Field Exercise

"Well, it's official: you've finally lost it."

"Huh?"

"You, asking to tag along with somebody here today. S.T.A.R.S.? Seriously? You've barely been here six months. I know you're ambitious, but damn." Chris shook his head slowly.

Leon frowned down at his friend from his perch on the edge of Chris's desk. The S.T.A.R.S. office felt almost like a second home to the rookie; he'd need more than two hands to count how many evenings he'd stayed late, helping Chris with note-taking and filling out various forms, keeping the point man awake as they'd worked side by side and guzzled coffee that had a strength and flavor similar to jet fuel.

"Six and a half," Leon corrected. "And I'm not doing too bad." If Rebecca Chambers could get in at just eighteen, then nothing was impossible, in Leon's opinion. He'd done damn well in school and at the academy, and even though his main work here so far had consisted mostly of writing traffic tickets and walking fairly tame beats—all supervised, of course—his record was spotless. "I'm just saying it's not a totally crazy thing to think I could make it, someday. That's why I submitted the request. Irons signed off on it immediately."

Chris rolled his eyes as he lounged in his swivel chair, boots up on his desk. "Ride-alongs are for civilians and inspectors and people who think they might wanna become cops. You're already one of those."

"This isn't technically a ride-along," Leon argued, "and I'm not the first person to make the request. My FTO said she thinks it'd be good for me to see how other people operate."

"Or maybe she just got tired of babysitting and wants to start her weekend early."

"Can you just—" Leon's hand clenched the edge of the desk as he willed himself not to get angry. "This is important to me, okay? I've got to be proactive."

"Hubris," Chris said with an exaggerated sigh. "Pure hubris. Maybe this is some kind of karma."

"The hell does that mean?"

"Oh, you know, the fact that your playdate's with Wesker."

Leon grimaced, even as something swooped low in his stomach. "Yeah. I just about pissed myself when Harker told me." As surreptitiously as he could, the rookie turned his head and gave the closed door of the S.T.A.R.S. captain's office an apprehensive look. Wesker would probably stride out that door any minute, confident and commanding and tall and smart and handsome and—

Mercifully, Chris's voice slammed the brakes on that treacherous train of thought. "At least you know him, I guess. Kind of. Most people can't say that."

Kind of was the key, there. Leon knew Wesker the way a fish in a coral reef knew a shark was circling overhead. "I assumed I'd be going with you or Jill, or someone who isn't the leader of the whole damn unit."

Chris snorted. "Not fucking likely. Look." He gestured around the room, at how nearly every desk was occupied by S.T.A.R.S. members in varying states of consciousness. At that moment, Forest barged through the office door, laden with a couple cardboard trays of coffee; based on the cheers he received, you'd think the man had just turned water into wine. Chris accepted a cup, took a sip, and swore loudly when his tongue was scalded. Impatient. The point man scowled, then continued. "Cap's got us chained to our desks for the day—he even got Enrico to back him up, so there's no way we can leave. It's such bullshit. I didn't take this job to be a pencil pusher."

"Well, you have to push that pencil now, since the only other things you seem to like pushing are Wesker's buttons. I can't keep doing all your work for you."

"Not even if I say 'please'?"

Leon chuckled. "Nope." He looked down at his wristwatch, noting it was almost 2:30 already. Without even being conscious of his own movement, he looked around at Wesker's office door again. There was soft light seeping out from between the bottom and its frame. Was the captain really going to come out at the last minute?

"You're staring again."

Leon mentally berated himself and whipped his head back to see Chris giving him an unimpressed look. "Whoops."

"Nervous?"

"I dunno if that's the word I'd use," Leon replied. "Antsy, maybe."

"Same difference. You look like you're about to jump out of your skin." Chris twirled a pen between his fingers. "I know he seems kind of scary, at first—but his heart's in the right place. He might be tough, but he's fair."

