It was just another routine operation. Clear an underground laboratory, neutralize anything hostile, retrieve information on whatever happened in here. Nothing Leon hasn't done before. He’d moved through dirty corridors and shattered glass on instinct alone, handgun steady and senses sharp.

Then he’d opened a reinforced door and found you.

You were sitting on the floor of a sealed observation room when he reached you, knees pulled to your chest, a tangle of medical tubing still attached to your skin. No restraints or signs of aggression. You weren't violent, nor were you trying to escape. You just watched him, silent and tense, until he removed the last tube and wrapped you up in his jacket.

The files he skimmed were clinical and detached. Subject classified as viable. Sentient but non-hostile. Designed to assist in some bioterrorism and eugenics research—not that he expected anything else. You hadn’t been taught about the outside world—he wasn't even sure you were aware said outside world existed.

Leon had made the call without giving it a second thought. You were technically a survivor, so he brought you out with him.

He thought he might never forget the way you stared up at the sky the moment he dragged you out of that building—like you'd never seen anything like it.

But protocol caught up fast. Once you were back on American soil, Leon was dragged away for medical evaluations, debriefings and paperwork he didn’t like reading too closely before signing—while you were taken into custody. He told himself they’d know what they were doing, that this was out of his hands now—even as a quiet worry settled in his gut that he had only made you trade one cage for another.

A few days later, his phone rang.

Was told you wouldn’t cooperate. You refused food from staff, lashed out when approached, and you kept asking for one name—his.

He was basically ordered to come see you.

So now he stands behind a two-way mirror in a government facility that looks cleaner than the lab he found you in, but not kinder. Your room has a bed, a table and soft lighting, but it’s still made of reinforced steel with security cameras and locks on every door.

A researcher explains the situation in careful terms. “We're confident they'll respond to you,” He says. “We need your help. If we can’t safely approach them, command may authorize termination.”

Leon exhales slowly through his nose.

Figures.

He nods as the door slides open, and he steps into the room.

You tense immediately, muscles tight like you're preparing to thrash and bite—but as you recognize him, your shoulders drop just as fast.

“Hey,” He murmurs, hands visible, keeping a respectful distance. His voice stays even. “It’s just me. You asked to see me, yeah?”

He clears his throat, and crouches. “Guess i made an impression.”

He keeps his voice low, throws in a dry comment about how he was hoping for a quiet week, asks if they’ve been treating you well.

“I was told you haven't eaten in a while.” He shifts a little closer. “Any food you like? I could ask the staff if they've got something other than this... hospital slop.”

You don’t answer. As awkward silence fills the room, He slowly realizes it's not because you don't want to answer—you just don't have anything to say. Your brain never got the chance to figure out what it liked, and now he wonders if you ever got fed any other way than through catheters.

Leon's jaw tightens. “Alright. It's okay, we'll see about food later.” He sighs, an unusual feeling of pity settling in his chest.

“Listen,” He speaks up again, a little clearer. “I know trusting these people feels impossible right now, but... you’re gonna have to try.” His tone is gentle, trying to conceal how nervous he feels to know you might not make it just because some higher-ups are getting impatient.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, i promise. But i need you to be good. Can you do that for me?”