( he's not made for recon work. case in point: being the first boots on the ground when the president's daughter had been spotted in the bush-wilds of Spain quickly spiraled into him against an entire village with only a hand gun, tac knife, and first aid spray. you'd think STRATCOM would have learned. but no — here he is on another reconnaissance mission, tracking a potential trail for lingering plagas potentially trickling out of Valdelobos. Hunnigan insists he take the beat because he has more knowledge than anyone else on the team. and that might be true, but he's more made for cutting swaths through things than keeping a quiet eye. Krauser had trained him in brute force brutality, not so much espionage. stealth isn't the same as blending in, and he feels like a sore thumb swimming in and out of crowds and spending any amount of time with civilians.
hell, he forgot his cover story trying to check into his accommodations. you're not supposed to have to look at your own identification to know who you're supposed to be. he'd about blown his cover before he actually investigated anything. instead, someone swanned against his side, a familiar note of perfume and red. easily joked about him forgetting his own name when he was jetlagged, providing the exact alias on his credentials for the concierge to look up his room. how Ada knew who he was supposed to be better than he did, Leon has no idea. the girl behind the counter asks if they need two keys, calls Ada Mrs. Greco as they leave. his cover is supposed to be married, but his wife was not supposed to be checking in with him. it's honestly incredible how she convinced a stranger of so much with only a casual conversation.
she saved his ass and he knows it. which means he owes her one — and Ada always knows exactly what she wants out of him. she probably knows already, and he's just along for the ride until she shares with the class. she doesn't drop the act to the elevator, either, arm tucked around his. tapping his bicep fondly to remind him he has to hit the button or they'll be standing here forever. he wants to ask what are you up to, but he can't until they have some margin of secrecy. so he plucks the elevator button, and maybe he's learning how to play the role, because his hand lands at the small of her back when the doors feather open for them.
( the thing with espionage is once it's gotten its teeth into you, there's really no way out of that grasp.
there's a part of her that misses the doe-eyed rookie she'd first met back in raccoon city, eager to help and all the more eager to lap up any lick of attention she'd offered as their paths wove together time and time again—whether purposefully, she'd never tell. or maybe she'd let her own guard down, let herself grow a bit too fond to the idea of being trusted, knowing the inevitable would follow where he'd learn the hard way that maybe it is better to bite the hand that feeds.
nevertheless, her original intention had been to meet him at the hotel later that evening alongside the drop off of a freshly-pressed suit courtesy of one of her contacts for the upcoming gala. however, sore thumb would be quite the understatement from what she'd witnessed since he'd arrived in the city, and the last thing she needed was any unwanted attention drawn to him, and consequently the pair of them, before they'd even gathered so much as a scrap of intel.
she drifts with ease through the lobby doors, professionally donning the appearance of a woman both tired herself from a long trip there but doused in relief to begin their stay nonetheless, waving off his floundering as if merely a wife all too used to stepping in when his tongue couldn't quite find itself as sharply as he might like. there's even the telltale glint of a ring on the appropriate finger as she presses a hand affectionately to his arm, warmth courteously beaming from her as the clerk hands them two key cards, and nods toward the elevators with a pleasant 'enjoy your stay.'
the thing with playing a character, she's learned, is to integrate it into her own mannerisms as much as possible, especially considering you never really know who's watching (or listening, a quick flit of her gaze in the elevator toward the camera in the corner.) they've always been quite the team, whether either of them cares to admit it, his brute force and her touch of finesse, and he doesn't need to ask for her to recognize the look, but another soft swipe of her thumb serves a silent assurance that she'll quell any questions he might have once she's sure they're alone. doors span open once more before them once the lift reaches their floor, and there's the faintest hint of a rise at the edge of her lips at the warmth of his hand settling at her back. in character or out, once again, a spy never tells.
hand curls all the more snug about his bicep as they head towards the room, giving an appreciative squeeze before handing him his own copy of the key card. he's always kept himself fit, but he's bulkier now than she remembers. a little rougher around the edges. ) You've been taking care of yourself, Mr. Greco. ( tone laced with a hint of teasing, but sincere nonetheless, greeted by a lone, sprawling king bed once he chimes them into their room—twin robes left folded at its end. )
( well, espionage has very thoughtfully not tried to bite him. if it's tried, he has managed to avoid the rampant infection. Leon is fine at wearing a suit and looking scary. even better of he's dropped in a unmarked location with a single hunting knife and a first aid spray. he does some of his best work like that! blending in with normal human beings? yeah, no, he's no good at that these days.
he's a little annoyed, to have so thoroughly bombed his first attempt at it. he didn't want the job, sure, but he doesn't like feeling inept. even worse that Ada managed to witness it. it's nothing like the parlor in the castle, where he was in his element. step for step, or at least, close enough that he'd managed to surprise her into getting the momentary upper hand. nothing close to it now, he'd have been kicked out, cover blown, if not worse if it were not for Ada Wong.
