Chapter Text
You fight the urge to glance up at the clock for the fifth time in the past hour; even your mundane desk job at S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't been this boring. Your customer service voice comes as second nature now as you shift into auto-pilot: greet customer, take the order, make drink, repeat. It's mind numbing and brutal for a civilian job but it keeps you from thinking about it all. S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA being exposed was a good thing, you'd remind yourself. It's for the greater good.
Even if it means your accolades in microbiology and medical bacteriology sits on the backburner as you whip up overpriced lattes at a pretentious coffee shop. It's hell on earth but it's a living.
Whispers erupt when the bell rings above the door, heavy footfalls signifying the infamous customer that's slowly becoming a regular. Boots. Leather jacket that hugs those deliciously broad shoulders.
"The usual?" You remark, your tone dull and dragging. Leon chuckles and nods, already tugging out a bill that's already obscenely large for an eight dollar cup of coffee.
"The usual," he confirms and hands the bill over. Fifty bucks, Jesus. You return the change and like clockwork, he shoves the rest into the battered tip jar that housed a few sad nickels. The whispers behind you never cease but fortunately, the guy doesn't notice or he's smart enough to not comment. Your coworkers are sweet but horribly nosy. Once he leaves for the other side of the coffee shop where they hand out the drinks, your coworkers swarm you like a wave of gossip-hungry piranhas.
Despite their best efforts, you manage to bat their needling questions away. The guy's hot but you used to work with Captain America and the Winter Soldier; it's going to take a lot more than muscles to get you to swoon.
The bell chimes again when Leon heads out, saying his goodbye with a usual tip of his head to you with a half-smirk that does make your stomach flip a bit. A bit. You're still human, after all.
Other than Leon's visits, your days are mundane and you find yourself aching to be in bed, a cozy blanket draped along your frame with shitty reruns of reality TV that you keep on for background noise while you read. Maybe even a nice glass of boxed wine from the liquor store. Simple pleasures and all that.
"Good night," you call over your shoulder as your coworker locks up for the evening. With your bag slung over your shoulder, your feet drags you to your waiting car. The ache in your bones feel like a comfort, an echo of your past that derived from blistering workouts with Natasha and brutal sparring practice with Sam or even Bucky.
The old memories bring a fond smile to your lips. You weren't really a hero— not like them. You had been backup support behind a desk or the brains beside renowned scientists like Dr. Banner to identify unfamiliar strains of bacteria in yet another outer-space sample. A normie that casually grabbed coffee with Norse Gods.
The smile turns bitter when you remember where you are now. Customer-service job from hell rather than filing mindless reports of some interdimensional attack in Queens or Kuala Lumpur. As much as you whined and griped about the severity of your overglorified desk job, a large part of you misses that excitement. The adrenaline rush from your past can't be beat.
So lost in your thoughts, you didn't realize you made it home to your apartment building at the edge of the city. You kill the engine and trudge up the stairs; the elevator is still out of service. Your apartment is quiet when you enter, clean and yet lived in with a handful of clutter that lives in the corners and on your coffee table. Nothing looks out of place, except—
Your spine tenses up, instinct crowding in as you scan your living space. A sole mug on your kitchen counter from when you had rushed out the door. Your slippers sitting askew by the shoe rack, kicked off this morning. And your window across the living room, cracked just wide enough to give away that someone had been in here.
You rush to shut it, peeking past the fire escape for any clues before turning around. No one's home but you.
"You're a hard person to find."
The voice has you spinning where you stand, heart pounding wildly. Bucky Barnes walks out of the shadows of your bedroom, the moonlight glinting off his metal arm. The adrenaline leaves your body in a rush and you fix him with a glare.
"When did you add breaking and entering into your list of talents?" You grumble as you shuffle over to pour yourself a glass of wine.
Bucky chuckles but the question in your eyes has him bypassing small talk. It's been some time since he's seen you and it's startling to see you in civilian clothing. "We need your help."
You knock back the glass. "That's what I'm afraid of."
Leon Kennedy's a ghost story, DSO's poster boy. They've only seen flashes of him throughout the building, usually right after a successful mission for debriefs or submitting reports.
