Chapter Text
The door flung open and Grace forgot to breathe.
Leon didn’t move to hug her, just stood there leaning against the frame. His lips twitched into a half-smile. "Now you're a sight for sore eyes."
"You're home." Astute observation, Grace. "I mean – you're back." Dressed as if he had just come back from the mission a moment ago, long-sleeved shirt streaked with what looked like mud, cargo pants and damp-looking socks.
He held open the door for her, and she walked – skipped – maybe kind of bounced – into his apartment, lifted up by the flutter in her stomach, and wheeled around to gaze up at him.
He wasn't kissing her. Why wasn't he kissing her?
She squinted up at him, noted that his eyes were a little heavy-hooded, hair messed up and a little greasy, and overall he looked a little –
Bedraggled, was the word she thought of.
A beat, and she realized that there was bed and drag in that word. And glad, if you mixed it up a bit.
Grace blinked. "Leon – are you okay?"
He gave a sigh – soft, almost defeated. "That bad, huh?" A slow shake of his head, a self-deprecating smile. "Don't worry. Not ready to drop dead just yet. Just a liiiittle tired."
She gave him a deeper, more searching look and noticed the rim to his eyes, dark like red eyeliner, and the bags beneath them, colored like bruises. "Rough mission?" He snorted. Rubbed a hand over his eyes, swept it through his hair. "Did you know that sleep deprivation of 24 hours causes impairment equivalent to 0.10% blood alcohol concentration? Explains why I've felt three sheets in the fucking wind for about three days on end. At least it wasn't that dangerous, almost no one died, and –"
Grace gulped. "Almost no one?"
A pause. "Yeah. No one you know, Grace." His face darkened, his crow's feet deepened. "It's, ah… fuck it. Later. We can talk about that later. I don't really like to talk about it. Not right after."
"O-of course," she hurried to say. "No worries."
She realized she was still standing in the foyer, with her backpack on her shoulders, and she bent down to place it on the floor in front of the cloth hanger.
That was when she got a whiff of an odor, sour, motor oil and sweat and something else she couldn't place, some kind of sharp tang.
The backpack slipped through her fingers and tumbled down the last few inches to the ground. There was a sharp, rhythmic chink of metal hitting plastic inside her bag, and for a moment, she worried he might be able to guess what was inside.
Heat singed her cheeks, and she shrugged off her leather jacket, took off her shoes, and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "You just got home, huh?"
"Just now. Apologies for the state of me. I'd offer you a hug, but I’m pretty sure this shirt is classified as a biohazard until it’s been through the wash."
She let out a laugh, suddenly dizzy with the fact that she was here, and he was here, and they were together, again. "I-I missed you."
She felt an electrical impulse pulse through her nerves, a sudden thrill – I really just said that – and raised her eyes to his, searching for his gaze.
His eyes latched onto hers straight away, never one to avoid the contact, and the intensity of it made it hard to breathe once more.
His face shifted, softening, lips twitching into a small, private smile and he said, "Okay, what the hell."
One step forward, two, and he was leaning in, and the smell – made her nose curl, lodged at the back of her throat like a physical thing, but her knees still softened and wobbled and her heart rate spiked when he pressed his lips against hers.
She surged up onto her tiptoes.
He gave a chuckle, and she felt a gust of breath from his nose. He pulled his hands on her shoulders, stopping her before she could lose balance, and drew back his head. "Missed you too, Grace."
Grace stared at his slow-blinking, dark-lashed eyes.
She licked her lips, trying to catch the last of his taste, and her stomach was contracting and fluttering, and he looked as beautiful and strong as the day she met him.
Which, admittedly, was only three months ago.
He broke the spell with a nod toward the living room. "Want something to drink?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess? Whatever – whatever you're having."
"That would be water," he said with a sigh. "Alcohol right now would knock me flat on my ass."
"Right. Water. Water is good." She followed him into the living room, and watched as he walked toward the kitchen, a limp in his step. "I-I'm surprised you're even walking," she said.
She'd meant it lightly, some kind of easy humor, but the look he threw her over his shoulder was serious. "Yeah. So am I."
Real smooth, Grace. She bit her lower lip, trying to consolidate the new information. She had spent the whole drive over to his place fantasizing about getting picked up and pressed up against a wall, his hot mouth on her jaw, rough hands pushing away her panties just to –
Pivot, Grace, pivot.
