Chapter Text
"How's it now?"
"Hold on, one moment."
A quick alt-tab and the video feed flicks back onto Grace's laptop screen.
"Tilt more to the left - uh, not that much!"
Leon takes a deep breath and slowly slowwlyyyy curves his fingers, ducking his head as the tiny lens catches the light. It might not look like much from his end, but angle makes up a big deal for the field of view needed to capture the faces of everyone entering Grace's new bedroom. He's been in the same position for quite some time now, if the burn creeping across his shoulders is any indication.
Eh, better than planking.
Craning his head a little more over his shoulder rewards him; Leon muffles his snort into his shirtsleeve at the sight of Grace, focused completely on the feed, sweeping her hand around blindly for her phone, all while it sits under her bent knee. Grace startles at the sound, overbalances - oh shit - and immediately jackknifes back into position with all the energy of a startled cat.
"I-I'M OK!!! Ok, ok, phew that was close," Grace claws her hair out of her face and sets her laptop on the ground. "Wh-What the fuck - "
"Shit, sorry, your phone - it was under your leg. Wanted to tell you but -"
"O-Oh! No no no i-it's ok! T-Thanks for t-telling me, sorry I yelled. And n-nearly punted my laptop at you…"
"Nah, you're good. Shouldn't've scared you. You alright there?"
"Y-y-yeah," Grace pops a thumbs-up with her free hand, her smile shining genuine but her other hand white-knuckled around her phone. "L-Like a million bucks."
Fuck him, that's what he says. He knows she's seen his face twist, from the way her gaze darts for the laptop screen like it's diving for cover. Leon unsticks himself away from the wall and pads towards Grace, sinking to all fours so he could curl up at her side.
"Hey," Criss-cross, voice soft, head tilted to peek behind ash-blond bangs; he hugs his knees to make himself smaller. Up this close, he can see the redness at her waterline. "What's going on?"
"J-Ju —" Grace takes a deep breath, heaves it out. "Just not been sleeping well lately."
A low mhm, muffled into his knees.
"I-I don't wanna sound ungrateful. You and Sherry - you guys helped. A-Are helping. A lot. With t-this. With Emily too, g-getting those lawyers for her. Until we cut the red tape away. A-And that takes t-time."
She sucks in another breath. Lets it go whooosh. Leon breathes with her.
"I j-just hope she's ok."
Oh, Grace.
What else can he do but offer her his shoulder to lean on? He knows this pain too. Weaponized it, even. He doesn't know how long it took before he'd flayed himself beyond recognition but he can see it muzzling her jaw and he hates it.
Grace picks herself up eventually and Leon follows along. They finish wiring up that camera and check its connection with the other four scattered throughout the apartment, as well as the five facing outdoors - front door, kitchen window, bathroom window, guest room-turned-home office and bedroom window. They clean the mess they created (she trips over a screwdriver; he stubs his toe; they keel over wheezing at a closeup of his nose), grab an early dinner (they missed lunch) and Grace sees Leon off when the sun goes down.
It's the work of a few moments for Grace to secure all the locks she installed, the final click a soft echo as Leon lopes down the stairs. He catches eye contact with a lady in a pantsuit heading up, one of Grace's neighbors on the same floor - she nods at him, he nods right back. Then he's through the door beelining for the parking lots.
The Cayenne sits serenely between a comically small Beetle and what he's mentally dubbed the Krausercar: a silver Picnic with an eerie fender bender. He sighs and shakes his head at the smashed headlight from behind the wheel when he turns out. Why the family owning it didn't write it off immediately is none of his business, although he hopes they do it soon. The sound of running water fills his ears from where he's tossed his phone in the storage well, and he lets his shoulders relax into the drive when a lilting tune drifts through the rumbles.
That emo marching band again… while he likes the lyrics enough, he'd take Grace's muffled humming over their lead's screechy whines any day.
Not that he'll ever mention it. He'd have to explain the mic in her showerhead first.
See, when you've been dealing with the things he does, you come to realize this pattern: all the worst shit happens in the safest places. Bedrooms. Bathrooms. Inside the car. The government, sometimes. He's got personal experience with that one. And nine times out of ten, there's no eyes on the exact location. Leon's been on both sides of this equation, so he figured it's better to get ahead.
And it's all pro bono for his people - Sherry likes to say his love languages are 'quality time' and 'acts of service'. She's not wrong. Jake, Claire and Chris are the only ones seeing his view of things so far, although they still nag him about superfluous things like "boundaries" and "personal space".
Well, to each their own. He'd rather they're alive to use them.
