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To say that Grace was nervous was underselling her current state of mind by orders of magnitude. She was, in fact, fucking petrified. She had literally no reason to be—less than three weeks ago she’d fought her way through hordes of undead and held a gun to her temple for the benefit of a veritable stranger, she should be fine. She is very much not fine.
It was 6:42 p.m., and she’d already tried on seven different pants, two skirts, four tops and her one ‘nice’ dress. Nothing looked good. Her hair was slightly frizzy from the shower, even though it usually air dried perfectly fine, and when she went to put on makeup she realised that her foundation had been expired for at least a year and a half. She’s cried twice, dry-heaved once, and thanked every god that she knew the name of that Emily wouldn’t be living with her for at least another week because there was no way she’d be okay with having this breakdown in front of her kid.
It didn’t even make sense, was the thing. Leon had been texting her every day since they’d escaped ARK, they called each other relatively frequently, and she saw him at the FBI field office less than a week ago. He wasn’t a stranger anymore, he was Leon. He was kind to her, and funny, and so ridiculously attractive that it set her teeth on edge. But, more than all that, he liked her. When she’d finally gotten up the courage to ask him why he’d asked her out—late one night, after talking on the phone for almost half an hour—he’d just laughed and said how could I not? Like it was the most obvious thing in the world, Leon S. Kennedy wanting to spend time with the likes of her. God, maybe she should get back into therapy.
Grace hadn’t been on a date in four years—not since the disaster that was her relationship with Chase. Her restraining order expired two years ago, and even then she didn’t feel ready to try again, but something about Leon made her want to take the leap. Leon wasn’t Chase—not by a long shot. He was older, established, capable, and he protected people. He spent his entire (very long) career fighting to make the world a safer place; she’d read some of his mission reports, and even through the smoke-screen of government redacting the portrait was clear: he was a good man. Everything was going to be fine. They’d go to a nice Mediterranean restaurant (that Grace definitely hadn’t spent forty-five minutes looking at the website for), they’d have a quiet meal, get to know each other outside of the anxiety and fear of ARK, and maybe if she was very lucky he’d want to see her again. What was the worst that could happen?
Well, the worst that could happen was the knock at her door—five minutes early—when her eyes were still wet with tears. God dammit.
“O-one second!” Grace called out, for once grateful for the shoebox apartment—at least she was sure he heard her. She scrubbed at her cheeks, cast one last look in her mirror—still wearing that silly dress, but too late now—and shut her bedroom door behind her. The mountain of rejected outfits lay in a sad heap on her unmade bed, abandoned as a ‘later’ problem. Grace snatched her clutch off the kitchen counter and hurried to the door, yanking it open with a little more force than was, strictly speaking, necessary.
“Hey, Grace,” his tone was low and sultry, not through any effort, but just because that was how he sounded. It was unfair. He was dressed in a slate grey suit, his cream button-up open at the throat and no tie in sight. One hand leaned against her doorframe, the other clutched a bouquet of antique roses.
“H-hi,” Grace didn’t know where to point her eyes. Leon S. Kennedy in a suit should be illegal. This was clearly a violation of her human rights. Does she thank him for the flowers? It seems presumptuous to do so without him offering but why else would he bring flowers on a date, other than to give them to her? Does she invite him in? She can’t leave him in the hallway while she puts them in a vase, that would be unspeakably rude, but suddenly she couldn’t remember if there were dishes in the sink or if she’d taken out the trash. Wait, does she even have a vase?
“These are for you,” he made the decision for her, offering the bouquet across the threshold without making any move to come in with them.
“T-they’re lovely, thank you!” Grace took them, gripping them too tight with both hands, eyes darting to the side, trying to see how clean her kitchen was. “J-just, one moment, I-I’ll put them in water,” she shut the door in his face, and then despaired at her inability to function in polite society. She rushed to her glassware cabinet, took out an enormous beer stein that had been left by the last renter, and filled it to the brim from the kitchen tap. The roses, when deposited, made the water spill all over her counter. Christ. Whatever, another later problem. She returned to the door and slipped out, locking it behind her before turning to face her date. Leon, leaning casually against the far wall of the hallway, looked mildly amused and entirely at ease. She envied him that.
