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Mabel didn’t know much about the DSO’s legendary Leon Kennedy, but she never imagined he would be assigned to something as trivial as teaching target practice.
Every instructor Mabel and the rest of the newest DSO recruits had had in the 3 months since their recruitment had been more or less the same; a mid-level agent currently experiencing a lapse in missions and thought they’d show the freshest faces something or another. But Leon Kennedy? The man the president personally owes about three favors to, the most badass, accomplished agent possibly ever? That Leon Kennedy was helping them with target practice?
He was even more intimidating in person than any stories could do justice to. He was tall, and he probably appeared even taller than he really was due to the sheer width of his shoulders, the clear muscle built into every curve of his body in the DSO-issued tactical gear. He held the practice gun like it was made to curve into his palm, giving out clear instructions to the half-a-dozen trainees who had stuck around long after they were off the clock as if he was walking them through how to pour a bowl of cereal.
“Agent Kennedy, sir,” one of the more daring recruits spoke up—Trevor, if Mabel was remembering correctly. “Could you show the reload motion one more time? I think my mag is jammed.”
Agent Kennedy nodded, holstering his own gun as he made his way over to Trevor. Mabel watched as he efficiently demonstrated how to tell when the magazine was properly loaded, watching Trevor follow his instructions until he gave a satisfied nod.
“Whatever you do, don’t look down the barrel to check,” Agent Kennedy said, a lightness to his voice that, had Mabel thought him capable of the thing, could almost mean he was telling a joke.
“Well, duh,” Trevor said. “Who would do that?”
Agent Kennedy’s lips tugged upwards and the lines in his face seemed to ease a bit, and Mabel thought he looked much younger. “You’d be surprised."
Agent Kennedy walked them through how to position the gun so the recoil wouldn’t jolt their shoulders, how to line up the shot even when you didn’t have time to properly aim, and even how to disassemble the gun and put it back together in less than thirty seconds.
When it was time for the gun disassembling, Mabel started having her first real struggle. She could take the gun apart well enough, but when she tried to put it together again, she couldn’t slide the parts through her hands as efficiently as anyone else, as the edges of the parts kept getting caught on the promise ring on her ring finger.
Josie, her girlfriend of three years, had given it to her on their anniversary three months ago, the same day she got recruited into the DSO’s training program. She knew it probably went against some protocol, but taking it off made her fidget with the empty space on her finger until the cool silver was back in its rightful place.
Agent Kennedy seemed to notice her annoyed mumblings, making his way towards her as her cheeks began to burn with frustration. When she fumbled with the barrel cover plate for the second time in a row, he held out a hand to stop her. It was gentle, yet firm as he beckoned for her to hand him the disassembled glock.
“It’s my ring,” she said quickly, the idea of Agent Kennedy thinking she was incompetent or stupid suddenly a very real fear. “I’ll just take it off–”
“I get it,” Agent Kennedy said, interrupting her with a soft chuckle. “I don’t like taking my wedding ring off either. Your name, agent?”
“Mabel O’Connor, sir, and it’s not a wedding ring yet–” Mabel began, only to snap her jaw so quickly she bit the edge of her tongue. The background clicking of metal parts coming together stopped with a jarring suddenness. Mabel’s neck began to prickle with the awareness that multiple pairs of eyes were now on her and Agent Kennedy.
“You’re married?” Someone down the line of trainees blurted.
Agent Kennedy frowned. “Yes? I wear my wedding ring all the time.”
He held up his left hand, and half a dozen pairs of wide eyes followed the motion and focused on his hand.
His empty left hand.
Agent Kennedy noticed at the same time they did, and if Mabel didn’t know any better, she’d say Agent Kennedy looked scared.
“Fuck,” he said.
So, Agent Kennedy was married. Married to a fellow DSO agent, possibly. A DSO agent who was going to be meeting Agent Kennedy down at the training grounds in less than an hour for their weekly date night, which was why Agent Kennedy had volunteered to kill some time running target practice.
“I need two of you to sweep the men’s locker rooms on the sixth floor,” Agent Kennedy said, the senior officer’s words stern. The group of them were peering over a fold-out table with a map of the DSO field office laid out on top. Agent Kennedy had assembled the entire setup as if pulling objects out of thin air, an uncharacteristic frantic air about him despite the measuredness of his voice. “Three of you should take the entire East Wing—I had back-to-back meetings there from 9 to 4 today, and it could be in any of the conference rooms or offices. If anyone asks why you’re in there, tell them ‘Lima-1 is about to be killed by Bravo-1 unless Ring-4 is recovered in the hour,’ got it?”
