Chapter Text
It’s a bleary, disgusting morning when Leon drags his sorry ass into Third Eye Grind, hoping for salvation.
He’s greeted with a long ass line, led by a duo of old ladies, reading the entire menu out loud to each other, making comments on each item. The woman behind the counter must have the patience of a saint, since she’s currently offering suggestions instead of calling the nursery home to come round up their escapees.
“How about the cafe au lait, Ruth? You said you didn’t want a lot of caffeine this morning.”
“Well alright, I’ll try it.”
“And your usual, Imogene?” You say cheerfully, although Leon has clocked the twitch in your brow.
“Yes please, dear.”
“That’ll be $7.65 for the both of you.”
“Hmm, I remember it being $7.05 last week.”
“That’s because you got a drip coffee last week.”
“If you say so, dearie.” Imogene counts out some wrinkled singles and places them on the counter. You hand back the change and seem to let out a breath when the duo totters to a table in the corner. The rest of the line moves pretty quickly after that, fellow commuters like himself who have memorized their ordered and have their method of payment ready ahead of time.
“Hi, welcome in!” Your bright voice shakes him out of his sleep deprived stupor.
“Morning. Can I get a triple-shot Americano to go?”
“Sure thing. Will that be all?” He’s about to say yes when his eyes glance down to the baked goods display.
“Oh, those just came out of the oven. Apricot scones, you want one?” They do smell good, the scent of cinnamon was making his mouth water.
“Yeah, I think I will.”
“Alright, that’ll be $6.75 sir.” You swiped your card and handed it back with a smile. He noticed belatedly that you had a smudge of flour on your forehead.
“Oh, you’ve got a little-” He gestures up at his own forehead. You giggle and wipe a hand across your brow. “Yeah that happens a lot. Thank you-?” You trail off, waiting for him to fill in the blank.
“Uh, Leon.”
“Well thanks, Leon. Your americano and scone will be ready for you in a second.” You smile at him again. You sure do that a lot. Maybe that’s why you usually work the register and bar instead of the sullen older woman who owns the place.
He doesn’t normally watch as his drink is being made, usually opting to scroll through a couple emails on his work phone while he waits, but today he watches as you fly through making a round of drinks, tamping down the ground espresso, pulling shots, and steaming pitchers of milk. Imogene gets some sort of super mocha caramel macchiato on ice and Ruth gets a cafe au lait that she frowns at over her spectacles, but drinks it nonetheless. Double shot espresso, decaf latte, iced mocha, and then a triple shot americano with an unassuming paper bag next to it. “Leon” is scribbled on the cup in a girlish script, which is somehow charming.
“Thanks.” He smiles at you while you’re in the middle of making another latte, and you beam back.
“Have a good one!”
It most certainly is not a good one. The NYC branch is visiting for whatever reason, and Leon feels like death warmed over when he stumbles home at 10:32 pm after four meetings and a business dinner complete with copious drinking by several members. He dropped off a heavily inebriated coworker off at his house, much to his husbands disdain, but gratitude for his spouse’s safe delivery.
The only bright spot was the scone he bought on a whim from you that morning. He wolfed it down between meetings, regretting not savoring it more but could hardly spare the time. He noted the cinnamon he had smelled earlier, with small chunks of dried apricot creating a combo that had him wishing he bought several. He didn’t really go for sweets or baked goods, it never seemed practical when field work demanded a lack of excess body fat or high cholesterol that could increase his liability. Besides, he never had much of a sweet tooth to begin with.
He fumbled his way around his lackluster kitchen, not even bothering to turn on the lights. He filled a large glass of water, downed it, then dutifully shucked off his suit before collapsing face first into bed.
4:11 AM
You fumbled with the keys to unlock the back entrance to Third Eye Grind, the chilly morning air helping you wake up. After three years of the morning shift, you’d think this schedule wouldn’t leave you still so tired, but alas. The lock opened with a satisfying snick and you pushed your way inside.