“Ready to go?” He asked, kicking off the wall and holding his arm out to her like some kind of silent film actor. He was either polite enough not to remark on her oddness, or really didn’t care; either way, Grace was thankful.
“A-as I’ll ever be,” she tried for a smile as she slipped her hand under his arm, fingers coming to rest in the crook of his elbow. He was warm, even through the layers of fabric. Leon beamed at her, and it transformed his entire face, etching years off his skin.
“You’ll love this place, the food is fantastic, and it’s nice and quiet—started as a mom and pop sort of business, but then got big a few years back. I’m glad for their success, of course, but I do miss being able to just walk in, I’m terrible at making reservations,” he chatted idly, leading them downstairs and towards his ridiculous Porsche. That was one thing Grace learned early—Leon loved his cars. Anything with wheels, really. Not that any of them ever lasted long, if his mission reports were to be believed.
“You look lovely, by the way,” he murmured as he led her around the passenger side, opening the door for her. Good god, is this how normal, decent men act? Was this normal, or was this just Leon? Grace could feel herself blushing down to her toes.
“O-oh, no, I’m n-not, I—” he shot her an unreadable look that had her jaw snapping shut. “Thank you. Y-you, too. I mean, handsome. You l-look handsome,” she stumbled over her words and cringed at herself for it, but Leon just gave her a wink before helping her into the low-set seat of the Porsche and shutting the door. The plush interior smelled strongly of leather, but under that was the barest hint of cordite and bergamot; Grace wanted to wrap herself up in the scent and never come up for air. Leon slid into the driver’s side and spared her a cheeky grin before he slammed the Porsche into gear and peeled out of her complex parking lot. Grace was white-knuckling the seat without even realizing she was doing it.
“Sorry about that, old habits died hard,” Leon let off the throttle and Grace’s pulse slowly stabilised.
“H-how was the debrief?” She asked, unable to think of anything else to say.
“Hmm?”
“With C-captain Redfield? Y-you mentioned the DSO debrief w-was yesterday…” Leon’s bark of laughter startled her, but she couldn’t help but smile in response.
“Oh, I’ll tell you all about it,” His eyes were filled with mirth as he launched into a surprisingly lively play-by-play of what sounded like the world’s dullest meeting. He gesticulated wildly, at some points resorting to steering with one knee just so he could use his full range of movement to convey exactly how ridiculous the whole thing was.
“I can’t believe you called him Andrew,” Grace was wiping tears from her eyes, breathless with laughter.
“Hey now, not only did he deserve it, but I can’t be asked to pass up on a golden opportunity of putting a suit in his place,” Leon countered.
“I’m s-sure Adam was just trying to d-do his job,” she tried to cut the poor guy some slack, but Leon wasn’t hearing any of it.
“You obviously have a lot more grace for people than I do,” he patted her knee, right above the hem of her skirt. Grace could feel the blood rushing to her face, and it took a second for her to pick up on the pun.
“Leon,” she groaned theatrically, chest light with happiness. His responding wink was utterly without shame.
“Alright, no more wordplay, I promise,” she’d see how long that lasted. “C’mon, let's valet this thing and get in, I’m starving.” The Porsche jerked to a stop in front of a parking stand, manned by a wide-eyed and pimple-faced young man. Before the attendant could even think about approaching, Leon was already at her door, helping her out with a gentle hand. “Name’s Kennedy, treat ‘er nice,” Leon tossed his keys at the attendant, who nearly dropped them before fumbling to produce a ticket. Leon took it with a nod and a smile, slipping it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.
“I-I didn’t realize it w-would be this fancy,” Grace murmured, sticking close to her date. “I’m n-not under-dressed, a-am I?” She fiddled nervously with the strap of her dress. It was a simple thing, a moss-green silk sheath ensemble, dressed up with her only pair of heels. She wore no makeup, and her only jewelry were the silver studs Alyssa had given her for her 15th birthday. She felt plain and underwhelming, surrounded by the twinkling fairy lights that draped across the valet booth, the ivy-adorned facade of the restaurant, and next to the best looking man she’d ever seen in real life.