In truth, the rookie was nervous about being alone with Wesker, and not just because of their difference in status. Over the past few months, the captain had to have noticed Leon's behavior around him—he wasn't stupid.

Hand to God, Leon had never realized he tended to act strangely around Wesker; it was only after Chris had pointed it out that Leon had felt like an absolute, unequivocal imbecile. Of course, his friend just thought Wesker made Leon feel incredibly intimidated—which wasn't inaccurate—but the point man hadn't seemed to have picked up on anything else. Sometimes it paid to have a buddy who was often a couple fries short of a Happy Meal. What do you think he's gonna do? Chris had once taunted. Bite you? Leon's only response had been to turn beet red.

"Okay, maybe I'm a little nervous," the rookie relented. "A teeny, tiny bit."

"Called it." Chris grinned, but the expression softened as he looked at his friend. "Look, maybe I can help out some. Here's a little warning, so you don't get off on the wrong foot: don't try to act all buddy-buddy with him, especially in the cruiser. That means no cracking jokes, no small talk, none of your usual stuff. He hates that shit. Just keep your mouth shut and focus on the assignment if you want to get on his good side—does he have a good side?" Chris muttered that last part to himself, sounding only half-joking.

Leon blinked slowly. Well, this sucked. He often talked to cover up his anxiety. "How big of a deal can it be?" he asked. "It's not big talk. And he's seen me around before—it's not like we're total strangers."

Granted, Wesker hadn't spoken to Leon, not once, only addressing Chris whenever he approached the both of them on those long nights to either drop something off or remind his point man of something on the next day's schedule. Leon might have seen the captain glance in his direction a handful of times; more likely than not, though, it'd just been a trick of the light glinting off Wesker's sunglasses.

None of these thoughts were doing anything to make Leon seem like a well-adjusted, level-headed professional. He refocused back on his friend, who was reacting to Leon's previous remark.

Chris held up his hands. "Hey, I'm just speaking from personal experience. If you wanna piss him off, go ahead and run your mouth. Not like I can stop you."

"Maybe he just hates talking to you," Leon teased.

The other man's eyebrows shot upward. "Fine. Your career, not mine. See how well it goes, Chatty Cathy—just don't come crying to me when he rakes your ass over the coals."

Chris had to be exaggerating, Leon figured. Who in their right mind would get so pissed off by an attempt to be friendly? "Uh-huh, sure," he replied. "So, what's taking the ray of sunshine so long, anyway?"

The other man's are-you-shitting-me expression was clear as day. "...He's in the parking garage. Where else would he be?"

"The what?" Why wasn't the S.T.A.R.S. captain in, you know, the S.T.A.R.S. office? Shit. Shit, Leon was going to be—

"You're gonna be late," Chris said helpfully.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier that he wasn't here?"

"I thought you knew. Figured you came up here for advice, or to say hi, or something."

"When have I ever just walked in here to shoot the breeze?"

Chris shrugged, then watched as Leon spun around, yanked open the office door, and bolted from the room so quickly that he nearly bowled Barry over as he was about to enter the office.

"You need to stop giving that kid so much caffeine," Leon heard the older man grumble, presumably to Chris, before the rookie had sprinted out of earshot.

Leon's stomach dropped when he saw the cruiser was already on, engine idling, headlights blazing in the dimness of the garage. He jogged forward, shaking the nerves from his fingertips as he caught sight of blond hair and sunglasses, a tall figure sitting ramrod straight in the driver's seat. Captain Wesker had an open manila folder in one hand, a sheet of paper in his other.

He must've been extremely focused on whatever he was reading, because as Leon opened the passenger's side front door, slid through the gap and into his seat, then buckled himself in, Wesker didn't look up once. Leon cleared his throat awkwardly in the silence. "I'm s—" he started.

"You're late."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

The captain didn't acknowledge the apology; instead, he placed the paper he was holding back in the folder, closed it, and slid it down to rest between his seat and the cruiser's center console—but not before the rookie saw Kennedy, Leon Scott on the folder's tab. He gulped.