Here she was, at her – her – her new – Leon's apartment, and she was standing ineffectually in his foyer with a thwarted libido and failing at being of any kind of use for him.
She let her eyes trail around the living room instead.
Spotless as usual – the cleaning help must have come around just before he returned – but she noticed with a warm feeling in her chest that the half a dozen plants she'd brought over before he left on his mission were still alive and well. He had his jacket thrown over the couch, and the table looked cluttered with documents and guns and hip pouches.
Leon returned from the kitchen with the glass of water, and did a double-take upon seeing her from a distance. His eyes dropped to her sandals, swiveled up along her bare legs, across the knee-length, beige skirt, and the form-hugging, baby blue cardigan.
"Huh." His brows gave an appreciative hitch. "You look good in a skirt."
"T-t-thank you," she said. Feeling flustered, as if 'looking good' hadn't been the whole point, goodness. "I thought it would –" give you easy access "-- uhhh, be practical. Tonight."
He took a long draw from his glass of water. "Oh." Watchful. "Any particular plans?"
Well…
She had brought an entire duffel bag full of toys, in fact, in the cute backpack she'd left near the entrance: vibes and dildos and handcuffs and blindfolds and one of those sex dices that gave you different challenges on each side that she'd picked up on a whim at the sex shop, but –
"That's not – that's not really –"
She broke off, and looked at him. At his slow, measured blinks. The exhausted haze in his eyes, the wrinkles carving his skin deeper than she'd ever seen them. There was a tiny, almost imperceptible sway to his stance.
Her heart sank with sympathy. "Did you eat something?"
"Yeah," he said with a shrug, handing her the glass of water. "Stopped at a diner on the way back into town."
"Ah." She took a quick sip, quelling the heat in her cheeks. "I could – I could still whip something up for you, if you like. I mean I'm not – a great cook or anything, but I've been on my own for years so I can make a couple of dishes. Pasta. Steak – not the best, but I won't burn it or anything. Or how about just some meat and veggies in the wok –"
"Nah," he drawled. Another slow, heavy blink. "No more food. Just…"
"Just… sleep, huh?"
"Yeah," he said with so much longing that it made her chest ache. "But if I go to bed like this, we risk an outbreak of mutant bedbugs."
She snorted, the laugh automatic. For a split second, she thought that if he was still stitching jokes together, he couldn't be that far gone, but then she remembered that he had been joking while the black veins slithered beneath his skin and he coughed up blood, and the amusement died.
"If you're going to shower, can I… can I come with you?"
"I'm gonna be a while. Gotta scrub and all. Better to – better to just park it on the couch. I'll try to be quick enough that you don't fall asleep waiting for me."
"Okay, but, like…" She trailed off, gathering the courage to keep speaking. "I was thinking that – maybe – maybe I could join you… in the shower?"
A brief widening of his eyes was the only indication that he was surprised. "I'd consider it, but I’m just not sure I’m ready for that level of commitment, Grace. Letting you see me naked? It’s a big step."
"What?" She stared at him, mouth agape. "But I've already – you've literally had your –"
Then she saw the microscopic twitch at the edge of his lips. A lazy, graveyard-shift grin.
"You're – you're trolling me? What happened to being too tired to stand?"
"Teasing you gives me life," he said, a lazy grin on his face. "I'll still be doing it on my deathbed."
There was an undercurrent of something dark and sobering in that last sentence, and she thought, yeah, that could happen, sooner or later, but maybe very soon, any day, and she faltered, feeling her features drop.
"...Just kidding. Sorry, Grace." His eyes were drained of mirth now, dry with exhaustion. "Sometimes bad jokes are the only thing that keep me going. Long week. Y'know."
"Right." She took a deep, stabilizing breath. Then gave a resolute nod. "Right." She took strength from the word, used it as a rope to hoist herself up with. With a clink, put down her glass of water, put her hands on his shoulders, and pushed.
She'd pushed him before, once or twice. It had been like a butterfly against a steel pipe.
This time, he actually stumbled a little.
"Go get ready for bed, then. Take that freaking shower." Another push, gentler this time, aiming for the bathroom door. "Now."
Leon let himself be guided, his movements sluggish and heavy. Reaching behind himself to wrangle open the door, and in they went.
The bathroom was large and cavernous and the tiles returned the sound in echoes, as spotless and void of personality as a hotel room's.
