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After several grueling months of training, you somehow got caught up in the crossfire of signing some silly, little petition to get a free energy drink, and now you were suddenly on your way to your first official day of being a government agent. You twiddled with your thumbs as you stepped into the DSO’s headquarters; upon entering, you were immediately greeted by a clean lobby with multiple agents bustling about, and the receptionist greeting you with a gentle smile as you walked up to her.
“Good morning, miss. Is there something I can help you with?”
You stumbled over your words, biting your lip before suddenly remembering that you were given instructions via email. You quickly pulled out the folded piece of paper and showed the receptionist.
“Morning—I uh—” you let out a pathetic laugh. “I was told that today’s my first day.”
She gave you an apologetic look, nodding at the creased paper. “Oh, I see. It seems like you’ll be training under Mr. Kennedy. I can have someone escort you to his office if you’d like, or you can wait out here for him if you’d prefer that. I don’t believe he’s come in yet.”
You nodded, taking the paper back and stuffing it carefully back into your bag. “I can just wait out here.”
“Make yourself at home,” she gestured to the array of coffee tables and lounge chairs behind you.
As you walked over to the chair closest to the vending machines; you took this time to look over the lobby more in detail. For a Thursday morning, it was certainly busy; it reminded you of having a gap after a dreadful 8AM class in Uni—seeing so many people up at the same time at the same place, but all for different reasons—it made you feel nostalgic, almost. You checked your watch, biting the inside of your lip as you watched the time tick by. Your leg bounced uncontrollably due to your restlessness, and you were beginning to regret not just asking to go to that guy’s office to wait in instead. At least, then, you’d know who you were looking for.
That lady had mentioned something of a ‘Mr. Kennedy,’ whomever that may have been. You should’ve asked what he looked like, at the very least.
You didn’t know who or what to expect, to be honest. You barely even survived training, and you still hadn’t had the best grip on your guns. Truly, you were a rookie agent. You kicked your legs back and forth in your seat as you passively scrolled on your phone until someone caught your attention from the corner of your eye.
Walking in exactly at 9:36AM was a rugged, older man with salt and pepper hair—with matching scruff—and tantalizing blue eyes. With a slight hunched back, he swiftly passed you and the receptionist before being quickly stopped by her. Within a matter of seconds, you saw the man shaking his head with his arms crossed before walking over to you.
Oh sHIT—
“Are you the rookie assigned under me?” he asked roughly, clearly someone had woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning.
You nodded silently before opening your mouth to tell him your name. “I’m—”
He held up his left hand—a silver band on his ring finger—and shook his head. “No need for that. I have you on-file.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. If he had your info on-hand, why even ask to begin with?
“Aren’t you gonna introduce yourself? It’s kinda rude that you’re my mentor, seemingly, and I don’t even know how to refer to you.”
He let out a tired ‘tch’ and started walking away from you. “Leon.”
You quickly scrambled to get your bag from the floor and followed Leon further into the building; trailing him like a lost puppydog.
“Leon Kennedy? That’s your full name?”
He looked over his shoulder with a bored look. “No.”
You pouted, trying to keep up with his, rather large, strides. “You got more to it, Gramps?”
“I’m 49.”
“And I’m not,” you said in a matter-of-fact tone, raising a hand to your chest. “So that makes you a grandpa. Doesn’t that mean you were born in… oh my God—’77?”
“What’s it to you, kid?”
You shrugged. “Just trying to make conversation. I assume we’ll be spending a lot of time together. I need to… see what kinda personality you have.”
Leon raised an eyebrow, very-much-so unamused. “Just how old are you? I thought they didn’t let teens join the DSO.”
“Hey—I’m… in my twenties, for your information. Well over eighteen.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“You’re from that batch of recruits from the local university, aren’t you…”
“What gave it away?”
Leon looked you up and down; you were wearing your school’s sweater and some carpenter pants. As in, you weren’t sure what agents wore; the ones that came to your college campus were wearing suits, but you didn’t feel like putting on a suit in this blistering heat. Fuckin’ global warming.
“Beats me,” he mused, turning a corner and opening a door to which you assumed was his office.
You looked around his office, noticing the stack of paper on his desk, but the lack of photos.
“Where are your photos?”
“What?”
“You have a ring. I just assumed you had a wife or something—or husband—I’m not homophobic.”