It's a first to see him enter in clean clothing, devoid of any fresh cuts or injuries. Not quite well-rested but at least not looking like he just crawled out of hell just twenty four hours ago. His tactical boots are quiet as he paces through the halls, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. It's been the same logo, same cafe he's been frequenting, except the pretty face that greets him behind the counter hadn't been there.
(He asked about her and while the new face behind the counter looked a little put out, he learned that she had quit with little notice just hours ago.)
"We're bringing in someone new as consultant," Sherry murmurs as she keeps in pace with him. Together they enter the spare conference room at the end of the hall. The blinds are shut and the room is empty save for the department head, William Bowers, and a new but all-too-familiar face.
You.
You've ditched the jeans and ratty long sleeves for a practical pair of slacks and matching blazer, unbuttoned to reveal the pristine white long sleeve beneath. Your sleeves are pushed up to your elbows. Your hair is clean and pulled away from your pretty face. Here, your posture is sharp, unlike the slumping position you had kept when you were leaning against the counter. You've got a guest badge on, clipped to your front. Beneath your name is your title: BIO-WEAPONS CONSULTANT.
"My usual doesn't taste the same when you don't make it, you know."
Leon's first greeting paints surprise on Bowers and Sherry's face. You had been in a casual conversation with Bowers, skating along polite niceties before Leon had walked in. You stomp down your own surprise to give him a half-grin.
"Sorry, something else came up."
"You two have met?" Sherry pipes in with a little smile of her own. Leon recognizes it; she's a bloodhound when it comes to gossip.
You chuckle. "I worked at the coffee shop on Third Street. When S.H.I.E.L.D. went down, I didn't have too many options."
Bowers cut in. "We won't be sending you on the field anytime soon, Agent. We just need your expertise. But now that we've got introductions in order, let's begin, shall we?"
Leon tries not to make it a habit of holding people's first impressions against them. He's usually far too preoccupied to notice, except he's still coming to terms that the cute barista is the same woman who's currently taking lead on the debrief about the latest BOW from a suspected rogue division that survived Umbrella's disbandment.
You had been one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s leading scientists on biotech and mass production of cybernetic prosthetics for veterans as well as identifying foreign strains of bacteria from alien samples. Your reputation may just be as renowned as his own (despite your attempts to water down your achievements and accolades), working alongside names like Captain Steven Rogers and Dr. Bruce Banner. He hadn't been sure as to why DSO had called you in until Bowers began the debrief on the up and coming rumored substance that's a sick recreation of the super serum and the T-Virus, all with the intent to create an army of corpses.
"There's a meeting happening in D.C. from the rogue scientist, Dr. Nagel, that created the serum and a potential buyer." Bowers pulls up a snapshot taken from a street security camera of a man, close cropped hair and shades. Leon looks with indifference, unfamiliar with the face, but you frown.
"That's Batroc."
"You recognize him?"
You nod, jaw clenching. "French pirate and all around pain in my ass."
Bowers nods. "Your mission's simple: reconaissance. Leon will be the front man but you'll offer on-site support in a nearby safehouse. I know you have no field experience."
The tension you've been holding in your chest dissipates while Leon shoots you a curious look. You can see the question in his eyes so you don't acknowledge it, just keep your eyes on Bower before being dismissed.
Leon walks you out and you keep your walk brisk and quick-paced except he can keep up with his long strides. "I'll come pick you up tonight, head out to the safehouse by 2400."
You shake your head. "I have a go-bag at my place. I'll meet you there myself."
He pauses at the entrance and you step out, leaving a confused special agent in your wake.
Despite the insistence of civilian life, you keep a go-bag tucked away in the back of your closet. Small duffel packed with essentials, enough to last a week. Your world is shifting beneath your feet but you can't find yourself to be scared. It's much worse.
You're excited.
For once, your hands aren't fidgeting. You're calm, at peace, even. You find solace within chaos. A quiet laugh escapes you; S.H.I.E.L.D got their claws deep inside you even now.
The duffel bag lands in a quiet bounce on your couch before taking stock of your apartment. It's just a simple recon mission but it feels like you're closing a chapter of your civilian life. A beat passes and you hear a knock upon your door.
"So you learned how to knock. Looks like you can still teach an old dog new tricks," you grin when you open the door to see Bucky. "What do you need, Barnes?"
