Chapter Text
Leon was trained for missions.
Trained to kill, trained to dodge, trained to survive.
He'd spent his youth in academies learning the ropes, what to do and what not to do in any situation, and spent every bit of his life outside that filled with training himself physically.
When someone becomes an operative under DSO, they’re put through a number of tests to ascertain their strengths and weaknesses, a determiner of what kinds of missions they'll be put on; and for Leon, that ended up being most of the hard-hitting ones.
The second Leon hit 21, he was out on the field. Tackling dangerous mutations head-on, fighting creatures which hadn’t asked to be made, and put into horrific situations most couldn't stomach to look at, let alone experience. Every mission he went on left him aching and in a worse condition than the last. He’d broken his nose countless times, got knocked in the head by blunt objects, fallen off buildings, been pushed, trapped and bit. He ended up in the ER more often than not, but always, always got back on his feet, and headed out to the next mission he was assigned to.
‘Star Pupil’ turned to ‘Best in the Field’ turned to ‘Highest Ranked Operator’. All these titles made Leon scowl on his way out of the apartment block. They’d gotten him nothing but aches and pains, blisters and a fragmented memory, a steady hand and instincts like those of a minx. But no matter how many hits he took, how many times he was knocked down, he got back up and went on his way to the next mission he was needed to handle.
Today however, Leon was lounging around the office, taking rest in a swivel chair, head tilted back and staring up at the ceiling fan, just waiting for the inevitable buzz he’d get when he was needed. But no. No, this time, the door to his right opened, causing Leon to sit up straight, hands pressing against the desk to offer leverage on his way upright.
“You’ve had me waiting here for a while doc, is it terminal?” he joked, seeing Sherry walk in and shut the door behind herself, the hint of a smile gracing her features.
“I wanted to talk to you about your next assignment.” She placed a file down in front of him, flipping open the page for him to read. “We’ve got you, and our newest operative headed up to Maine for a case regarding—”
“Wait, Sherry.” He held out a hand to pause her, looking up from the file at the blonde woman. “I’m not typically the one who gets babysitting jobs, remember? My missions are strictly for me, getting in and getting out of shit that scares all the others.”
“I know that, but our new operative needs field experience, and you’re our Highest—”
“Highest Ranked Operator, yeah, I got it,” he finished for her.
Leon sighed, head hanging as his ice blue eyes slid across the file’s contents again, letting the air around him settle from the weight of his title being thrown around once again. Tch, as if it meant he was some trophy to show off: ‘Oh, look at us, we house Leon Kennedy, biggest reckless dickhead whose job it is to almost get himself killed every other weekend, let’s give him awards and titles to make him interesting.’
Leon dragged his fingertips across the bottom half of the file, reading through it silently, letting Sherry stand there in anticipation.
“Besides, they’re not that new of a recruit,” Sherry continued, “they’ve gone through training, aced multiple tests and landed the rank of Star Pupil, just like you did. They even worked in the RPD for 5 years.”
Great, another title. Perhaps this kid will care for it more than he did, become pretentious like all the others before, slinging it around as if it was some kind of pass to get into restricted areas only to back off when they found out what was really hidden behind the badges of DSO.
“Good for them.” Leon sighed, resting both hands on the table to focus on the file, picking up photos and any information he was being given beforehand. It was few and far between to have photo evidence before an investigation, so Leon took it in stride, examining every bit of it he had.
Sherry let her shoulders fall relaxed, hands swinging by her sides as she stepped closer to him, “look, I know your whole thing is being broody and ‘tough around the edges’,” Leon chuckled, “but this new operative has what it takes to follow you on this. I even gave you an easy one with lots of pictures.”
Leon shook his head, holding a photo between his index and his thumb, “you gave me a child’s case so I can drag around a new recruit?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” Sherry smiled at him, stepping closer and plucking the information from his gloved hand, placing it back down over the sheet of paper. “Knowing you, you’ll be in and out within the night.”
Leon shrugged his shoulders back, standing up straight to let his eyes flick up at the computer screen showcasing the spinning DSO logo smack-bang in the centre of it.
Sherry continued to persuade him, stepping closer and leaning back against the desk, not to capture his attention, but to make it easier for him to glance at her while she stared at the wall behind him. “Our new hire will get some field work experience in, and it’ll be like a holiday for you.”
Leon’s eyes flicked to her, something tugging at the corner of his lips, “I could use some R and R.”
Sherry turned her head and beamed at him, reaching back to close up the file on him, holding it up, almost taunting him with it. “Then I’ll sign you out.” She stepped away and opened the door, heels clicking against the tiles to echo her leave, “oh, and Leon?”
He turned around, hands resting on his hips, “yeah?”
“Thank you.” The door shut with a click, and Leon sat back down, hand carding through his pin-straight blonde locks, doing barely anything to get them out of his vision for more than a moment. ‘Help out a new recruit… Now that’s a new one’, he thought, tilting his head back to resume the position he had been in previously.
Leon’s apartment was bland.
Bland, grey, and boring.