Leon just stared at you, trying to process your words. “It’s just so I don’t get approached at work. I don’t have time for a relationship, so if I flash this ring, it’s easier to let people down.”
“So… you’re single?”
“Single-handedly regretting coming into work today, yeah.”
You plopped down onto the edge of his desk, looking down at him. “So, when do I get to go on missions n’ shit? Do I get my own gun and knife or whatever?” Your hand covered the manila folder that had your information.
Your mentor picked up your wrist, dropped it onto your thigh, and then grabbed your folder. “Do you ever shut up?”
“For the right price.”
“Couldn’t you just do it for free just this once?”
“Actually, I think I’m gonna charge you double.”
He rolled his eyes into the back of his head, trying to keep his composure. “Do whatever you want. Just let me do my work, yeah? Five minutes is all I ask.”
You shrugged and pulled out your phone, going back to nonchalantly scrolling while Leon did whatever he had to. You also set a timer for five minutes just to fuck with Leon. So, for the next few minutes, you watched Leon type and clack away at his computer, staring at the bright screen. Just when Leon thought he was getting somewhere with his latest mission report, a blaring noise came from your phone.
“What the fuck was that for, rookie?” he gave you a scowl, looking in your direction.
You innocently looked at a bookshelf in his office, simply shrugging. “I have no idea what you’re talking about…” you then turned to him, your phone covering your mischievous smile. “Well, you did tell me only five minutes.”
Within seconds, you were pushed out of Leon’s office and out into the hallway.
“Rude.”
Inside of Leon’s enclosure, he held his head in his hands, letting out a tired sigh.
“I wasn’t that annoying when I was her age, surely…” he groaned. He let his hands fall and returned to finishing his report.
Around ten minutes later, there was a rapping at his door.
“It’s open.”
You peeked your head inside his office, your lips in a thin line. “Where’s the bathroom…?”
Leon blinked slowly before getting up from his seat and physically dragged you out of his office again. This time, it was by throwing you over his shoulder. Your eyes went wide as you were hoisted into the air, but soon became stunted from the sudden view of his ass.
“Wha—let me down! I’m a grown ass woman!” you relented, pounding your fists against Leon’s firm back.
“Ever thought about becoming a masseuse?”
That comment made you whack his back extra hard, making him let out a scoff. Other agents and handlers looked at you and Leon with a concerned look; seeing an older man practically manhandling a rookie certainly made a few heads turn. He soon let you down in front of the women's bathroom, crossing his arms afterwards.
“Well? You said you had to go. So go.”
You didn’t know how to feel; on one hand, you felt humiliated in front of your new coworkers, while on the other, you couldn’t hold on that coffee you had earlier so you thought it’d be wise to just push your pride to the side and go use the bathroom before you embarrassed yourself even further.
When you came back out, you shouldn't have felt disappointed or surprised that Leon wasn’t there waiting out in the hallway—he was your mentor, not your babysitter, for fuck’s sake. Although, that did leave you a bit confused on how to get back to his office. If you had been paying attention to your surroundings instead of his ass, maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess right now.
No, no, no. You were a grown ass woman—you could find your way back by yourself. You didn’t need Leon or any man or anyone to help you—nope!
…
Of course, you overestimated your navigation skills and ended up getting lost in the maze that was the DSO HQ. Too anxious to ask anyone for help, you ended up just sitting on a bench by the bathrooms where Leon left you. At least you were sure you wouldn’t piss your pants for the rest of the day.
Looking back down at your watch, it read 11:47AM. It wasn’t even noon, and you were already at rock bottom. Holy fucking shit, how did you even pass your training.
By some sort of miracle, a blonde woman looked down at you and asked if you were lost.
“I’m… yeah. I’m lost.”
“First day jitters?”
You shrugged. “I kinda just have the survival instincts of a peanut.”
She gave you a small, pitiful smile before offering to help you. “I heard we were getting a new agent today. You must be her. Uh, if I remember correctly, you were supposed to be mentoring under Leon, right?”
Your face grew sour at the mention of that man’s name; his furrowed eyebrows and perma-frown glaring down at you. Stupid. And hot. No, mainly stupid. Definitely stupid.
“Unfortunetely.” you crossed your arms.
The woman laughed. “I know he seems a bit off-putting at first, but he’s a real sweetheart once you get to know him.” She stuck her hand out. “I’m Sherry.”