“Perish the thought, you’re perfect as is,” Leon’s free hand came to rest over Grace’s; she realised how tightly she was clutching his arm, and made a conscious effort to loosen her grip. Leon swept them through the front entrance and gave his name to the hostess, as smooth and suave as James fucking Bond. How was he real? How was any of this real? Grace didn’t belong here, next to this larger-than-life hero in this expensive restaurant. What was she thinking?
“You’re spiraling again, aren’t you?” Leon murmured into the shell of her ear as the hostess led them to a quiet table in the corner of the restaurant.
“M-maybe a little,” she admitted sheepishly.
“Your waiter will be with you shortly,” the hostess announced, placing two thick, leather bound menus in front of them. Leon pulled Grace’s chair out for her, and only took his own seat after she was comfortably in place. Instead of reaching for the menu, Leon pinned her with a stare.
“Are you okay?” His voice was gentle.
“F-fine!” Grace squeaked, quickly snatching up her own menu—it would be a nice shield. She held it up in front of her face, making a show of reading it thoroughly—she didn’t need to, she knew exactly what she was going to get.
“Grace,” Leon’s voice was chiding. He reached out, touching the top of her menu to get her to lower it. She did, with some hesitation.
“Yes?” She steeled herself.
“You didn’t have to say yes.” His voice was kind, but his eyes were sad.
“W-what?”
“You didn’t have to go out with me. I’m sorry if something I did or said made you think otherwise, but you’re clearly uncomfortable. It’s okay, I can take you home if you prefer.” His tone was understanding, he meant what he said. He was clearly unhappy about it, but he wasn’t upset with her, just at what he perceived to be a failed date.
“N-no! No, I-I promise that’s not i-it, I—”
“Grace?” Oh. Oh, fuck. “Grace Ashcroft?” She only had one ex-boyfriend! How was he here? Hundreds of miles away from the county she got a restraining order in?
“Actually, yes, let's leave. Right now.” Grace slammed her menu down, not even glancing over at Chase. She already knew it was him, she’d recognize that smarmy drawl anywhere.
“Holy shit, I can’t believe it’s you!” Chase, now directly next to their table, reached a hand out for her. Grace slapped it away with her menu in a rare show of anger. “Hey!” He withdrew his hand, cradling it against his chest. She glanced over and, sure enough, Chase Stanford was right in front of her, dressed like a waiter. Oh God, he was their waiter. “What was that for? Who is that?” Okay. Alright. This was going to be a thing. Perfect.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Leon cut in smoothly, standing from his chair and absolutely towering over her piece of shit ex. “Now, are we going to make this a problem?” Chase, showing the self preservation instincts of a lemming on PCP, completely ignored the threat in front of him.
“I tried to find you. After that bullshit paperwork expired, I looked—”
“You mean after the court imposed restraining order expired?” Grace cut him off. She was still seated, Chase looming over her, but she wasn’t the least bit scared. Leon was right there, for one, and for two, Grace had taken down an army of bioweapons a handful of weeks ago. Nothing Chase Stanford did or said in this moment had any power over her, and dammit if that realization wasn’t liberating.
“It was bullshit and you know it!” Chase insisted, garnering looks from the rest of the dining room. Leon grabbed Chase’s shoulder and pushed him away from the table—firm enough to bodily move him, but not so much as to immediately start a fist fight. He stepped into the newly freed space, taking Grace by the elbow. She rose wordlessly, letting him snake an arm around her waist—a unified front.
“Buddy, leave it alone. Trust me, it’s in your best interest.” Leon hooked a finger in his belt loop, his shoulders relaxed and open; his tone left no room for argument, but that clearly wasn’t stopping Chase. He opened his mouth again, but suddenly came up short, eyes widening as he stared closely at Leon, then back to Grace. His lips pursed into a thin line, eyes hardening.
