the street. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

 

“No, no, you don't have to. There's a taxi right here.” You went to wave for the taxi, but Leon quickly lowered your hand back down

 

“Yeah, it wasn’t an offer or question. I’ll be your ride for the night,” he could see you preparing to protest in response, “I will carry you to the car. Fractured ribs and all,” he smiles deviously, knowing that's the last thing you want him to do. Groaning in defeat, you motion for him to lead the way. You didn’t want to keep being out of it around him, but you guess you’d have no choice. It would only be a 20-minute car ride. A quick car ride, nothing to worry about.

 

But you fell into a deep sleep during your ride. Leon figured this would happen and truly didn’t mind it. He tried searching for your apartment keys, as he would have taken you inside himself, but he didn’t know what floor or apartment number you were in. In his defense, he tried waking you up, but you were a goner, as he expected. He’s had his fair share of drunken slumbers. He looked over you sleeping in his passenger seat. Your hair began to frizz, but only a little. He thought it was a pretty look, despite how much it irritated you. Full lips with a faint shimmer from gloss, parted slightly as you exhaled the gentlest snores. He’d placed his jacket over you once you dozed off. It just felt right to cover you up, plus you seemed cold. There was warmth spreading through him as you moved to nestle your face into his jacket. Like it was your token of comfort.

 

Impulsively, he reached out to caress your cheek, accepting that he slowly but surely wanted to be more than friends. 

 So to his home it was. Hopefully, you wouldn’t be upset by his decisioon but he’d make sure to care for you the same way you did him. As your friend, it was the least he could do.

                   

Chapter Text

The sound of a soft thud lingers in your mind, eyelids heavy as you slowly become conscious of yourself and your surroundings. It’s dark, iridescent lighting reflecting off the wall you stare at. Your mind is foggy, vision a slight blur as you ease into consciousness. You fight internally to start moving, as the urge to pee begins to awaken you further. But the cushioning and coolness of the bed refuse to let you go. Snuggling into the airy blanket lying over you, the faint smell of something deeply warm and calming, a fragrance you don’t typically come across in your own home, pulls you deeper into the comfort of the bed. Until there’s the soft tap of glass you hear a subtle distance away. That brings you, and the need to pee, to full awareness. Wondering why you’d be hearing sounds of movement, as if someone is trying to be respectful and quiet, you move to sit up… begrudgingly so. There was no sense of danger hitting you, but something was off. Something was very off. Floor-to-ceiling windows, the night sky littered with tall buildings, graced your view. What the fuck? You get up, still in your clothes from the bar, jeans suddenly feeling too sticky on your skin. You walk over to a banister, looking over the concrete slab walls, which lead down to a living room area… You assumed. This wasn’t your apartment. Not in the slightest.

This… was a loft, decorated in warm colors, dark grey textures, and for some reason, screaming cop. This wasn’t a bedroom in your apartment. Your rooms were littered with subtle decorations of hearts and bookcases with your never ending collection of classic and modern romance stories or movie DVDs you considered classic; Your living room was a quieter version of a pop culture museum. And here? There were no hearts. No artistic movie posters. No art whatsoever.
Not that it wasn’t a charming environment, but whose fucking place is this? And why were you here? You try retracing your steps, praying you didn’t end up sleeping with a stranger from the fucking bar. No, no, Carla and Sadie wouldn’t have allowed it. You weren't that drunk last night. You start thinking to yourself, had some shots, danced around, saw Leon, left with Leon. Oh. You. left. With.. Leon.

Spinning around to confirm your suspicions, without much effort of looking around, there was a police vest that read “RPD” on display above the TV. How did you not see that? There was no time to think about it right now because of pee. You needed to pee. As you move away from the banister, the sound of padded footsteps leading to the sitting area. You were nervous, silently panicking, and for what? It’s not like he kidnapped you, ready for murder… and you seriously need to pee.

You clear your throat, ”Hey Leon?”
He turns around quickly, bringing the glass cup down from his lips. “You’re up much sooner than I expected. You okay?” Despite needing to use the bathroom, you take some time to appreciate this relaxed, homey look he was sporting. Hair brushed back, giving a full view of his face. Grey sweats and a black tank. His tank fit him snug enough to accentuate the muscular lining of his chest. Broad shoulders and deliciously sculpted arms that screamed a consistent and rigid workout routine. At-home Leon just might become your favorite thing to look at, even with bruising and bandage wraps around him.

“Yeah, doing perfect up here. No hangover headache, yet, but I do need to uh, take a leak,” he let out a low laugh, gesturing up to your left.
“On the other side of the wall. There's a hall. Just go down to the right." You pat the railing, the reality of how large the loft is, settling in, “Is this just a loft? Or am I going to find a batcave at some point?” You start making your way to this ‘hidden’ hall. He must be spending a fortune on a loft this intricate.

“Sorry to disappoint. No masked rich hero here,” he runs his hand through his hair.
“I put some toiletries and clothes in the bathroom for you… In case you wanted to shower or anything. You know…” he paused, and you waited to see if there was something he’d add on. “I tried to take you home, but you were knocked out cold. I figured you might want to change or something, even though this isn’t your home. I didn’t want to leave you hanging here with nothing but old bar clothes on, ya know ?” He lets out a breath, as if he’d been holding it in too long.