“You’ve lost four rings?” Mabel asked before she could stop herself.
“That’s not important right now,” Agent Kennedy muttered. “What’s important is that we cover everywhere I’ve been today, and in return, I give you all glowing recommendations to your commanding officers.”
That seemed to be good enough for the rest of the trainees. They split off to their assigned areas with swift efficiency, leaving Mabel and Agent Kennedy alone in the gun range.
“We’re going to take the upper labs,” Agent Kennedy says once the door has closed behind the last of the trainees. “I trust you can keep things confidential?”
Mabel quickly shakes off any lingering nerves, giving Agent Kennedy a firm nod. “Yes, sir.”
Agent Kennedy nods, sighing as he squares his shoulders. “Alright, let’s hope he’s not still down there.”
He, Mabel notes absently.
The two of them set off at just quick enough of a pace that they don’t attract anymore than the cursory glance. It seems that even being in the presence of Leon Kennedy is less interesting to the late-shift DSO workers than clocking out, and they reach the elevators that will take them to the upper labs without amassing more than a few nods as they pass agents.
Mabel didn’t know much about what the upper labs at the DSO field office did. She knew they were strictly limited-access only, and that they manufactured cures for the different virus strands there. Beyond that, though, she’d just heard the exaggerated rumors that every trainee was told to freak them out. Some of the more popular rumors were that there was a mutated monster they kept in the basement of the White House that had escaped from the labs, there were people who could transform into mutated forms at will working up there, and, randomly, that there was secretly an evil century-old witch who had first caused the T-virus outbreak. Mabel had seen some weird shit at the DSO, but she drew the line at witches.
Agent Kennedy led her through the sterile white hallways of the upper floor labs, head swiveling around as if on the lookout for someone. They passed many closed card access-only doors before they reached a larger laboratory, with rows of metal tables topped with beakers, vials, and computers running programs as tired-looking lab technicians sat at swivel chairs in front of them. There were only a few table lights on, illuminating petri dishes and notebooks and whatever else the scientists had going on.
“Agent Kennedy!” A shocked voice said, the sound rapidly coming around the corner they had just emerged from. “That you? Nice to see you again, you looking for Bryan?”
Agent Kennedy caught Mabel’s eyes, jerking his head nearly imperceptibly to the back wall. She gave him a short nod to show she understood, slipping away to walk along the wall just as a lab technician rounded the corner.
Mabel kept her pace measured and light, letting her eyes drift to the surfaces of the metal tables. They glinted in the low light of the lab, and she realized with a pang that trying to spot anything silver on their surfaces would be difficult, even if all the lights were on.
Luckily, no lab techs deigned to look up at her as she casually strolled down the aisles between tables, eyes roving for even a glimpse of silver.
“Hey Linda, Bryan around?” Mabel could hear Agent Kennedy ask the chipper scientist who had called out to him.
“I think he’s downstairs bothering Sherry,” Linda responded with a laugh. “It was the strangest thing, she suddenly radio’d for him. Sounded urgent.”
“That is strange,” Agent Kennedy said in the voice of a man who definitely didn’t have a hand in that at all, are you serious? How dare you question a senior agent? “I imagine she’ll keep him occupied for a while.”
“I imagine so,” Linda agreed. “You know how he dotes on her.”
This was…unexpected. Mabel didn't know much about Agent Kennedy’s husband yet. All she’d gathered was his name was Bryan and was someone Agent Kennedy was frightened of. She pictured a man similar to him, a fellow Greek god of a human being that struck fear into the hearts of those who crossed his path. “Doting” didn’t seem applicable to a man like that.
“Yeah,” Agent Kennedy said, and it may have sounded dismissive to anyone else, but Mabel could have sworn she heard an edge of fondness to the older man’s tone.
“Well, don’t let me keep you from whatever it is you’re up to,” Linda said, just as Mabel’s knee knocked into an empty swivel chair. Her eyes darted up guiltily and made direct eye contact with Linda, who just shot her a knowing smirk.
“Yeah.” Agent Kennedy cleared his voice. “Showing the trainees around, standard stuff.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Agent O’Connor,” Agent Kennedy said, and Mabel snapped to attention. “We have other spots to hit, let’s get out of the lab’s hair.”
