Chapter Text
Thin white sheets of paper slowly slide out of the noisy printer. You’re 15 of 32 pages in, and not sure if your sanity will break by the 20th sheet. It’s been an endless day in the office, which really isn’t that much of a surprise considering your line of work, but for some reason, the hours seem to be dragging out. Ingrid Hunnigan, your supervisor- and a saint in a cruel, fluorescent light-filled hellscape- had tasked you with printing out the latest field report. It was actually quite important, so you’ve heard. Something about a Leon Kennedy and whatever the hell was happening with him that you had to work till midnight for the past week.
That was the fun thing about your job: working in the field support department of a bioterrorism organization meant you never got to know what an actual 9-5 is. Nor do you ever get to actually know what’s going on, only whispers, because of some sort of security clearance you didn’t have. That was most of what it was anyway, logging dates and calls into a spreadsheet to later be printed off on the matte black printer in the workroom down the hallway from your cramped office. Meetings with some important militants, with whom you’d hastily jot down notes to return to Hunnigan so she could do her job more effectively. Essentially, an errand girl for the government. Y/n Wright, Bachelor’s in psychology with a minor in political science, once a bright girl eager to make her way into the corporate world, now yawning desperately as you finish the millionth field report sent to you by your supervisor. What a sickening joke your life has turned into, and unfortunately, the pay is too good for you to actually pursue a career you might otherwise enjoy.
-
You hurriedly shuffle the papers in order before stuffing the thick stack into a manila folder, rushing out of the workroom and down the damp hallway. Your office building looked like something out of an analog horror game, with pale walls and dim fluorescents that light up the corridor just enough to see where you were going. You check your wristwatch, ‘ 11:23 pm,’ it reads. Your face scrunches in disdain, your pace picking up as fast as your heels would let you before your ankles rolled in on themselves. You make a left and head towards a much darker hallway with the blue light of multiple monitors highlighting the room ahead, spilling onto the path. You can hear the clacking of keyboards and indistinct murmurs coming from behind a steel door. You use the badge clipped to your button-up breast pocket to scan yourself into the communications rooms, legs carrying you over to Hunnigan’s designated work-space. You’ve taken this route dozens of times; you’d be able to walk all the way from the printer to her desk with a blindfold.
“The report is all here,” You stick the manila folder out for Hunnigan to take, making a note to divert your eyes away from whatever is on her computer screen.
“Ah, Y/n, you’re an absolute saint, you know that?” Ingrid turns in her chair, taking the folder from your hands. Her eyes are just as tired as yours, and yet she’s able to smile at you so excitedly. You didn’t understand how she did it…
Ingrid was one of the few good things about the job, always encouraging and praising you when you did something good, or rather, when you did your job at all. She used to be in your same position, running errands and bending over backwards for some general. It’s the one reason she is where she’s at now. Hunnigan understands just as much as you did that your job position was a hazing ritual, essentially; break down the weak ones, and whatever psychopath is left gets a seat in the actual F.O. S department. You may even get assigned an important case if you’re especially psychotic. You’re not quite sure what that meant about Hunnigan, but regardless, you suppose all of this is why she chooses to be so nice when she could berate you for taking 5 extra minutes to get everything done, or why she turns a blind eye to the ashtray filled with cigarette butts tucked in the corner of your desk.
You try your best to return her sweet smile, even offering a polite giggle to be sociable. “Oh, how you make me swoon, Hunnigan.”.
Ingrid flips through the folder, reviewing and making sure everything is where it’s supposed to be. You take this as an opportunity to lean against her desk, arms behind you, and lightly sit on the ledge.
“Looks good to me!” she closes the folder, “You’ll be happy to hear we have a case closed. We might even get some PTO if the higher-ups are feeling generous.” Ingrid tosses the folder onto her desk, turning to you.
“Pto? You don’t have another case lined up after this?” You look at her, puzzled. It’s very rare that you ever actually get a break. Hunnigan was one of the best f.o.s. Agents in the department, meaning she always had multiple cases open, and you, by proxy, don’t get time off either.