Grace is able to hold her own, don't get him wrong. The jam factory she made of Rhodes Hill is one example. The way she negotiates her own deals is another. However much something in Leon chafes that Grace decided to return to her position at the FBI, Grace is right that she needs a stable income for a good case in front of the custody officials. At the very least she's been moved to the main branch in DC, away from her dirtbag supervisor and closer to Emily. Grace even scored a new place on company dime! All Leon had needed to do, honestly, was help her fix it up a little. And stalker-proof it; they haven't caught the chucklefuck that took those pictures. He's also got Hunnigan batting for him ever since he showed her Grace's CV, but she's still trying to, in her words, set the scene, so it'll be a while before they can get the green light on poaching Grace for the DSO. It's a good trade. They just need to bide their time.
How long, though? He can see her sharpening cheekbones, the circles under her concealer. He'd even bet his hatchet her lipstick's now a more opaque shade to hide the scabs. She still arm-wrestled him for the bill earlier, he muses as he pulls up on his own driveway, but the smallness of her hand in his haunts him. He's old, not blind or deaf; if Grace is anything like what he and Sherry have noticed all that stress must be ruining her appetite. He doesn't want that for her.
Sneaking more beef into her noodles. Backing her up when the bureaucrats hassle her. Giving her his personal number to call - any time, anywhere, he'll pick up or text back pronto. Driving her and her belongings interstate. Summoning every bit of home repair DIY info he knows (and bugging Chris for everything he doesn't, thanks Claire) because even government-sponsored housing is prone to shitty water pressure and wonky lighting. Installing those cameras at her request. Add to all this his support in the legal battle for Emily, and some might say he's gone above and beyond.
Leon still thinks there's more.
There's only static emitting from Leon's phone when he emerges from his bathroom - Grace must be somewhere else in her apartment now. He closes that feed, flicking through his phone for the main program. Activating it brings up more feeds; he carefully scans each camera for any changes in the exterior and common areas since his exit. Once satisfied that there were none, he swipes further, searching for the telltale glint of Grace's hair.
Yep, Grace is no longer in the bathroom. The view from the ceiling shows the toilet, cover down, and the shower cubicle, no longer foggy with steam. No one at the sink either. Swiping again reveals the tiny home office, again from the ceiling, but in grayscale - lights off, door closed. She's definitely not using it tonight, although he notes that only one laptop (bulky, black, must be the "business" one) is plugged in to charge. Did she take her "casual" one with her? He swipes once more.
Bingo.
This camera doesn't show the top of Grace's head - she's curled lengthwise along the screen, her shoulder crushing one pillow against the headboard and her "casual" laptop (much thinner, silver) balanced atop another. Two fingers push at the trackpad; Leon's eyes trace the crease her brow makes the further along she reads. He can't make out the contents, either directly on her screen or through the reflection scrolling along her spectacles, so he settles in his own bed, facing her way as if she was in it as well, and tries zooming in - gets flashbanged with the mental image of a large dog shoving its snout in its owner's newspaper for the trouble. Yeah, ha ha, fuck you too.
"Hgh - fine. Fine. My sleep better be immaculate after this."
Grace flips her laptop closed. Reaches for the teddy bear on her nightstand. Leon's view floats, then darkens. Straight-up smushed into her chest as she sets the laptop where the teddy was. Then it clears - now he's closer to the bed, with a tiny black thing at the bottom right corner where her glasses sit perched on the teddy's knee. Higher up too, likely from the laptop below, and swinging the camera back and forth nets him a clear view of everything from neck to shorts -
The shorts she's kicking off.
It's fucking awkward now, but he can't stop looking, not even when the Pikachu on her panties keeps staring at him as it's shuffled down Grace's thighs. Creamy under the golden light, her skin, and more and more of it is revealed to him. He's drooling. Paralyzed. Kill him, she's got legs for days. Cute bellybutton too. He wants to frame it between his fingers. Kiss it hello. Never mind, she's moving her shirt up. Fuck fuck fuck so many choices, moving fast like tennis balls, and only two eyes to see. Only one mouth, agape - but he can't eat the screen. How's he gonna watch her then?
Small hands. Small tits. Gorgeous anyway. She grabs them, squeezes like she's trying to massage out a cramp, lets go immediately. Nah, Gracie, gotta be gentler than that, he can show her how. He sees her tweak her nipples. Roll them between thumb and forefinger. His eyes are pinned: to the shadows curving over her knuckles, the reddening flesh peeking in and out. When she accidentally pinches one, she gasps; he gasps with her.
Don't hurt yourself, darling. Let him do that. Please.
Agh, the shirt's come down - ah, she grabbed it. Biting on it, even. Good girl. On a mission, she is.
Where're you going, sweetheart? Open your legs, just relax. That's right, let him see. Can he see? Oh yes, yes thank you, Gracie, good girl. What a good girl you are. That's a nice spot, huh? Yeah, you definitely know it.
Faster now. Spread those lips wider, get some fingers in that sweet sweet hole. Let them out, the worries, the fears, let them go. No one else is here. You're safe. You're safe. You're safe.
It's just you and me.