"You've made a wonder of a first impression, already," said Wesker, tone neutral. He still hadn't even looked over at Leon. A grin twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Well, at least you seem to be punctual in making your traffic ticket quotas."

The younger man's face burned with shame even as a vague feeling of indignance crept over him. Three minutes. He'd only been three minutes late, for God's sake. Was Wesker really such a hardass? "I'll be on time from now on," he said.

The S.T.A.R.S. captain clicked his tongue. "If you're 'on time', you're late. Let's go." With that, Wesker put the car in drive and they made their way from the garage.

Since he'd gotten to the station in the early hours of the morning, Leon blinked so hard his eyes started to water as soon as blinding sunlight hit the cruiser. He grunted in discomfort and shielded his eyes with his hand until he could flip down his sun visor, and saw Wesker do the same on his side. The rookie squinted through the windshield, and was prepared to swear he could see little heat waves coming up off of the baking road in front of them. Jesus, they were more than halfway through October. This was ridiculous.

Leon chanced a glance over at the other man when he heard a small squeak of leather on leather, and noticed Wesker was white-knuckling the steering wheel.

The silence inside the cruiser was almost as oppressive as the heat outside of it. Thankfully, the captain spoke before Leon could say something potentially foolish. Wesker's voice was so low that the other man had to strain to hear over the noises the car was making. "There's been an armed robbery at Mountain View Credit Union on Linden," he said, without preamble. "Five injured, two dead, one teller and a civilian. The regular department is short-staffed, so I figured they could use some help. It's more routine work than what our division usually handles, but it isn't as if I could arrange criminals' schedules around our little jaunt."

"I—"

Wesker seemed determined not to let Leon get a word in edgewise, continuing on in that soft voice. "Think you can handle it? You should have a decent grasp on how we operate, considering the amount of Chris's work you do for him." He looked as if he were suppressing a smirk. "Such a good friend."

Leon frowned. Wesker had seen him in the S.T.A.R.S. office at least a dozen times. If he'd had a problem with the rookie being there, then he should've said something rather than being so passive aggressive about it. "Yes, Captain," said Leon, making sure not to let sarcasm seep into his tone. Wesker didn't respond, merely concentrating on the road.

The ride seemed unbearably long, even though Linden Avenue was no more than ten minutes from the R.P.D. Leon shifted in his seat as the man next to him didn't say a word, didn't turn on the radio, barely even moved as he drove; the only time Wesker made any motions that weren't his hands on the steering wheel or foot on the pedals, it was to reach up and pinch the bridge of his nose or rub briefly at his temple.

Leon had never been the biggest fan of silence. It made him feel small and, considering the fact that he was sitting next to one of the most powerful men at his place of employment—who was giving the rookie the silent treatment, no less—Leon had rarely felt smaller.

In a split-second decision, Leon threw both caution and Chris's advice to the wind. He turned to his left and shot the S.T.A.R.S. captain a little finger gun in an attempt to appear casual. Smooth. "So..." he started.

Wesker glanced over at him, expression severe, then turned his gaze back to the traffic. "Rookie," he said flatly, not even bothering to address Leon by name, "please shut the fuck up."

Leon's jaw snapped shut so quickly that his teeth made an audible clacking sound. With one simple reprimand, just like that, it was Leon's first day at the R.P.D. all over again. Well, at least Wesker had been polite whilst scolding him like a little kid. Leon really should've listened to Chris. His eyes shot back to staring at the street as his posture straightened automatically, embarrassment curling low in his gut. He'd fucked up royally. That was quick.

Leon didn't look to his left when he heard the captain release a long, low breath. Then, without taking his eyes from the road, Wesker's right hand darted over to the passenger side; Leon startled in confusion when a slender but strong hand brushed against the outside of his left thigh. "Wh—"

The captain ignored him, hand moving forward and feeling around until it found the handle to the glove compartment. It clicked open, and questing fingers searched inside until they closed around something that rattled. Leon peered into the compartment to see what the other man had grabbed. Oh. A bottle of naproxen.