Ingrid shakes her head, “I know I’m just as shocked, but no, they pulled both of the field agents at the same time. I even double checked my calendar, thought I might’ve been going crazy - but sure enough, nothing else is lined up.,”.
You’re more shocked than anything, taking a moment to process her words. You slowly nod your head before too long. No cases mean your workload is reduced to making schedules and pouring coffee. It’s rather unfortunate that such mundane things excite you, though the sad fact of reality is that you could feel your mood shift. A small smile graces your lips, “So what you’re saying is I can have a four-day weekend?” You joke with Hunnigan, coyly laughing.
She returns your laugh, nodding her head. “Girl, you and me both, I worked my ass off for the president this case- the least he can do is grant me one Monday off.”.
Her words threw you off guard; you had no clue Hunnigan was working on a case involving the literal president. This just goes to show how little you’re told, though you make a mental note. It could be something to brag to Lauren (your very dear, and also slightly psychotic, best friend) about later, if you even got the time off to do so. “Well, if our delusions do come true, please let me know. I’ll get us brunch to celebrate surviving yet another field mission.” You joke, smiling sincerely at Ingrid.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she remarks, taking her glasses off to wipe them on her shirt. She looks over to her computer, reading the time, ‘ 12:05 am. ’ In sync, the two of you meet eyes.
You offer to end your banter first, “Well, I’m all set, right? I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, and let me know if our most benevolent leaders decide to give us our four-day weekend.” You push yourself off Hunnigan’s desk, starting towards the door. Ingrid nods her head and wishes you a good night. Soon enough, you’ve grabbed your purse and hastily flicked your office lights off. Closing and locking the door, all in one swift motion, and quickly making your way to the elevator to exit the building.
The elevator ride drags by, having to make its way up 5 different levels before reaching the ground floor. Luckily enough, the only people left in the entire office were just f.o.s., sparing you the multiple floor stops you had to sit through, making your way down in the morning. Eventually, the elevator dings, doors sliding open, to which you promptly exit. You rush to grab your pack of cigarettes out of the brown leather purse you own, your lighter and a stick in hand by the time you’re pushing yourself from the entrance doors and entering the parking lot. You’d told yourself a million times you’d cut down on your smoking, though the stress of your job made it damn near impossible. In a good week, you’d only go through one pack. Though in times like these, you’d finish 20 cigarettes in 3 days.
You click the unlock button on your key fob, making your car lights illuminate in the dark parking lot. You hop into your little sedan, immediately starting it and rolling down your window to ash your cigarette. You put your car in drive and finally make your way home. On your way home, plot the quickest way to get inside and into bed.
-
In a sick and most miserable twist of events, Friday came and went. And with that, the news that you would, in fact, not get Monday off. You spent your weekend chain-smoking, drinking half a bottle of cheap grocery store wine, and ironing your button-ups for the upcoming work week. You barely slept Sunday night, getting a whole whopping 5 hours of sleep. The coming morning, you threw on one of the said button-ups, and a pair of slacks with the same black heels you wore every day to work.
Finishing your cigarette from the drive to work, you quickly threw it on the ground outside the building before ashing it out with the bottom of your heel. You pushed your way into the foyer, turning to greet the receptionist with a half smile that read, ‘I’m too tired to be here, but I’ll pretend for the sake of formalities. ’.
Like every other morning, you make your way to the elevator and ride all the way down to the f.o.s. Department. You make your way to your office and set your things down on your desk. You throw yourself into your office chair and muster up the strength to look at today’s agenda. Before you get the chance to look through the notebook filled with sticky notes and reminders scribbled in a halfway cursive that implies you couldn’t actually be bothered with writing anything out, a knock on your door sounds before it clicks open. In comes Hunnigan, to your surprise, with a paper in hand.
“Good morning, beautiful,” she chirps, in an unusually good mood. “I have a meeting with higher-ups at 11, need you to attend with me so I have a backup set of notes,” she informs you, handing you the paper she held onto. You give a curt nod, and Ingrid exits, presumably to her own quarters.
