Work Text:
The letter that came in was addressed to you. That alone was an interesting choice, you thought. Normally anything from the government went straight to Leon. Or, it was passed along at the office, skipping any need for the post office entirely.
The addressee line started making more sense when you opened it.
Dear Mrs. Kennedy,
You are receiving this letter as part of our yearly reminder that it is recommended that agent families familiarize themselves with a variety of safety measures and basic skills. These include firearms and firearm safety, self-defense, situational awareness….
The letter went on from there to explain various course options available, along with dates and times. The upcoming course options were mostly for firearm fundamentals for either beginners or as refreshers.
To you, the letter represented one of those to-do items that you and Leon just hadn’t gotten around to yet. Leon had mentioned something about it at some point and you’d taken a mental note that evidently never saw the light of day again. A bit funny perhaps when you knew, for example, that there were guns in the apartment you and Leon were living in then. But for the most part, those were all relegated in your mind as “Leon’s things” and you steered clear of them per his request. Not to mention he had all the firearms locked up properly, minus the handgun he kept tucked in the back of the top drawer of his bedside table.
Your only real reaction to the letter was a little thrill at the reminder that you were legally Leon’s family now. Had been now for a little over eight months.
You left the letter on the small table in the kitchen as you went about with dinner preparations. And, as had been tradition with the topic thus far, you forgot about it until Leon came home. As of late, you were in one of those calm periods where he was consistently around enough to have dinner at home together with you nearly every night.
The observant agent that he was, Leon noticed the paper immediately after pleasantries and quick kisses had been exchanged.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Oh, something about doing gun safety courses and whatnot,” you replied, giving the veggies in the frying pan in front of you a quick toss with a spatula.
You heard him sigh. “Right, that thing I keep forgetting about.”
“You and me both. Then again, it took us over two years of dating just to get around to you teaching me how to drive stick shift.” After a short laugh, you added, “Guess we can just pick a weekend and get it over with.”
“Yeah.”
At that one word filled with a notable amount of dejection, you turned from the stove.
“It’s just one afternoon,” you reminded him.
His gaze lingered on the paper in his hand. Then he sighed once again. “I know. I just—I know we should go. It’s all useful things to know, especially in an emergency…”
He stopped there, but the rest was evident enough to you. Who ever wanted to anticipate an emergency?
“Would it help if we called it research?”
Despite himself, Leon cracked an amused smile. “Research?”
You shrugged. “What can I say? I’m at least sort of curious about this from a writer’s perspective.”
“Well, in that case, who am I to say no?”
Depositing the paper on the table, Leon came up behind you, slipping one hand onto your hip and the other into the back pocket of your jeans. “I’ll sign us up for one next weekend,” he said, planting a kiss on your temple.
Seeing Leon in a work-related environment that weekend was extremely novel to you. From the moment you parked at the shooting range, you could swear his entire demeanor shifted. From where you sat in the passenger seat, it was as though someone had turned down a dimmer switch. He still smiled readily at you, but it was notably subdued. Suddenly his brow sat heavier over his eyes.
Given his line of work, maybe you shouldn’t be surprised to find out that he was more serious by default at work. After all, it was rather reminiscent of whenever you had caught glimpses of him answering phone calls from work during your early days together. The severe tone with which he responded to those calls had been one of the first clues you’d gotten even back then that whatever Leon did for the government, it spoke of a solemn duty—something with a military-esque air.
Your first stop of the day was a small, drab room clearly meant for lecturing. It sported a dusty green chalkboard in the front, a large and worn wooden desk laden with guns, and rows of smaller desks like you’d expect to find at school.
It was in that room that you found you weren’t the only two at the firearms fundamentals class that weekend. A few other people were there as well, including a set of parents with their teenage son. Based on the lack of a reaction from anyone, none seemed to know Leon. A bit of a relief for you because somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you were starting from rock bottom here. As much as you knew it probably didn’t really matter, you were at least consoled by the idea that his coworkers weren’t necessarily going to know just how bad you were going to be at this.
The instructor, when he appeared, was a neat but casually dressed older man that immediately read to you as a veteran, wearing a nondescript baseball cap and at least a few days worth of silvery scruff along his jaw. He strode up to you and Leon, holding out his hand.
“Agent Kennedy, good to see you,” the man said, shaking Leon’s hand. For a man who’s resting expression seemed the epitome of stern, it warmed considerably when he smiled at Leon.
“Good to see you too, Randall,” Leon said in reply.
Well shit. You should’ve figured the instructor wouldn’t be a stranger to Leon.
“I take it this is your wife?” Before getting an answer, Randal turned that friendly smile on you and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
You introduced yourself, tacking on an echoed, “Nice to meet you, too.”