“This isn’t over,” he warned, pointing a finger at Grace.
“Oh, it very much so is.” Leon, without any warning, grabbed Chase’s hand, bending the finger back at a painful angle. He used his grasp on the man to move him out of their way, shielding Grace from both her problematic ex and the stares and whispers of the other patrons. With a start, Grace realised what had shut Chase up—Leon’s service pistol pressed into her ribs as he held her close, currently hidden from view by his jacket, but it would have been perfectly visible to Chase. They sauntered out of the restaurant at a sedate pace, like they didn’t have a care in the world. The valet, though surprised to see them back so soon, retrieved the Porsche without complaint. A smattering of seconds later, Leon traded a twenty for his keys and they were on their way. The interior of the vehicle was deadly silent, and Grace finally let her shoulders drop in the stillness.
“L-Leon, I am so s-sorry, I—”
“So, exactly how badly am I gonna have to ruin that kid’s life?” She stilled, carefully assessing her date. For the entire interaction with Chase, short as it was, Leon’s control hadn’t slipped an inch. His expression was stern, but calm, his body language neutral and non-threatening (up until he nearly broke Chase’s finger, at least). But now, his knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and his brow furrowed into a hard, deep line.
“I-I don’t understand,” Grace spoke, voice small.
“You had a restraining order. It’s expired, and now he knows you’re in the area. So, how badly am I going to have to ruin his life?” Grace still didn’t really understand the question, but also didn’t feel like she could ask him to clarify again, what with the bad mood he was clearly dropping into.
“You d-don’t have to d-do anything. I-I’m moving again soon, anyway, E-Em is going to need more space, s-so…” she trailed off, uncertain as to how to end that train of thought.
“Grace. Just because you don’t want to date me, doesn’t mean you’ve lost me as a friend. I am a very good friend to have, I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you ever again. I promise.” Grace stared at him slack jawed, before registering what he’d said.
“I d-do, though!” His eyes cut over to her, one brow raised, but he said nothing. “I d-do want to d-date you. I just—I-I was j-just so nervous, a-and I haven’t b-been out on a d-date since C-Chase, and that e-ended so p-poorly, I—”
“That was Chase, I take it?” Grace nodded.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she murmured, eyes on her lap. She would, if Leon wanted her to, but she’d much prefer to leave the past buried in the past.
“I won’t make you,” his reassurance came with another pat to her knee, but this time he let his hand rest there.
“I-I’m sorry I ruined our date,” hesitantly, Grace placed her own much smaller hand over Leon’s. He turned his palm up, lacing their fingers together, and something deep inside Grace warmed at the gesture.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” he squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry I picked the one restaurant in the greater Lincoln area that employed your old stalker,” Grace snorted at the obvious fishing attempt.
“I-if you’re still h-hungry, there’s a g-great Ethiopian place a bit n-north of here,” Grace suggested, her index finger idly tracing the ridges of his wrist, fingers tapping across the bulge of his cephalic vein.
“Sounds good to me, I’m famished,” the tension that had settled in the lines of his body unspooled, and he lifted their joined hands—pausing, only for a moment, to scan her face—and pressed a soft, chaste kiss against her knuckles. Grace didn’t even try to fight the smile off her face. She knew she was grinning like an idiot, but she couldn’t help it. That had gone worse than she’d been capable of imaging, and not only did Leon still want to continue the date, but he’d kissed her. Her hand, sure, but a kiss is a kiss, and she’ll take her wins where she can get them.
“Y-you’ll like it, I’m s-sure. The owner i-is this little old lady f-from Gondar, a-and she’s hilarious,” Leon’s smile was warm, and he held her hand the rest of the way to the restaurant.
Leon, like the (absolutely whipped) gentleman that he was, insisted on walking Grace to her door. The trek up was quiet but peaceful, his arm slung around her shoulders, her own slinked under his jacket and around his waist, her fingertips coming to rest just below his side-arm. They arrived at her door entirely too soon for his taste—and hers, too, if her lingering was any indication.