You look down to read the specifics,
“MEETING WITH LIEUTENANT COLONEL Thompson REGARDING …..,,”
Almost all of the memo was redacted. Only the name Leon S. Kennedy, and Spain operations being uncensored.
“TIME: 11:00 am, PLACE: CONFERENCE ROOM 203A.”
The letter finished with a slew of signatures of individuals way above your pay grade. You make a mental note to leave your office in time to make the trek up to the 2nd floor and be on time.
You sigh, placing the paper onto your desk and turning your attention to the previously stated notebook. Opening it to the latest page, you scan for important memos you might’ve previously forgotten about. With more or less everything figured out for the day, you get up to make yourself some coffee….
-
The sound of your heels shuffling against the old carpet of the 2nd floor echoes, a binder bigger than your chest held tightly in your grasp. You were somewhat hurrying, given that you had checked your wristwatch, and it was already 11 am. Your punctuality wasn’t that particularly important, with Ingrid being the main dispatcher in this case, there wasn’t much you could contribute to this conference. It still didn’t look good on you to show up late, and of course, you knew you’d have to do the awkward shuffle of walking across a silent room while all other attendees’ eyes followed you to your seat. The thought of such being made you pick your pace up, just enough to where you quickly ended up seeing the door and window looking into the dimly lit conference room. You approached the door, letting off a steady knock onto the door before popping it open.
In the room was an oblong table dead set in the middle, with black rolling office chairs. Around it sat 3 different men, one at the head of the table closest to the door. The man seemed to be interrupted by you as you made your way inside the office. Quickly, you apologize, waving a hand up to everyone- giving that polite smile that never reached your eyes.
“Sorry, everyone, the elevator was busy on my trip up here…” You mumble out an excuse for your tardiness just loud enough so no one makes you repeat yourself.
The man at the head of the table nodded his head, “It’s alright, that damn elevator is always busy. Maybe take the stairs next time.” You presumed that to be the colonel, seeing as he was in a green military blazer decorated with many medals and patches you probably should know the meanings of, but don’t. To the left was a man in a plain black suit and tie, with short brown hair and rectangular glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. He seemed to also be sitting in this session to take notes, sheets of paper and various pens scattered in front of him.
To the colonel’s right was a younger man, adorned in a simple white button-up and black slacks. He had ash blonde hair and very dead eyes compared to his counterparts seated around him. That must’ve been the infamous Leon Kennedy, the man you spent 2 weeks losing sleep over. From the looks of it, though, he didn’t seem to be doing too well either. In a rather wicked sense, a small smile graced your lips. You definitely didn’t hate this man; he was doing his job, and you your own, but some part of you reveled in the fact that he was just as worn down as you were on those late nights.
To Kennedy’s left sat Hunnigan, and there beside her was where you took your seat. You shuffled around the table, pulling the chair out before trying your best to sit down in an elegant manner. Placing the binder in front of you, you direct your attention to the watch on your wrist. ‘ 11:08 am,’ it read. Yikes, you really needed to work on your time management skills.
Soon enough, the colonel continues his monologue, and Ingrid passes a sticky note to you.
“I need you to write down Thomason’s orders for our agenda moving forward after this case. P.S. Thank you for showing up,” Letters in a neat cursive read on the yellow note, a small smiley face dotted at the bottom. You look in her direction for a split second and nod your head, getting a pen ready and opening your binder to a planner tucked inside of it. Your fingers flipped through the pages until you found a blank one, and quickly you jotted down a header for today’s notes.
“With all that being said, Spain was an especially excellent feat for Mr. Kennedy. His bravery and dedication ensured the president’s daughter’s safety, and because of that, the B.S.A.A. wants to put him on reserve for a 6-week period. Meaning Mr. Kennedy will be reporting to the office until further deployment.” Thompson’s words echoed in the conference room, filling the silence and faint hum of the fluorescent lights hanging above you. Your eyes switched between the notes you were scribbling and the surrounding table, your eyes lay on someone for a second before flickering back to your binder to make it look like you were present in the moment. You intended to steal a glance at Leon following the colonel’s words, but when your gaze adjusted you were met with his own sad grey eyes locked with yours, and for a minute, you hesitate.