You hung your coat and bag on the hook in the office, and stuffed your hat in one of your coat pockets. You scribbled your name on the clipboard for clocking in, even though your aunt knows exactly when you show up every Tuesday through Saturday.
You tied your apron on in a flash and washed your hands before flicking on the espresso machine, a faithful old Simonelli. You made a double shot americano with sugar and cream on autopilot before you preheated the oven in the back kitchen. There’s only time to savor the smooth espresso for a moment before you have to whip together the ingredients for cinnamon rolls. The dough has to be proofed for 45 minutes so they always go first.
While the dough ferments you can worry about the lemon scones and coffee cake. You loved to switch out the flavors depending on the day, but the coffee cake is your aunt’s recipe and you always make it exactly to her instructions. The last time you tried to deviate, she cracked her wooden spatula over your knuckles.
You put on your morning playlist somewhere in the midst of your baking, mostly inoffensive soft jazz. While you took the last of the muffins out of the oven your aunt arrived to open the front of house for you. You heard her clank around the front, grinding beans for drip coffee and opening the register.
The bills are recounted as you stocked the pastry display and greet your aunt good morning. She hummed at the lemon scones you put out, as close to approval as you’re going to get. You added a pinch of lemon zest to the top after the light icing, which you thought looked rather cute. She snatched one of the misshapen ones before disappearing into the back office, likely to work on payroll and listen to the news. At 6 o'clock sharp you flipped the sign around and quickly make yourself eat a cinnamon roll, still warm from the oven, before the commuters come trudging in.
Your regulars appear like clockwork, Rahim already wearing his hospital ID badge around his neck, ordering two lattes to go, one with almond milk. Then Cheryl, for her decaf cappuccino with sugar free vanilla. Then other regulars you don’t know the names of yet, then Imogene and Ruth with their daily nonsense, then Teddy with his hot Earl Grey (seriously, why pay 2.25 for a tea bag you can get for 5¢??) then more faces you don’t know. And then, like clockwork, the man in the crisp suit at 6:42 AM. Leon, as you learned yesterday. Handsome as ever, but noticeably more exhausted than usual. The dark circles around his eyes were worse than when you first started getting used to opening shifts.
“Morning, Leon.” He looked slightly startled to hear his name from a stranger's lips so early in the day.
“Morning, um-” He looks down at your name tag. “Y/N?”
“What can I get you? Other than your usual americano, that is.”
“Oh, I meant to say that the scone from yesterday was really good. Do you have more?” He looks nonchalant but you can see the hint of hopefulness in his steel blue eyes.
“I’m sorry, no. I made a different flavor today though, do you like lemon?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll try it. If it’s anything like the apricot one, I’m sure I’ll like it.” You hear a lot of praise for your baking and you try to not let it go to your head but when Leon praises you, you feel the blood rushing to your cheeks.
“Uhm sure, of course! It’ll be $6.75.” You take his offered card and swipe it before handing it back. “It’ll be out in just a second.”
“Alright, thanks.” You nod lamely, before moving to the espresso grinder on autopilot. You try not to spy on him as he waits patiently with a couple others, and ultimately fail. His suit is tailored in all the right places, and his broad shoulders have no trouble filling out the blazer jacket. You’re thinking about broad shoulders and trapezius muscles when you flinch and swallow a yelp, having lost focus and grazed the metal wand while steaming milk. It’s a common occupational hazard, but damn it hurts. His eyes snap over to yours, noticing your pained expression. You flush bright red for a second time that morning and put your head down, willing yourself to keep your eyes on the bar and do your damn job.
You place his coffee and paper bag on the counter and wave at him. He smiles at you as he picks up his order and raises the cup in a salute as he heads out the door.
“Have a good day, Y/N.” You nod lamely, only realizing he can’t see you when the door swings shut.