"Headache," muttered Wesker, hand snapping the glove box closed and withdrawing to his side of the cruiser.

He waited until they hit a red light, then twisted the bottle open and shook two tablets into his palm. Leon tried not to ogle at the movement of Wesker's throat as he tossed the pills back and swallowed them dry, then Leon's gaze turned forward again to face the road. It was at that moment that the younger man put all the pieces together: the constant wearing of sunglasses, even indoors; the dim, warm lighting of the captain's office; the abnormally soft tone of voice; Wesker's mannerisms which were even more abrupt and curt on such an unseasonably hot, bright day. His eyes were super sensitive. Leon felt awful immediately when he realized his attempt at chatter had probably sounded and felt like a drill bit in the older man's eardrums.

"Sorry," Leon whispered. Wesker's only response was to tighten his grip on the steering wheel with his left hand, while his right tossed the bottle over to Leon. The younger man fumbled and almost dropped it, but managed to put it back where it belonged without incident.

Finally, the cruiser turned onto Linden, and the building was in view. Wesker hummed contemplatively at the sight of the shattered glass of the building's facade and the black tire marks skidding away from the entrance. "It looks like we'll have plenty to keep us busy." Leon nodded mutely, and Wesker rolled up to park against the curb. "Ready?" he asked, finally looking at the younger man.

"Yes, Captain." Wesker made a noise of acknowledgment and unbuckled his seatbelt. Then Leon cringed at himself when more words burst past his lips before he could stop them. "Again, I, uh, I'm really sorr—"

Wesker cut him off with a wave of his hand. "That's quite enough of that," he said shortly. He turned slightly, and the rookie could practically feel unseen, clinical eyes pinning him in his seat. "I'm going to say this, and I will only say it once. Are you listening?" Wesker's eyebrows raised as he waited for a response; Leon nodded his head slowly, nerves lighting up with anxiety. "You apologize far too much. It's childish, and grating, servile—and if you don't break the habit, then everyone at the station will use you as their doormat. Is that something you want?"

Don't make a joke about Wesker stepping on you. "No, sir," the younger man mumbled.

"Good answer." The older man's mouth became a firm, expectant slash. "You will give me results, not apologies."

The rookie's heart shot into his throat. "Yes, Captain."

"Good," Wesker repeated. Without another word, he opened his door and stepped from the cruiser.

Leon looked down at his hands in his lap, which had begun to tremble slightly. Calm. Calm. He could do this, he thought as he tried to steady his breathing.

"Kennedy."

Dammit, he'd taken too long to get out of the car. "Coming!" he called, unbuckling his seat belt and shoving his door open.

Helping Chris with reports and notes was one thing. Stepping onto an active crime scene where people had been senselessly killed, however, was another thing entirely. Leon did his best to block out the sound of a woman sobbing as she sat on the back of an ambulance, clutching a shock blanket that'd been draped over her shoulders while an EMT spoke to her quietly.

Thankfully, the bodies had been removed already, most members of the coroner's office having departed. While the crime scene had been secured, any and all witnesses had been evacuated to the pavement outside the building and were waiting to be interviewed. Leon's eyes swept over the scene as he walked forward, taking in just how many people were there. It was hot as hell—hopefully he could help these people get out of the sun as quickly as possible.

As he looked, Leon's eyes came to rest on a friendly face. Marvin was in discussion with someone who looked vaguely familiar to Leon, probably a detective from the east office. The lieutenant glanced up briefly, and his expression brightened as he spotted Leon and waved. The rookie returned the gesture.

