Chapter Text
The DSO building is quiet tonight.
No superiors barking orders, no hurried boots hitting sterile tile. Just…emptiness. The only sounds are the low buzz of the fluorescent lights above (only the security lights are on in the locker room right now, but that’s all that you need) and the soft rustling of cloth and plastic compacts quietly making contact each other as your small hands rummage through your makeup bag, finding and pulling out your lip gloss.
You’re a young rookie in the middle of rigorous training under none other than Leon Kennedy. It isn’t often that you’re given the weekend off, and everyone except you has already hightailed it out of there.
Seeing as the other rookies in your class already left (only one person felt bad enough to half-heartedly ask if you wanted to come to the cabin in the woods with them, and you had no interest in going even if they had been enthusiastic with inviting you and were people you actually liked spending time with), you’re left getting ready in the locker room by yourself. Not for a training exercise or a mission this time, but for something fun. Lonely, but fun.
No creepy cabin in the woods. No skinny dipping in a nasty lake. No mosquitoes and sweating your ass off in the July heat. No fraternizing with the other rookies who you never quite fit in with.
Tonight, all you want to do is get dressed up, step out of headquarters and into blissful civilization, and find a bar to enjoy a vodka cranberry in the air conditioning.
The locker room is usually full of other women getting dressed for combat, helping each other get strapped securely into their tactical vests. Lots of friendly banter, but also a darker current running through, cliques forming and dirty looks given as the reality of your situation comes to light as not just being fun and games, living out your dreams of helping people in need, but competing for spots on missions, fighting for rank, and comparing every skill of yours to the person beside you as if that will provide the needed insight as to how you can surmount them.
But tonight? There is peace in a place that is so often devoid of it. No stress, no tension, just you rediscovering yourself in the mirror. No time limits, no rush to report somewhere, just making yourself feel pretty in the way that you know best.
The countertop of sinks runs below the wall of mirrors, but you’re only standing in the one spot where the security light shines down. Nothing exists in the darkness around you. It is only you, standing in a dim glow.
You really aren’t sure if you’re still allowed to be in the building at this hour, or if your curfew still applies despite being off duty. Then again, it doesn’t seem like any superiors are even here to enforce rules let alone care at all that you’re dressing up.
You zip up your makeup bag, storing it safely in your locker, and any worries are replaced with excitement. You’re nearly ready.
Instead of the military-grade hygiene products that usually overwhelm the space, you put on your favorite lotion and perfume that you’ve been saving for an occasion like this, wrapping yourself in the enticing blend of vanilla, caramel, and clementine.
You hadn’t packed many clothes, knowing that you’d have to wear your uniform for the majority of your waking hours. Your only option for tonight is your favorite light blue dress, silk that hugs your curves, cut low and short in all the right places.
At least, it used to fit perfectly. Have you really gained that much muscle in the few months since you’ve been stationed here?
Nothing crazy, of course. Just a beautiful tone that causes the fabric of the dress to ride up just a bit more over the new firmness in your thighs. Almost scandalously short, but as long as you don’t bend over, it’ll be fine. And you look…amazing. Worth the risk. Who knows when you’ll get time off again?
Finishing touches, checking your mascara and lip gloss in the mirror, putting in dainty silver hoop earrings that you never get to wear for fear of losing them, and strappy light blue heels to match the dress. Done.
Now all that’s left is to leave headquarters and find a bar.
You walk out into the hallway, heels clicking, looking down into your little clutch purse to make sure you have some cash, your phone, your…
Your head shoots up as you sense that you’re not alone in the hallway. All those drills to increase spatial awareness and perception really paid off.
Leon Kennedy just turned the corner and is walking your way. Doing rounds before locking the place up for the night, probably. Quiet surprise flashes across his face when he sees you, but is almost immediately replaced with his usual stoic expression.
He stops a few feet in front of you, crossing his arms in an effortlessly neutral resting position as he takes you in.
It has been a personal challenge of yours ever since you met him to try to decipher what he’s feeling despite how skilled he is at hiding it. All you can determine right now is that he’s definitely not upset at all.
“Miss the bus?” he asks dryly, his low voice gently reverberating through the hallway.