You told Sherry your name before returning her handshake. “You wouldn’t happen to know where his office is, would you? I… kinda left my bag there. After he threw me out.”
“Leon threw you out of his office? You must’ve really irked him. Or… he had another rough night, and you just happened to become collateral.”
You looked down at her hands. A similar ring was on her pinkie.
“Does your ring mean anything?”
“Oh—I have matching rings with Leon and our other friend. They’re kinda like… symbols of still being alive. Although, I bet Leon told you something else, huh?”
“He said it was to ward off anyone who’s interested in him.”
Sherry laughed. “Of course he did. If you’re gonna be mentoring under him, just know that he says and does a lot of unnecessary things. Also, if he makes a corny joke, it’s better just to laugh.”
“Jokes?”
She stopped in front of Leon’s office; a silver plaque that read ‘LEON S. KENNEDY’ by the door. “You’ll know what I mean when you hear them. Well, here we are. If you ever get lost again, just remember that it’s the office closest to the break room. Took me a while to remember the layout too.”
You nodded, thanking Sherry for her assistance. Looking back at the plaque, you wondered what the ‘S’ stood for. Soren? Solomon? Spencer? You bit your lip, deep in thought, before Leon came from around the corner, his second cup of coffee in-hand. He let out a defeated sigh. He just wasn’t going to get rid of you, was he?
“I’m assuming you went to the bathroom?” he asked, gently sloshing the hot beverage in his ‘WORLD’S BEST LEON’ mug.
“After you stranded me!”
“You were down the hall.”
“Stranded. And. Deserted.”
“Good riddance,” he spat back, sipping his coffee.
You looked back at him like he had just shot you in the chest ten times personally. You could’ve sworn you felt your eye twitch. You were in mid-contemplation of whether you wanted to go online and try and get an Etsy witch to curse him, but you were soon broken out of your malicious thoughts when he brushed past you and back into his office.
You grimaced at his lame shoulder-check, trying not to pretend that the impact of his biceps didn’t hurt you more than they actually had. You trekked into his office after him, quickly grabbing your bag.
“Can’t you actually train me? That’s your job, isn’t it?”
Leon set his mug down on his desk, leaning on the edge of it with his arms crossed, showing off his biceps. “Are you sure you’re ready for that? You don’t seem to be the most… built person.”
“Are you callin’ me weak?”
Leon gave you an up-down once more. “No offense, short-stack, but you’re not exactly built like most agents here.”
“Which is why you should train me! Right now!”
“Right now?”
You nodded, standing your ground. If there was one thing you were going to do right, it was to prove to your family that you weren’t a waste of breath—that you had a purpose outside of doing what they wanted you to do.
“I wanna help people.” You bit your lip. “If there’s any chance that I’ll be able to make something of myself, I wanna do it to the best of my abilities.”
Leon sighed, swiping his gun off its stand on a side table and gestured for you to follow him down to the training rooms.
At the shooting range—in the DSO’s basement—laid out a row of targets and an array of firearms to use at your disposal. Leon grabbed you a simple beginner-friendly pistol, even being as charitable as to load it up for you.
“Careful where you point that thing, it’s loaded.”
“Yeah, no shit, Gramps.”
Leon ignored your dig at his age and instead grabbed his Alligator Snapper from its holster, checking the magazine with one hand before aiming it at the target with one hand, immediately landing a bullseye.
You looked at him in awe—how nonchalant he just made that shot—but quickly shook your head. You couldn’t let him know that you were impressed.
“Pff, that’s so not fair. You’re like a veteran.”
Leon raised an eyebrow and looked over at you. “Why don’t you give it a shot? I assume you know how to use a gun.”
You nodded, shakily raising the firearm with both hands before trying to aim it at the posterboard at the other end of the shooting range. You took a deep breath and tried to stabilize the pistol before shooting. The initial recoil left you to move a bit in-place, still not used to shooting an actual gun, leaving Leon to scoff at your stance. Your bullet had actually hit the target, but your aim was still way off.
“Not bad, but you need to focus more.” Leon walked up to you, placing his gun down on the counter in front of him. He hovered over your arms, trying his best not to touch you without your consent. “Stand like this,” he angled his feet to stand a bit further apart than you were standing, leaning forward a bit. “If you angle your arms like an isosceles triangle, that should help. For a rookie, anyway.”
You listened to his directions, and shot another bullet at the target; this time, you were close to a headshot.