“You don’t have to, if you don't want to, though. I’m sure it’s not what you typically use, and it's my clothes you’d be wearing, but I thought I’d be nice?” He curses at himself mentally. Is he rambling? He’s fucking rambling and probably sounds like an idiot, he thinks to himself. He stopped at a 24-hour pharmacy store, as you still cuddled his jacket in the car, so you could have something to freshen up with. Over the years, he’s learned how worrisome you can be over your appearance and hygiene. He’s also gotten you used to the soft, floral but sweetly mature scent you have, which is why he chose to buy the body wash labeled with peonies and roses and vanilla scented lotion. He’s bordering on the lines of obsession, but how could he not?

Watching him overexplain was so damn cute. This strong, levelheaded DSO agent is tensing up over his sweet, sweet consideration and hospitality. Just another reason to keep you’d stay back to bait him into more rambling, but unfortunately, you still have to pee. “Thank you, Kennedy, I will gladly change out of my funky bar clothes,” you yell out as you reach the bathroom. Frantically, you practically tear your pants down, sighing in relief on the toilet. You take the time to look over everything he’s left in the bathroom for you. A new toothbrush, some floral-scented body wash, lotion, a folded pair of clothes under a towel, and a washcloth. You thought it was interesting. A ‘peony and rose oil’ scented body wash. Your usual go-to. Grabbing the lotion, intrigued by his choices, your brows shoot up in surprise. It smells fucking great. You’ve never used it before, but you will now.

“Such impeccable taste for a man,” you whisper to yourself, utterly shocked by his picks. Yeah, there’s no way he chose this on his own. Maybe the lucky girl he’d been head over heels for, maybe she was staying here for a while… and she’d use these. Or maybe some other girls he’s frequented with. You’d have to ask after this shower. Purely out of curiosity…. Stained with a little jealousy. After about 30 minutes of one of the best showers you’ve had in a while, you put on Leon's clothes. He left you some unopened men's underwear, which thankfully fit you almost perfectly. Kudos to your ass for making it a snug fit. He gave you light blue plaid pajama pants that needed to be tied tightly around the waist, and a deep blue long-sleeved tee. Despite them being oversized, you looked really good in them. Without something to cover your hair, the curls began to form, while you pulled it back into a spirally curly messy ponytail. There wasn’t much you could do to tame the frizz or flyaways without your tools at home, oh well. Water will do for now. It was the middle of the night, you think, anyway. You make your way downstairs to Leon, sprawled out on a black ridged sectional sofa, rubbing his stomach.

“How are those ribs?” You sit a few cushions away from him, his eyes now on you.
“They are perfectly well. Might even be healed in the next few days,” he goes to sit up, but you pat the couch, aggressively, motioning for him to lie back down. He follows your orders with a faint smile, continuing to rub his stomach. He was a little a pain, could probably benefit from an icepack, but he won’t tell you that. You’re off the clock and would rather you two be in each other's company without you worried for his health.

“Bullshit,” you say sweetly, with a knowing smile that makes him chuckle. “Did you carry me in here?”
“You gonna yell at me if I say yes?” looking at you, upside down from where he lay. Your legs tucked to the side of you, head resting on the top of his couch. A warming site to see, at 2 in the morning.
“No, and the only reason why I won't is because you were kind enough to bring me here, let me sleep in your bed, use your shower, clothes, and gave me everything I needed to feel like a million dollars right now.” You smiled reassuringly, “I’ll let you off the hook for now.”

“Well then, I did carry you. Snoring like a baby, and you didn’t even budge.” he sat up, trying to hold back some of his laughter due to pain, as you shot him an incredulous look.

“I don’t snore,” and you don't. Well, it's not considered snoring; it was more of a peaceful hum, the sound of you sleeping, though he’d tease you about it anyway. He frowned as he sat up to get a clear upright view of you.

“Oh yes, you do. For someone who's a nurse, I'm surprised you haven’t gotten it checked out yet. You sound awful, worse than a potbellied old man.”

“You’re about to get some broken ribs next. I do not snore,” he laughs at that, still holding his stomach. You don’t know how he did. Carrying you around with fractured bones. I guess that's what makes him such a great agent, you think to yourself.
“Where’s your fridge?” The least you could do, in this moment, is give him ice for the pain. Career aside, you do care about his health… maybe too much. “Right there. Not much to eat in that thing,” you follow the direction he pointed to, getting two bags of frozen vegetables from the freezer. “Here, lean back,” sliding his hips forward, to create space for leaning against the cushion, you place both frozen packs on either side of him… avoiding eye contact as you work to make sure they don't slide off. Leon gets a whiff of that scented lotion he picked out, feeling prideful on making a good choice. It wasn’t your exact smell, but it was damn sure close. “Sorry you had to carry me around.” The slightest bit of guilt gnawed at you as you sat next to him.

“Don’t even start with that. You’d do the same if you could”

“I could definitely carry you about like a princess.” You look up, trying to imagine it as if it were truly possible, but huffs out a laugh dramatically,

“Maybe in your dreams, sure,” he goes to pluck your nose, but you swat his hand away.

“You’re not the only one who’s in the gym.” You look him over, grabbing the TV remote. Those godawful muscles flexing. “You’ve still got a lot, and I mean a lot of catching up to do.” You roll your eyes at him, contemplating whether you should remind him, again, of those sparring matches you’ve had during training, but another thought intrudes itself.