Then Branagh's brow furrowed in surprise when his eyes landed on Leon's companion. Wesker? he mouthed. Leon nodded, clutching his clipboard a bit more tightly. Marvin's gaze raised skyward as he made a quick sign of the cross over his chest, but there was a twinkle of amusement in his eye as he looked back down to flash the rookie a teasing grin. Leon was just barely able to cover his laugh with a cough.

"Shall we?" said Wesker from just slightly ahead, his own clipboard dangling loosely from his hand as he walked towards the closest waiting witness, a young woman with wide eyes and a nervous posture. "I'll go first," said the captain to Leon. "Pay attention."

"Yessir."

The woman was staring at the sidewalk listlessly, but looked up when the two men approached her; she took in their uniforms, and her arms crossed even more tightly over her chest. When Wesker and Leon came to a stop in front of her, the older man treated the witness to an atypically soft smile.

"Excuse me, miss. My name is Captain Wesker, and this is Officer Kennedy. I am so sorry you had to see this, and I hate to keep you here," said Wesker, sotto voce. Leon's jaw almost dropped at the older man's change in demeanor. "I promise to keep this as brief as possible. Please, start at the beginning, from when you first entered the building. Try to remember as much as you can."

The woman looked up at Wesker, tension seeping from her frame and her expression suggesting she was completely starstruck. Relatable. "Oh," she said faintly, "okay. Um..."

As Wesker's clipboard came up and he began to scribble, first taking down the witness's personal information and then moving on to questions pertaining to the crime, Leon tried and failed to avoid staring at the other man, rather than paying attention to the woman he was interviewing. Wesker was...disarming. The captain still projected an aura of unruffled authority, but gone was the austere, standoffish manner to which Leon had become accustomed. Who would've thought Wesker could turn on the charm at the drop of a hat? The rookie also couldn't fail to notice the woman's arms had come up slightly to push up her breasts, emphasizing them as she spoke to Wesker. If Leon hadn't thought it was so funny, then he would've been embarrassed for her and the way the captain's focus on his notes hadn't wavered in the slightest.

Out of curiosity, Leon craned his head a bit to look over at the notes Wesker had been taking. The captain's penmanship was damn near illegible, looking like a doctor's written prescription, if said prescription were a page long. The rookie was a little surprised by that.

In no time at all, Wesker's line of questions was over, and he double-checked the witness's personal info in case she needed to be called in later for further interviewing. "I do believe that's everything," he said, still in that patient, accommodating tone.

"Are you sure?" the woman asked.

"I'm sure. You're free to go, miss. Thank you for your time."

"Don't mention it," she said with a smile. "You have my number. If you need anything—anything at all—just give me a ring."

A grin flashed over Wesker's face, as if he knew exactly what the witness was thinking. Again, Leon wanted to laugh. "Understood. Have a good evening." With that, the young woman turned away. She looked back over her shoulder once, clearly disappointed to see the captain had turned and was sizing up the next closest civilian. Leon waved cheekily at her; her face turned scarlet and she looked away, footsteps quickening.

The rookie's attention was pulled from her when Wesker spoke. Leon glanced over at him to see the older man motion with his chin to a stocky, brooding man in a rumpled suit who was clearly their next subject. "You take that one," the captain said. "I can already tell he's going to be a nuisance." And there was the Wesker Leon knew.

Right on cue, an irate bark of a voice was launched in their direction. "Hey, fuzz! A little help, over here! I've been standing around like an asshole waiting for somebody for a fuckin' hour!" Great. Leon exhaled slowly, squared his shoulders, and made his way over to the annoyed man who was mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. Wesker followed closely behind.

Now, Leon could understand why tempers would be high in situations such as this—but his interviewee was basically a caricature. The man seemed to have reached a boiling point, ranting about how he had missed a very important meeting because he'd just so happened to have seen the suspects run out of the building and peel away in their getaway car. His lucky day. "I've got a good memory, so no shit you'd want my help, but that's no reason to make me stand in a goddamn oven waitin' for you," he groused.

