Chapter Text
ACT I: Foilsick
From the Scottish Gaelic foillsich, meaning "to expose". The feeling of shame after revealing a little too much of yourself to someone.
AS FAR AS MEET-CUTES GO, YOURS IS… memorable, to say the least. Not everyone can say they met their future wife while narrowly avoiding being run over by her Mercedes-Benz.
That's a sexy fucking car— is, somewhat embarrassingly— Leon's first thought.
Thankfully, years of escaping zombies and monsters and other abominations have been good for something other than the trauma. His body moves before his brain catches up, stepping cleanly out of the way. It's pure muscle memory at this point.
He exhales, steadying himself.
Really, he should be grateful for his own reflexes. If he'd moved even a second later, he’d be fucking roadkill right now. Flattened out like a blond pancake on the gravel.
But back to the car.
It's clearly custom made, sleek and plum-colored; expensive in a way that doesn’t even try to hide it. He’d bet good money the interior is just as luxurious.
As for the person behind the wheel...
"Shit shit shit fuck!" you cry, panic spilling out of you in a rush.
It’s a disaster in motion, and Leon finds himself unable to walk away. It's like watching a train wreck unfold in real time. Well— a car wreck. Clearly.
The vehicle lurches, jerks—
—and slams to a stop at the last possible second, just shy of another agent’s BMW.
Leon presses his lips together, fighting the urge to smirk. Luck's definitely on your side— that would’ve been one hell of an insurance claim.
You must feel the same. With an exhale of pure relief, you slump forward, forehead thunking against the steering wheel. The horn blares in protest, sharp and deafening, echoing across the parking lot. "Alright. Fuck. There we go."
Not how he thought he'd start this day, but sure. Leon crosses his arms and leans against a column, settling in like he's got time. "Trouble with the brakes?"
There's a distinct change in your composure the moment you hear his voice. You lift your head up from the wheel, a curtain of hair covering your face.
"Agent Kennedy," you say coolly. "Sorry about that. I didn't hit you, did I?"
"I've dodged worse," he says, in lieu of an answer.
"I'm glad. Death by Mercedes-Benz would've been a shit way to go."
He snorts. As you pull up into your government assigned parking space (far more gracefully this time), he wonders if he should maybe be more offended and concerned about this attack on his life.
"I've got to ask, Agent Chameleon— was this an assassination attempt?"
You raise your brows at him through the visor vanity. "If that were the case, why would I ask if you were hurt?"
"To cover your tracks. Obviously."
"You really think I'd stoop as low as a hit-and-run?"
"A poorly executed hit-and-run," he adds, much to your bemusement— then shrugs. "A guy's got to make sure."
"Well, perish the thought. That's way below my pay grade. I have more… sophisticated methods."
CODENAME: Agent Chameleon. CIVILIAN IDENTITY: Unknown. You're an enigma, and the agency's best kept secret. You work in the shadows, on missions that require the '2 subs': subtlety and subterfuge. As for your "sophisticated" methods… Well. You don't discriminate, but you're sweet on poisons.
"So I've heard," he says dryly, and catches your small smirk as he turns away. As lovely as it was to almost get murdered at 7 in the morning, he's got places to be. This little interaction already had him running late.
He makes his way to the office, hearing the car door shut behind him.
The secretary greets him with an enthusiastic smile as he arrives at the topmost floor. Mandy, a 20-something with blonde beachy waves and a tendency to flirt with her superiors. Rumor has it she's someone or the other's niece. Leon isn't too up to date with the office gossip, and honestly? Neither does he care to be.
"Hi, Mr. Kennedy!" she chirps. "You're right on time. They're waiting for you at the Conference Room."
He nods at her, already turning left. It doesn't seem to be a very busy day— but then again, most people come in at around 08:00 or 09:00. Only the IT department is here this early.
"Would you like me to escort you in?"
"No need. I know where it is."