“Oh, Agent Kennedy,” Linda said, looking up from where she’d gravitated to a microscope setup. “I do believe I remember Bryan mentioning something about a date night tonight. Please do your best not to keep him waiting, we just got the wall replaced.”
The lab door closed behind Mabel and Agent Kennedy when she broke the silence.
“So, your husband’s a scientist?”
Agent Kennedy chuckled, nodding his head down a side hallway as he led them away from the door. “No, they just get a lot of use out of him here.”
Mabel paused. “Is he…strong?”
Agent Kennedy shot her a bemused look. “What kind of a question is that?”
“That scientist lady,” Mabel said. “She said he broke a wall the last time you forgot a date.”
“He’ll break more than just a wall if he finds out I lost my ring again,” Agent Kennedy muttered to himself. Then, to her, “he just forgets his strength sometimes.”
That seemed far too dismissive an attitude for breaking a reinforced concrete wall, but Mabel kept quiet. She pondered this new information as Agent Kennedy talked into the radio at his hip to the other trainees on their hunts, all of whom reported back negative findings. Maybe Bryan was one of the brawler types. In the academy, she’d heard about a BSAA agent who had punched a boulder one time and sent it flying. Maybe this Bryan guy was one of those insane powerhouses that seemed to be attracted to this line of work.
Her musings were cut short as Agent Kennedy stopped in front of an unassuming door in the corner of the Western wing. In a smooth motion, he brought a key on a retractable clip on his belt up to the door, unlocking it and ducking inside. Mabel followed him cautiously, looking around the small but homey space as Agent Kennedy moved with familiarity to a wooden desk against the wall.
“Check the armchairs,” Agent Kennedy said, rifling through the papers on the desk and lifting stacks of manila folders.
“Whose office is this?” Mabel asked, gingerly tilting the plush cushions on two well-loved and plush armchairs on the far side of the office.
“Mine,” Agent Kennedy answered offhandedly. “Asked for it when it seemed I would be staying put more often than usual.”
“It’s nice,” Mabel said honestly, running her hand through the seam between the cushion and chair back.
“Bryan stays in it mostly,” Agent Kennedy said offhandedly, now rummaging through a drawer. “When he decides to come in, that is.”
“So…” Mabel started, trying her best to keep her voice light and unassuming. “How long did you say you’ve been married?”
Agent Kennedy shot her a knowing look, before huffing a small laugh and returning his attention to the task at hand. “Your intelligence gathering needs work, agent.”
“Yeah, I know,” Mabel said dejectedly. “I’m pretty shit at acting.” She tilted her head. “That and guns, I’m not that great at guns yet.”
“What’d they recruit you for, then?” Agent Kennedy asked. Had it been anyone else, Mabel would have taken it as an insult. But, as she was quickly learning, Agent Kennedy wasn’t cruel like that. He was actually pretty earnest, and the more time she spent with him (all of about thirty minutes now) she realized he wasn’t the basic brooding type she’d pegged him as. He just seemed contemplative, and maybe a little gruff around the edges, but kind.
“Languages, translation mostly,” Mabel answered. “But we have to do DSO training before we can be assigned to a department.”
Agent Kennedy nodded, and a nearly imperceptible weight seemed to have lifted off his shoulders. “That’s good.”
The sudden crackle of Agent Kennedy’s radio at his hip had Mabel jumping, though Agent Kennedy was as composed as ever as he swiftly unhooked it from his belt and raised it. “Agent Kennedy here, over.”
“Mr—no, fuck, Agent Kennedy, sir?” A stuttering voice called out.
“Yes, what is it?”
“The ring,” said the voice Mabel could now identify as Trevor's. “Is it a silver band, B.K & L.S.K etched on the inside?”
“Fucking shit,” Agent Kennedy grumbled. Then, into the radio, “Where was it?”
“Oh, we didn’t find it,” Trevor said. “Some guy found it, said you’d be looking for it.”
Agent Kennedy froze.
“Where are you?”
“Uh, back at the shooting range, sir.”
“Fuck,” Agent Kennedy hissed. He turned to a baffled Mabel, shoulders slumped in a way that didn't fit his imposing frame. “It’s over.”
Despite the clear dread etched in Agent Kennedy’s form, Mabel couldn't help but feel excited as she trotted after him back down to the shooting range. There’s something surreal about getting a peek behind the curtain of her superior officer’s private life; it feels like back in college, when she’d make eye contact with the TA from her Advanced Russian seminar at the club she was definitely too young to be in.