“Whatever. Anyway, what's up with the womanly toiletries you’ve got in there? Do you bring girls home so often that you need a cleanup stash? Or that old lover of yours?” he frowns at your lover's statement, whipping his head over. His hair was still brushed back, and it was a damn good look at him. Your lips purse to the side, waiting for a response, but also feeling a little flustered from this look he was sporting.

“My lover?” he drawls out, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “When have I ever mentioned having a lover?” he seemed appalled by this, but you found it funny, giggling at his confusion. “You can’t be talking about Laila. I was 21, young and dumb.” Laila, his ex-girlfriend from before Raccoon City. You found it odd that even though she was aware of him going to Raccoon City, she never attempted to check in on whether he was alive or not. Not odd, really fucked up.

“Come on, Leon, don't play stupid. You were head over heels for your lady in red.” You bite your inner cheek trying to remember her name, “her name was Ada, wasn’t it?” His expression goes blank, masking something you couldn’t figure out in the moment, and he looks away. You can’t help but feel the sting of jealousy. His reaction to the name meant she still held a lot of weight in his life, which you knew before, though not sure if that was still the case. Especially considering this betrayal, he spoke of it once. He thought she died in Raccoon City, mourning her like the others he’d lost. Only to find out a few years later that she was alive. “Oh. Yeah, no. She wasn’t my lover,” he faces you again, something like disdain lingering in his expression. “Sorry, not your lover, but if I remember correctly, you were seeing each other not too long ago.”

“I still wouldn’t classify her as my lover,” he takes a deep breath, one he knows was painful for his ribs, “And a cleanup stash? You think I’m some sort of playboy?” His brows are raised, tone accusing. Your eyes track from his knees to his face with a raised brow. Is he kidding right now? Leon laughs, having an idea of what your response would be. “You could easily pass as one. Maybe… you are a grumpy old man sometimes. But I was only asking because those were some good products! I use one of them at home. Figured you had some experience in buying them for others, or they were left over.”

Leon smirked, feeling triumphant once again. Of course, you’d think he had these for other women. While he’s not a ‘Playboy’, he does have his occasional hookup. He prefers to have one lover to lavish in sexual pleasure. Leon's been told that he’s quite the sensual pleasurer; he’s aware of this, though, as he enjoys sex deeply, preferring to be in tune with himself and the woman he’s pleasuring. For a split second, he remembers Ada enjoying herself to the point of coming back for seconds. While it was a great moment in the moment, sex is more enjoyable when it’s with the same person, his person. He was flattered that you thought he was good-looking enough to be a playboy but he would rather you see the man that he is, slowly becoming more and more desperate for your soft, healing touches. The warmth that radiates from your smile and the sweetness in those deep chocolate-brown eyes. Everything you did was pulling him in deep, and he wasn’t ready just yet for that. He was a mess. He's been a mess, and it was only becoming worse, honestly. He doesn’t believe you deserve to deal with it and would get his shit together before he tried anything with you. But when it’s time, he’s hoping you are in as deep as he is.

“Me and Ada” he pauses, thinking of a way to describe their situation, “We hooked up a few times, almost a year ago. I don’t think we’re meant to be. We just aren't good for one another.” It was always going to be complicated, and her disappearing act, he wasn’t too fond of. “And I don’t really bring women back here so that ‘cleanup’ stash,” he licked his lips while looking at you, a faint smile ghosting his lips, “Was personally handpicked for you. Not leftovers,” He goes back to turning the TV on, leaving you there in silence, figuring out how to fight off the heat that was reaching your face.

You didn’t want to linger on the fact that he bought these specifically for you. Sure, you're happy he did it, but this gesture was more than friendly… or maybe it wasn’t, because he’s always been a gentleman, and you’re just an idiot with a crush?
You can’t think about it any longer, not right now. You’d talk it over with Carla and Sadie when you were home. Home? You should probably be headed back there right?
No, no, no. After he did all this? Absolutely not.

“Why are you up anyway? Did I wake you?” With a glance at the TV guide, you can read that it's only 3 in the morning. Only 3? What time did you guys even leave the bar? It felt like it should’ve been later than 3 am, but what would it even matter? You weren’t going anywhere.

“Nope, was sound asleep. Until I thought a tree branch tapping on the window was some infected thing looking for a bed to rest in." Ah, a nightmare. Another bond of trauma that you both shared. You two never really delved deep into that topic, though, because talking about the ghosts of friends or family wasn’t on the agenda for healing at the time.

You hum in understanding, “Oh, I see. You’re still having them too, huh? I can only imagine it being worse with the constant missions?” his lips form a flat line, mindlessly scrolling through the guide. “You’d think I would be used to it by now. That I’d be getting a good night's rest all the time but…” he lets out a breath, hand running over his face. “I'm just in limbo with it. Seeing no end or beginning.” You feel a twist in your chest, sorrow slowly taking up the space around your heart. You understand what he means; it's hard not to. While you can’t imagine what he’s continued to endure, against his own will, you know the feeling of being in limbo. Accepting that those memories will continue to haunt you, hopeless of overcoming them. You just wallow in it. It’s an experience you wouldn’t wish on anyone… except those that created this fuck ass virus. He looks at you, quiet and still in thought, reading the sympathy etched on your face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be throwing that all on you.” You return his usual gesture, plucking him on the nose, as you scoot closer to hug that hard, muscled arm of his and lay your head on his good shoulder. You felt him stiffen, the lightly intimate gesture unexpected, and sending a warm and tingly sensation through him.