Leon just nodded politely and continued. He could feel Wesker's presence at his side as he watched from over the younger man's shoulder, more an observer than an active participant. Leon knew full well this was a test—and he'd be damned if he wouldn't pass with flying colors.

Through it all, there was one thing he hadn't failed to notice, though. Any time the witness started to act like he was about to get aggressive, spewing obscenities as he gesticulated wildly, the rookie saw from his left peripheral the way Wesker would lean towards Leon, just a bit, as if to provide moral support. At one point, the witness took a step forward. So did Wesker. The other man backed off instantly and his tone became a bit more subdued.

Finally, after jotting down details of the woman and man who'd fled the building, a description of the getaway car, and a partial plate number, Leon declared he had everything he needed at that point in time.

"You got all that? Good for you, champ. Now, can I go?"

"Yes, thanks," Leon replied. "We'll get in touch if we need any further information."

"Oh, sure," the other man deadpanned, "like I've got nothing better to do. Chrissakes."

It may have been his imagination, but the rookie thought he heard the witness mumbling something about donuts under his breath and definitely calling the other two men pigs as he stomped away. Brilliant. Wesker had gotten a pretty girl who'd shamelessly hit on him; Leon had gotten a Looney Tune. "What a peach," he muttered, pen digging into the paper with more force than was strictly necessary as he wrapped up his notes.

"That's the way it usually goes. We need another plague." The rookie chuckled to himself at Wesker's joke. He glanced over at the other man to see him tugging at his collar, a light sheen on his face and neck and arms. The heat was clearly getting to him—not surprising, considering Leon had only seen Wesker indoors before, and the captain seemed pale as a vampire and just as testy in the light of day. To be fair, his mood had seemed to improve somewhat since he'd taken those painkillers.

A couple hours later and the sun was already setting. Wesker and Leon were the last two authorities in front of the credit union—the rest of the officers had been called away as soon as word had come over dispatch of a hostage situation in a department store halfway across town, and the S.T.A.R.S. captain had volunteered the two of them to stay late and finish things up. Gotta love Raccoon City, thought Leon dourly.

It was dusk by the time the men had sent the last civilian on their way. Leon covered a yawn with his clipboard and then stretched his neck, which had gotten sore from looking down for so long.

"Tired?" Of course Wesker had noticed.

"A little." Leon yawned again, not bothering to hide it this time.

Wesker made a noncommittal noise. "It was a long day. Still, you managed your time well." Leon fiddled with his notes, making sure they were in order as he tried to ignore the flicker of warmth that'd flashed through him at the small bit of praise. "It's late, so we'll call it a day once we return to the station."

"Sounds good, Captain." Leon heard his stomach rumble and snorted to himself. The only thing he cared about right now was getting home and scarfing something down. He glanced over at Wesker and saw the older man stretching his arms upward, emphasizing the taught, corded muscles of his arms and shoulders as his head tilted back slightly. He grunted in satisfaction.

Leon looked away just as quickly, raking his hand through his hair. Maybe he'd have to add another activity to his evening plans.

"Coming?" Wesker asked, already at his door of the cruiser. Leon nodded, hurrying over to hop in.

At one point during the drive, the rookie felt eyes slide to rest on him, taking in the way Leon was staying carefully quiet in the car. Wesker eventually spoke. "Your silence is deafening. You aren't moping about what happened earlier, are you?"

"Not really—"

"Kennedy," the captain warned.

"I mean, you already confirmed I made a bad first impression, and then I made it worse by doing something I figured would be stupid." Wesker made a questioning noise, so Leon elaborated. "Chris told me you didn't like that kind of stuff, and I ignored him. It's my fault." He huffed out a sigh as he stared out the windshield.

Wesker seemed to understand exactly what Leon had meant. "Did he, now?" the older man mused, a grin in his voice. "I wasn't aware that I came with a warning label."

Hmm. Maybe that'd counted as ratting his friend out. Leon bit his lip.