His cybernetic arm whirs as he reaches up to scratch the back of his head, looking almost sheepish. "Nothing. I thought you might've needed a ride to the safe house."
"The safehouse's location was confidential."
He raises a brow and you sigh, pulling the door open to let him step in. He looks at the go bag, your non-shaking hands. "You ready?"
"I am."
He nods and takes your duffel bag with ease. "Let's go."
The safe house was a nondescript one story building that's nestled deep in the suburbs of Alexandria, Virginia. You're far enough from the action yet Bucky's car idles on the curb. A shiny black Porsche sits in the driveway. The streets are quiet, the streetlamps illuminating the rows of houses ahead.
"Thanks for the ride," you murmur as you unbuckle your seatbelt. When Bucky doesn't answer, you turn away from the door to face him with a little chuckle on your lips. "It's just recon. We've faced megalomaniac aliens and a narcisstic gods, I'll be fine."
He shakes his head. "You've never been on the field before."
"It's just recon. And I've passed the qualifying tests to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent before so… cut me some slack." You attempt a little smile to assuage the worries that's causing a crease in the middle of his brows. "Alright, spit it out. You've gone all mother hen on me, you're being just as bad as Sam."
"It's Kennedy. I've seen his file—"
"You gotta stop hacking into files, Buck—"
"He's got a past full of dead bodies disguised with honor. Reminds me too much of Steve without the grace of having my friendship." You roll your eyes and place a hand on his metal arm. He marvels in the way you never seem to flinch around it. "I'm fussing."
"Like a sweet old man. I'll be fine. You can come pick me up at DSO when it's all over."
"Why can't I just pick you up here?"
You finally hop out of the car and slam it shut but Bucky rolls the windows down. "And miss a chance in riding Kennedy's sweet porsche? Hell no. See you later, Bucky."
The house's interior is also nothing spectacular about but it makes your chest pang with a longing that you didn't think existed inside you. The wallpaper's outdated and the couch looks lumpy but it has a bay window you've always wanted, somewhere nice to curl up and read. Your gaze settles on it a second too long because when you look up, Leon's looking right at you.
"Perimeter's secure," he murmurs.
You nod. "I'll set up base of operations here. Meeting's tomorrow, bright and early at 0700 hours."
"Think you can whip up my usual?"
That startles a laugh out of you and the little smile on his lips makes your heart twist. How juvenile. "Maybe. Tonight, though, I want to settle in. Get all satellites ready for us."
"You run tech support, too?"
"What can I say, I'm a goddamn gift."
Leon chuckles again and nods, unstrapping his tactical gear and cards his hand through his ash blond hair. It's a little too long for regulation but you figure he has perks as DSO's golden boy. The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as your screens and monitors are set up with the coffee table pushed aside to the walls. You have satellite, CCTVs, and even the goddamn weather up by the time the sun has set. You kick up your feet on your table, leaning back in your chair to admire your set-up.
Footsteps alert you of his presence and when he stands close enough, you catch a whiff of generic soap and his aftershave. "Looks like you made yourself right at home, agent."
"I'm not an agent. Not anymore. I'm just a consultant," you insist as you peek up at him. He's got a black fitted shirt on along with a pair of black pants that isn't tactical but not sweats either.
He settles beside you into a chair he's taken from the dining room. "So what do you do? Your file's just a handful of words and black lines."
A wry grin settles upon your face. "You can thank Natasha for that. She cut a deal with the government for the low-ranking nobodies like me, we get full pardon if we keep our files and our brains in the dark."
"Which is why you've been barista of the year."
Another surprised laugh escapes you. "You got a funny sense of humor, Agent Kennedy."
"It's just Leon." You take the moment to look over your screens just to give yourself something to do. "You didn't answer my question. Bowers told me you're our expert on bioweapons and biotech from S.H.I.E.L.D.."
"My phD was in Microbiology with a focus on bacteriology and parasitology. S.H.I.E.L.D. picked me up from B.S.A.A. to work with Dr. Banner when a certain god of thunder landed in New Mexico. I wasn't a lead scientist there, I was just there to cover their bases, made sure he didn't bring some outerworld strain that could've wiped out the human race. Working for S.H.I.E.L.D. demanded proficiency in field work even if I was fully committed to a desk job. Ballistics, hand to hand combat, I passed them all."