“You don’t have to be a macho man around me. I thought we had that understanding,” and in response, he slowly melted into that warm embrace. “I still have nightmares from time to time, too. Not nearly as much as I used to. For a while, I let it control me and my emotions.” You hug his arm just a little tighter, thinking of the times you’d reach out to your ex in the middle of the night, for a distraction. Crying and sulking in bed until sunup. Doing anything to knock you into a deep sleep. Whether it was alcohol, sex with the worst ex known to man, or constantly taking any antihistamine, even if you woke up feeling like shit from it.
“I found the worst ways possible to distract myself from. Until Carla gave me the space to talk with her. She let me call her in the middle of the night just to talk, which then just turned into sending silly texts, to finally having full nights of sleep more often than not." The comfort of knowing someone was there for you dissolved the stress.

He lays his head atop yours, “But also one other thing helped me.”

“And what's that?”

“The men in black movies.” Leon caught where he scrolled past the channel showing a ‘Men In Black’ marathon. He laughed, making the frozen vegetables slide down, “Men in black? Are you bullshitting me right now?” You snatch the remote, putting the marathon on.

“I’m serious! It happened to be one night I had a nightmare, and I dozed off watching it. Slept like a baby after that. Now if I wake up in the middle of the night, it's either that or the mummy… or even Scream.”
“Right, movies as a form of therapy. So, horror movies are putting you back to sleep? You are a strange woman,” he found it interesting, of all genres, that would be the most comforting for you.
“Fantasy, sci-fi, slasher horror,” you correct him, eyes glued to the TV as his hand moves to rest on your knee. You could untangle yourself from him, but you don’t want to. And something tells you that he doesn’t either. It's rather quiet after that, a comfortable silence, until you feel the pressure from his head on yours disappear.

“I um… I want you to call or text me too.” You tilt your head up slightly, peering at him through your thick lashes, “When you have a nightmare. As fucked up as I can be, I’mstill here for you too.” he finally looked down at you with soft eyes, something distant but affectionate shone through those stormy eyes of his. You held that gaze just for a moment longer, before looking away, before you could lose yourself in that look he had. You couldn’t think of a way to describe it, but it was holding you captive, tugging at strings that made your face and stomach tingle.

Lying your head back onto his shoulder, attempting to rub that tingling sensation from your face, you continue to hold onto his arm, not wanting to let go. “I know you are. You’d better take your own advice and call me too. I’m counting on it.”

“Pinky promise. His pinky sticks out, from where his hand still rested on your knee. You latch your pinky onto his before pulling back. “You’d better not break this one as you did at the bar.” Your voice was stern, feeling the vibrations of his chuckle travel through his chest and shoulders. “Technically, I didn’t. But yes, ma’am. I won’t,” and with that, you both fell into a restful silence, Men in Black softly playing in the background, shortly dozing off into another deep slumber.

Once you were home, after your night with Leon, he was all you could think about.
“Wait, wait, he bought a self-care kit for you to use. Let you wear his clothes home. You guys fell asleep and woke up cuddled on his couch. And he didn’t try to sleep with you? Like, no attempt to sex you up or anything?” Carla exclaims, with Sadie mumbling in the background.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

“Nope. No attempts to have sex.”

“Oh babe, he is in so deep. Maybe he’s obsessed with you at this point. Dare I say in love? We already know you are.” This was a new and delicate theory that Carla and Sadie cooked up after telling them about your night with Leon.

“Come on, I'm about to go in for training. Stop with that. No one's in love with anyone.” You flinch, pulling back the phone as they begin screaming some stupid love tune.

“Oh, for fuck sake, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Relax. You guys have known each other for how many years? Over 5 years. It's okay, it was bound to happen.”Sadie claimed with humor in her voice.

“Right. The theory is cute guys but I don’t think so.”

“Just you wait for those late-night phone calls to start. You’ll come crying to us, no longer in denial, crying about how in love you are. God, you two are being like children.” Your face burns hot as you reach the campus ahead of you.

A campus that mimicked a secluded and forgotten military base. This is where most agents conducted their training, research on bio-organic weapons, global monitoring, and a home for field operative agents.
“I am not being like a child. I’m used to self-centered assholes that lack patience. I'm not used to whatever this is happening.” Your voice pitched, feeling defensive; Their telltale sign that they are right and you’re in denial.
“Anyways, I have to go. I'll chat with you guys later, maybe. Love you girls, bye!” Rolling your eyes at the giggles you hear, you hang up quickly. Thankfully, this was a day for close combat training. Meaning you had something to distract your mind from Leon for a while, otherwise you’d go batshit thinking about him and that phone conversation.