"Still, it was a minor slip-up, considering we'd never worked together before. I hope I didn't scare you." Call Leon crazy, but there didn't seem to be a single note of sincerity in the other man's tone.

They arrived back at the R.P.D. shortly thereafter, Wesker pulling into the garage and parking smoothly. He kept the engine on for a few moments; Leon glanced over at the captain, at the way the fingers of his right hand were drumming the steering wheel idly as he remained silent, then the rookie looked down at the clipboards in his own lap. He wasn't exactly sure what he was supposed to do next, feeling for some reason that Wesker wasn't quite through with him.

When the older man finally turned the key and cut the engine, Leon unbuckled his seatbelt and then took hold of the clipboards, lifting them in the air slightly, like an offering, or an impetus. "All right, I'll just go drop these off upstairs. Goodn—"

"One moment, please." Leon stared at Wesker, watching him unbuckle his own seatbelt. To the younger man's surprise, he reached up to pluck his sunglasses from the bridge of his nose, folding and carefully placing them on the dashboard.

"Is...everything okay, sir?" Leon hedged.

Wesker turned to face him, and the rookie was again taken aback. He'd never actually seen the captain's eyes before. Leon felt almost unnerved by the paleness of them, flat and yet glinting, sharp as knife blades. The younger man suppressed an unnamed feeling in his gut as he felt Wesker's frigid eyes trail over his face, down his throat, chest, over his arms, down his legs. Was he looking for something? Leon's face was beginning to feel warm.

Whatever Wesker had been searching for, he'd apparently found it; the captain's nostrils flared slightly as he exhaled, and when he spoke, Leon nearly jumped. "Is everything 'okay', Leon?" he asked, timbre dripping with an implication the rookie couldn't hope to identify. His name. This was the first time Leon had heard his given name in that crisp, accented voice. Strange, how intimate it seemed, when most people already used it. The heat on his cheeks spread, blooming to cover his ears and trail down his neck.

"I think so." Leon forced his voice to remain steady. "I'm glad I got the opportunity to work with you, today—unexpected, but valuable. Thanks."

Wesker hummed good-naturedly. "Marini usually takes care of these assignments—I have too much to do."

Leon's brow scrunched. "So why did you get assigned this one?"

"I didn't," replied Wesker simply. "I requested it."

"...Oh," said Leon eloquently. "Why—uh—why?" Truly, he had the soul of a poet.

The older man just smiled at him. "Officer Kennedy, are you really asking me that?"

The cruiser's interior temperature seemed to have jumped by ten degrees; Leon felt a bead of sweat roll down his nape. "Yeah, I'm asking you that. Sir."

The rookie had never heard Wesker's laugh before: low, trilling, balancing on a dagger's tip between pleasant and derisive. "I'm not a moron," he said lightly. He was having fun watching Leon squirm, the younger man realized. "There have been far too many times that I've caught your doe-eyed stares whenever you see me around the station, not just in the S.T.A.R.S. office. I'm sure I'm not the only one to have noticed. Make no mistake, I am flattered, but you may want to be more careful of when and where you let your eyes wander."

"I-I—" Leon stammered.

Wesker continued, calm as could be. "You blush, you know," he added. "Not everyone does, but yours is ridiculously obvious. Furthermore, whenever you're in the office, you always sit with a direct view of my door. You freeze like a startled deer whenever I approach you and Chris. Tell me, Leon: do I frighten you?" Each of the captain's pointed observations was like a needle pressing against the back of Leon's neck, the pressure threatening to pop him like a pathetic little balloon animal. Wesker didn't wait for an answer—his smile just morphed slightly, slyly, the expression almost conspiratorial. "Is this a schoolboy crush, or is it something more to you?"

Leon was still speechless; all he could think to do was shake his head, eyes huge, thoughts somehow dragging through mud and flying at Mach 3 all at once.

Wesker watched the movement, lips pursed at the non-answer. "Regardless, you are distracting the both of us."

Us?