He lets out a hum. If you might've known him a little better, you might've thought that the purse of his lips was a small sign of respect. "So you preferred the desk job?"
"Yeah, I didn't feel like a fish out of water. If I wasn't in the labs, I was working with the analysts, compiling data in neat little boxes for the big heroes like you or Rogers to go through before shooting down the bad guys." You shrug and set up a final protocol before getting out of your chair. You raise your arms in a little stretch, missing the way Leon's eyes track the sliver of skin exposed from your shirt rising up. "I'm gonna get some shuteye. Good night, Agent Kennedy."
"Good night."
"Your usual, Agent Kennedy?"
Leon enters the living room to see you stationed at your screens already, one knee drawn up as you monitor a satellite image. He glances down to the island counter where a steaming mug of coffee awaits him. When he takes a sip, it tastes almost as good as you make it. He chuckles.
"Just how I like it."
When you tear your gaze away from the monitor, you take in the beautiful image of Leon Kennedy in full tactical gear. "It's just recon," you say. Not to remind him but to confirm that this isn't about to end in a fight. "You're not supposed to engage."
"If there's an exchange, I'll follow the buyer and that might lead to some engagement," he responds as he double checks his magazine for each gun strapped to his body. "I'll be fine. You're my eyes and ears."
"This feels like a bad idea…" But you turn back to the screens anyways. "You should get moving."
He nods and steps out. Within the allotted time, he appears on your screen as a blue dot, at the perfect vantage point as Batroc and the rogue scientist, Dr. Nagel, makes their appearance. The security footage is grainy at best but you record anyways, deciding to clean up the file after.
"You see them?"
Leon grunts quietly. "I see 'em. Didn't really expect the pirate to look so normal."
You're starting to learn Leon's type of humor, dry and corny that a dad would love. "It's the twenty first century, you didn't really expect him to pull up in a peg leg and an eye patch, did you?"
"It'd make tracking him down a lot easier."
Leon feels his smile against the body of the sniper gun he's peering through when he hears you snort through the comms. "If you're looking for easy, you might be in the wrong business. Hold on. Batroc's handing over a briefcase."
He sees it through the viewfinder, Batroc handing over the briefcase before the scientist slides over a small cube. It's sleek, obsidian and metallic and no larger than a Rubik's cube. "I'm following Batroc."
"What— wait, should I call for backup?"
"No time. Just track my location."
Through your comms, you hear the tell-tale clicks and slides of Leon dismantling his sniper with brutal efficiency before his low grunts tell you he's running. You follow the blue dot on your screen as you sit at the edge of your seat. "Batroc's in an unmarked vehicle, black Mercedes Sprinter with a gash on the left side of the bumper. Don't tell me you're running on foot— how the hell are you moving so fast?"
A loud purr of a motorcycle sounds through your comms. "I improvised."
You roll your eyes. Of course you get stuck with another infuriatingly hot agent that rides motorcycles. You can only hope that Leon doesn't have the same proclivity of throwing motorcycles at bad guys like Captain America.
"Take a hard left in an upcoming alley, you can circle around traffic and cut him off."
Leon swings his borrowed bike and revs the engine while you relay information with ease. "I'm engaging."
"Watch yourself, Batroc's a nasty fighter. He was a handful for Rogers."
"You keep bringing him up, got a crush on him or something?"
You didn't miss a beat. "I'm not blind, Kennedy. Now stop meddling with my love life and just beat his ass."
On your left screen, you pull up CCTV footage across the street where Leon Kennedy is in fact engaging against Batroc. While Batroc is all precision in every swing and kick, Leon's a force of nature. It's like he's tossing his weight around, a flurry of fists and wide punches that manage to land more than miss. It's a fighting style you aren't accustomed to but entertained all the same.
"I got the package," Leon grunts through the comms as you watch him land another punch before sprinting off. Batroc's at his heels and you gasp when he suddenly dives and tackles Leon down. Another fight that occurs too quickly to be properly captured by the traffic cameras. It leaves Leon on his knees with Batroc in the wind.
"Get back here, Kennedy," you bark. "I have every camera on him. I'll find him so get back before you bleed out to death."
"Yes, ma'am."
When Leon returns, he doesn't stop moving. If anything, it's like he's recalibrating. Restocking on mags, piling up and shoving more guns in holsters that are pressed tight against his form. By now, he's like a walking artillery. You stare in apprehension.