Grace hovered by the door, suddenly unsure of her own bold invitation.
The sound of a belt buckle clinking broke the silence, followed by the dry rustle of fabric.
Grace glimpsed at him, stifling the urge to wring her hands.
The shirt came first, revealing an expanse of pale skin dotted with moles and streaked with dirt, carved by scratches, and –
Covered in scars. So many of them: a long one across his shoulder, thick as a finger, lines of scars along his back that looked like they came from a gigantic claw, and countless small ones – sunken and raised, fresh and mottled, pink and white.
She averted her eyes, suddenly self-conscious, and something stirred inside her. Then it hatched. And it took her a moment to recognize it but she did, and oh, oh, of course.
Hello, anxiety.
It was stupid. Unearned. And worst of all, immature, the one flaw that Leon likely wouldn't forgive, what would – maybe, conceivably, within-the-realm-of-possibilities-ly – nudge him toward looking for a girlfriend – womanfriend, whatever – his own age, not a little girl who got flustered by, of all things, a naked body in a non-sexual context.
Naked. Yepp. He'd taken off his pants, too, and he was looking at her over his shoulders. "You okay over there?"
Spoken plainly, no accusation, only a quiet sort of reservation, but it jostled Grace out of her reverie.
"Y-yeah," she said. "I'm – I'm joining you." She grasped the hem of her shirt. "Hold on."
"Take your time." He slid the shower door open – a sharp, metallic rattle that seemed to echo off every tile – and stepped inside. The frosted glass clicked shut behind him.
Grace shimmied her skirt down to her ankles, a motion which might have looked cute or even seductive if it hadn't caught on her ankles and nearly made her pitch face-forward into the vanity.
She fumbled with her bra, dropping it onto the lid of his laundry hamper, before hooking her thumbs under the silk of her panties. She paused there, the rhythmic hiss of the water starting up behind the glass.
She'd picked out those panties for the occasion, a silky red little number with a string between her buttocks, way too uncomfortable to wear for very long and chafing between her cheeks but she'd felt confident in them at home. Now he wouldn't even get to see it.
With a sigh, she shimmied out of them, painfully aware of the fact that she was now naked, heart rate picking up; a gentle pulse prodded against the tips of her fingers when they wrapped around the shower door.
She nudged it open, and saw Leon standing with his back toward her, already dappled with drops of water. He had his head tilted, and the stream from the shower head ran down along the long line of his neck over his shoulder and down along the sides of his body.
Something twitched in Grace's stomach. Fluttered. Rose up to her throat and lodged there, soft and lumpy.
The shower stall was more than big enough for two, but Leon moved to give her space anyway.
Her eyes skipped over his body, her heart a steady thump thump thump in her ears.
Maybe, she thought, maybe Leon hadn't been entirely joking. Earlier, with his comment about Grace seeing him naked in the shower, because, sure, she'd seen him – all of him – but only before, during and after sex, and never like this – never like –
No posing, no flexing, no strategically placed piece of clothing – and God, he'd looked so hot that one time he'd fucked her with his (mouth-wateringly tight) shirt still on, but that was beside the point, focus, Grace, focus – right now, he just looked…
Unpretentious. Raw.
Mottled scars and a variety of bruises in different shapes and colors and scratches and moles and splotchy red skin irritations here and there. Posture relaxed, his muscles for once not bulging beneath the skin. Limp cock wrinkled beneath soggy, sand-colored curls of hair.
She glanced down at her own body; she suffered from eczema occasionally, and she had a few scars of her own now, courtesy of various monstrosities, but next to him, she looked nearly unblemished. Almost entirely… new.
She watched as he lathered himself with soap, but couldn't reach the streak of dirt on his back, and she said, "Let me –" She broke off; the white noise of the shower had nearly drowned out her words. She tried again, louder: "Let me – help you."
He didn't turn around to nod, but she saw the movement even from behind him. His hair clung to his face, darker now, tendrils with shampoo bubbles for eyes. His skin glistened beneath the shower.
She took a washcloth, and stepped forward, into the water stream, and it was hot, fuck, almost scaldingly so, and she bit her tongue, fighting the urge to jump back –
That was when she saw that he had turned on the heat to nearly its maximum setting, and he reached for the handle, turning it down.
