Chapter Text
The DSO bullpen was quieter after dark.
Most of the younger agents had already gone home, leaving behind abandoned coffee cups and dim computer monitors glowing softly in the gloom.
You, yourself, were a younger agent, but there was nothing enticing about going home. You sat cross-legged on top of your desk sorting through case files while Chris Redfield leaned back in a chair nearby, recounting some disaster from a mission in Eastern Europe.
“-and this idiot,” Chris said, pointing across the room, “thought he could outrun infected dogs on a motorcycle.”
Leon Kennedy, sprawled bonelessly in the chair beside your desk, didn’t even look up from the paperwork in his hands.
“I could outrun infected dogs on a motorcycle.”
“You crashed into a church.”
Leon finally glanced over.
“One time.”
Chris barked out a laugh.
“One time was enough, man.”
You smiled into your coffee.
Leon noticed immediately. That was the problem with him.
Leon Kennedy had spent years teaching himself how not to feel things too deeply. He kept right on the surface of every new relationship. Only coworkers from his first couple of years on the job made it under his hard exterior because if he let every death, every mission, every failure settle fully into his chest, it would have hollowed him out years ago.
So now he moved through life carefully, like a man forever trying not to disturb old ghosts.
Until you.
You had walked into the DSO three years ago with bright eyes and terrifying competence and had ruined his emotional restraint almost instantly.
Leon remembered the exact moment, actually.
When you'd first walked in, short heels, no-nonsense attire, thing, rectangular glasses on your nose, he didn't think much other than ‘pretty new rookie’.
And as you oriented yourself around, your curious eyes kept glancing up at everyone. You didn't seem to remember manners with how often you were taking in your surroundings, including everyone else in them.
Leon felt your gaze land heavily on him many times. But he was used to respect, professional admiration, and rookies being attracted to him.
He assumed it was one of these.
It wasn't.
He stayed late. Because he always stayed late.
He barely noticed as other employees filtered out of the building, the agency becoming quieter and quieter as the dark filled in the empty space.
What he did notice was that the new rookie, on your very first day, was still there. Still putting in the hours typing away on your computer, the harsh screen glinting your glasses, making it impossible for him to see your eyes.
Every few files, he would look up again at you. You would still be typing away.
Eventually, it got too late for even senior officer Leon S. Kennedy, and he fell asleep at his desk, posture still upright, looking almost like he was still working.
But you had known better. Had seen how much he put into this place. How much it had taken from him.
Most importantly, how sad his eyes had looked.
You tip-toed over to him, reaching out for him, then away several times. It was your first day after all, and you weren't sure if this behavior was acceptable.
But then you committed.
You walked over to his desk and filed his papers for him. You clicked his computer off, the bright screen instantly turning dark. You set a mug of fresh coffee on his desk for when he woke up. Turned off the florescent lights.
Then you went back to your desk. Pulled something out of your drawer. A little crocheted something-or-other and placed it on his desk.
Didn't need Agent Kennedy banging his head on hard wood if he fell forward. It would make the perfect pillow.
And that it did, when he woke up several hours later, the office completely empty, with criss-crossed lines etched into his face, the subtle scent of coconut all around him.
Leon could have figured it out. Wouldn't have been hard. But the mystery was solved when Chris Redfield came up to him the next day, smirk on his face, and replayed the footage for him.
You still didn't know he had seen the footage. That kind of thing doesn't come up on conversation, exactly. But one day he wordlessly returned his makeshift pillow.
And ever since then, it's been over for him. Leon had been doomed from that moment forward.
Chris knew it too.
Which was why he looked between the two of you now with the exhausted expression of a man watching a train wreck happen in slow motion.
“You know,” Chris said, “normal partners don’t spend this much time together off duty.”
Leon took a sip of beer. Chris held his own.
Not you. You still looked like you were working, but you hadn't flipped a file page in over an hour.
“We’re not off duty.”
Chris looked pointedly at the beers.
Leon looked at his own bottle like he’d forgotten it existed.
“Mm.”
You laughed softly again, offering a tiny smile.
Leon’s chest tightened painfully around it the way it always did.
God.
He ran a hand down his face, acting like it was the late hour that was affecting him, and it wasn't that he wanted you with an intensity that made him feel seventeen and stupid again.
Leon had accepted long ago that wanting you quietly was probably the closest thing to peace he deserved.
Chris stood eventually, stretching.
“Well,” he sighed. “I got a wife waiting for me at home. Let me get out of here before Kennedy starts acting like you hung the moon, again.”
