Warnings: no beta, OOCness, English is not my first language, inconsistent tenses, i am very bad at prepositions, (allusions to) sexual situations
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
A/N: This fic was written a few days after the Infinite Darkness character trailer dropped. There still isn't much information to go on, and I am well aware that in a few months, I will be jossed, but oh well let me have some fun while i can, haha.
As he passed by the reflective surface of one of White House's impressive windows, Leon thought that maybe Claire was right—maybe his outfit didn't suit him.
He wore a white shirt, a dark blue suit, and black dress shoes that he purchased from high-end stores. They weren't cheap, but they weren't ridiculously expensive either. Except maybe for the belt; it was a leather belt guaranteed to last decades, and he paid a pretty penny for it. He bought it a while ago and it was already developing that wonderful patina, and showed no signs of falling apart.
He had similar articles of clothing in his closet, all purchased from respectable stores. He owned a decent amount of suits and trousers in blues and blacks and greys, none of them bespoke, because why would he waste money on a tailor-made three-piece suit when there were already so many available off the rack? The only people who wore bespoke suits were those going to formal functions such as awards shows and weddings, and he wasn't going to get married any time soon, not when the woman he wanted to marry was so elusive she might as well be an imaginary creature.
So maybe that was where Claire was coming from. Or maybe she was just ribbing him, like all good friends do. Either way, the seed of doubt had been already planted in his mind. What was wrong with his outfit? It was perfectly sensible. And he knew that those two lady staffers were eyeing him….
He shook his head; he didn't have time to be thinking of such things. He had a job to do, and if he didn't act any sooner, the situation would go from bad to worse. So he marched down the well-lit hallway, walking past officials trying to pretend that everything was normal. He intended to prevent more senseless deaths, and the weights of the firearms concealed on his person reassured him that yes, he was capable of preventing more people from turning into the undead. He just had to do his job right.
Leon, with his gun raised, slowly opened the door to the China Room. He had obtained a lead that implied that something pertinent to the recent events was in this room, although he had no idea what could it be. It could be a piece of paper, a certain chinaware, or an object hidden inside one of the cabinets. He had narrowed it down to a specific location, but what the hell was he looking for?
He was about to commence his search when he heard the soft clacking on heels on carpet. He turned around, gun at the ready. He expected to find Claire, a White House staffer, or even Ashley, but instead, he found her.
He immediately aimed her gun at her, his senses on high alert.
She wore a black pencil skirt and a red shirt. Hanging from her neck was an ID that proclaimed her a member of the media. Her red lips curled into a smile, and she walked towards Leon, her gun trained on his head.
His lead was right. Her presence in this room proved that there was definitely something in here, and he assumed that she already knew what it was.
She always was two steps ahead of him.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, keeping the emotions out of his voice. If she was here, then the situation might be worse—and more complicated—than he thought.
"I'm a White House correspondent." She raised her press ID with her free hand. "See?"
Leon snorted. "Right. Anything interesting in a roomful of china?"
"Just a handsome man in an ugly suit."
He rolled his eyes. "Again with the suit? What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
She raised a perfectly pencilled eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"Claire said that my outfit doesn't suit me," he said, maybe a bit indignantly.
She chuckled. "She's right, you know."
They both stood at the centre of the room, guns pointed at each other. They were rooted to their spots, neither one daring to move. Whatever was in this room, Leon had to get it first—but before that happened, he needed to know what he was looking for.
"What the hell is hidden here, Ada?"
Ada lowered her gun and tucked it away in her shoulder holster. Leon noticed that she was wearing a thigh holster that held her beloved hookshot, and tried too hard not gawk at her legs.
In his defence, she had the most amazing legs.
"Quite a few things, actually," she said, moving in front of the fireplace. "One of which both interests us."
He put his gun back in his shoulder holster and followed her. "And that thing is…?"
Above the fireplace was a painting, and Ada reached behind it. Her hand came up with a folded piece of paper. She opened it, revealing a string of handwritten numbers that didn't make sense to him.
"Huh," she said. "Figures."
"What?" he asked. There she was again, making federal agents look bad. "What is it?"