"Okay! Love your suit today!" Mandy calls after him, and he smiles tightly in response. Jesus Christ. Had he been this bright-eyed and bushy tailed in his 20s?
Fuck no. He snorts to himself.
The meeting starts out like any other— the Commander and Chairman shake his hand, and the other assets (just 2, in comparison to the usual 6 or 7, which lets him know this case is either of minor importance or extremely private) nod at him as he sits down somewhere in the middle. It's a long, rectangular table with files already splayed across it, ready for perusal. He's strategically positioned himself such that he has an eye on the exits— of which there are two, glass doors that are both easily accessible.
It's an introductory briefing for a new assignment. Leon watches intently as the Commander runs through the slideshow. A high-profile, highly urgent mission— to gather knowledge, infiltrate, and intervene in the actions of some scientists up to no good. The Commander talks about the location (San Francisco), and the identities of the individuals involved (San Fran's finest elites), but for some reason he doesn't seem to be diving into the crux of the issue.
"We're… waiting on another agent," clarifies the Chairman eventually. Leon raises his eyebrows.
Huh. Looks like he's going to have a partner for this one. Makes sense— this situation, from what he's seen so far, looks too complicated for just one operative. But why just one other agent, then? Why not a team?
A short knock on the glass paneling. Everyone looks at the door.
"Agent Chameleon," says the Chairman tensely. "Nice of you to join us."
"Punctual as always, aren't I?" you joke.
Of course it's you. Leon sighs internally. Why else would you have been here at 07:00?
As you sit down— in the seat right across him— you give a placating smile to your higher-ups. The Commander stares at you for a second, but lets it drop.
Typical. If it were Leon, he'd at the least be given a lecture on 'duty' and 'discipline'. But you… one bat of your eyelashes and you're off the hook.
"So?" you ask, spinning your chair to face the slideshow. "Fill me in. What's the sitch?"
The 'sitch' is… not great. The DSO has received intel about a cosmetic clinic in San Francisco with growing popularity that claims to make people young, flawless, and beautiful— but at a price.
"We believe the 'doctors' involved have engineered a dangerous new strain of infection. Once injected, it ages you down by a minimum of 10 years and a maximum of 30. If you'd take a look at those files in front of you…" Leon leans forward, starting to flip through the pages. There's records of different individuals, who at first glance don't seem even remotely suspicious and have no common links. There's a 36 year old maid, a 43 year old locksmith, a 16 year old orphan… Ah. That's the common ground, then. People in financial ruin. "These individuals— economically disadvantaged, low profile civilians— have been going missing within the surrounding radius. They were taken as lab rats to experiment on."
Leon flips to the end of the file— and pauses. Jesus fucking Christ. There are pictures— pictures of all the faces he'd just seen, except… wrong. Grotesquely deformed, mutilated to the point of being unrecognizable.
"No one would volunteer to test for something like this," you murmur, and the room turns to you. "They're only taking people who'll slip through the cracks. Who no one will miss."
"Precisely. Whether they were abducted via force, or lured in with promises of money… that's intel we need to gather, if we want to stop any further experimentation." The Commander moves to the succeeding slides. "And that's not it. There's been talks of another clinic in SoHo— a fertility clinic. Advertises premium IVF for those who can afford it. It's a front, obviously. They dabble in eugenics, illegal modifications…"
"Cloning?" Leon asks.
"We don't have any confirmation of that, but I wouldn't be surprised." The Chairman slides another file in his direction. He opens it, eyes narrowed. "We've ascertained that neither company has any affiliation to Umbrella, but this means there's another B.O.W. producer trying to enter the field. We need to eliminate them— right at the roots, before they get any more ambitious with their projects."
You raise your hand. "If we're at liberty to choose, I'd like to go for the surgery clinic. Been a while since I've been to San Fran."
Leon shrugs. "Fine with me."
