Chapter Text
The DSO conference room smells faintly like burnt coffee and printer toner. On worse days, it can carry the heavy metallic scent of blood.
Rain taps steadily against the dark windows overlooking Washington while classified files sit scattered across the table between the three of you.
There are autopsy photos, viral mutation charts, old Umbrella logos stamped angrily across declassified reports.
Chris Redfield looks deeply exhausted.
“The pattern is wrong,” he says, rubbing one hand over his jaw while staring down at the data sheet in front of him. “T-virus usually spreads faster than this.”
Leon lounges back in his chair beside you, one arm hooked lazily over the backrest like he has no respect for posture or government-issued furniture.
“Unless it isn’t pure T-virus,” he says.
You glance toward him automatically.
Leon catches you looking immediately.
One corner of his mouth lifts slightly before his attention drops back toward the file in his hands.
“It could be recombinant,” he continues smoothly.
“Umbrella loved layering experimental strains together once they stopped pretending ethics committees existed.”
Chris snorts dryly.
“Stopped pretending?”
Leon shrugs.
“Fair point.”
You flip through another page of the report, scanning symptom progression charts.
“There’s neurological preservation here,” you murmur. “Look.”
You slide the file across the table toward them both.
“The aggression spikes, but higher reasoning stays intact longer than normal infection windows.”
Leon leans closer to look. Too close. His shoulder brushes yours lightly as he scans the chart, warmth pressing briefly along your arm through the thin fabric of your shirt.
Unfortunately, Leon Kennedy has spent years perfecting the art of acting casually while standing directly inside someone’s personal space. It shouldn’t affect you. But suddenly, it's a lot harder to focus on the file in front of you.
“Hm,” he says quietly. “Good catch.”
The praise lands annoyingly hard.
Chris is watching. You can practically feel him observing the interaction over the rim of his coffee cup like a man trapped in a nature documentary he didn’t ask to watch.
Leon reaches past you for another file a second later, fingers grazing briefly against yours on the tabletop.
“Sorry,” he says.
The tone suggests he is not remotely sorry.
You narrow your eyes slightly. Leon looks devastatingly unbothered. Chris exhales heavily into his coffee.
“What?” Leon asks without looking up.
“Nothing,” Chris murmurs.
“Sounded like something.”
Chris ignores him completely, focusing back on the documents.
“You two done weirdly orbiting each other or can we get back to corporate bio-terrorism?”
You cough suddenly into your sleeve.
Leon grins. Actually grins.
“You jealous, Redfield?”
“Deeply,” Chris deadpans. “Been hoping you’d flirt with me during tactical briefings for years.”
Leon nods solemnly.
“You couldn’t handle it.”
“I already can’t handle it.”
You laugh before you can stop yourself.
Leon’s eyes flick toward you immediately at the sound, expression softening in that subtle way he probably doesn’t even realize he does.
Chris definitely notices that too. God.
The room falls quieter afterward while rain continues drumming softly against the windows. You turn another page thoughtfully.
“If Umbrella remnants are involved again,” you say carefully, “then this probably isn’t isolated.”
Leon nods once, more serious now.
“Yeah.”
Something shifts in him during conversations like this sometimes. The humor settles lower. His posture sharpens almost imperceptibly.
Like somewhere beneath the flirting and dry comments sits the version of Leon that survived too much too young and never fully stopped carrying it.
You notice because you’ve started noticing everything about him lately. Which is probably dangerous.
A knock sounds sharply against the conference room door before it swings open.
“Hunnigan needs Kennedy and you in Briefing Room Three,” an agent says, looking toward both of you. “Immediate deployment assignment.”
You straighten immediately, already gathering the scattered files.
Leon stands slower beside you, stretching slightly as he pushes away from the table.
“Yes ma’am,” he says toward the doorway automatically.
You’re halfway out of the room before realizing Leon isn’t directly behind you anymore. Turning briefly, you spot him still near the table while Chris watches him with an expression somewhere between disbelief and secondhand embarrassment.
“Dude,” Chris says finally.
Leon pauses.
Chris gestures vaguely toward the doorway you just disappeared through.
“You are just… painful to watch.”
Leon blinks once.
“The hell does that mean?”
“It means you flirt like a divorced father who learned emotional intimacy from action movies.”
Leon looks genuinely offended by that.
“That’s wildly specific.”
Chris is forced to nod in agreement. “Yeah, but it's what you look like.”
Chris stands, collecting the remaining folders.
“You touch her every five minutes.”
“I do not.”
“You literally leaned across her to grab a file on your side of the table.”
Leon scrambles for words. Some kind of excuse.
“There were obstacles.”
Chris shakes his head.
“No. There weren't.”
Leon opens his mouth. Stops. Because unfortunately there is no defensible explanation for that.
Chris points at him immediately.
“See?”
Leon exhales through his nose, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair.
“You done?”
“No,” Chris says honestly. “But you’re getting called into a mission briefing and I assume watching you pretend you don’t have feelings is technically classified.”
Leon shakes his head once, already heading toward the door.
Right before leaving, though, he pauses briefly.
“…I’m not pretending.”
Chris turns slightly at that.
Leon realizes what he admitted was not what he meant to say.
“Jesus Christ,” Chris mutters.
Leon flips him off over his shoulder and walks out.
And despite everything, Chris starts laughing alone in the conference room anyway.