"Sorry," she said. Blinked, tore her eyes away, hoping he hadn't seen her look. "I'll get used to it."
"I'm not the only person in this shower anymore, Grace."
She bit down on her lip, whispered a 'thank you' that she wasn't sure he could even hear above the rush of the water.
She swept the washcloth over his shoulder, the movement slow and careful. Watched as the dirt came off, mingled with the water, ran down in rivulets across his body. A downward glance: soiled water streamed across the white tiles, rushing toward the drain.
Leon made a sound then – somewhere between a moan and a groan, pleasured, but not like when he fucked her. Softer, somehow.
Her stomach gave another flutter, and the air rushed out of her lungs. Her body began to relax against the water stream and she felt the water carve its warm path across her shoulders, stomach, and down her legs, where it mixed with the water coming from Leon's body.
She washed him in silence.
There was only the trickle of the water. The gurgle of the drain. An occasional sigh from Leon, the slide of wet skin. She wrung out the washcloth. The water looked almost transparent again, of only a very faint rusty color, like the bathwater that one time she'd bathed while on the last day of her period.
"Almost clean," she said.
"Thank you." He paused, hesitating, and she caught the glint of his eye across his shoulder. "I know this isn't… how you expected tonight to go."
She laughed, startled. It sounded too loud in the shower, reverberated endlessly, the jagged hitch of her voice. "I – no, not really." She cleared her throat. "But that was, that was dumb of me, of course you would be tired after – after a mission, I wasn't – I wasn't thinking."
"Not with your head, anyway."
"Leon!" She nearly dropped the washcloth.
He snorted, good-naturedly. "Ah-ah. Don't worry, Grace – this old man's very flattered." He looked into her eyes. "And if I wasn't too tired to stand up straight, you'd be up against that wall right now with your legs wrapped around my hips."
She inhaled, and nearly choked on a spray of water. Suppressed a cough.
"I just can't recommend it right now," he said. "You know." A vague, tired gesture. "Wobbly. Slippery."
"Right." Wobbly. Slippery, her mind echoed. "Of-of course."
A small grin, and he held his face into the stream, eyes closed, letting the water wash across him. He made a noise at the back of his throat, rubbed at his face. Spit out some water. "And you don't have to come over the same day I get back into town." They made eye contact now across his shoulder. "For future reference. Perfectly fine if you come over the next day, when I'm, you know. More human." A beat. "Comparatively."
And he looked handsome like this, dark hair matted against his head, drops of water pearling on his forehead, the tip of his nose. One drop dangled off of it, came loose and ran down along the cleft of his chin.
"N-no, this is okay, too," she said, and realized that she meant it. It felt like progress, to get to see the man behind the agent, to prove to herself and to him that she wasn't just here for the fun parts, but for all of him, as it should be because he was her –
Her boyfriend, wasn't he?
Yeah. Kind of.
But her mind snagged on the word, bounced back to it as if it were an underlined error message in her code editor. He was certainly no boy, but no one said 'manfriend' and what other words were there? 'Partner'? Maybe, but Leon had partners during missions… 'Companion'? That made her sound like either a golden retriever or a high-class prostitute.
'Lover'? Eh. Too French.
My man, she thought. A little heavy-handed perhaps, but it struck the right balance between somber and ardent, weighty and whimsical. It had the appropriate weight and texture for her feelings.
It's okay, I'm your girl, she would not, could not say, not yet.
So instead she blurted out, "I don't just like you for your dick, you know?"
Silence. Leon didn't even move as he processed the statement. Then, he snorted – a dry, genuine sound that vibrated in the small space.
"Good to know," he rasped, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and fatigue. "I'll let him know he's appreciated, but secondary."
"God, I'm so sorry," she groaned. "Forget I said that."
"You're cute," he said. His eyes darkened and dropped to her lips.
She licked them. Held her breath.
He kept his eyes fixed on her lips for one more stretch of a moment and then turned toward the door. "I'm done washing up. Take your time, I'll see you outside." He stepped out of the shower, heavy-footed.
And limping a little, leaving Grace alone in the sweltering heat of the shower.
She felt like dropping into a crouch and hiding her face. Her cheeks stung with mortification. Goddamn, Grace. 'I don't just like you for your dick'?
Scream.
Deep breaths, Grace. All was not lost; he'd said she was cute, at least, and he hadn't kicked her out yet, so perhaps she would be allowed to recover from this.