7:26 PM
Leon is off work at a reasonable time for once but upon having opened his fridge, he realizes that he is a pathetic 33 year old man who doesn’t even keep a proper stock of instant or frozen food. He scowls and debates ordering out but instead swallows his pride. The grocery store is two minutes away from his house and he could even walk there if he wanted to. The suit is replaced with jeans, a t-shirt, and trusty old jacket. Leon knows his embarrassment about food shopping as a terminal bachelor is mostly his own fabrication and it’s unlikely anyone else cares, but still. He mentally rehearses what he needs; a healthy supply of frozen dinners, more whiskey, and preworkout powder.
The grocery store doors do their signature ding when a customer enters the store, and Leon snatches a basket before he makes for the frozen section.
He’s perusing the (awful) options when he hears a yelp from the next aisle and the sound of a body hitting the linoleum. His whole body tenses and he’s around the corner in a heartbeat, his mind screeching ahead to think of the worst possible scenario. A zombie biting off the head of a Racoon City resident. A twisting, screeching Lovecraftian monster erupting out of the shoulders of an unfortunate villager.
His hand automatically goes to his side, where nothing is holstered and he swears immediately. He’ll find something to use, he always does. A fire extinguisher works great as a backup tool.
While he’s thinking of where the store keeps theirs, he finally takes in the scene.
A young woman is sprawled in a pool of… milk? He blinks.
“Ugh…” The woman slowly sits up, dripping more liquid on the floor. She’s holding her head gingerly where it cracked against the floor. He catches a glimpse of the face and is floored.
“Y/N?” You slowly turn your head to see him staring down at you, recognition flickering in your eyes.
“Oh shit, Leon?” You say slowly, as if in slow motion. Fuck, that’s not good.
“Ma’am, are you alright?” A harried looking employee is on the scene now, taking in your semi prone form and the giant spill.
“You hit your head, right?” Leon says to you, as gently as possible. He didn’t want to alarm you, but odds were good you had a concussion. The worker paled. “Oh god, is she concussed?” The poor kid looked to be barely out of high school.
“Hey, look at me for a second, will you?” Leon says softly, and you turn your head to him, still looking very, very dazed.
“Are you feeling dizzy at all? Any ringing in your ears?”
“The room is spinning so fast right now. Please make it stop.” You say very seriously, then wince when you try to put weight on your hand to stand up. “Ouch. My wrist.” Leon grabs his phone out of his back pocket and turns the torch on. Waving it in front of your right and left eye, he notices your pupils barely dilate.
“Definitely concussed.” He says to the worker before he turns to you. “Did you land on your wrist? You might have a sprain.” You nod slowly. “I’ll drive you to the hospital, is that okay?” He has all the authority the government can give him to drive 50 miles over the speed limit if he deems it necessary. You nod.
“Alright, could you give me your keys? I’ll drive your car if that’s alright with you.” You shake your head. “No car. Bike.”
“Then my car it is.” He helps you to your feet and guides to his car outside. He gently ushers you into the passenger seat and buckles the seatbelt.
“Don’t throw up on the leather, princess.” He says jokingly but you just scowl before groaning, holding your head in your hands. He gets behind the wheel and gingerly pulls out of the lot.
It’s normally a 12 minute ride to the ER, but Leon makes it in 7, a government plate being all he needs to fly by a state trooper going 60 in a 30 without getting pulled over. You still end up vomiting but thankfully do it in the waiting room trash can.
You’re taken to the back swiftly upon arrival and your immediate relations are contacted. A nurse informs him that your aunt is on her way. He sinks down in a crappy plastic chair and waits. He realizes he could leave but it feels wrong, especially when he realizes why it’s just your aunt coming and not anyone else.
The aunt arrives in 15 minutes, her usual unflappable demeanor is firmly in place but Leon can see the anxiety in the set of her shoulders. The nurse gestures over to him when she debriefs your aunt. She can’t go to the back with you just yet as you’re currently in the middle of a MRI, so she sits in the chair next to Leon and puts her head in her hands for a long moment.
“Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.” Leon gets up, figuring he should leave the two of you be. He does give your aunt his cell number, in case either of you need anything. He gets in his car and starts the drive home before realizing halfway there that his fridge is still empty. He groans and pulls into the nearest fast food chain drive thru.