"I've got a trace on him, a buddy of mine is following his movements via satellite."
Leon spares you a glance as he grabs his keys. "Grab your things, we're hunting him down."
"What—?!" You yelp as you stumble out of your chair. You grab your laptop anyway, heavy duty and miltary-based programming as Leon holds the door open for you. "I don't do field work, Leon."
"Okay, change of plans, rookie."
You throw yourself into the passenger seat, barely had enough time to admire the supple leather and the addictive scent of his cologne that clings to the entire car, before Leon thrusts the car in reverse and races down the quiet suburbs. "Technically not a rookie," you mutter. The laptop pings in your lap as you set up a scant version of your base back in the safe house. The satellite data takes up a quarter of the screen before the full map of the city pops up, the red dot beeping as it moves down streets.
"He's traveling up north, on I-95 towards… New York." You continue to relay information without missing a beat, guiding Leon through faster channels while keeping Batroc within range. Instead of actively pursuing him, Leon eases up on the gas, lets the pirate think he's lost them. A lull settles in between you two.
"We need to check in with headquarters," you say to break the silence. "This isn't a recon mission anymore, Leon."
He nods. If it were any other mission, he wouldn't have but he's got you and despite your competence, he's not risking your life for his own convenience. "Go ahead."
"Open secure line 013," you speak into your private issued device. The line beeps before Bowers' voice comes through.
"Why in the hell are you two on the highway?"
"Leon Kennedy decided to engage," you tattle with a pointed look. Leon has enough grace to look a bit disgruntled as you dive into a full debrief report on the line, sharing how you're in pursuit while Batroc is heading towards the New Jersey turnpike. "Sir, I need to add— I don't think Batroc's the man we should be focusing on. From my experience, he's a middleman. Money's his gain."
"You think he's selling this off to another buyer?"
"It's the only probable reasoning I can give, sir." With a few final remarks, the call ends and you toss the phone into the cup holder between you and Leon. The drive is silent and after checking the GPS, you've got about three and a half hours if you're right about New York being the final destination here. Uncertainty makes you twitchy so your fingers fly across the keyboard, accessing databases and backdoor archives that would probably mark you as an enemy of the state.
"What are you doing?" Leon mutters.
"I'm going through Batroc's history, see if I can get an idea of where the hell he's going. I'm seeing credit card statements that put him in D.C. this past week. Security footage of him loitering around empty warehouses." Your eyes scan the given information, coaxed out of encrypted files with your quick insistent fingers. "There's correspondence between him and someone about another unknown subject meeting in Upstate New York, near the Hudson river."
Leon's grip tightens on the wheel. "It's going to be a long drive."
"That's fine. I like road trips."
Even if your mind had been quiet enough to fall asleep (it's not), it didn't feel right to fall asleep and leave Leon alone for the rest of the drive. The laptop is warm on your lap as you occasionally check Batroc's location.
"Sorry about dragging you into this." Leon's voice cuts through the comfortable silence over the purr of his car. "I know you don't do field ops, but I couldn't leave you behind."
"I'm a big girl. I'm sure someone would've extracted me from the safe house," you chuckle. "And maybe I needed some excitement in my life."
"I'll keep you safe." The severity in his tone takes you by surprise as he bulldozes your attempt to keep it light. "Once we get to New York, we'll find and establish a safe house and you'll stay there."
Your heart clenches at the sincerity emanating from Leon but before you could reply, your phone rings. It's another secure line but it isn't Bowers.
"Bucky?"
He lets out a breath, a deep-seated exhale of relief that makes you a touch bit guilty. "Yeah, yeah it's me— what the hell happened?"
"Plans changed, Leon and I are in pursuit."
"Doll, you said it was just recon."
"It was! We're… improvising?" Leon shoots you a dry look as you let Bucky give you an earful. "I'm fine, Buck. I promise, I'll let you know when I'm in the clear but I need to lay low for a bit."
He barks out a laugh and you can already imagine that stupid crease between his brows again. After a few more promises of being careful, he finally lets you go but not without a final remark. "I don't care if he's a national treasure, I'm kicking Kennedy's ass for dragging you out onto the field."