You smile slightly, a little shy despite how much time you’ve spent training with him, shaking your head. “No. I just…didn’t want to join them.”
“The other rookies,” he says. It’s not a question.
“A cabin in the woods isn’t exactly how I want to spend my weekend,” you reply with a nervous little laugh.
He nods as if that’s perfectly valid. “But you’re still going out,” he observes. His eyes travel over you briefly, narrowing just slightly in practiced calculation. “In that.”
Your eyes widen, and your face pales slightly. “Wait. Is there a dress code?”
Oh god. You’ve always been so careful to follow every rule, desperately wanting to avoid the punishments that come with breaking protocol. Did you just mess up?
“Ease up, rookie,” he says gently, a flicker of amusement tugging at his lips. “A dress code while you’re off duty? Of course not.”
But god, he wishes there were. It didn’t matter where you were planning on going; there was always going to be someone undeserving of the view. Not that Leon considers himself deserving. Not that he’s even considering anything like that at all.
He clears his throat, tearing his eyes away from the unbelievable amount of thigh you’re showing. “Are you comfortable?” he asks in an intentionally level voice.
Oh. Your shoulders relax as you consider his question. It caught you off guard, but it’s…nice.
“Well, I wouldn’t say these heels feel like walking on a cloud or anything,” you joke. “But yes. I'm comfortable with this outfit. I feel…like me.”
You feel beautiful, even, a rare indulgence of pure femininity and your personal taste in fashion after living in matching black uniforms and harsh tactical vests for days on end.
Leon nods, looking away. “Then it’s perfect.”
Your breath catches. Perfect? Was that a compliment? Or just a logical conclusion? You’re not sure, but it makes you feel good either way.
You try to suppress those feelings, though, try to will yourself not to blush as if it’s in your control at all to stop your body from reacting. And damn…your body never hesitates to react when you’re around him.
But you want to keep this interaction short to avoid delaying Leon from whatever he needs to do tonight. You know you’re just an annoying rookie who should’ve been long gone with friends you don’t have by now, but you hesitate with Leon just a moment longer, not wanting to waste this opportunity of seeking just a bit more reassurance, however childish that might be.
“I’m okay to walk somewhere, right?” you ask tentatively. Despite your confidence from before, you’re suddenly anxious about other rules you may not be aware of. But the other rookies already took the one van you’re allotted, so walking is your only option.
Leon tenses at the question. Alone? Hell no. It’s allowed, sure, but not if he has anything to say about it.
“Where are you walking to?” he asks. But as soon as the question leaves his lips, he clears his throat as he realizes his misstep. You aren’t required to tell him your plans, and he shouldn’t be asking anyway. “I mean, how far away? You’re allowed to go anywhere. But if it’s far, I wouldn’t recommend walking alone.”
Not that he didn’t personally train you, as well as the other rookies, to protect yourself, but you aren't in full gear tonight. You’re barely in anything at all, as the heat in Leon’s chest keeps relentlessly reminding him. And you’re unarmed. Your tiny fists? Yeah. Those barely count. You’d have to rely on your elbows, your knees, your—
“I’m not sure how far,” you answer, interrupting his thoughts. “I was just going to walk until I find a bar.”
Leon’s jaw tenses. You’re going to walk alone? To a bar? In that outfit? He closes his eyes briefly to compose himself.
“What?” he asks in a subtly exasperated tone. “You think the bar will somehow tell you if you’re getting warmer or colder?”
You laugh softly, a real laugh, for maybe the first time since you got stationed there. Has Leon really played that game before? Like hide-and-seek but with temperature clues, someone telling you that you’re warmer when you’re walking in the right direction of whatever you’re looking for, colder when you’re not. It’s hard to imagine, yet also heartwarming to think about.
“Something like that,” you reply. You hadn’t imagined it’d be too hard to find. You’d probably hear music? See flashing neon lights? Surely if you just started walking, you’d come across a bar eventually.
“Not efficient,” he says with a shake of his head like he’s critiquing how you’re loading a gun during drills.
You raise your eyebrows in amusement. “Am I required to be efficient even when I’m off duty?”