6:42 AM
Third Eye Grind is as busy as usual when Leon stops in, although you’re nowhere in sight. Your aunt and another barista he doesn’t know are working the floor. Leon hopes you’re home from the hospital and resting up.
When it’s his turn in line he asks how you’re holding up. Your aunt sighs.
“They’re holding her overnight for observation, I’ll be picking her up in two hours when the 12 hour window has passed.”
“She’ll be alright, won’t she?”
“It’s hard to tell with these things, but she’s a strong girl. Now enough of that, what can I get you?”
“Just a triple shot Americano.” He’s sliding his card out of his wallet when your aunt interrupts.
“You’re all set. It’ll be out in a sec.” He pauses. “Are you sure?”
She gives him a stern look. “I’m always sure. That girl is all I’ve got, you know.” Leon nods, even though he has no idea what it’s like to have anyone, period.
Imogene totters in right after the other barista hands him his drink, her friend in tow.
“Oh, it’s you Bethany! Where’s that little niece of yours this morning?”
“She’s just not feeling well today, she’ll be back soon.” Leon hears your aunt reply as he heads out the door.
Soon turns out to be the rest of the week, so it's a grand total of 5 days before he sees your face again. And what a grand four days it was, having to attend a last minute summit in DC on Friday, and spending his Saturday catching up on work he missed on Friday. Sunday at least, proved fruitful, with a lazy morning in and a long gym session. He wished that your aunt would have texted him, even just to say you were alright and not a victim of severe brain trauma or a fractured arm.
But anxieties notwithstanding, he walked into the shop Tuesday morning to see your face smiling at another customer from behind the register and a brace on your forearm. When he sees you notice him, your cheeks immediately flush with embarrassment.
“Good morning…” You avoid looking him in the eyes. “I’m really sorry about last week.”
“Why would you be sorry? It was an accident. Are you feeling better?”
“It was so dumb, someone must have spilled at least a gallon of milk on the floor and I didn’t see it. I should have paid better attention and you wouldn’t have had to bring me to the ER.” You mumble.
“One time at work, I stapled my finger right before a meeting with my chief, if it makes you feel better.” A laugh eeks out of you in surprise of the sudden confession and Leon gets a flash of dimples. He fights the urge to smile at you like an idiot.
“Um, I guess it does, a little. That’s a good way to get out of a meeting though.” You smile before you notice the line forming up again behind him.
“Oops! Do you want your usual?” He nods, before pointing at one of the pastries in the case. “And a muffin, if you’re the one who made them.” He’s treated to you blushing again, as you duck down to grab one from the case.
“I did, even with this brace on. Cranberry walnut, if you’re okay with that.”
“Sounds perfect.” You smile at him and wave him off when he tries to pay. You mock whisper to him.
“Aunt Beth says we’re not allowed to take money from you for the next year, or we’ll get locked in the walk in freezer.” Leon grinned.
“Well I wouldn’t want to be responsible for that.” You laugh, but as soon as you turn away to pull the shots for his drink, he stuffs a five into the tip jar.
The muffin, of course, is incredible.
Another week goes by of this usual routine. Get up, workout, shower, get dressed, stop by the coffee shop, go to work. Drag his ass home at 9-10PM. The work is never ending and his superiors are hinting about a field mission in Indonesia, of all places. Lovely. Another biomedical engineering company with rumors of human experimentation being done behind the scenes, with locals missing in increasing numbers. The homeless, prostitutes, and other members of the lowest class with no one looking for them. Leon isn’t naive to think the US government cares either, but they aren’t looking to have a repeat of Umbrella on a landmass with US military bases and missile silos.
The dark circles under his eyes are only getting worse and he’s been getting a constant low headache behind his eyes. It also didn’t help that he must have pulled a muscle during a workout because his shoulders are aching something fierce.
