#re9leon

He wasn’t entirely sure what part of bioterrorism prevention made you so happy getting up in the morning. And when you were brought to him for the first time, blazer buttoned to the top and ironed within an inch of its life, he couldn’t help but find the ordeal mildly amusing. You were gushing over the most mundane details of the office that his eyes had automatically scanned right over. Your own desk organisers! Branded mugs! A bowl of hard boiled sweets that had melted to the plastic! Your glee never hindered. When his boss flashes him a hasty smile that says a thousand words, retreating to leave the two of you to inspecting the surprisingly high tech vacuum cleaner, his mind seems to retrace every moment of his life that led him to this point. This unfortunate point.

Your rambling seems to stop for a moment, your head swivelling upwards and your eyes gazing up at him with a look which harboured more confidence than he expected,

“It’s a pleasure to be here, sir.”

Oh, jesus.

It wasn’t how he expected his year to go. But the DSO were bringing more people on, and who better to lead them down the straight and narrow?

The last thing for the man who struggled to look at his own reflection needed, was more responsibility on his shoulders, he couldn’t shake the feeling of seeing you as another hinderance. It wasn’t personal, in fact, in some other life where he hadn’t stared death in the face every week, he maybe would have enjoyed your company. But your three pumps of vanilla syrup in your coffee, and daily ritual of greeting - every. single .person - in the office, cemented his view that you weren’t prepared. Your eagerness brought him back to a place thirty years ago that he didn’t want to revisit. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t dismiss the views he was building. It was all too familiar.

Your eyes held that same softness he lost in the mirror all that time ago. And it made some part of him that he could no longer recognise, twist deep inside of him.

This was gonna be a long five months.

“…I said that seemed extremely pessimistic, sir.”

A deep sigh shook the older man’s shoulders as he weaved in and out of traffic. You were sitting in the passenger seat, nursing a coffee from a sparkly travel mug as you tapped your fingers against your combat cargos.

The conversation had grew arms and legs after the radio station mentioned a missing man. 42 years of age, father of three. Leon with a grumble, said the chances of finding him now were low. The report having been filed four days ago.

“It’s not pessimistic, it’s realism.” He shot you a look, “It comes with experience. If they’re not found in five days, they usually aren’t in a state you’d want to find them in anyway.”

“Usually.”

His eyebrows furrowed, grip on the wheel tightening.

“Yes, usually. Always.”

“No, not always. Usually, meaning there’s still a chance.” You pushed him.

He looked at you again. Except this time it wasn’t annoyance, but something you couldn’t exactly figure out, but you got the sense that some day you would.

“Y/N, if you’re in this job you’re gonna need to lose that.”

“Lose what?”

“The hopefulness.” The car pulled to a stop. Yellow caution tape snapping the two of you out from your secluded conversation.

Outside two police officers began to approach the vehicle, gloved hands covering the firearm strapped to their waists. Leon winded his window down, swiftly picking up his badge from the centre console with nothing as much as a glance in your direction. You cast your attention to what resided outside the window. The caution tape was the final divider between a quiet street, and a decaying hotel. The plants which were unfortunate enough to end up on the border nearest it wilting, signs adorned in a thick layer of sludge and age. The walls contorting in on themselves, decades of architecture slinking away from something. Trying to hide.

Without a word to Leon, who was engaged in a conversation with the two officers, you hooked your fingers through the door handle and slipped out the vehicle. The cold air whipped past your face, a pungent smell swirling around your nostrils. One you hated. One you knew all too well. One that engulfed you in memories and that pulsing feeling in your throat.

Beyond the tape, a woman was sprawled out, veins a sharp black. Eyes a deep red. You knew it like the same virus pumped through your veins. Her face was crestfallen, features frozen in an expression of deep agony. A pool of crimson surrounding her scalp like some kind of fucked up halo. You could hardly remember a time when the world wasn't like this. And yet, your mugs still had sparkles on them, and you still looked for the sun.

“First time?”

You hadn’t noticed him even get out the car, too consumed in your thoughts. He asked you in a way that pissed you off. Faux kindest almost. You didn’t want it. You didn't need it. Not in the way he thought you did. Like a deer in headlights. Bambi, with his shaking legs. Wide set eyes. The same eyes that Leon was convinced were only full of innocence. Blissfully unaware that a much colder feeling choked behind that layer of innocence he took at face value.

“No.”

You ducked under the tape. Beginning your field notes. Every ounce of warmth that he thought made up your character, gone. Left behind the gaudy tape.

That was the first time Leon observed that change he grew to know so well. And when you returned to the DSO, finding you halfway through a sugared donut and laughing loudly had a wave of shock ride through his body. He just couldn’t figure you out. That friendliness became calculated. The warmth, cold. He just couldn’t understand it.

Maybe that's why he can't get you out of his mind.

"Your organisation is appalling, Leon."

He'd never gotten used to that in the four months you'd been under his mentorship. That day where the hesitant, 'Sir', became an entirely more confident bark of his name. And when you'd string it on to the end of a complaint, it irritated him how much it stirred something young inside of him.

"You're just hard to please." He retaliated, taking a sip out his mug as he was nose deep in a pile of paperwork. The back of his hand raising to shove his glasses a little further up his nose.

"Not to mention - these field notes are hardly detailed enough for what we attended." He gazed up at you for the first time in ten minutes, "You are trying to complete your training period, right?"

"Well," You hummed, stifling through more of his records that weren't coded in the slightest. "If I recall, that incident was one where you were in a pissy mood, and I was sent to sit in the car, while you finished up inside."

You turned to look at him, records in hand.

"I was certain you said you would complete the notes, sir."

God, what was wrong with him. Feeling like some lovestruck teenager.

He waved you off, gaze returning to the paperwork.

"Okay...dismissed."

"Can't I stay?" You quickly interjected.

That caught his attention.

He finally put his pen down, eyebrows furrowing.

"Stay? Why would you want to stay?" The man was truly perplexed. You always had him on his toes.

"Well, its interesting to be in your office finally after all this time. All these, well, records of stuff you've done."

"You sucking up to me, rook?" His head cocked to one side, eyes analysing you as if he was confused what it was you were trying to do.

"Not sucking up, just reinforcing the truth." You traced your finger across the DSO emblem on the book in your grasp. "I was really excited when I was assigned to you, you're the best of the best."

It washed over him like cold water, he didn't really know how to react. You standing there, pouring over his old missions, your hair done in that way he can never pull his eyes away from. Jesus. The way you sometimes talked like a robot. What was wrong with him?

He rose from behind his desk, picking his glasses up from his nose and placing them down atop the pile of paperwork he'd return to at some point.

"How about coffee instead?"