Chapter Text
The black cat lies in the only pool of light of the gloomy alley. For now, she offers her belly to the sun, rolling on the warm concrete, but she stills when she sees Leon. Ear twitching, nostril flaring tentatively, she tilts her head to the side before eventually deciding there’s no threat at all. She rises to her paws, stretches, then purrs her way to his boot and rubs her nose on the canon of his sniper rifle.
He observes her for a couple of seconds. With a gentle push, he gets her off him, calmly, non-violently. He positions himself to the other end of the alley, where the light is shut off and black cats dislike to lay.
“Hunnigan.” he calls, and he watches from the corner of his eye the cat languidly trail back to her spot of sun.
“Copy.”
“I’m in position. How long until the convoy is here?”
“You should have approximately four minutes left. Harper is already positioned on the roofs, ready for any eventuality. But Leon, remember, this is only a protection detail and we are not in an active warzone at the moment.”
“You can never know in America.” he grunts back.
“Agent Kennedy, don't be-”
“-a smartass. Roger and out.”
The cat didn't stay for long after all. When he looks back, he has the time to spot the end of her tail swing behind a dumpster; and she's gone.
So he waits in the dark. It's not like he isn't used to stretching strings of time wasted with no other purpose than keeping safe the president himself. He runs all the possible scenarios over and over in his head, the different ways the convoy could get deported by an attack, or blown up, and he sees all the openings a sniper could have for an easy access to the president’s forehead. Helena’s up there, he recalls, eye stuck to the lens of her rifle, just as his finger presses against the safety of his. On the corner of Benford Street, the rest of the DSO should be mimicking his actions, operating in the dark for the day ceremonies to work through without a hitch.
“ ...although I longed to destroy it with a blow, I was yet withheld from so doing, partly by a memory of my former crime, but chiefly -- let me confess it at once -- by absolute dread of the beast. ”
The cat snarls. Leon aims for the head. His stomach is already lurching before he’s even realized who that is.
Because of course it’s her.
Who else could it be?
He quickly turns off his earpiece. She takes a couple of steps forward, heels sliding over the asphalt. Her face catches the ray of sun, highlighting the purring animal on her shoulder and this shade of dark red on her lips.
His entire body locks when she approaches slowly, disregarding the menacing barrel pointed at her with a jolt of the brow.
“ The Black Cat .” she hums. “You should know your classics.”
“I’m not into depressing stories.”
“Get over yourself. It’s romanticism.”
She lights him on fire in the worst ways possible, because it hurts to remember all the times she walks away when she inches to him. The cat slips from her grasp and snarls at Leon’s feet.
A manicured finger brushes against the barrel, toying with it with no intent of pushing it away. Leon is smart enough to recognize a phallic symbol when he sees it. Now’s the time to ask if he is strong enough to avoid being manipulated by it.
“Got some plans for the evening?” she does, voice coated with honey.
He slightly diverts his gun from her chest with a suspicious squint.
“You mean outside from keeping the head of this country away from the clutches of whoever you’re affiliated with now?”
As usual, she doesn’t lose countenance. Maybe this ethereal smirk of hers falters down just an inch. Maybe her hand falls back against her hip, her happiness thawed and thwarted by his coldness. In a world of maybes, they wouldn’t be where they are at the moment.
“The role of the attacker doesn’t suit you - you were always a bottom.” she flashes back before he can even realize that he broke her shell.
“Say what?”
“Listen,” she snaps, and he blinks before her sudden emotionalism. She’s ruptured eye contact with him ever so slightly, and there’s that very small crease between her brows that indicates her worry. Any other man could not read through the lines. Even now, Leon finds it difficult to. “Be careful.”
He snorts. “That’s it?”
The eyeroll she shoots him sends him high. “ No .” She takes in a breath. “Be careful and don’t die.”
“What, that’s your warning? You’re usually more colorful.”
“I don’t have that kinda time - barely can say hello to you today. But even though you’re capable, you do have extents. And I won’t be here every time you need someone to rescue you from getting your throat cut.”
He hears the trigger being pressed before he sees the flash of metal and she’s flying above his head a mere second later. There’s another glimpse of red, a brisk glance in his direction - then she disappears from his sight, leaving a turmoil of questions swimming around in his mind. Unfortunately, she is the only one who can water down this ignition. It’s odd, but it is, how she can flare him up while owning the key to his peace of mind.
But if Ada is here, it does mean trouble. He secures his grip on the rifle and calls in Hunnigan for the tripling of the guard.