"I figure it may be best to get this out of your system—satisfy your curiosity—so you can focus more on yourself and your career rather than mooning after me. What do you think?"

God. God. This had all started because Leon had wanted to get noticed. Well, he was getting noticed, all right. He just hadn't thought it'd be like this. He looked down at the way Wesker's hand had gone from gripping the wheel to resting atop the center console, close but unfathomably distant. The hand shifted closer, just a bit, and Leon swallowed. He looked back up at Wesker, and an almost unsettling wave of heat rolled through the rookie's frame. He focused on pale, thin lips as they got caught somewhere between a frown and a pout.

Wesker leaned forward slightly. "Is this not what you wanted? Don't lie to me, Leon," he said when the younger man opened his mouth to respond. Wesker's bare eyes burned like dry ice as his good humor evaporated. "Never lie to me."

"Y—yes, sir," Leon stammered, heart beginning to go from pounding to positively jackrabbiting.

"Yes, you agree to be honest, or yes, this is something you want?"

"I, uh...both." That last part was a whisper, but it still seemed to almost slice through the subaural echo in which the cruiser's cabin had been nested.

Wesker's head tilted fractionally. "As I expected," he replied, voice and expression giving absolutely nothing away. "But first, do you have any questions for me?"

Leon's brow furrowed. Questions? Like what? On a scale of one to ten, how stupid was this? Why now? Why Leon? Had Wesker done this kind of thing before? His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and, despite the bewilderment with which his brain was bombarding him, he felt himself shake his head again.

Wesker's eyes narrowed, as if he could see the pistons chugging in the rookie's mind. "Very well, then one last reminder: you can leave, right now, and we won't speak a word of this ever again. Do you understand?"

"Y—yeah." The older man's words drove home the gravity of the situation in Leon's mind, forced him to do his best to look objectively at what was currently happening and what might happen after it. This was more than a lot—it was way too much. Way too soon. Wesker was his fucking superior officer, Leon thought frantically, and these weren't the pages from one of the harlequin romance novels his mom liked to stash under her bed.

"And?" Wesker drawled.

Leon then made what was either one of the best decisions of his life or an enormous mistake, and again met Wesker's moon pale eyes with his own. They were haunting, ghostly, and knowing, as if the gray-blue were imbued with some odd sort of prescience. He'd known what Leon would say before he even said it.

Fuck objectivity.

"Yes," the younger man breathed.

Wesker must've noticed the way Leon's gaze had darted over the man's crisp uniform and the S.T.A.R.S. insignia on the sleeve as his brain had been running a mile a minute, because the older man lifted his chin slightly as he lofted a brow. "Yes...?" he prompted.

Leon swallowed. "Yes, Captain." God, he was an open book, he thought as he saw a self-satisfied little smirk crawl over Wesker's face. How embarrassing. He felt another flush start to creep into his cheeks, and blinked in cautious disbelief when the older man brought up his right hand slowly, reaching for Leon's face; it stayed there, suspended in the air between them until Leon took the hint and leaned forward, the brush of warm skin and leather touching his cheek.

"That's it, Leon," Wesker murmured. "Let me look at you." The younger man wasn't sure whether the shudder that tripped up his spine was one of fear or pleasure as his chin was taken in a firm but careful grip, his head maneuvered from side to side. His mouth parted on a shaky exhale when Wesker's thumb pressed down on his bottom lip, opening his jaw a bit wider. Weird. This was weird. Was Leon being admired or appraised? Was he a particularly pretty bauble in a curio shop, or a piece of meat at the market?

The rush of Leon's blood was roaring in his ears as he felt the older man's hand move to cup his cheek again, and Wesker flashed the rookie a small, encouraging smile. ThisisstupidI'msostupidwhatdidIjustsignupfor—

All those thoughts of impracticality and irrationality came to a screeching halt when Captain Wesker finally leaned across the center console towards Leon and sealed his mouth over his.