“Required? No. But trust me, kid. You want to make the most out of your time off.” His eyes flicker over your outfit again, lingering on those heels that look like they wouldn’t last you to the end of the hallway, let alone around city blocks. “Unless you’re really looking forward to wandering around the city and getting tired out before you even get to where you want to go.”
Leon knows what drills he put you all through earlier that day, knows how sore your legs and every other part of your body must be. And that’s not even taking into account those high heels that are definitely against regulation in every possible way, yet you’re choosing to wear anyway since normal rules don’t apply for the weekend, and you’re obviously not wanting this opportunity to go to waste.
They’re beautiful, of course, but Leon hates them for the pain he knows they’ll cause you if you do much more than sit comfortably on a bar stool tonight.
He also notices, admitting no particular feeling as he does so, that he’s still quite taller than you despite your added inches. But that fact aside, walking around for longer than necessary sounds like hell, especially since you already expressed your desire to go to a bar, which means you want alcohol to help you unwind, not another workout.
“Not particularly,” you admit honestly, confirming his thoughts. “But I’ll do what I have to do.”
Do what you have to do? As if your time off is another hurdle, another training mission, something to endure before you can get to the relaxing part?
No. That’s not how this works.
Leon sighs. He doesn't usually interact with rookies who were off duty, or any women, really, especially not lately when he’s been resorting back to familiar solitude. Keeping to himself is easier, always has been. Is it lonely? Sure. But is it also safe and necessary while he’s taking on this new role of being in charge of a bunch of rookies? Absolutely.
But this isn’t about the strict discipline he usually holds himself to. No, this is about you, the young woman standing in front of him. Looking absolutely beautiful in that light blue (albeit too short) dress, innocently taking on more than you should like you always do because Leon sees everything, and he knows the other rookies treat you differently. They’re jealous, he knows that for a damn fact, and he also knows you’re too humble to realize that for yourself.
He closes his eyes briefly. As your commanding officer who always follows protocol and acts professionally, this is a decision he would usually never make. But as a man who knows how to treat a woman right? Especially a woman as deserving as you? It’s a no-brainer.
He opens his eyes, completely focused as if this is another mission that he’s determined to take on.
“I’ll drive you,” he says finally.
Your jaw drops slightly and your eyes widen in surprise. But you quickly try to smooth out your features, looking up at him with respectful composure despite your pounding heart and the slight blush you can already feel heating up your face. “Really? I…you don’t have to.”
It’s something you never would have asked him, and yet he’s offering so easily? With that slight tone of finality he uses when he’s made up his mind about something and isn’t planning on changing it?
“The other rookies took the van,” he says simply. “And I’m not sure if there's a bar in close walking distance.”
“Oh,” you say, trying to calmly process his words. He’s providing logical reasoning, as always. But that doesn’t mean that he’s required to make it his problem, and it definitely doesn’t mean that you’re deserving of it. Surely, he has more important things to do than play chauffeur for a rookie? “But…if you’re busy here…”
“I’m not,” he replies without hesitation.
He was actually planning on drinking alone in his room, but now his plans are changed without question. It’d be a dereliction of duty if he let a vulnerable young woman under his leadership go anywhere without backup, off duty or not. And indulging in whiskey at a bar with you in his periphery? He considers himself a strong man, but strength be damned, he can’t turn that down.
“If you’re sure,” you say, shoulders relaxing in relief. “I really appreciate it. I was already mentally preparing to walk barefoot if I had to, so my feet thank you.”
Leon’s jaw ticks. Barefoot. On the pavement. Heels hanging loosely at your sides from your small fingers. The image fills Leon with a protective fire he can’t ignore.
“I’m sure.” He starts walking down the hallway toward the exit, and you follow, your blue strappy heels clicking against the cold tile as you keep up with him. “Not like walking on a cloud, huh?” he says gruffly, repeating your words from earlier as he glances down at those damn heels again.
“Nope. But worth it.”
Leon scoffs slightly but doesn’t say anything. He holds the door open for you as you walk out into the fresh night air, and as you pass right under him, your intoxicating perfume hits him so hard that he stops breathing for a moment, stops comprehending anything other than that fragrance. The vanilla he recognizes, but there’s more to it, something surprisingly sweet in contrast with the familiar warmth, and for as much as it’s unexpected, it’s perfect.