“Good.”
You peered over your shoulder upon hearing your praise, feeling a sense of fleeting happiness run through you. Okay, maybe he wasn’t 100% an asshole. More like 75%.
After training for a couple of hours, Leon thought it’d be best for you to stop for the day and get some actual work done. Which meant you just had to stay in his office and find something to do to pass the time while he tried finishing more mission reports.
“Can you stop staring at me while I type? It’s unsettling.”
“But you type like two words a minute. It’s just sad.”
“Well, forgive me, but I didn’t exactly grow up with computers. Too expensive.”
You got up from your seat and walked over to look at Leon’s screen. A crudely typed up report on Microsoft Word and a flickering cursor was staring back at the two of you.
“C’mon, Gramps, show me what you got. Try a typing test.”
“I don’t have time to play your childish games—” Leon started, but it was too late as you had already yanked his keyboard from him and pulled up the first typing test link from Google. “Have you no shame in anything you do?”
You placed a one-minute timer on and gave his keyboard back to him. “Go on. Take a crack at it, Lee.”
“Don’t call me, ‘Lee.’”
You gave him a knowing look and nudged his shoulder.
“You really aren’t gonna drop it until I do this, aren’t you?”
“Nope.”
Leon sighed, before starting the test, much to his distaste. After a couple of them, he averaged out to about 36 words-per-minute. Not bad, but definitely not that speedy. Oh, but the man could shoot zombies with one-hand, no problem.
“Woah… you’re… no, it’s not… I’ve seen worse.”
“I don’t type much. Usually out on the field.”
You looked down at his ring; Sherry’s words echoing in your head. Leon noticed this and looked up at you with a slight teasing glare in his eyes.
“See something you like? You’ve been staring at my hand an awful lot today.”
“Just wondering what it really means.”
“What does that mean?”
“Someone named Sherry said that it was some kinda symbol? Did something happen to you when you were younger?”
“... let’s just say that it’s a miracle that I haven’t killed myself yet.”
Your eyes went wide. “What?”
“Don’t worry about it, Rookie. Just let me get back to work. Go… on whatever it is that kids your age use.”
Over the next few months, you had slowly started warming up to Leon, which meant you started to become more unfiltered around him. Which meant that he had the pleasure of hearing you ask one morning, “Aren’t you ever scared of your hatchet like digging into and cracking your ass open?”
Leon choked on his coffee and sprayed some into the break room sink, slowly looking over at you. It was barely 9AM.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” to which Leon grimaced at your smartass reply. “But like… are you? The holster's pretty low.”
“I just don’t think about that kinda stuff,” he grabbed some paper towels and wiped the counters and sink, cleaning up his mess. “This is the fourth time this month alone that you’ve mentioned my ass. Are you okay in the head?”
“Oh Scotty—”
“Don’t call me that.”
You roughly pat his back, and you could’ve sworn that you heard a bone or two crack. “I would’ve thought that by mentoring me for almost four months now, that you would know that I am like one papercut away from ending it all. So, no, I am not okay in the head, but thank you for asking.”
He looked almost appalled at your statement and at this point, he didn’t know whether to comfort you himself or just direct you to Human Resources. Then again, he couldn’t be one to talk since he was one inconvenience away from doing the same thing.
“Um… okay… good talk.” he pat your shoulder awkwardly before waddling off to the printer down the hall, muttering about having to go grocery shopping later this week.
That reminded you to go grocery shopping as well—you didn’t feel like having take-out again. A lightbulb went off in your head as you quickly skittered down the hall and followed Leon.
“Hey! Hey, Leon!” you chirped, repeatedly tapping his shoulder like the annoying coworker you were. “You said you had to go get groceries too, yeah? Yeah?!”
The older brunet jumped at the sudden intrusion of his personal space, causing him to push you back a bit. “What did I tell you about the touching? I’m not some toy, but to answer your question, yes, I need to go grocery shopping. Why?”
“I do too…”
Leon’s eyes might have just lost whatever little light was left in them. If he could rarely survive you at work, in what universe would he be able to survive you and your obnoxious commentary after work hours?
“No.”
“I didn’t even say anything?!”
“You were gonna ask if you could come grocery shopping with me, weren’t you?”
“... no.”