Your eyebrows shot up.
“What?”
Leon dragged one hand slowly down his face.
“Chris.”
“I’m serious,” Chris continued mercilessly. “It’s getting embarrassing.”
Leon looked deeply unimpressed, but you saw through it because the tips of his ears had gone faintly pink.
“Good night,” he muttered pointedly.
Chris grinned.
“Night, sweetheart.”
“Mm.”
Then Chris was gone, leaving the bullpen quieter than before.
Rain against windows. Distant humming electronics. The soft warmth of Leon beside you.
You looked back over the files, eyes unseeing.
“Agent Kennedy?” you asked. “What was he talking about?”
Leon leaned back in his chair slowly. Older now. Sharper around the edges than he used to be. Time had turned him dangerous instead of merely handsome.
Silver threaded faintly at his temples beneath the dim office lighting. His tie hung loosened from earlier meetings, sleeves rolled to his forearms. There was something unfair about how good exhaustion looked on him.
His blue eyes settled on you heavily.
“You ask a lotta dangerous questions.”
You covered a blush by finally flipping that damned page even though you weren't done reading it.
Leon watched your face over the rim of his beer bottle. His tongue shot out and licked against his bottom lip.
“You’re off tonight.”
You blinked.
“In what way?”
“You’ve been picking at that same file for over an hour.”
You glanced down.
He was right, and damn him for it. That was the thing about being friends with federal agents - they noticed everything.
And Agent Kennedy seemed to be the best. He noticed everything. Specifically, about you.
You tried for casual.
“Just distracted.”
“Hm.”
That quiet hum of his was lethal. Somehow more intimate than most people touching you.
He set his beer down.
“Why?”
Simple question. No pressure, which somehow made it harder to avoid.
You stared down at the papers in your lap for a long moment.
“My ex is getting married.”
Leon went completely still beside you.
You laughed softly at yourself.
“It’s dumb.”
“How long?”
You looked over.
“What?”
“You were together how long?”
“Since high school.”
Something flickered behind Leon’s eyes. Then it was gone just as quickly.
“Our families were really close,” you continued quietly. “Everybody thought we’d end up together eventually.”
Leon looked away first. Toward the rain-soaked windows. His jaw was tight.
You kept talking because you trusted him. Because Leon had become the safest place in your life so gradually you never noticed it happening.
“He invited me to the wedding.”
That got his attention back instantly.
Your laugh this time sounded smaller.
“And I sort of have to go.”
Leon’s gaze narrowed faintly.
“Why?”
“Our families are still close. His whole family’s gonna be there. Mine too.”
You shrugged one shoulder helplessly.
“And I’m going to walk in alone while he’s standing there marrying somebody else.”
The words settled heavily between you.
Leon looked at you for a very long moment after that.
God, you had no idea what you did to him.
No idea what it felt like sitting beside you every day pretending he didn’t think about your laugh, your safety, your happiness, your future, your hands, your mouth…
What it would feel like to be chosen by you
Meanwhile you were worried about showing up somewhere without a date, as though someone had not already been half in love with you for years.
Leon exhaled slowly through his nose.
“He’s an idiot.”
You looked upward. Your glasses glinted and concealed your expression.
“What?”
“Your ex.”
The bluntness startled a laugh out of you. Leon’s eyes softened instantly at the sound.
“You don’t even know him.”
“Don’t need to.”
“Leon-”
“No,” he interrupted calmly. “Guy had you and lost you anyway.”
Your breath caught slightly because he said it so simply like it was objective fact. It almost made you believe him.
Leon leaned back again afterward, one arm draped loosely behind your chair. He was careful to avoid touching you, because if Leon started touching you the way he wanted to, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d survive it.
And he certainly wouldn't be able to stop.
“You showing up alone doesn’t make you less impressive,” he continued quietly. “Just means he was too stupid to keep up.”
You stared at him, at the exhaustion in his face. You saw the impossible gentleness hidden inside a man who carried the weight of entire outbreaks on his shoulders.
And suddenly your chest hurt a little, because nobody had ever spoken about you like that before.
Leon noticed your expression immediately. His eyes flicked over your face carefully. Protectively.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
“Hm?”
“You don’t owe anybody proof that you’re wanted.”
The room went very quiet after that. Rain caressed windows and the florescent lights hummed.
Beside you, Leon looked like a man trying very hard not to say something crazy.
And, boy oh boy, did he fail catastrophically.
Leon stared out at the rain for so long you wondered if maybe he wasn’t going to say anything at all.
“I’ll go with you.”