The next few weeks were grueling. As you and a few colleagues were new agents, you were required to continue training until your first assignment. Whenever that would be. First, you all would be trained by seasoned agents and military special ops on enhancing and solidifying combat skills.
“Imagine where you’re stationed has been compromised, you expectin’ to rely safely on those glasses?”
“No, sir, contacts,” the old man, dressed in his army fatigue uniform, chuckles. He comes to stand directly in front of you, breath ghosting your nose as you straighten out your posture, unfaltering as you look up at him. Grey, transitioning to white, riddled his face. Years of a hard life embraced itself along his eyes, as they narrowed at you. “Take them off. I’ll work with this one first.” What in the actual fuck, you think to yourself. It’s week two of this shit, and you’ve done fine the entire time. You’re actually growing tired of the physical training, especially from him… this special Major Roy. The random glares and off-putting attitude he seems to direct at you. It was rude, and you didn’t always take kindly to unwarranted rudeness.

“I’ve been watching you over the last few days. You rely too much on those blinkers of yours.” You make a face, reflexively, earning a chuckle. “You think because you’re a field medic that you’ll be safe? Anything can happen anywhere, to any of you,” he begins to circle you, after handing him your ‘blinkers’. You kept your mouth shut, as actions speak louder than words.“Combat isn’t just about what you see coming.” he was walking behind you, and something itched at the back of your head, in your mind. “It’s also about what you feel is coming.” The wind of incoming force brushed against you, as your spring into movement, blocking a knockout kick from connecting with your stomach with both hands.

“I don't rely on those ‘blinkers’, sir, I just prefer not pay another $300 for a replacement” that earns a few snickers from your new colleagues… unintentionally.

“Then don’t be foolish wearing them at training,” He tossed them carelessly at you, pulling back the other hand to land another blow to your stomach.
And that was just the start of the slight animosity that grew between you and this arrogant shit of a veteran.

Combat was prioritized during training, then research. It’s the most important part of training because the goal of an assignment could change at any moment. You could be researching a possible case of a virus spread, which could then turn into a retrieval operation. They explained in depth why we were being battered down with combat, because of what we could be met with. After Raccoon City, the impossible was indeed possible.

There were gun tactics for which you were held back for an extra lesson due to your need for glasses.
It was week two of his shitty attitude and treating you like a child, and quite frankly, you were sick of it. Two weeks straight of chastising you, while working your ass off, over what? You could not do another week of biting your tongue.
“What's your problem with me, huh?” With no contacts, no glasses, you line up the standard handgun with the target. A moving board with a red dot smack in the middle of a circle.

“What's that kid? I don't have any problem with you,” the old army vet grunted.
You slowly follow the board, trusting yourself to align the spot of the gun at just the right angle for a “bullseye.” You pull the trigger, and the bullet is just a few centimeters off from being a clean shot.

“You keep requesting that I remain behind for more thorough lessons. But it feels like you're just trying to beat me senseless.” You hit another one, spot on.
“I won't waste any time. I'll cut right to it.” Another loud bang, while you waited for the old man to ‘cut right to it’.

“We’ve lost many field medics since we started these operations and assignments, or whatever the fuck they want to call it.” You glance to your side before pulling the trigger again, this time more than a few centimeters off from a clean shot.

“Keep your damn focus, girl.” Another shot, cleaner. “I was with the last medic on assignment. He was inadequately prepared because of us. He turned off the shooting simulation, and you both took off soundproof headgear.

“He was a really good kid with a bright future. Too young to be in the field, really.” You looked down, fingers fidgeting with themselves behind your back, as guilt waved its way through you. “I help train all you agents, but at the time I neglected the medics, not thinking much of them… no offense,” you snort at that. “Truth is, no matter the position, you all are important and therefore in danger. The loss of that kid hit me hard, so I like to make sure my medics are thoroughly trained like soldiers. They deserve efficiency too, and we do need our medics for survival.”

Nodding your head in understanding, you still don't look at him. You could tell he is the kind of man, in old age, who doesn’t always appreciate kind and appraising words. This alone probably made him want to scream in shame. Instead, you accepted this revelation, appreciated it, and went to do the door ready for more, “well old man, show me what else you got.” With the lightest chuckle, he walked out the door for you to follow him.

By the 3rd week, you all were onto knife combat. Research simulations on the virus and identifying signs of infections were an every-other-day training schedule. You were already familiar with most of it, but there was always something new to learn. There were the typical signs of elevated heart rates, high fevers, rapid skin decay, and the most obvious, cannibalism. More unusual were hallucinations, irritability, rapid loss of memory, and signs of blacking out. How to retrieve and test for potential viruses, without being infected, was shown through simulations. Sometimes a leaf could hold the clue, or retrieval would have to be done on someone who was already infected.

“We now move on to knife combat.” Roy, the mean old man with a soft heart, opened a weapons wardrobe full of insane weaponry. “Based on the knife you choose, one of us will be paired with you.” Everyone chose their knives, from tactical to gutting knives. You chose kukri war knives that came in a pair. They had some weight to them, but not enough to the point that it couldn’t be tactical, although they were larger than the average-sized combat knife. You couldn't care less, though. With your height and size, this is a balanced option.

“Oh, would you look at that, it's fate. You’re paired with me, kid.” Roy patted you on the shoulder, humor glinting in his eyes.
“Fuck, my luck is just great,” you grumble to yourself. You'll have to work triple to avoid being cut now. Despite the old man's hard and unforgiving nature, you grew to truly appreciate him over the few weeks.
You twirl both knives in your hands, position the blades to face behind you, as you switch into a mutable stance.
“Where do you learn to fight? And don't say from training here,” with watchful eyes, he assessed your position and movements.
“Home. Both parents were Marines.” Both circling each other, you cautiously watched for any sign of an attack.