She tried to refine the image of “Bryan” in her mind before she finally saw him in person. An imposing figure—someone who matches Agent Kennedy’s clear prowess and larger-than-life stature. Maybe some gnarly tattoos.
What she doesn’t expect is a man hardly a few inches taller than herself, nearly drowning in a clearly well-loved gray sweater and a mop of tousled golden-brown curls. His back was to Mabel and Agent Kennedy as they entered the shooting range, and he appeared to be…lecturing Trevor and the other trainees that had split off in the search for the ring.
“-seriously, you shouldn’t be overworking yourselves like this just for a letter of rec, Leon would’ve given it to you anyways-”
His voice was slightly raspy, in a charming sort of drawled way. He gestured wildly as he spoke with a closed fist, one hand propped on his waist as he cocks his hip. His lecture was cut off abruptly as Trevor’s eyes darted to Mabel and Agent Kennedy, a baffled expression on his face.
What the fuck, he communicated with his eyes.
You fucking tell me, Mabel responded.
The man—Bryan, because this must be Bryan—whirled around, and Mabel was unprepared for how…cute this guy is. He hardly looked a day over thirty-five, with a slightly disheveled stubble that gives him an air of easy warmth and coziness. His eyes may have been blue or hazel, but his pupils were so large that the color was nearly drowned out in his glassy-eyed stare. Those same eyes narrowed as Agent Kennedy walked forward like a man about to reach the gallows.
“Leon,” Bryan said, an expression that is decidedly unimpressed on his face. As Agent Kennedy shuffled forwards, he held out a closed fist to his husband. “You left something in the car again.”
Agent Kennedy accepted the ring Bryan dropped into his hand and wasted no time in sliding it into place. Bryan huffed. “It almost got mixed in with the boxes of classroom supplies. Again.”
Agent Kennedy winced, but Bryan seemed to just be getting worked up now. “And instead of just, I don’t know, calling me and asking if you left it at home, you what? Keep a bunch of toddlers around to poke around the DSO for it? And you make us late for dinner?” He threw his hands up in frustration, and now that they’re both out, Mabel can see that one has streaks of light pink and white scar tissue stretching across it. “We’re not getting the reservation fee back, not to mention getting Sherry to hold me up upstairs—you know how much work she has to do, don’t waste her time like that!”
“Not toddlers,” one of the guys beside Trevor muttered.
“Well, if I called you during work to say I couldn’t find my ring you would have left early to go look for it, and then you would have felt guilty about leaving early, and then you’d be too upset to enjoy dinner anyway,” Leon fired back. “And please, you know Sherry loves you. If you came around and I hadn’t told her, she would have been sad and then that would have made you upset and then dinner would have still been ruined!”
Mabel watched this exchange much in the same way she would a tennis match, and Trevor & co. are no exception. Agent Kennedy faltered when he notices the growing scowl on Bryan’s face before he let out a breath.
“You–that doesn’t matter,” Bryan mumbled. He crossed his arm. “C’mon, you’ve kept these kids here late enough.” He shot a sheepish smile to the group. “Sorry you had to deal with this.”
“Uh, no problem,” Mabel said before her brain could catch up. “Learned a lot of useful things. Like how to disassemble a gun and sneak around scientists. Also that you’re not supposed to glance down the barrel of a gun to check if it’s loaded. Useful things, yeah.”
She noticed Agent Kennedy’s frantic head-shaking too late. Bryan whirled back around to Agent Kennedy, a fierce glare trained on the taller man. “You motherfucker, that was one time!”
“And it gave me a heart attack!”
Bryan started forward on a clear warpath, taking Agent Kennedy by the sleeve of his jacket and dragging him behind him towards the door. Agent Kennedy—nearly six feet of firm, bulging muscle—was led like a scolded child by his husband as he marched them out of the shooting range.
“Go home, eat dinner, you’ll all get glowing recommendations,” Bryan hurled over his shoulder.
And then they’re gone.
“What the fuck,” Trevor muttered.
Mabel could only nod. She was so telling Josie about this later.