it is difficult to bite his tongue as long as it takes them to get to his hotel room. if he actually has to bite the inside of his cheek to maintain his silence, it is thankfully his little secret. ) It's how the missus likes it, ( he says wryly. and maybe a little smug. since the girl at the front desk is entirely certain that Ada is his wife, it's especially pointed. that's all Ada gets out of him before while he canvases the small but luxurious accommodations, even checks the bathroom. nothing. or, at least, nothing blatantly obvious. )
Well? ( Ada will know better than he ever could if they're free to talk. or, free enough that he can start up some burning questions, like what she's doing here, how she knew his cover story, and what that ring is all about. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
redeceive.
hell, he forgot his cover story trying to check into his accommodations. you're not supposed to have to look at your own identification to know who you're supposed to be. he'd about blown his cover before he actually investigated anything. instead, someone swanned against his side, a familiar note of perfume and red. easily joked about him forgetting his own name when he was jetlagged, providing the exact alias on his credentials for the concierge to look up his room. how Ada knew who he was supposed to be better than he did, Leon has no idea. the girl behind the counter asks if they need two keys, calls Ada Mrs. Greco as they leave. his cover is supposed to be married, but his wife was not supposed to be checking in with him. it's honestly incredible how she convinced a stranger of so much with only a casual conversation.
she saved his ass and he knows it. which means he owes her one — and Ada always knows exactly what she wants out of him. she probably knows already, and he's just along for the ride until she shares with the class. she doesn't drop the act to the elevator, either, arm tucked around his. tapping his bicep fondly to remind him he has to hit the button or they'll be standing here forever. he wants to ask what are you up to, but he can't until they have some margin of secrecy. so he plucks the elevator button, and maybe he's learning how to play the role, because his hand lands at the small of her back when the doors feather open for them.
(it's that or he just wants to.) )
no subject
there's a part of her that misses the doe-eyed rookie she'd first met back in raccoon city, eager to help and all the more eager to lap up any lick of attention she'd offered as their paths wove together time and time again—whether purposefully, she'd never tell. or maybe she'd let her own guard down, let herself grow a bit too fond to the idea of being trusted, knowing the inevitable would follow where he'd learn the hard way that maybe it is better to bite the hand that feeds.
nevertheless, her original intention had been to meet him at the hotel later that evening alongside the drop off of a freshly-pressed suit courtesy of one of her contacts for the upcoming gala. however, sore thumb would be quite the understatement from what she'd witnessed since he'd arrived in the city, and the last thing she needed was any unwanted attention drawn to him, and consequently the pair of them, before they'd even gathered so much as a scrap of intel.
she drifts with ease through the lobby doors, professionally donning the appearance of a woman both tired herself from a long trip there but doused in relief to begin their stay nonetheless, waving off his floundering as if merely a wife all too used to stepping in when his tongue couldn't quite find itself as sharply as he might like. there's even the telltale glint of a ring on the appropriate finger as she presses a hand affectionately to his arm, warmth courteously beaming from her as the clerk hands them two key cards, and nods toward the elevators with a pleasant 'enjoy your stay.'
the thing with playing a character, she's learned, is to integrate it into her own mannerisms as much as possible, especially considering you never really know who's watching (or listening, a quick flit of her gaze in the elevator toward the camera in the corner.) they've always been quite the team, whether either of them cares to admit it, his brute force and her touch of finesse, and he doesn't need to ask for her to recognize the look, but another soft swipe of her thumb serves a silent assurance that she'll quell any questions he might have once she's sure they're alone. doors span open once more before them once the lift reaches their floor, and there's the faintest hint of a rise at the edge of her lips at the warmth of his hand settling at her back. in character or out, once again, a spy never tells.
hand curls all the more snug about his bicep as they head towards the room, giving an appreciative squeeze before handing him his own copy of the key card. he's always kept himself fit, but he's bulkier now than she remembers. a little rougher around the edges. ) You've been taking care of yourself, Mr. Greco. ( tone laced with a hint of teasing, but sincere nonetheless, greeted by a lone, sprawling king bed once he chimes them into their room—twin robes left folded at its end. )
no subject
he's a little annoyed, to have so thoroughly bombed his first attempt at it. he didn't want the job, sure, but he doesn't like feeling inept. even worse that Ada managed to witness it. it's nothing like the parlor in the castle, where he was in his element. step for step, or at least, close enough that he'd managed to surprise her into getting the momentary upper hand. nothing close to it now, he'd have been kicked out, cover blown, if not worse if it were not for Ada Wong.
it is difficult to bite his tongue as long as it takes them to get to his hotel room. if he actually has to bite the inside of his cheek to maintain his silence, it is thankfully his little secret. ) It's how the missus likes it, ( he says wryly. and maybe a little smug. since the girl at the front desk is entirely certain that Ada is his wife, it's especially pointed. that's all Ada gets out of him before while he canvases the small but luxurious accommodations, even checks the bathroom. nothing. or, at least, nothing blatantly obvious. )
Well? ( Ada will know better than he ever could if they're free to talk. or, free enough that he can start up some burning questions, like what she's doing here, how she knew his cover story, and what that ring is all about. )