“Oorah. Hmm, makes all the sense now. Were they ready for you to do this?” You falter for a split second, eyes losing sight of Roy, but avert back to him to deflect his blade from you. The echo of steel crashing runs loud, “I wouldn’t know. Dad died when I was young. Mom died in Raccoon City.” he stopped, lowering his knife… therefore his guard. “I'm sorry for that. For your loss, kid.” Words like that never offered you much. You mourned her, mourned them bot,h but your mama. She always found a way back to you through those nightmares. You knew it wasn’t truly her and that she would never blame you for how it ended, but you did. Those nightmares always found ways to twist and poison the truth, but your mama didn’t raise you to let such unruly things change the reality.

 

“I will not turn into one of those things. YOU will not let me turn into one of those things. Do you understand what I am saying to you?” Your forehead was pressed against your mother's. Sobs poured uncontrollably from you.
“Baby this is what I want. It's okay. It's going to be okay,” she pulls your hands onto hers, on the trigger of a gun. “
You go with that girl and get yourself to safety. Don’t go on trying to be a hero like me. It’ll get you this,” she rubs the bite mark in her neck… only an hour old, yet her skin began to grey and deteriorate.
“Mom please, I can't. I can’t go on without you. I can't go on if I do this to you.”
“Stop it. You stop it right now. I raised you to only ever keep going o,n and you know that. You aren’t doing anything to me. This is for me, for both of us, you understand. This will just be one part of the road that's rough to get by. ”
“Mama… Please”
“I don't want to become one of those things, baby. Let me go with my dignity, with all the memories of my sweet baby. While I still have you right here with me.”

 

Some nights she did change. Some nights, she swore at you for being worthless and not saving her. Some nights, it was just the horrible reality of how you lost her. But something else she’d always say to you, don’t run away from guilt. You face it head-on, helping you remember and hold on to the truth of that night.

The pain had dulled over the years, yet the emptiness lingered. But you could confidently say you were okay. Able to keep movin’ on forward, just as she told you to… because she was going to be right there with you no matter what.

“It’s alright…. I’ve made my peace.” You both are silent for a beat, and you gesture to his relaxed posture. “Your guard's down, though,” you lunge, swiping across his torso, obviously missing. “I was trying to be nice. Give you a moment, but alright. You asked for it.”

By the end of this session, you regretted not giving him the space to be openly…’ nice’. They announced an end to the training, signalling for you all to take a break. You plopped down, more so dropped, flat on your back. “I think he was genuinely trying to kill me,” you mumbled, feeling winded, beads of sweat gliding down your face. You must've really pissed him off because he hadn’t worked you like that in the last 3 weeks of the training.

 

Moving was damn near impossible. Hell, you wanted to just go to sleep. Right here… Maybe you would… just for a few minutes. “Get up, agent, time to meet your crew!” Roy stood over you, a grim smile on his face. You bet he felt fucking proud of himself, working his damnest to kill, instead of train, that old asshole. With the reluctance of a bull, you managed to peel yourself from the floor. Fuck you needed a bed, not food or water, a bed.

There were 5 people lined up, 3 of whom you had been training with.
“This is Hidalgo. He’ll be the team captain. Lockwood, your assistant captain,” two gentlemen, somewhere in their mid 30’,s nodded, faces stone cold, with their hands behind their backs. For team captains, their expressions were indifferent, like they were bored. That was pretty common amongst everyone here. They ask us to introduce ourselves, going down the line. No personal history, just names. Thank God. Izzy, Sebastian, and Kyle. The names of your current team that, according to the captain, you’ll be off on an assignment with… in 36 hours. A recon assignment in Spain, to investigate the threat of another virus. “This is meant to remain classified. The only people aware of this assignment are us, your point of contact, FOS agent Ingrid Hannigan, and Secretary of Defense Wilson Meyers. You’d do well to keep the objective and location of this assignment to yourselves.” You will receive further instructions 24 hours before take off. Go home and get some rest.”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A short-lived sensation of buzzing abruptly woke you out of your sleep. Jumping up, frazzled by the darkness outside, you check the phone. After the major, fucking roy, did his best to kill you, staying awake was impossible. You managed a shower, but that was it before passing out naked in bed. It was 1:16 in the morning. “Jesus, Roy, I should try killing you myself next time,” you mumble to yourself, growing frustrated once you realize you slept the day away. You still need to tell Carla and Sadie that you’ve got your first assignment, but not at one in the morning. Now you’ll have to rush that moment, considering that the 24-hour mark will be approaching soon. Checking your phone again, there's a message from Leon.

Leon: Hey… still trying to keep good on my promise haha. Hope im not waking you

Biting your lip, clutching the blanket to your chest like a schoolgirl.

You: That's a new record for you! I'm proud. I actually just woke up, slept in all day like an idiot.

Your stomach growled. Sleeping the day away also meant skipping all meals and snacks. A headache would be next if you didn’t eat something soon. You sent a text immediately after the last, before getting up to throw some night clothes on.

You: Kinda starving too. I’ll be up for a bit. You feeling alright? Was it bad?