But of course, he doesn’t say anything about it. He is a man who is strictly carrying out a mission, and his personal opinions are hardly relevant.
You observe the muscles in his back as he walks, appreciating how the black fabric highlights everything you admire most about his physique. But honestly, his looks are just a bonus to everything else that attracts you to him. His intelligence, his patience, his respect…the fact that he’s making this sacrifice for you, whether he views it as one or not.
Although you were hesitant to inconvenience him (before he assured you otherwise), it doesn’t cross your mind for an instant that anything’s wrong with accepting a ride from your commanding officer. If it were a different superior? You wouldn’t dare. But Leon has always been different. He’s cold, and strict, and hardened from every bad thing that has happened to him. But he’s also…observant. Attentive in a way that he’s not required to be, yet is. Honorable beyond measure, like a grounding sense of good in a career that can be so emotionally and morally depleting sometimes.
You feel safer with him than you do with anyone.
And now you have the blissful privilege of spending some time alone with him, outside of duty, fully aware of how lucky you are to experience this.
He opens the passenger door of his black Porsche for you, waiting until you’re settled in the seat before shutting the door and walking around to the driver’s side.
Leon is not a man who shows off wealth or status, but the quiet luxury of the car fills you with reverence and soft pleasure.
He’s not just borrowing a patrol car that he has full access to. No, he’s choosing to escort you in his personal vehicle, letting you into his life beyond his role as a commander that other people are rarely privy to.
Leon keeps his eyes on the road as he drives, but he keeps most of his attention on you. The way your knees are leaning toward him instead of the door. The way you’re holding onto your own fingers as if you’re nervous, or excited, or both. But your expression is relaxed, which means you’re comfortable with him, and that fact makes him exhale softly.
His hands relax on the steering wheel, shoulders lower slightly. “What kind of place do you have in mind?” he asks.
A bar, yes. He got that part. But there were many different atmospheres to choose from, and he wasn’t going to assume what you wanted.
“Honestly? As long as I can order a vodka cranberry, I’ll be content anywhere.”
“Vodka cranberry,” he repeats, an image of you lifting the pink drink to your lips flashing across his mind before he shoves it away.
It’s a sweet drink. A sharp contrast to his usual whiskey, a contrast to this career as a whole, really, and it tugs at his heart in an unexpected way.
You’re the most promising of all the rookies. Not the biggest, not the strongest, but the smartest. And your aim? It rivals even Leon’s. You’re a sniper. Will probably be the best sniper there is once you get more experience. But Leon has never told you this, doesn’t pick favorites or give special treatment.
But the way he watches you closely during training, quick to let you know to adjust your scope by a fraction, or move your elbows slightly closer to your body, little improvements to keep pushing you further to the incredible potential he knows you can reach, reveals exactly how he feels.
He never has to tell you things twice. You listen to and implement his advice immediately, and he offers you a quiet “good” or “just like that” before walking away without a second glance back at you.
And the slight blush that sometimes rises in your cheeks after he praises you? Showing just how humble you are and just how much those words of encouragement mean to you?
Leon exhales slowly as a deep ache stirs inside of him. Okay. You’re his favorite. Because of your skill, your dedication, your eagerness to improve, and an endless list of little things he notices about you and holds gently in his hands like he couldn’t possibly let even the smallest detail slip away from him. No. He holds everything.
When he thinks of a future partner? Someone to hold the line with him, analyze evidence, see every little detail as important? Yeah. You’re perfect.
And now he has this new piece of information about you, something that gives him soft amusement.
When you’re both on the battlefield one day? Not just on a training mission, but an actual mission? Leon will have the personal satisfaction of knowing that the best sniper around likes to drink vodka cranberry.
“Do you think we can find a bar that serves it?” you ask.
Leon chuckles slightly, as if you’re worried that your favorite drink is too high maintenance, that vodka and cranberry juice will be hard to find. But he goes along with it. “We won’t stop until we do.”
Hell, he’d go to the store and buy the ingredients to mix the drink himself if he needed to.