He gave you a judgemental up-down. “No? Then what were you going to ask? Enlighten me.”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. “You…”
He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow at you. If he didn’t look so hot while judging you, you would’ve punched him for sure. “Yes?”
“Are you—you’re—you’re a bitch. Shut up.”
You quickly stormed off to your newly official cubicle—desk name plaque and all—too embarrassed to say anything else to your mentor. Leon could only watch you march away, scoffing as he returned his attention to the copy machine and printer. A few minutes later, Leon dropped a small pile of documents onto your desk.
“I want these cross-referenced by the end of the day. Think you can handle it, Rookie?”
“When do I get to go on a real mission?”
“Oh, you can speak now. Congrats.”
You frowned at him; annoyed that he completely dodged your question. In Leon’s defense, you had been pestering him about when you’d get to go out on the field for a month straight now.
“I asked you a question, Leon.”
“And I ask you to shut up, but you never do. How does it feel? Not so good, huh?”
“I’ve been training for almost a year non-stop. I know I’m ready.”
“You are not ready. If I never feel completely ready for a mission, what makes you think that a rookie like you is?”
You got up from your seat. “I’m not you!”
He scoffed. “Clearly.”
“I said I wanted to help people, and I meant that!”
“Then help me by doing the work that’s actually assigned to you.”
“Bu—”
“You are not field-ready. End of story.”
With that, Leon turned his back on you and walked back down to his office, leaving you with a bitter feeling on your tongue and a bunch of busy work. Great. All you needed now was a manila folder in your hand, and you’d magically transform into Leon’s glorified personal assistant. You’d oughta spit in his drink next time when he isn’t looking.
By the end of the work day, you hastily dropped the pile of documents onto Leon’s desk, but not without a sticky note in the shape of a strawberry sando that read, ‘FUCK YOU’ in bold, black ink. If it weren’t for the cute design of the stationary, Leon would’ve been bothered by it. Instead, he only shook his head and took the sticky note off of the papers, letting it fall into his trashcan. Never a day went by that he wasn’t reminded that you were a pain in his ass, and today was obviously no exception.
As you packed your bag up and were about to leave the office, you noticed Leon strolling up to you, hands in his pockets.
“Aside from your… colorful vocabulary, you did good on those papers, kid.”
“I don’t need your praise or approval. Just fuck off, old man.”
“Hey—” he made you look up at him via grabbing your bag. “I’m not trying to cockblock you from missions or whatever. I just don’t think you’re ready yet.”
You jerked your bag back from him, glaring daggers into his equally as tired eyes. “Will I ever be ready in your eyes? I’m not a fucking kid, so stop treating me like one, and stop resorting me to being your… your guy in the chair!”
He yanked you closer by your jacket sleeve. “You listen to me, Rookie. I am not going to lose you to some zombie or bioweapon because you were overzealous. I’ve lost enough and so I need you to comply so you don’t waste your life away like I did.”
“You’re fucking selfish. I can take care of myself, Leon,” you spat back, tearing yourself away from him roughly. With a heavy breath, you left the office, and Leon, in complete darkness.
After that encounter, you and Leon barely spoke the next couple of weeks. You barely even made eye contact with him—opting to take your breaks when you knew he was in a meeting or otherwise not in—and tried your best to avoid even being in the same room with him if you could help it. If he wasn’t going to treat you his equal, there would be no point in trying to get him to see eye-to-eye.
Your disinterest in working with him didn’t go overlooked by both your and Leon’s higher-ups; you overhead a conversation happening in Leon’s office—something about Leon’s performance dropping because of your refusal to listen to him—to which whatever reason your boss’ thought it was a bright idea to deploy the two of you on a mission.
Alone.
Together.
On one hand, you were over the moon that you’d finally be getting some action out on the field. On the other, you’d be with your hot stupid mentor. Within the hour, you and Leon were escorted out into his Porsche with the task of going back to Rhodes Hill and clearing out the area of any leftover trails of the outbreak. You had no idea what any of that meant, but Leon was clearly not fond of the mission.
The two of you sat in silence for a majority of the drive; the soft rock of Leon’s playlist whispering throughout the car. You were barely given a debriefing of the assignment details—having to resort to the case file that Leon had carelessly thrown onto the dashboard for context—but when you found that it had ties to Raccoon City and the outbreak that happened further West, you could only feel a sour taste on your tongue. Since you were born after the outbreak, you had only heard stories about it from older colleagues or on Reddit threads; it had never occurred to you that Leon was a direct veteran of the events himself.