 

Over the last 4 weeks, Leon kept his promise. He did reach out when he had a nightmare, but was it every time? Probably not. You were simply happy with him trying… and not doing it alone. Throwing on underwear and an oversized tee, you reach for the phone as it buzzes again.

 

Leon: You wanna grab something to eat? I know a good 24-hour diner
Leon: Food is on me

You thought about it for a while, feeling anxious to be around him after Carla and Sadie introduced the theory of being in love. You’re not anyway, so what is there to be nervous about? You’d get a meal that’s not frozen, and he needs to wind down from his nightmare.

You: free food? Absolutely. I'll meet you there?

Leon sent you the name of the diner, adding that he’d be there in 20 minutes. You knew the exact diner as you've been there multiple times with and without friends. It’s a cozy diner, with no real theme. Just a chill setting and some of the best milkshakes you’ve ever had. You freshen up, leaving your curls out to rest. You think to tame the light frizz of your hair, but decide against it. The level of hunger you're experiencing doesn’t care about your hair. Throwing on some yoga pants and opting for a smaller t-shirt. Oh, and a bra, really need to have a bra on. Grabbing your wallet and hoodie just in case the fall weather decides to come in early, you head out to meet Leon at the diner.

 

Seeing Leon's car in the parking lot, you pull in next to his. He’s out of the car before you even get the key out of the ignition, a small smile on his lips as he reaches your door to open it for you. “Such a gentleman, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, scanning your face, eyes lingering over your hair as he shuts the door. “Your hair looks good like that, don't think I've seen you wear it down often.” You look away, trying to hide the girlish smile that creeps onto your face, cheeks tingling. You needed to play it cool,

“Yeah? Thanks, I usually keep it out of my face for work… but maybe I'll keep it down more often.” Leon trails behind you into the diner, smiling to himself because, despite your quick but poor efforts, he did catch the sudden look of shyness on your face.

 

Once you both settle down at a booth table, Leon asks you to recap the last month of your training. He didn’t think he’d get so many laughs in, hearing about your frustration with this old man Roy. “Do you know the guy? I figured you would, since you’ve been an agent for a while. I still want to kick his ass.” You both laugh, continuing with the conversation.

Comparing each other's training, why you chose kukri knives (they just looked good, but he thought that reason was quite stupid); you check in on how his healing progress was, and he was miraculously cleared for work a week ago. 4-6 weeks of recovery,y but he was cleared right at the 4th week mark. You had to chide him about not requesting a longer recovery time, and he only claimed there was no way around it. Through eating and the accidental brush up against each other's legs, you both talked to each other like friends who had years' worth of stories to catch up on. Leon was mainly a listener, but you somehow knew how to engage him enough to talk more than his usual.

With plates cleared, the waiter checked in with you guys about ordering dessert or the check, and you and Leon looked at each other, brows raised in question, “Have you had their 5-dollar milkshake?”

“I have never… ever had their 5-dollar milkshake. You guys have that?” The waiter nods his head with a kind smile, “Best milkshakes in the city.”

“He’s not lying. Try it, I’ll have a 5-dollar vanilla milkshake, please.” You motion for Leon to order one too, but he clicks his tongue, “Best in the city? I’ll share with her.” he sits back, smug against the seat. The waiter shrugs and walks off with the order.

“Wha- what if I don't want to share? They’re really so, so good. I think you should be getting your own.”

“Best milkshake in the city? I don't believe it. If they were the best, I would've heard about it.” He leans against the table, knees brushing against yours again.
“I’ll just taste yours. And if it's really as good as you both claim, then we can come back, and I'll get it then.” We? Did he mean to say that?

“What are you monitoring the city for the best milkshakes now? Just trust my judgement.” The wait comes back with a 24-ounce cup of pure desire… and two straws. “Is that all I can do for you guys?” Leon answers yes, taking the checkbook and sliding his card in. “Thank you again for paying.”

“Stop thanking me, it’s the least I can do for you.” The air felt charged when he said that. Like there was much left unsaid, hanging above your heads.
You smile coyly, knowing he wouldn’t say more, so you grab straws instead, popping both into the cup.

“You try it first. I already know what to expect,” sliding the shake towards him.
He grabs it without a word, slowly bringing the straw to his mouth, eyes on you as if you could have poisoned the drink.

He’s still drinking, eyes narrowed now, and you return the look, “Hey, take it easy on that. You should’ve gotten your own.” You go to reach for it, but he leans further back into the seat, grinning with the tip of the straw between his teeth. In that little moment, he might’ve looked as if he were tastier than the milkshake. “Leon,” you exclaim, watching the cup slowly become half full. “You're killing MY drink.” With one last gulp, licking his lips, you roll your eyes.

“There were a million ways that you could’ve convinced me it was that damn good,” he slides the cup to you, holding back a devious smile. You ignore him, focused on drinking the shake. You both watch each other, you with amusement, and he? You couldn’t quite place that look. Leon looked away, shifting in place. You don’t think much of it, continuing your drink, until the sound of air going through the straw sputters.
Disappointment creeps in, “Yeah, you owe me a full shake, Kennedy.”

“I'll buy you a full shake the next time we’re here.” There's that ‘we’ again. It warms your heart to hear that he has intentions of coming back with you.
The waiter comes back with the receipt and his card, wishing you both a good night.