Soaking in his demeanor, his hair was lazily slicked back, and purple rings hung under his grey orbs. You notice the freshly shaven stubble already casting a shadow on his jawline, and damn, was it sharp. You couldn’t help but think he was sorta beautiful, in an objective, very obvious kind of manner. He’d probably be better suited as a model than whatever the hell he’s doing here at the B.S.A.A.. It was very apparent that he was staring back, and you weren’t sure if it was because you were looking in the first place - or if he was studying you as well. Either way, he kept a good poker face, and it was enough to make you feel you’d committed a sin for even glancing at him.
You look back down at your binder, a pit in your stomach forming. It was a sin that you looked, in all actuality. In your rule book, attraction was a feeling often unrequited on your end, so from a very young age, you’ve learned to hate yourself for such emotions. That and, in all seriousness, you usually were too busy with whatever work was torturing you with to take a moment and really notice the surrounding people in your life.
You suppose office crushes were a normal thing for a woman your age, though something about Leon makes you oh so adolescent in the way you felt. The kind of attraction that made you want to turn invisible so as not to be perceived, the others’ gaze much too intense. Yes, that’s exactly the way Leon made you feel — childish and giddy, like you’ve never known anything different. He was much too handsome, and you had decided you were much too meek to be in his field of vision.
You nervously start clicking your pen, a grounding technique to try your best to tune back into whatever Thompson was saying.
“My expectation, as well as our seniors, will be that Miss Hunnigan aids Leon in navigating civilian life for this period. Things like housing, transportation, and healthcare will be provided by the B.S.A.A., but Ingrid will direct Mr. Kennedy in work inquiries and other related issues.” Thompson finished, taking a moment to pause and meet Hunnigan’s eyes. She nods to him in understanding, and you quickly finish writing his words.
“Well, that’s all we needed to discuss. Thank you all for attending. I’ll check back in 3 weeks for an update on Leon’s condition.” Thompson wraps the meeting up, giving a curt nod to everyone in the room before standing from his chair. Everyone else, including you, follows in his suit. You gather your pens and binder into your arms, eyes directed at Hunnigan. She gives you a warm smile, and the two of you make your way to the door.
Soon, the sound of heels padding against the carpet of the hallway, “That was something,” Hunnigan half-way laughs, “Thompson talks way too much. For God’s sake, it sounded like he was giving a damn eulogy.”.
You laugh too loudly at her words, “Oh my god, I know. And the way he just stares at you when he’s talking to you?! Girl, I genuinely thought he was having stomach issues because what was that..,”. The two of you giggle, finding your way to the elevator.
“Yeah, but honestly, I knew I shouldn’t have expected a break. I should’ve known they’d want to give Leon a babysitter while he isn’t deployed.” Hunnigan comments, stepping into the metal box and pressing the button to y’all’s floor. You scrunch your eyebrows at her,
“Why’s that?” You ask quizzically,
“Having had to answer to his every beckon and call while he was in Spain, I’ve learned he’s somewhat of a horrifying man when he wants to be,” Hunnigan replies, “like. It’s honestly kinda scary what he gets done while he’s out in the field, and the man doesn’t even flinch. Obviously I can’t go into much detail, but girl, he’s one inconvenience away from going AWOL. I can just feel it.”.
You sit with her words for a moment, slightly troubled by them. So he’s hot and a psychopath. That makes you feel more conflicted about him than you already do, you were already a neurotic mess, adding another insane person to the mix didn’t seem to sit well with you.
it’s here you decide that this girlish crush on Leon will be sequestered. Not that you ever expected anything to turn out from it, it’s just you would rather not fight with your logic and morality every time his name is brought up.
You nod your head to her in response, and before you even realize it, the elevator doors open to your floor.