“I tell this to everyone, but we don’t expect you to come into this with any prior knowledge about firearms. We’re starting from the basics. Luckily for you, if you’ve got any questions you can just ask this fellow here.” Randall jerked a thumb at Leon. “I’m sure he’ll even give you private lessons if you ask nicely.”
The thought of Leon being someone that you had to nicely ask for something made you laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
With an informal salute, Randall went to the front of the room in preparation to start the session in a couple of minutes.
You nearly jumped when you felt Leon’s fingers graze the back of your hand.
In equal measure, you were mildly bewildered by his completely serious tone as he quietly said, “You know I’ll give you lessons anytime you want, right? Just say the word.”
You blinked at him, then smiled. “I know.”
Randall clapped his hands and asked everyone to take their seats. Once seated with Leon on your right, you took out a small note pad and pen.
It didn’t take you long into Randall’s opening lecture to realize that no one else was necessarily planning on taking written notes here. You glanced at Leon, who offered an encouraging look and a small wave of his hand. His eyes creased with affection as he mouthed research.
With a faint smile, you continued with your scribbling.
Randall ran through a clearly worn but easily digestible series of lessons on types of firearms, basic safety protocols, and how to operate them. All in all, it sounded reasonable enough to you. New but reasonable. That still left you eyeing the guns on the desk with a level of dread that you couldn’t quite rationalize your way around just yet.
The only thought that really helped combat the dread was the fact that Leon used these things to protect people. People like you who, at least before that day, couldn’t have explained how to work a safety even if your life depended on it.
At some point, you all filed out of the room and down the hall to a long space divided into shooting stalls. With a hand lightly touching the small of your back, Leon guided you to a far stall. On the table in front of you rested a small handgun, two pairs of earmuffs and safety glasses, and a box of ammunition.
Randall’s voice came from surprisingly close at hand. “You two gunna be good over here?”
Leon waved a hand. “We will, thanks.”
Randall left with a polite smile to attend to other students in neighboring stalls.
“Do you want me to show you around again first?” he asked.
You gestured at the gun waiting on the table. “Be my guest.”
From what you could tell, you had been provided a smaller gun suitable for a woman’s hand. It was somehow surprising to you to watch as Leon handled it despite his larger hands with a familiarity of touch like he had been using that specific gun for years. He then pressed a nearby button on the table, which triggered some odd series of mechanisms to pull up a shooting target in the distance.
“Don’t forget your earmuffs and glasses,” he said as he used one hand to slide his own earmuffs on.
Glasses in place, the world went quiet as you covered your ears. Even then, the subsequent (and slightly muffled) cracks that rang out were still plenty audible.
More importantly, though…
Whether he realized it or not, Leon’s body language changed when he raised the gun. Sure, he had acted more serious ever since arriving at the range, but this was more somehow.
Suddenly, you had a glimpse at a completely different version of Leon that you had never seen before. It was still his face and that familiar set of shoulders, torso, arms, and legs. He was still the same man that had left the house with you in blue jeans and an army green button-up, but his features—his entire mien—transformed until you felt like you were looking at not Leon Kennedy but rather Agent Kennedy. His blue eyes took on a cool, concentrating look beneath his lowered brow, his mouth an unreadable line.
He fired three consecutive shots, making it look like a walk in park.
You were so caught up in watching him that you barely paid attention to the result of his work as he fired the gun. When you remembered to look, there was little surprise that his shots clustered neatly at the center of the target.
You whistled quietly. “Damn.”
Catching motion out of the corner of your eye, you looked back at Leon, finding him holding the gun handle towards you, barrel down and pointed away. Just like how Randall had earlier described a gun should be handled.
Your turn, he mouthed.
Taking the handgun in hand, you took Leon’s place and ran through the checklist the instructor had rattled off. Planted your feet. Angled your body. Held the gun with both hands. Kept your finger away from the trigger until you were ready to shoot.
You glanced at Leon, who was leaning against one of the stall’s walls with his arm folded and an open but relatively unreadable expression.
“How’s that?” you asked, your voice sounding funny and muffled in your own ears.
He cast an assessing eye up and down your form. You did your best to ignore how the intensity of it made you both self-conscious and seen in a very specific way. Especially when you were fairly certain that his eyes lingered longer than necessary on your hips.
He motioned for you to remove the earmuffs.
“You giving me permission to be handsy?” he asked.
A warm flush ran through you. “As if you need permission for that at this point.”
“I always require my lady’s permission,” he said with a smile, drawing closer until he was standing behind you. His hands smoothed across your shoulders. “Relax your shoulders.”
He made several more light adjustments before patting your shoulder and giving you an encouraging grin. “Show me what you got, Mrs. Kennedy.”
The title was still new enough that hearing it—especially from Leon—sent a shiver down your spine.
As for the rest of what he said…
“I can already tell you I don’t have much,” you remarked with a snort.