“You’re so stupid,” Bryan was muttering to himself. “All this over a fucking ring—it’s not like you haven’t had to replace a ring before–”
“This one’s different,” Leon said, finally being released as they reach Bryan’s car. It’s the only car in the employee lot not DSO-issued, a forest-green Jeep they’d purchased years ago when Bryan had left the DSO after finally being re-classified as a non-threat and took up a job as a daycare teacher. Sure, he had his moments when his infected strength came back and he hurled too-touchy scientists and doctors through walls, but he hadn’t done that in over a year. Leon thought he was the strongest, bravest, most kind-hearted man in the world. Though, there had been this one time when Leon was thirty and Bryan had just turned thirty-nine—though he’d been physically aging much slower since his bite—and a newly hired scientist had thought it smart to test if his physical mutations could be activated through his fear response. While Bryan had thought it was a routine blood draw, the scientist had suddenly pulled a gun on Leon to see if that would trigger a reaction.
It had. The guy had ended up as a red stain on the wall, and Bryan had had to undergo months more of testing to make sure he really had a handle on his reactions and partial physical mutation. It had been annoying and made him grumble every morning before they’d had to go into the field office, but Leon thought he’d never been more attractive than as a bloodthirsty overprotective monster.
He was lost in his musings and missed the angry scolding Bryan had been dealing out apparently the entire time he’d been fantasizing about the protective streak Bryan would never admit he had, only coming back to the present as Bryan knocked a fist into the side of his head. “Hello? Are you even listening to me?”
“Mm, maybe,” Leon said, enjoying the way Bryan’s face turned down into an adorable pout. “Wanna ditch dinner and get pizza? Then I’d like to fuck you on the couch.” The couch, because Bryan had just washed the bedding, and he’d be annoyed to have to do another load again after complaining the entire time he’d put the fitted sheet on. Leon would have helped, but the view of Bryan bending over the bed and whining whenever the opposite end would pop back out just as he’d fit one corner on had been too good of a view to give up.
A brilliant red flush overtook Bryan’s cheeks as he stared up at Leon with incredulous eyes. Leon kinda wanted to bite his rosy cheeks, so that’s what he did.
“Ow, you fucker,” Bryan hissed, though he didn’t pull away so Leon counted that as a solid win. Leon pressed a kiss to his cheek as an apology, using Bryan’s distraction to snatch the keys to the Jeep out of Bryan’s hand. He squawked in protest as Leon danced out of reach, opening the door to the passenger side and corralling Bryan in. Once Bryan had begrudgingly done his seatbelt, he turned back to Leon. “What makes this one different?”
“Hm?” Leon hummed, distracted with the task of getting the key in the ignition past the truly outrageous amount of keychains Bryan had attached to it. “What makes what different?”
“The ring,” Bryan said, a sudden shyness overtaking him as he pointedly looked down at the console and fiddled with the seat warmers. “You said this one was different.”
“Oh,” Leon said, studying the glint of silver back in its rightful place on his left ring finger. He popped it off his finger and held it up to catch the dim yellow glow of the car roof light. “This one was after you changed your name,” he said, twisting the ring so the engraved B.K & L.S.K caught the light. “You never wanted to before, and then suddenly you did.”
Bryan was silent for a moment as he stared down at the silver in Leon’s fingers. With a careful touch, Bryan softly took the ring from Leon and held his other hand up expectantly.
And, oh, what Leon wouldn’t give him when he looked up through his lashes like that, all soft curls and glassy eyes. Leon gave him his left hand without hesitation, and Bryan’s smaller hands curled delicately around his calloused ones as he slipped the ring back into place.
“You kept losing them,” Bryan said softly as he gazed down at their hands still gently coiled around each other. “And I realized how small they were, compared to how much they were meant to represent.”
Bryan looked up, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I figured a name change was more permanent.”
Leon gives himself one more second to absorb the sight of Bryan’s smile, only for him, always for him, before he cups his stubbled cheek and brings their lips together. Bryan huffs a small laugh against his mouth, and Leon drinks it up like it's the last thing he’ll ever taste. He loses himself in the feeling of Bryan’s soft lips against his own, peppering in tiny licks against his mouth that has Bryan parting his lips obediently to bring them closer together. Bryan’s hands come up to tangle in his ashy blond hair, tugging deliciously and pulling low groans from Leon’s throat.
Bryan broke them apart, much to Leon’s displeasure, but the blown-out pupils and deep rose of his cheeks as he pants lightly is a good consolation prize. “Home, now,” Bryan demanded.
“I think we have food at home anyway,” Leon said, smirking as Bryan huffed impatiently.
“Just fucking drive.”