She quickly finished her own shower, keeping her hair dry because she wasn't in the mood for spending the rest of it with the frizz when she was already feeling self-conscious, and hurried out of the stall.
Leon was standing in front of the mirror, a towel wrapped around his hips, his back slightly hunched, squinting at himself. He gave her a glance through the mirror. "You can take the spare towel on the hanger."
"T-thanks." Goosebumps rose on her wet skin, and she snatched the towel off the hanger, drying herself quickly.
Leon brushed his teeth, his movements weary but methodical, running a script. His eyes looked dazed, miles away.
She had never seen Leon look anything less than fully present and operational within his environment; to see him look so absent stirred something in her chest she could not place.
Then the realization hit her. "Oh shit."
"What?" Leon swirled around, alert.
"Oh my God, I'm such an idiot." The absurdity made her giggle. "I brought – so much stuff but I didn't bring anything to wear for bed."
"Oh." The gears behind his eyes seemed to turn at half their normal speed. He lowered his toothbrush. "Wait."
And she did, awkwardly rubbing herself dry then clutching the towel to her chest as if it were her last possession in this world and dripping water onto the floor until Leon returned with a t-shirt and a pair of boxers.
She put on both and looked at herself in the mirror. The t-shirt was black and baggy with a simple, washed-out logo printed at the front, NI and another stylized N.
"...NIN?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said, distractedly, his eyes intently fixed on her now, looking significantly less tired than he had earlier.
She glanced at herself in the mirror; the shirt hung off of her like a sack, made her look shapeless and baggy. Like a little boy rather than a grown woman, she thought sourly. She had never been very well-endowed but now she looked like she had no boobs at all.
Leon kept looking at her.
"What?" she asked, running a hand through her hair.
"Nothing, it's just…" He shook his head to himself. "Nevermind."
"Come on," she prodded. Her throat felt dry. "Tell me."
His eyes ticked up to meet hers. "This shirt's really old. It's the smallest one I had. I wore it a lot… when I was… in the 90's."
"Oh." The fabric felt soft against her bare skin, broken down from a hundred, a thousand washes. When you were my age. "I see. W-well. Thank you for, ah. Letting me wear it."
"Oh God, Grace," he said, and took a long sigh. "Okay. Whatever. My tired is tired. Gonna brush my teeth. Hit the sack. You can stay up if you like. I got a couple of DVD's –"
"No, no, I'm coming to bed with you," she cut in. If that's okay, she thought, but did not say – they were a thing, that was her toothbrush in the cup over there, of course he would not refuse her. "I'll be – I'll let you sleep. Don't worry."
"Not worried in the least," he said, and gave her one more lingering look. "Come join me when you're done here."
She stared at herself in the mirror as she brushed her teeth, studying the way the old t-shirt hung off her forms, imagining what it would have looked like on Leon. She'd never seen photos of him from when he was young. What was he like? Was he anything like her, she wondered, anxious and clumsy and too in-her-head at all times, and –
Why is he even with you? a cruel voice called inside her. Maybe he'll get tired of you soon. Maybe he isn't even serious.
She accidentally swallowed some of the minty toothpaste, and coughed, cleaning out her mouth with fresh water.
Stop.
She splashed water into her face.
Stop.
He'd said they were exclusive. Clearly. A few days after the first time they'd had sex. It was all going a bit fast, yes, it had started fast, too – falling into bed together on their second 'date' before they'd even properly processed what they went through. She'd been so very anxious the days after, picking at her fingers until she saw blood, wondering if he would call her. Then he did, and invited her over. And invited her again after that.
Took her out to a nice restaurant next, looking dashing in a button-up the same grey-blue color as his eyes, and then screwed her senseless in his Porsche. They couldn't even wait until they got back.
And then, before he left on the mission, they'd talked about contraception, about possibly ditching the condoms whose smell and feel Grace found so off-putting, and then he'd said it – that he didn't mind being exclusive. That he wanted it, in fact.
He'd looked so sincere and the sun fell in through the clouds and Grace's mind erupted into white-hot bliss, and she didn't misinterpret that. She couldn't have.
Tonight's about him. She'd bring her insecurities to him another time. Not tonight, when he needed her to step up.
"We've got this," she told the mirror, rinsed her mouth, and padded toward Leon's bedroom, her legs a little wobbly.