"No," says the Commander, and the two of you frown. "Though these companies are under two different names, we have reason to believe the two operations are connected. This is a combined mission— a long con, if you will."
"We're going one at a time?" surmises Leon, brows drawing together. "Why not send teams to both the locations, dismantle both at once?"
An asset chimes in, clearing her throat. "We have no idea what we're dealing with. Our intel so far only extends to what you have in front of you, which… trust me, isn't a lot. It's as good as going in blind. For now, the priority is to gather knowledge and remove the victims from the situation if possible. Any further operations can be discussed later."
If possible? Leon opens his mouth to dispute that, but you beat him to it.
"Shouldn't civilian extraction be of higher priority?" you contend, frowning. "And if the intel is as half-baked as you say it is, why not let the intelligence team come up with more before sending us in?"
"Because they haven't been able to come up with more," says the Commander tightly. "Rich people are notoriously hush-hush about getting procedures done, the families of the missing persons were of no help, and the whole clinic itself is shrouded in ten layers of mystery and smokescreens. Our intelligence team has done its best, but what we need now is a more... hands-on approach."
"And if we're talking teams… that would be very unwise," says the Chairman. "This is a covert, urgent and highly delicate assignment. We have the Senator's cousin involved, for fuck's sake— and god knows who else. If they find out we're meddling, they'll want to know why."
"We can't have that," Leon mutters dryly.
"No, we can't."
"The goal is to go in and out without drawing suspicion. Which is why…" The Chairman looks at the two of you. "Which is why we're sending in our most competent and experienced agents. Between the two of you, you have exactly the skillset to finish this job."
"We've already gotten the cogs turning," says the Commander, and nods to an asset. The man brings out two manila envelopes and hands them to you and Leon.
He takes a look inside. It's the mission report, complete with a government issued burner phone, fake IDs, a passport, earpieces, keys to a vehicle, detailed written objectives and…
"Oh. Oh no. You want me to go ginger for this one?"
He looks up to see that you've turned your passport around for everyone to see. In the 2×2 photo is a woman who looks remarkably like you— except with a bright shock of red hair. Jesus.
"Will that be a problem?" asks the Commander, crooking an eyebrow. "Surely you have a red wig lying around somewhere."
"Bold of you to assume I do."
"Do you not?"
"… Yeah. I do."
As you move to put your passport down, Leon's eyes catch a glimpse of your fake name.
Mrs. Jade Cabot
He stiffens. Looks down at his own ID.
Mr. Levi Cabot
Much like you had, he holds the card up to elicit everyone's attention.
"We're supposed to be married?" He inquires, baffled. "Are we sure that's… believable? Chameleon's almost half my age."
"Rich men take young wives," is all you say, which… geez.
"A married couple tends to fall under the radar," adds the Chairman. "Your objective is to act like an affluent pair. New to the area, eager to join in on the newest trends and… investments. Keeping up this act is your best bet to blend in with those involved."
You rest your chin on your palm, smiling innocently. "Affluent, huh? What's the budget for this one?"
"Unlimited," says the Chairman, and both yours and Leon's eyebrows shoot up. Damn. Spending the big bucks, huh? "Whatever you need, we'll have your back. Anything to keep up the illusion."
"We trust you to be… judicious with government resources, though." This, the Commander says looking right at you. "I know you like living in the lap of luxury, but—"
You pretend to gasp, offended. "Commander. You faith is me is positively heartwarming."
He chuckles. "Alright, alright. There's a lot of forces at play here. We're aware that the two of you don't often work with partners, but can we trust you to cooperate and finish this job?"
"Of course," says Leon immediately.
"We'll see it through," you agree.
The Chairman sighs. "This is going to be a long con, folks. You'll have Agent Hunnigan and Agent Birkin in your ears and at your disposal, but beyond that it's imperative you only come back to base once you're done with the mission. We're giving you 2 days, plus the rest of today, to gather all that you need."
Leon nods. "Understood."
