Chapter Text
It was well known in all the facility that Professor’s Oliveira’s class was the best. Carlos knew he was well appreciated among the students. His easy-going nature and natural charm were part of the reasons most of them choose to learn Portuguese. But the reason they stay in his class was that he was a damn good teacher. When Jill Valentine had called him years ago to offer a job, he hadn’t quite plan to become a teacher and truth be told, he was actively partaking in most of the missions the BSAA sent Jill in. Teaching wasn’t part of his job description at first. It came naturally when the organization found itself with a very multilingual problem. Sure, most of the people working here knew English, but still, it seemed unfair and counter-productive to not implement language’s classes to improve communication inside the facilities and between the different branches. That’s how the language lessons were born. First in English, then in French, German, Spanish and Portuguese. The BSAA had had trouble funding their operations since the beginning, so employees had volunteer at teaching. And that’s how Carlos had win new responsibilities. No one could resist Jill Valentine pleading eyes.
It had been challenging at first. Thinking naively that managing a class would be like directing a team during a mission. He had been wrong. Authority might come naturally to him, dealing with a student was nothing like dealing with a soldier, even though those were the same people. Insecurity, learning struggles, laziness… He couldn’t deal with that with only a pep talk or a harsh stare. Because an offended student wasn’t learning anything. Carlos had developed new people skills during his time as a teacher. The first one being to never presume of anything about his students, no matter the confidence, the laugh or quick jabs. But…
But today this lesson was particularly hard to apply. Because today, and for the last three weeks, he was faced with the bored stare of one Agent Leon S. Kennedy, from D.S.O. Carlos knew he was now a consultant for the BSAA and could be found spending long periods of time roaming the facility, attending meetings after meetings, dragging his quiet self through corridors and offices. Carlos was present the moment Chris Redfield had jokingly offered him to take a Spanish class. The guy had smirk before answering in a butchered Spanish that he didn’t need it. His accent was shit. Chris Redfield had given him a smirk of his own before dropping the subject. But a few days later, Kennedy was sitting at the far back of his classroom, a brand-new textbook on his desk, and annoyance marring his features.
“What the hell are you doing here Kennedy ?” Carlos had inquired not too kindly. Tired blue eyes had met his, “Redfield’s orders” was the terse explanation he get.
“Those classes are not mandatory” Carlos had said, something impatient in his voice.
“Tell that to Redfield, he seems to be under the impression I really need to improve my language’s skills”. Kennedy’s voice was as even and expressionless as ever, and somehow, that rubbed Carlos the wrong way. Carlos knew of Agent Kennedy from D.S.O, hell, everybody in the business knew the guy. Deadly efficient on ground but a solo operative, not really a team player. Carlos grew up in a place where you couldn’t survive alone, he came from the streets of Belem, and the amazon and gold were running as his blood. People needed to rely on one another to make up for there country’s government’s failures. No one could survive alone. And Agent Kennedy wasn’t an exception, he just thought he was. The unapologetic individualism of America was probably the only thing he couldn’t stand, and D.S.O Operative Kennedy was the embodiment of it. Even here, in Europe, where he was met by Pauline at the front desk, when Martha greeted him in Italian at the cafeteria, when Karim spared with him in the gym, even there, Kennedy didn’t feel like learning a new language was something he needed to. He was used to other people going out of their way for him. That… and the fact that the guy had obviously mistaken Portuguese for Spanish had grated Carlos.
“Spanish class is in the next room”, he had grunted, annoyed by that awful display of ignorance. Kennedy had looked at him and his brows had furrowed slightly, confused.
“I know” he had answered before his features had returned to their naturally bored expression. Did Carlos rub Redfield the wrong way? Why the hell would he force Kennedy to take his class ? Fortunately, Carlos knew the guy would be back with D.S.O in a few weeks, two months at most, so he wouldn’t have to endure his presence any longer.
And this was how Carlos Oliveira found himself with the trying mission of teaching Portuguese to a guy that clearly would have prefer wiping the ass of a licker rather than sit in Carlos’ classroom. The feeling was mutual. Luckily, Portuguese class was only once week, but those two hours a week felt like an eternity.
“Is the lesson too boring for Agent Kennedy ?” Carlos called out, stopping his explanation on how to let the vowels mixt together to form a melodic “aõ” when he noticed Kennedy wasn’t trying to pronounce it nor even listening to him. He was doodling absently on his textbook, head resting on his hand and eyes emotionless. Those impassive eyes shot up abruptly to meet him when called out.
“I am…” but before he could finish, Carlos cut him of “Maybe you’re already an expert on pronunciation and that’s why you won’t grace us with your attention”. Carlos let his annoyance drip with sarcasm, but his voice stayed even as he stared at Kennedy. The guy didn’t answer back but Carlos saw the way his eyes widen a bit before he put his textbook aside and straightened himself. Everyone was silent in the room, not used to Carlos being scathing, but the volunteers he taught for were usually very enthusiastic and attentive during class so really, he rarely needed to be. Something had shifted in the air, something tense, and not for the first time in the last three weeks, Carlos was annoyed by the fact that Kennedy’s presence was to blame.
When Carlos asked the students to repeat after him, he kept a close eye on Kennedy, satisfied to see him whispering the words. He couldn’t hear his voice, drowned in the chorus of the others, but he was quite pleased with himself for succeeding in making D.S.O Agent Kennedy uncomfortable. For the remainder of the class, Kennedy’s eyes were hidden by his hair, only visible when he was talking in a butchered Portuguese with Gabriella, a fellow Portuguese speaking who really didn’t need the class but enjoyed talking her own language among the other. And that was also why Carlos enjoyed the teaching role, he always relished in the feeling of people connecting altogether around him. It gave him the sentiment to belong, and he was really delighted knowing people were connecting over his mother tongue. This class was refreshing, especially after a very strenuous mission or after a night of nightmare, a fact that clearly went over the American head of Leon S. Kennedy. The guy wasn’t even trying to improve his accent, and most of what Carlos heard could only be described as the sorry child of Spanish, English and Portuguese mixed together that everyone was ashamed of… That pissed him of somehow.
When Carlos dismissed his class, Kennedy was the first one to leave.