As much as Leon enjoyed the silence, he still had to cooperate with you, so for the sake of the mission, he tried reconciling with you.
“There’s an earpiece for you in that pouch. Put it on, and you’ll be able to communicate with Sherry.”
You eyed the hip pouch in the cupholder. You only glanced at Leon with an icy stare before grabbing the communicator and tucking it inside your ear. Turning it on, you looked back outside the window. You weren’t in the mood to talk for once, but the urge to stare longingly at Leon’s side profile was growing more tempting as each second passed. Sure, you wanted to punch him, but that didn’t mean you didn’t think he was also objectively nice to look at; you could multi-task.
“Leon, can you hear me?” Sherry’s voice came in through the intercoms, causing you to wince as you adjusted the volume.
“Yeah, by the way, Rookie’s here too.”
“They actually let you on a mission? Wow, I’m impressed. Go easy on her, Leon.”
“She’s inexperienced, not weak.”
Was that a compliment or were you just delusional from running on an abysmally concerning amount of sleep? Fuck if you knew.
Sherry let out a huffy laugh and then wished the both of you good luck before cutting the comms for now.
By the time the two of you had reached the Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center, a large portion of it was blocked off by police tape. Leon got out, but not before grabbing his gear from the trunk. You followed suit, grabbing the hip pouch Leon had left you in the cupholder. Based on the case file, you were to only get rid of the remaining collateral left in the care center; should be easy enough, surely.
If you ignored the lingering stench of rotting flesh and blood overstimulating your nostrils, it wasn’t that bad. It was mainly just you and Leon doing housecleaning—why the DSO had sent one of their best agents for something so trivial was lost to you—but you knew, deep down, it was probably because you were still a new agent.
“I’m pretty sure this place should be clear of any zombies, but if anything happens, just call for me, and I’ll come, alright?”
You nodded, checking your gun one last time before making your way into the West Wing. On the ground, right in front of you, was a zombie surrounded in dried blood wearing a lab coat.
What exactly went on here? You made a mental note to ask Leon later. Peeking around the corner, you saw more rotting bodies scattered across the floors. Deeming it that there were no signs of life (or the undead) you turned around and started down the other side of the hallway. The skittering noises of growling and something being gnawed on made your blood run cold.
No. You wanted this, remember? You wanted to prove yourself to Leon—to your family—that you could do something good for once in your life. Shaking your head, you slowly made your way further down the hall before peeking around the corner. There, on the messy dining table, were two zombies in black suits digging through what looked like guts and intestines from—God, you didn’t even wanna know. You took a few deep breaths before aiming your pistol at the zombie closer to you. You tried to remember the advice Leon had given you on your first day, and after releasing the safety on your gun, you shot it; the zombie quickly turned its head to you, which made your eyes go wide.
Shit.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckshitshitshit.
You quickly shot at it again, watching it fall back onto the guts it was gnawing on just moments ago. Before the other zombie could reach you, you shot at its leg a couple times before aiming for the head, but ultimately missing.
Shit, you had to reload already.
You reached into your hip pouch and clumsily grabbed a new magazine, while backing up to the wall. You were merely seconds away from getting mauled by the zombie before a loud shot was heard from down the hall. Your head spun quickly to land on your mentor with furrowed eyes, a large revolver in his hands. He then walked up to the zombie and tore its head off with his hatchet, ensuring that it wouldn’t become a Blisterhead later on.
“Are you okay?” he asked, turning to you as he wiped a smear of blood off of his cheek.
You slowly looked between Leon and the, now, headless zombie. “Y—Yeah…”
“Word of advice: always aim for the head.”
You were just stunted by what had just happened. Leon was right; you weren’t ready. You could barely even fend off two zombies by yourself.
“I’m sorry,” you muttered, not being able to hold eye contact with him.
“What?” he looked back at you after tearing off the head of the other zombie you had taken down.
“You were right. I’m still just a rookie.”
“You were bound to get deployed one day. Might as well get it over with since we’re already here.” You looked back down at your gun. Leon could sense your disappointment, causing his features to soften. “Hey, I know it’s hard at first, but I know you’re strong enough to get through this. This isn’t the end. If you need help, that’s why I’m here. I won’t let you die on me.”
You nodded. “Thank you, Leon.”
He mirrored your nod. “You can thank me by staying alive.”