With all that said, the meeting wraps up. The Chairman and Commander get up to take turns shaking yours and Leon's hands.
"Good luck, agents. You're gonna need it."
The two of you are given the files to take home, so you can familiarize yourself with its contents. Leon tucks them under his arm and heads to the elevators. On his way out, the secretary looks up— and when she sees it's him, she beams.
Leon makes sure to look firmly ahead. He presses the elevator button for 'down' and sighs. This morning's already taken a lot out of him.
As he waits, he's accosted by the sound of heels clacking against marble.
"Someone has a crush," you tease, eyes sparkling with mirth. He stares at you blankly for a moment before it registers.
"Mandy? Nah. She's just…" he hesitates. How can he put this tastefully? "She's just trying to be friendly."
"Hopefully you're not taking her 'friendliness' to heart, Agent Kennedy," you say lightly. "She has half the men in the office by the throat."
"Goddamn," he says dryly. "And here I thought I was special."
"Yeah, you didn't look too pleased with the attention. Why? Do blondes not do it for you?"
He glances pointedly at the ID hanging from your fingertips. "Looks like I'm more into redheads."
A small huff of a laugh escapes you, and you almost sound surprised at yourself. He suppresses a smile.
It occurs to him that he's never had an actual conversation with you. Your paths had never really crossed before, what with your very different skill sets. Still… he'd heard of you, of course. One would have to live under a rock to not have heard of you. Mandy's a new hire, and she only has a few select admirers— but you? You've had the entire DSO head over heels for you since you'd first shown up.
You had a background in science— biochemistry, to be exact, which made you a perfect fit for this mission. Although he hasn't interacted much with you over the years, he'd briefly been asked to give his input during your recruitment. From what he could recall, you were fresh out of university and had excelled in all your academic pursuits. Top of the class, award-winning, et cetera. It was impressive. He'd approved of your initiation almost immediately. They needed a mind like yours at the agency.
Being as young as you are, he'd thought you to be fairly innocent at first. A quiet, introspective girl who'd done good for herself at school.
He was wrong.
Not only were you pensive— you were calculated. Every moment of silence was an opportunity to analyze, to use your pretty little eyes and cunningly pick apart anything and anyone in front of you. Their perceptions, their insecurities, their pattern of behavior. You could read people as thoroughly as you could read fat fucking textbooks.
It didn't take long for him to understand that there's nothing innocent about you. You knew exactly how intelligent you are, how persuasive, how breathtakingly gorgeous— and whatever power you have over people, you wield like a weapon.
'Workplace crush', Leon thinks, is the term. The men here froth at the mouth when they see you. Which isn't often— you come and go like smoke. One moment you're there, and then you're not. A woman of mystery.
He doesn't blame any of the lovesick fools. Honestly, he gets it. But as impressive as you may be, he doesn't trust you as far as he can throw you.
Leon chances a look at you, only to see you already studying him. Figures. When your eyes meet, you give him a knowing smile, turning away.
Hmm. This will be interesting, to say the least.
The lift finally reaches your floor, doors flaring open. He gestures inside as if to say 'after you'. You hum to yourself in approval.
The elevator's decent-sized, but between the two of you it somehow feels too small. Leon is uncomfortably aware of your perfume— some sweet, cloying scent that's almost dizzying. You're standing a respectable distance away from him, touching up your lip gloss in front of the mirror. You pucker your lips, and he tries not to stare as you apply more of the pigment.
Your bare elbow touches his arm as you tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
So soft. He clenches his jaw.
"Agent Kennedy?"
He snaps himself out of it.
"Yes?"
"Are you free today evening, by any chance?"
"… Why?"
You smile up at him, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. "Are you familiar with Tiffany & Co?"
He raises an eyebrow. "The jewelry company?"
"Uh-huh." You grin at yourself in the mirror with barely restrained glee. "You and I need to go ring shopping."