“T-thank you for tonight, it was nice,” she looked up at him from under thick lashes, her blue-grey eyes large and luminous. Christ, she was beautiful.
“It was,” he agreed easily, letting his hand fall from her shoulder to her narrow waist. The silk of her dress was soft and warmed from her body heat, feeling nearly liquid under the touch of his calloused fingers. “Would you want to do this again?” He thought she’d say yes, hoped she would.
“Absolutely,” she agreed readily, without a moment’s hesitation. Leon raised his other hand, brushing her hair behind her ear and letting his palm rest against her cheek, thumb tracing idle lines against the fine bone of her jaw. She sighed, a breathy, shaky thing, leaning into his touch.
“Text me when you’re free?” She nodded, looking slightly dazed. He wanted to kiss her, so so badly he wanted to kiss her, but he’d promised himself that he’d let her set the pace, let her take the reins. He was already enormously privileged to have her time, her attention, her kindness, it wouldn’t do to press for more, no matter how much he wanted to. So, he let go, stepping away from the temptation and reigning himself back in. There would be time, plenty of it. She’d said yes, again. Wonders would never cease.
Grace fumbled with the lock, turning her key with jerky movements. The apartment beyond was too dark for him to make anything out, and she stopped on the threshold.
“Leon?” She turned back to him, expression unreadable, teeth worrying her bottom lip.
“Yeah?” He didn’t know what he expected, but an armful of woman wasn’t it. The kiss was awkward, at kind of a weird angle, and she was clearly out of practice, but it was Grace, so it was the best thing that had happened to him in recent memory. Her hands were fisted in his suit jacket, shoulders tight and eyes squeezed firmly shut. Quickly shaking off his shock, Leon pulled her closer, his left hand on her hip and his right sliding up to the back of her head, tilting the angle into something more comfortable. Her hair was soft between his fingers, and he gave it an experimental tug—her lips parted in a sweet sigh and she melted into the embrace. She was such a slight little thing, all fragile bones and slender limbs, and he had to hunch to make sure she wasn’t stuck on tip-toes, but it was warm, and sweet, and better than anything he could have imagined. Grace loosened the death-grip she had on his jacket, moving one palm to press over his heart, the other coming up to grip the back of his neck. She pulled him impossibly close, letting the tip of her tongue graze his bottom lip before pulling back, their faces inches apart. She was more flushed than he’d ever seen her, but she looked pleased with herself.
“Drive safe,” she whispered, her breath fanning tantalizingly across his lips.
“Always do,” he managed, thankful he could speak at all. She withdrew from his grasp, stepping away and into the waiting darkness of her apartment.
“T-that’s not what your mission reports say,” she tossed over her shoulder. She winked cheekily at him, and shut the door in his face without even giving him the chance to think of a half-decent retort. He stood in front of her door, staring stupidly at its peeling paint before huffing out a laugh. Looks like Grace had done her homework.
Leon all but floated down to his car, his head a fuzzy mess of feelings and emotions and all sorts of other shit he hadn’t bothered with in years. His night wasn’t quite over with, though. He revved the engine and connected his bluetooth, flicking the heads up display to ‘favorite contacts,’ and hit dial.
“Leon! Everything okay?”
“All good, Sher, just have a favor to ask.”
“Oh God, what now?” He’d laugh if he didn’t know she’d have his balls for it.
“Jake back from that mission yet?”
“No, he’s out until next week, and you know that. Get to the point.”
“How do you feel about a night out? Mediterranean, maybe?”
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I don’t think I like it.” He could picture her rolling her eyes at him, clear as day.
“Nothing major. Just a nice dinner out with a friend.”
“Sure it is. What’s really going on?”
“Something you’ll want in on, trust me. I’ll send you the details tomorrow.”
“Leon—” he hung up on her, which he knew he’d catch hell for later. Whatever, if this was going to happen he’d need some measure of plausible deniability, and Sherry lived for this sort of revenge plot, feral thing that she was. He set his phone to do not disturb, turned the radio on, and cranked the volume up—nothing was ruining this evening for him.