"And I'll kick yours for fussing so much. Leave it be, James." He retreats when you use his first name. "I'll be home soon."
The line goes dead and when your phone returns back into its place on the cupholder, Leon glances over at you again. Goddamn, those piercing blue eyes are startling. "Overprotective boyfriend?"
You laugh but it's dry and humorless. "That's one way to put it. God, no. He's… a coworker. A friend of mine."
"Was he the one that dropped you off yesterday?" When you nod, he hums quietly. "He seemed like an ex."
"Were you always this nosy?"
Leon manages a quiet laugh. "It's been two hours on the road. Humor me."
"If you're looking for juicy gossip, Kennedy, you're not getting much from me. And it's not because I value my privacy, it's just the lack of material." You hit a few buttons on the keyboard, updating Batroc's location. "But he and I could've had a thing but it wasn't plausible. Not for people like him and for people like me."
The conversation ends there and Leon takes it as win. He just isn't exactly sure what his prize is.
"He's slowing down." Batroc's blinking dot on your screen slows in front of an unmarked warehouse near the river. Leon pulls over onto a curb under the shade of a tree. "I'm pulling up infrared." A window pops up and after a little huff, you find yourself with nothing. "No extra heat signatures apart from Batroc and his team."
"Keep an eye on him." The car purrs when he pulls it away from the curb, speeds down the streets to another decrepit apartment building. "Home sweet home."
You sigh and shut the laptop, sliding it into your bag before following him out. The door creaks open when you step through the lobby, the linoleum floors covered in a thick layer of dust. The light above you flickers on. "I'm guessing this place is abandoned?" Leon steps forward and reaches into one of the mailboxes after prying it open. A spare key dangles from a chain and starts up the staircase.
"No elevator?" You whine softly but Leon's steps are getting further and further away so you hustle to follow. Fortunately for you, he stops on the third floor, rounding a sharp corner to the door at the very end of the hall. Logistially, it's a perfect vantage point. Upon entering, the open space apartment has a window facing the busy street of the front part of the building and the sidestreets of the alleys if you stick your head out. You drop yourself onto the couch and wince at the musty smell that puffs out from the cushions. Swallowing down your complaints, you pull out your laptop instead and set it onto the dust-covered coffee table. Batroc's still in the warehouse, still no new heat signatures on top of that. Even then, you realize it doesn't matter if the amount of heat signatures don't change; it doesn't promise it's the same people coming and going.
"I'm doing a perimeter check." Leon steps closer to hand you a gun, its handle facing you. "Just a precaution. This safehouse hasn't been used in awhile and I'd rather keep our bases covered."
Your hand doesn't shake when you take the gun, the weight of it cold and unfamiliar in your grip. "Hurry back."
Leon's gaze softens at the rare vulnerability in just those two words. "It'll be quick. Keep the door locked." He's out the door before you can say another word so with a final glance at your laptop, you putter around the kitchen for something to eat. You aren't really sure why you were expecting anything edible but the sad can of tomato sauce in the pantry and the bag of granola beside it makes you huff. Your stomach grumbles in protest as you shut the fridge before checking the rest of the cabinets.
"Rations. Great," you mutter as you pull out a crate of military-grade packet of rations that seem to be freeze-dried for preservation. Your findings are abandoned on the kitchen counter as you check the bathroom. Surprisingly clean despite the thin layer of grime. The water pressure's a little too low for your preference but at least there's hot water. Your feet take you to the bedroom just as the front door clicks open. You whirl around, gun in hand and your form nearly perfect before lowering it to see Leon by the entrance.
"Just me," he murmurs.
You nod. "There's rations in the kitchen and there's hot water. I'm checking if there's any extra clothing," you jab a thumb over your shoulder to gesture into one of the bedrooms. Leon meanders past you, down the hall to check the other bedroom door only for him to realize it's a closet and not a bedroom.
"This bed's a king," you crow in delight. "I call dibs! What'd you get for yours?"
Leon returns to you with a tight line of his lips. "There's only one room."
Realization settles in as you peek down the hall to catch a glimpse of not a bedroom but a small closet, teeming with extra towels and pillows.
"And there's only one bed," you say in finality. A tension swells between you two and you attempt to cut through it with a dull stab of humor. "I should warn you, Agent Kennedy, I tend to hog the blankets."