Worst of all, people are starting to notice. Claire calls him to catch up one evening while he’s leaving the office and hears it in his voice, somehow. She, being a busybody, tells Chris and Jill who call him via FaceTime the following night. His stomach twists just thinking about it. They just had their second kid and the guilt eats at him, seeing their tired but admittedly happy faces. He doesn’t want them to worry, ever. They have more than enough on their plate and have done the world enough favors to have to worry over nothing.
You notice too, frowning at him when you think he’s not paying attention, and adding an extra pastry to his morning order unprompted. He’s grateful though, as he realizes at 7PM he never had lunch and finds the bag on his passenger car seat.
Two days before he has to catch a red eye to Jakarta he walks into Third Eye to see you excitedly wave him in with a bare left arm.
“Finally free, huh?” He manages a grin at your ecstatic face.
“As of yesterday afternoon!” You’re beaming at him and he feels the urge to lean over the counter and hug you to him. You probably smell like sugar and espresso grinds.
“I’m glad to hear it.” You then see your favorite regular rub his shoulder absentmindedly and fight off a wince. You slot that detail into the signs of extreme stress that have been piling up and make a foolhardy decision to be invasive towards your favorite regular.
“Leon, are you alright?” He pauses his perusal of the pastry case.
“Yes, why?”
“You seem a little weighed down these days. And it looks like you injured yourself somehow.”
“Oh, just overdid it at the gym, I think.” You raise an eyebrow.
“…And I might have a work trip coming up.” You nod. Time to lie your face off.
“We had a graduation party we catered yesterday evening, and I accidentally made an extra lasagna. Do you want it?” You say in spectacular word vomit fashion. Leon pauses again and looks spectacularly confused.
“I mean, I would totally eat it but I’m super allergic to tomatoes and Aunt Beth doesn’t meat so…” You most certainly aren’t allergic to tomatoes but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Well only if it’s no trouble?” He says hesitantly.
“Oh great! I can drop it off for you later?” You say hopefully.
“Are you sure?” You nod your head quickly and pass him a pen and your memo pad. “Just jot down your address real quick and I’ll bring it by this evening!”
He obediently scribbles his address and apartment number before you hand him his order, ultimately selecting for him, which has become another aspect of your routine. You wave goodbye as he leaves and sign a breath of relief as the door closes. You really suck at both lying and playing coy.
Leon almost forgets about your promised delivery as the day is chock full of meetings before his departure, mission briefing, last minute switchboard operations changes, etc. He’s once again paired with Hunnigan at the last minute as her previous operative was injured in the line of duty and needed extraction. He’s glad of the change, Hunnigan is efficient and he trusts her judgement. They’ve done a couple operations since Spain and she’s saved his skin more than once with a quick weapons drop or vehicle assist, even in the most remote locations on Earth.
He stumbles home at 11PM to see a tote bag in front of his door. He sets it on his on one table and takes out a sizable lasagna that you wrapped in several layers of foil and ice packs. He smiles as he sees a note on top written in girlish script.
“Hi Leon! I hope you had a good day! My oven instructions are as follows:
-Preheat the oven to 400 degrees
-Bake with foil on for 30 min
-Remove foil and bake for 20 min
-Let cool for 5 min
-Enjoy! <3
At the very bottom you scribbled a phone number.
Xxx-xxx-xxxx
P.S. If all else fails call me!
He’s not a total Neanderthal and can follow simple instructions but he thinks about fucking it up in some way just for the excuse of calling you and having you walk him through it.
He shakes his head. No way he’s letting this lasagna go to waste, besides you’re likely fast asleep.
He follows the list dutifully and takes a shower while it bakes. Before long the enticing scent of garlic, tomatoes, and mozzarella are filling his austere apartment. He fixes himself a drink while the lasagna cools and makes himself sit at the table like a regular human. He has to be at the airport for his flight at 5AM, so this is his last meal before he’s treated to a smorgasbord of airline food then military rations and protein bars for the next week or so.
The lasagna is, of course, delicious.
Before he lays down for a short 2 hour nap, he pulls out his phone and taps out a short message.
“Thank you, that was incredible.” -Leon
The next three weeks are some of the worst of his life.