She folded the paper and placed it inside Leon's breast pocket. "Just something to confirm my suspicions." She patted the pocket, as if to make sure that the paper was securely tucked inside. "I'm sure you'll find out soon what they mean."
Her hands travelled from his chest to his shoulders. She fingered his shirt's collar, his suit's lapel, the buttonholes and cuffs, and then circled him. He could feel her eyes raking in his form from head to toe, and once she was done inspecting him, she stood in front of him, arms crossed, her hips cocked to one side.
"The shirt and suit are passable, but those trousers…" She grimaced. "Those trousers are ghastly. Did you buy that whole ensemble off the rack?"
He looked self-consciously at his trousers. "What's wrong with these? They're totally fine."
She sighed. "I bet you think they do. Have you seen how baggy those trouser legs are?"
"And what if they're baggy? I can move comfortably in these."
She moved closer to him and pinched the fabric on the side of his trousers. "See this excess fabric? Especially at the seat."
He furrowed his brows. "The seat?"
She placed her hands behind him, and then…groped his ass. He met her eyes and she smirked, all the while her hands were still on his backside. "This is the seat." And then she pinched the fabric. "More excess fabric. Feel that?"
"I can't see what's supposed to be wrong. I'm not tripping on my hems or anything."
"Sure you're not. Those full breaks were actually quite nice." Her eyelashes fluttered. "Even so…you look amazing."
She bit her lip, and Leon turned away to hide his blush. This was no time to be flirting. He had to know what those numbers on the paper meant, and—
Ada pulled him closer by his belt loops. Their faces were only a few inches apart now, and he could feel his breath growing heavier.
Now is not the time, Leon…
"And you know what the most telling part is?" she whispered. "The belt and these belt loops."
"Hey, I like this belt," he said.
"I know you do. But good trousers don't need belts or belt loops." Her hands rested at his waist. "They have side adjusters instead."
He dared place his hands at the small of her back, and then smirked. "What, you want me to remove my belt? And these trousers that you hate so much?"
"Maybe in another time and another place."
He pulled her closer to him, closer, closer, until all that it would take for their lips to touch is a tiny lean forward.
She placed her hands on his shoulders. "How do you manage to still look gorgeous even with these ill-fitting trousers?"
Leon expected Ada to push him onto a chair, straddle him, and then make out with him as if there was no national emergency going on. He braced himself, but the push didn't come. Instead, she pulled away and stepped back, leaving a foot of space between them.
"Really?" was all he could say.
She shrugged. "Let's continue this later; we have jobs to do. I'll make you wear my favourite of your suits."
"Which is?"
She smiled innocently. "Your birthday suit."
He knew that she was trying to tease him, but two can play that game. "I'll wear mine if you wear yours."
She shook her head, but she was laughing lightly. "I know a good tailor at the Garment District. I'll introduce you to him sometime." She grabbed her hookshot and proceeded to open the window. "Or would you rather I take you to Savile Row?"
"You wanna take me to Savile Row now?" he said incredulously. "Two months ago, I invited you to holiday with me in London, but no, you had a job."
"If I knew how horrendous your suits were, I would have taken you to a tailor sooner." She stepped onto the window's ledge, her hookshot ready to be fired.
"You get me all hot and bothered and I don't even get a kiss?"
She smiled. "If you're a good boy, maybe I'll give you one. On the cheek."
In all of a sudden, the lights went out, and Leon heard the distant gasps of the people inside the White House. He looked at the window, and all he could see was Ada's silhouette against the night sky.
"Be careful, Leon," she said. "We still have a London date later."
And then she shot out into the sky, the whirr of her hookshot accompanying her departure.
He shook his head, mumbling Women. He banished all thoughts about Savile Row out of his head, all thoughts about bespoke suits and garment fittings and it would be nice to get married to her in a navy blue suit.
He didn't have a torch on him and he cursed his lack of foresight. He could still make things out, so he readied his gun and padded out of the room, careful not to bump into anything.
He could entertain those treacherous thoughts later. For now, he had a tragedy to mitigate.
A/N: tbh leon's trousers in the trailer do look baggy ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ and i had to pause frame by frame to see what appeared to be a belt buckle on his waist