He didn’t see the need to spruce it up at all, most of his time was spent out on the field. He sat on an old couch he’d picked up off the side of the road, it worked and didn’t contain any bugs so it would do, so that was where he relaxed and listened to his mixtapes. Yes, mixtapes in the year 2018, he’s not about to buy any CD’s when he has his perfectly good mixtapes. Leon ate out more often than not, so his kitchen hadn’t ever been used other than to clean some blood off his hands. But his bedroom was likely the worst of it all, consisting of a double bed with two pillows, a duvet and old blanket he pulled on only in the winter months and an old wardrobe in the corner that was there when he bought the place. He didn’t own many ‘civilian’ clothes as he would call them though, most of that small wardrobe is full of tactical gear, DSO uniforms and, well… his jacket. He thought about getting a plant, but he’d forget to water it, or be out on the field for too long and he’d come home to wilted leaves or a dried up herb sitting in direct sunlight. Leon realised he never really knew how to keep stuff —other than himself— alive, so he scrapped the plant idea and bought a fake one. It was now collecting dust on the shelf in his lounge and was pretty sure a cobweb had been made connecting one of the leaves to the wall. At least something had found a home in his apartment, he figured. He keeps a medical kit in every room, because more often than not he needs one when he comes home (home to Leon is where you hang your hat, not where the heart is), and having one on standby is useful, well, for him.
When he pushed the door open to the DSO building at dusk Leon expected a new recruit to be there in their spotless uniform, shiny new SG-09 R, like he had done. But all that faced him was a water cooler and a fidgety Sherry.
“Leon, you’re late.” She gave him a quick glance up and down before checking her watch.
“Where’s my new responsibility?” He joked to no avail.
“Uh… late-r.”
“Hm.” Leon stepped past her and sauntered down the hall, broad shoulders squeezing past other operatives to sit back down in his small cubicle office. He didn’t need this. He didn’t need to wait around for some new rookie who’d only slow him down on the mission. It was his job to get in and get out with as little scrapes as possible. A rookie would just slow him down and make things a whole lot harder.
Leon huffed, got up, grabbed his badge and left his ‘office’ again, passing Sherry who turned around to trail after him in this new direction.
“Leon.” She sighed, reaching her arm around him to pass him the file.
“I’ll take the leads you’ve got, but I’m not babysitting if they’re not even here.” He took the file in his hands and pushed the door open, palm splayed on the old wood doors until the cold air hit his face and it slipped off.
He expected to walk right out to his car and drive off, but there was someone in the way of his exit.
“Sorry I’m late, my train… was…” You panted, standing between Leon and his car. You had your shiny new uniform on, all spick and span fresh-out-the-box.
“Late…?” Leon finished for you.
“Yeah… you’re Leon S Kennedy, right?” You pointed at him before looking at the doors to see Sherry standing there trying to bite back a larger smile. “You’re the one teaching me the ropes.”
“Leon,” Sherry introduced you, “this is our new operative on duty, they’ve transferred here from the RPD.”
Leon hung his head and scoffed to himself, unlocking the car door with a click to his keys. He opened the passenger door to drop the files in. “Get in, Agent,” he grumbled, rounding the car without another word.
Leon sat on the plush seat, his wrist rested on the steering wheel while his eyes flitted over to his liability. A ‘training mission’. It would’ve been nice to go on one of those if he wasn’t thrown in with a new recruit bugging him and getting him into more scrapes than needed. A sigh escaped him when he extended an arm to take a hold of the tile, the manilla folder feeling almost soft under his thumb before he opened it. Let’s see… Eagle Lake, Maine, 221 Aspen Court. ‘This address is home to an old church building known as the ‘Harvest Church’, which the townsfolk have been avoiding since Fall, 2007. The community used to gather there every Sunday to provide a morning service, although since last winter no person/s have been seen entering the building. Reason: UNKNOWN.’
Leon clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth and let the closed file rest on his lap when his passenger made an appearance.
“What took you so long?” He sighed, reading you.
“Sherry had some—” you held up some printed photos quickly, “evidence.”
“Put them in the file and read out what else we’ve got in there.” He chucked it gently at you and started the car, tires hitting tarmac over and over as the DSO station faded out of view from the rearview mirror.
“Uh, yes, alright.” You opened the file and stuck the pictures under the hold of the paperclip, finally being able to fulfil its one job now that there was some more photo evidence other than just the church building. “Eagle Lake, Maine, 221—”
“I’ve read that bit, keep going.” His leather gloves tightened around the wheel.
“Right…” You cleared your throat and skimmed over the first paragraph. “History: the Harvest Church was built in 1859 and used as a form of refuge for the townsfolk during the Civil War. Veterans have been buried near the grounds of the Harvest Church and all memorials have been held inside since; until recently as the Church has become abandoned due to a… due to the residents hearing odd noises and hymn-like echoes coming from inside late at night.”
Leon peeved at the silence, glancing back at you twice. “Is that it?”
“Oh! No, no, sorry, I’m just… These pictures depict two wildly different churches.”
Leon’s eyebrows pressed together as he tore his gaze away from the road to take a look at the two photos you were examining.
“Maybe they’ve done renovations?” He smiled to himself, returning to his original position with both hands on the wheel, leather squeaking against leather.
You glanced over at him. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”
Leon sighed, “yeah… Look, you’re gonna have to get used to those if you’re following me out on this case.”
You shrugged, eyes widening as the files became increasingly more interesting than whatever attempt at humor that was. “I’ll keep that in mind.”