As you’re walking out, you realize you hadn’t told him yet, “before we head, I completely forgot to tell you. Don’t be mad, I would've told you sooner, but I literally passed out when I got home. And I know we were just talking about training, but I was enjoying myself, and it slipped my mind.” You rambled on, stopping in between your cars. Turning around, you’re met with a confused Leon, brows furrowed. He was much closer than you expected him to be, his head tilted down to look at you.

“They actually gave us our first assignment yesterday,” you give a lopsided smile. Deep down, you knew he wasn’t too excited about you becoming a field agent. You knew it wasn’t because he thought you couldn’t do it. It's because of what he’s seen and the people he’s lost. His frown softened, replaced with a sunken gaze and clenched jaw.

To your surprise, he didn’t say anything. You continued, ripping the band-aid off,
“We’re expected to leave, if not tonight, tomorrow morning.” Shutting his eyes for a moment, he still doesn’t respond.
“Hey, say something. Aren’t you proud?”You say, nudging his shoulder.
“Of course I am. I know you kicked ass to get to this point. Im just-” he clears his throat, like the words are stuck there. “I’m just worried. About you… I'm just worried about you.” His gaze returns to you, those eyes of a storm making you wither away.

“I know things can go horribly wrong on any assignment, mission, or operation. Whatever, but let's hope for the best. You helped me train, too. Just remember that.”

“And you’d better use every damn thing I've taught you out there. Even if it is considered safe.”

You chuckled, “Yes, coach.”

Turning to open the car door, but Leon has it already.
“You able to tell me where you’re going?”
“Of course not, it’s classified. I’ve been waiting to say that” You hesitate getting in the car, turning to face him again.
“Promise you’ll do what you can to keep yourself safe?” you peer up at him again, sweetening the moment, for him, with your smile.

“If it comes to that, I promise I'll do what I can… for myself and others.”
“You just had to throw others in there,” you both laugh, knowing he couldn’t resist the idea of protecting others. A quiet settled between you two. This wasn’t a comfortable silence, but one of longing. It felt as though something was tugging you together, something that didn’t want you back in the car yet.

Before you can think yourself out of it, your hands cup his face as you stand on your toes to barely reach eyelevel with him. It was tempting to just crash and melt into his lip, oh, how badly you wanted to taste them. Learn just how much of a gentleman he could be. But you’d rather have more time for a moment like that.

With going on your first assignment so soon, you’d rather leave him something that lingers… like a promise. You lean into him as he freezes, your lips meeting the soft stubble on his cheek. So close to the corner of his mouth, desire is tempting you to go further, but you know in your heart that you shouldn’t. You stay in place for a few seconds longer, breathing in that wooden musk scent before letting go, the moment you feel his arms shift. He stands there stunned, his expression pleasantly flustered.
“I’ll see you when I get back,” You whispered, not too low, but loud enough for him. With a satisfied smile, you hurry into the car, both of you gently shutting the door. And with one last look, you watch him step back, arms folded, with the sweetest smile on his face.

You’d do this recon assignment and come right back, ready to tackle whatever it is you two really have going on.
As long as everything went smoothly in Spain, things would be fine. It's your first assignment anyway, surely they’d make sure things don't go horribly wrong… You hoped that was the case.

Chapter Text

                                                                             

It's Complicated? 

Chapter 3

 

The air was thick, heavy, filled with the sounds of your moans. His tongue lapping at your desire, groaning pleasurably, as he finally tastes you. His fingers accompany his mouth as they pump in and out of you, making you arch deeper into his touch; your breathy moans are a sweet song to his ears. Relishing in the way your body responded to the crook of his fingers, his tongue relentless.  You both could feel it. You rock your hips against his hands and tongue, mindlessly clenching around him, inhaling deeply as your hands slide into his hair. You’re close, so damn close; you attempt to close your legs, clit becoming overstimulated, but Leon spreads your legs wide, placing wet kisses and soft bites along your thigh,

“Cum for me first,” he kissed your thigh again,

“And then I’ll let you have a second,” holding your gaze before he continued to eat you to his heart's content.

 Until you feel it again, that tingling hot sensation spreads through your stomach, he hummed in pleasure, the sound driving you wild. You chase the orgasm, grinding against his mouth, “That’s it,” he croons, gently squeezing your thighs, watching you arch deeper, taking in the length of his fingers. Nearly there, ready to kiss your slick from his lips, the thought running you hot until there’s a blare echoing throughout the room. Reluctantly stopping the chase for your orgasm, you see Leon trying to say something. Those glazed lips move, but no sound comes out; the alarm is the only thing you hear. “What?” you asked, confused, as his mouth now moved with the sound of the alarm until everything faded away. You jolt awake, as if you dreamt of falling from the plane. Your alarm. It was going off, and ruined a damn good dream. Slapping the snooze button, you hide your face in the pillow, frustrated. 

“We definitely have to work this out when I get back,” you whimper. Embarrassment flares hot in the face, as you can’t help but wonder about it. The intimate act of having him between your legs, how’d he might taste –no– now is not the time… Great fucking timing, having horny little dreams about him? Right now, the day you leave? Your mind has to belong to the assignment for now. You’d see him once you were back, and then it would undoubtedly belong to him.

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