Somehow, you got hurt while Leon was busy retrieving some sensitive information about Dr. Gideon, so he ended up having to carry you out in his arms. How embarrassing.
“I told you to stay put, Rookie! You just love doing the opposite of what you’re told, don’t you?” Leon scolded you, rushing you out of the care center.
“It’s not like I knew there was gonna be some freak zomboid with a knife coming after me! I was acting off of pure adrenaline!” you hissed back, trying to distract the never-relenting pain in your thigh.
Soon enough, while the cops did the final check-ups on the care center, Leon focused on taking care of your wound. As you sat in the passenger seat of his Porsche, legs weakly dangling over the side, Leon pulled out some medical supplies from his trunk.
“You’re lucky that thing didn’t hit any of your vitals, and it was just your thigh.”
You winced as Leon sprayed disinfectant on your open wound. “Be gentle, would ya?”
Leon only stared at you with a tired look, too old to deal with your whining. “You know, just because you’re hurt doesn’t give you an excuse to be rude. Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?”
“Of course they did. I’m just—mmn—trying not to cry right now.”
As Leon wrapped your wound with some gauze and bandages, he then got up from his crouched position in front of you. “Alright. That should hold up until we get back to HQ, and the nurses can get a better look at you.”
“Thanks, Leon.”
He helped you buckle in before getting into the driver’s seat and starting the car up.
Similar to the ride there, the drive back was mostly quiet. To try and distract yourself from the pain, you tried to make small talk with Leon. Since you were semi-officially back to talking to him again, you thought it wouldn’t hurt. At least, not as much as your wound.
“So, we were really just there for housekeeping?”
Leon sighed as he turned out of the lot. “Well, not exactly. They wanted us to grab any files on Victor Gideon—try and figure out what happened to him after Umbrella—how he ended up the way he did.”
“Is that what the folder in the back’s for?”
He nodded. “Very perspective.”
You shrugged. “I do try.”
You could sense that things were tense; Leon hadn’t spoken much since arriving at Rhodes Hill. You wondered what happened here before? He had mentioned that it wasn’t his first time there, but never expanded upon it.
“Am I allowed to know what happened here?”
“Yes, but maybe another time. You and I are both tired.”
“But it’s like an hour back. We gotta pass the time somehow…”
“Okay, fine. Let’s play a game.”
“A game? What are you—twelve?”
“Would you rather sit in silence then?”
“No, no. What game did you have in mind?”
“Uh… I Spy?”
“Okay. Fine. I spy a little bitch treating me like a kid. Again.”
“I’m not—” Leon let out a defeated sigh. “You had one job, and that was to not get hurt.”
“You said to watch your back! I did!”
“You deliberately disobeyed me. How do you expect me to work with you when you’re just gonna go off and do your own thing all the damn time?”
“You do that all the fucking time!”
“Because I know I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing this song and dance for the last thirty fucking years, Rookie. You’ve barely been an official agent for the better half of a year at most. So, forgive me if I have my reservations and don’t want you bleeding out on me on your first mission.”
Throughout all of this, Leon tried his best to stay calm—he really did. But the more you pushed his buttons, the more he was susceptible to eventually lashing out at you, even if he didn’t necessarily want to. You were young and naive, just like he was at your age, so he couldn’t blame you for being so… you. Regardless, he wouldn’t let your petulant comments get to him. You were probably bleeding out in some way so he gave you the benefit of the doubt.
Until he couldn’t.
“Wait, do you think that like… can zombies get pregnant?” you asked, tilting your head as you pondered the question.
That was the final straw. Leon pulled over on the side of the road, turned to you, and said, “Okay, that’s it. Let's play the Silent Game now.” His eyes were twitching.
God forbid a girl has an active imagination.
“What? It’s a genuine question—”
“You just never fucking shut up. You just don’t! I’ve tried for months to ignore your weird—rather concerning—impulsive thoughts, but I can’t take it anymore! I don’t know if zombies can get pregnant, no you cannot bite my biceps to suck out venom, and stop sending me emails to a chiropractor! I do not have scoliosis!”
You gulped. You didn’t realize how hot Leon got when he got his temper. Now that you thought about it, seeing him tear apart those zombies earlier was really hot too. If you weren’t so scared, you definitely would’ve been distracted by his arms. A part of you wished it was you that was being caught in a headlock instead of a zombie.