And suddenly, the realization hits him: there wasn’t anything in the world he wouldn’t do for you.
But that was normal, right? To feel a strong sense of responsibility for a rookie? To want to care for you in immeasurable ways?
Leon’s needs aren’t even in the picture, aren’t influencing his feelings at all. It’s only what you need. His eyes flicker over to you again, the definition in your shoulders, the delicate fabric hugging the softer parts of your body just right, the shine of gloss on your lips, those legs, your knees turned toward him like you trust him completely.
His hands tighten on the steering wheel again as he drags his eyes away from you and back to the road. He swallows hard. Yes. Only your needs. Nothing else.
The Porsche effortlessly maneuvers through the dark streets, farther away from headquarters and closer to the heart of the city.
Soon, Leon finds a parking spot along the sidewalk, killing the engine, and you eagerly scan the surrounding buildings outside your window to see what he found.
Leon observes your excitement with quiet satisfaction.
If he were going to a bar by himself, he’d find some hole-in-the-wall place, tucked in some dark alley with men smoking outside the door with burnt-out or flickering lightbulbs inside that no one bothered to replace.
But for you? He found a friendly-looking building, flowers on either side of the door in large pots, fairy lights hanging in a warm glow across the front. Again, not the type of place he would usually go, but the type of place he knows you deserve.
He exits the car and walks around to your door, opening it for you as you finish unbuckling. He even holds out his hand, and you take it, helping you out of the car and not letting go until you find your balance on the sidewalk.
“Thank you,” you say with a smile.
Leon gives a small nod, as if opening your door and helping you out was literally the least he could do.
He only allows himself to glance over you once before looking away again, reflexively scanning the surrounding area for threats.
But the feel of your hand in his, only for the short moment that he helped you out of the car before letting go again, stays with him. The warmth and softness and smallness, in beautiful contrast to what he knows you’re capable of when you’re holding a weapon.
He tucks these feelings of warmth away, or at least tries to. As your commanding officer, he cares about you deeply. Professionally.
But as you’re walking toward the entrance of the bar, Leon reaches out before he can stop himself. He grabs the bottom hem of your dress, careful not to touch your skin at all, and pulls down on the light-blue, silky fabric slightly, covering you where the dress had ridden up from sitting in the car.
His hand drops instantly, back to his side, and his whole body tenses as if recoiling from that lapse in judgement, clenching his fists, silently swearing at himself for allowing himself to take action like that.
He glances down at you, analyzing your expression for any sign of discomfort, but thankfully, he doesn’t find any. Only a warm flicker of…appreciation? Trust?
Oh. You really weren’t bothered at all, as if it were a completely natural act that you not only tolerated, but welcomed, a rookie completely trusting her superior even in this quiet, personal moment that is so unlike drills and missions and everything else that being on duty entails.
But then you do wince slightly like maybe you’re regretting your outfit decision. “Too short, isn’t it?” you say, looking up at him with a shy smile, eyebrows furrowed slightly.
Yes.
“Nah. Just making sure you’re only showing what you want to show.”
Leon swallows hard. Out of all the missions he’s ever been on? Yeah. This one takes the cake for level of difficulty when it comes to his self control. Maybe he had been a little too confident in his abilities going into this, but he just had his reality check, and now he knows exactly how focused he needs to be. He won’t be able to let his guard down for even a moment.
“Thanks,” you say with an appreciative smile, and you’re relaxed again, soaking in his words as if they were all you needed for reassurance.
He holds the door open for you, a soft chime sounding, and the two of you walk into the bar.
Leon makes a silent promise to stay in full control of himself from now on. A picture of pure professionalism and respectful courtesy. No more drifting thoughts or anything close to adjusting your dress for you again. He winces slightly at the fact that he actually did that, but come on…your ass was probably a half inch from showing, and that possibility was too much for him to bear.
But again, it’s your body, your off-duty time to spend however you like, and Leon is only here for a drink of whiskey, not to do anything other than support you from a distance until you’re ready to go home.
But going by the protectiveness flaring in him that isn’t dying in the slightest, Leon exhales slowly out of his nose as he scans the room before letting his gaze fall back to you.
This is going to be a long night.