His features softened, those blue eyes of his piercing. “This is your first time. Remember, we all start somewhere. Just give it your best and we’ll go from there. You have me here here to help you.”
Your heart fluttered about in your chest. All you could think to say was a breathy, “Okay.”
Somehow, you still found yourself hesitating now that you had the physical thing in your hands. You had never so much as held a gun before today. You understood some of the principles around it—particularly after having spent the last hour and a half listening to Randall. You understood that even the average person has probably owned a gun or at least gone to a shooting range. But for you…it just never came up. Perhaps an odd thing to admit when your husband’s life in part revolved around the things.
Whenever Leon had one out on a table at home (which wasn’t for very long—it was usually because he was checking or cleaning one), you left it be. Guns were his thing. He used them to protect, serve, and make the world a better place.
And you—you were just normal.
Show me what you got, Mrs. Kennedy.
Hearing his encouraging voice anew in your head and seeing him smiling faintly out of the corner of your eye, you reaffirmed you stance and raised your arms.
You might be normal, but you could do this. It would give him one less thing to worry about if you could at least achieve a basic level of mastery here.
That said, your first few shots were terrible. At best, you might have clipped the top of the target.
You blew out a breath, pursing your lips.
Leon moved to stand behind you again, sliding the earmuffs off your ears before cupping your hands with his and raising your arms again. “You’ll learn to adapt to the recoil. When you fire,” he jerked your hands upwards, “the force may cause you to start aiming higher than where you were originally. That’s why it’s important to be familiar with a gun and its recoil so you can learn to adjust accordingly. Remember to grip a little tighter with your supporting hand.”
You really were doing your best to listen, but it was surprisingly difficult with your husband’s body contouring so nicely around yours.
That and the lingering image of him doing that earlier demo round had stirred something you didn’t know existed inside of you. It was one thing to know he was well-trained agent. It was another to see what that actually looked like in action.
And then there was imagining him looking at you like he did that target but for completely different reasons.
“Try again,” he said, giving your hands an encouraging squeeze, replacing the ear muffs, and stepping back.
A few shots later and you were actually hitting somewhere inside the target. There was somewhat of a pattern to it, you realized. Not that you were necessarily going to master the pattern anytime soon.
You fired until it clicked empty.
As you then fiddled with the gun in an attempt to reload it, you paused, glancing at Leon. “Can you show me how to do this again?”
Leon smiled, brushing his fingers against yours as he took the handgun. “Of course.”
His hands flew through clearly familiar motions as he released the empty clip and inserted a newly loaded one. You thought you could even see he was resisting his natural tempo just for you so you could follow along.
“You make this look so easy,” you grumbled.
“Well, in my defense, I’ve had a lot of practice. Gives me quick and nimble fingers, if you know what I mean.” He wiggled his brows at you.
You body flushed. “Leon,” you hissed. Hissed, but had a smile tugging at your lips.
It wasn’t that you were opposed to any of his shameless flirting. You just didn’t necessarily want anyone else being privy to it.
He handed the now loaded gun back. In a nonchalant tone contrary to the amused glimmer in his eyes, he said, “Try unloading and reloading it.”
It was done with nowhere near the kind of speed and grace that Leon had, but you managed.
By the time you were done that afternoon, you thought you had done a decent job for a complete amateur. Leon, for his part, had nothing but words of praise, which seemed like a lot to you given his breadth of experience.
Much to your surprise, Leon seemed far less reluctant than he had been even as recent as that morning. In fact, you had glimpsed a rather thoughtful expression on his face several times before the day was done. Including now, when he was driving the pair of you home.
“You seem to have changed your tune about all of this,” you remarked.
A faint look of surprise passed over his features. “I suppose I have. I—” He paused, sighing and shifting gears. “It has the air of bringing work home with me, which I think I instinctively don’t like the thought of. For perhaps obvious reasons.”
You nodded. “I figured it was something like that. It wasn’t too bad, though. Not that I ever expect to have to use one, but can’t hurt to know how to properly use a gun.”
“You’re right. I really can’t argue with that,” he said, his usual reluctance nowhere to be seen.
“And maybe some other skills might be useful, too,” you mused aloud, touching a finger to your chin in thought. Your mind drifted to the paper you had originally received in the mail. “Like self-defense techniques, defensive driving, or how to get out of being tied up.”
His brows rose at the last one. A different kind of considering expression took over his features. “More research?” he asked, letting his eyes slide briefly from the road ahead to you.
A flush colored your cheeks. “Well, yes. Plus I’m sure that last one could have some additional uses around the house.”
Now even his ears were turning pink, followed by a dark glimmer in his eyes that you caught sight of even from his side profile. “You don’t say?”
“I’m sure we can think of some use cases for practical application,” you said with a slow nod, face hot.
“Maybe we’ll do something like that next,” he said, tone walking a tight line between innocent and provocative.
“Maybe we will,” you agreed.