For the first time since meeting you, Leon hadn’t seen you stay quiet after an argument. He missed your smart remarks all of a sudden. Instead, he tilted his head and glared down at you.
“Hey—eyes are up here, rookie.”
You broke out of your trance on his arms and met his gaze. “What?”
“The one time you shut up, and it’s when I need you to focus. Seriously, what are your priorities?”
“How am I supposed to focus on anything when you talk to me like that?”
“Excuse me?”
You looked down at his lips before looking up at his judgemental eyes once more. “Fuck you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, fuck you. You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you—talking down to me and—and wearing that tight-as-fuck shirt. Wha—what—you wear like an extra small just to show off your boobs?”
“I don’t think any of those words were in the Bible.”
“Good thing I’m not religious then.”
“Are you flustered? Is this what this is?”
You let out a scoff, biting your lip afterwards. “You wish you could fluster me, Scotty boy.”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“Ya tell me a lot of things, Gramps, but I never listen.”
“Oh yes, you’ve been very consistent with disobeying me.”
“What can I say? It’s fun riling you up.”
Leon let out a scoff. “You think you rile me up? How presumptuous of you.” He suddenly leaned closer to you—so close that you could smell the coffee he was sipping on earlier—and whispered against your cheek. “You don’t know who you’re messin’ with, rookie. It’d be wise for you to quit while you’re ahead.”
“You don’t scare me, Leon,” you retorted, pushing him away from you with your palm. “I know you wouldn’t hurt a fly if you could help it, but I gotta admit, this is kinda hot. We gonna kiss now or something?”
“I don’t kiss on missions, sorry to disappoint.”
“Even though it’s basically over?”
Leon looked over at you with hooded eyes. “You really wanna do this right now? You’re hurt, and I’m old enough to be your father. You do realize that, right?”
“It’s like barely any pain—I don’t even feel it. Injury? What injury—I feel like a million bucks, ha-AAH!” You let out a yelp as Leon squeezed the part of your thigh where you had gotten hurt.
“What was that about pain?”
You frowned at Leon, contemplating on tugging him by his beard hairs. You would’ve done that if it weren’t for the sudden warmth now enveloping your thigh. Holy fucking shit, why was his hand so big.
“Fuck you.”
“We’re still on the clock. Keep it in your pants.” Leon turned his left turn signal on, trying to get back onto the road. “Can I get back to driving now? Or do you have more to say?”
You gulped, your mind going a mile-a-minute from how warm his hand felt on your thigh still. You only shook your head, leaving Leon to give you a knowing look before getting back to driving. The entire drive back his hand had stayed on you, and you weren’t sure whether or not to comment on it. At some points, you were sure that he was aware of what he was doing; his thumb had started to idly caress your injury, making you hold back a couple of winces.
As Leon pulled into the parking lot of the DSO, he carefully helped you out of the car and took you to the nurse’s office. Once situated there, and the nurse had properly treated your injury, Leon came in to check up on your condition.
“You okay?” he asked, taking a seat by the bed you were resting on.
“Yeah. Like you said, nothing serious. Just… gotta get some stitches later.”
Leon nodded, his gaze slowly falling over your tired form. “I’m sorry for blowing up at you earlier. I shouldn't have done that. It was childish and demeaning.”
“Ehh… yeah, but it was also kinda hot.”
He raised an eyebrow before clearing his throat. “So, that wasn’t a joke?”
You shrugged.
Leon released a breathless laugh in disbelief. Swiping a hand through his graying locks, he shook his head as he looked down at the tiled floors.
“I don’t think I’ve had to deal with someone as…”
“Funny?”
“—annoying” he gave you a knowing look, “as you in the past two decades.”
You gave him a bored look, the light in your eyes dimming.
“But with lots more training, I think you’ll make a good field agent one day.”
“Really?”
“With time.”
“Also, can I have that kiss now?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said that—”
“I didn’t say shit.”
“Men.”
“Women.”
As you were about to go back to resting on the bed and ignore Leon entirely, he grabbed your face quickly and pecked you on the lips. Your eyes went wide and before you could even register what was going on, he had already pulled back.
“Once you’re healed up, let me know.”
“So we can get back to work?”
He shrugged. “Sure. If that’s what you want.” He leaned closer to you, whispering against the shell of your ear. “Or maybe I can show you if I’ve improved my typing speed.”