This is a move we've perfected over the last month, Leo completely unafraid to play the part of the damsel, trusting me to make sure he doesn't hit solid ground.
Once Leo gets his feet under him again, we make a mad dash for the escape route we scoped out during our earlier recon.
There's a barbed fence surrounding the facility, but we found a weak point where there were no cameras and enough of a foothold to climb the fence from inside. It was no way to get in undetected, but for getting out when they already know we're here, it's perfect.
I encourage Leo to climb the fence before me since I'm more likely to survive a bullet if the OI agents on the lower floors spontaneously decide to get their shit together long enough to come after us.
Leo makes quick work of hauling himself up and over the fence, landing on the other side with an easy grace I was both surprised by and glad to find out my partner possesses. He's surprisingly agile for such a big man. It's not often large men are taught to hone their agility rather than forgoing it almost entirely in place of using their natural size and strength to compensate.
OI trained me to be as light on my feet as a man half my size, to be silent and dexterous. They did not accept limitations. I was expected to become a shadow of a man, a ghost, and over the years, I did just that.
I didn't think Leo would have been forced to obtain such a rigorous skill set. But it seems I was mistaken in thinking FISA offers limited training to their agents. Either that or Leo is truly exceptional, which is something I'm inclined to believe based on what I've witnessed so far.
I'm self-aware enough to realise I've become emotionally compromised when it comes to Leo. If I thought having sex with the man was going to somehow dampen my growing attachment to him, I was sorely mistaken in that belief. My need to remain close and protect him has grown at an alarming rate since we met, and becoming physically involved seems to have just exacerbated that desire even further beyond my control.
The man is a nightmare. A travesty. My fucking undoing, probable death sentence, and the unfortunate reason for every bit of happiness in my life.
I did not ask for this, Universe. Thanks, and fuck you.
Leo waits for me to climb up the fence and throw myself over to the other side, landing hard and taking off at a run as soon as my feet hit the ground. I don't need to look to know Leo is doing his best to keep up with me. That would be impossible if I was to run at my true speed capability. I will always be faster and stronger than him, than anyone without Liquid Onyx running through their bloodstream. But Leo puts up a good showing, his long legs covering the distance between the fence and our parked van a few streets away with ease. Leo is no slacker, happy to spend almost every spare moment training or exercising. He'd be a dream agent for OI. Dedicated, fearless, and highly capable.
Of course, OI would also take everything good about Leo Snow and crumple it up into a ball, then set fire to that ball, turning it to ash they could force down his throat and choke him with. That's what they do: strip out all the good and reform it into a weapon which can only be used against you.
Leo takes the driver's side of our nondescript black getaway van and barely waits for me to close the door on my side before he's shoved it into gear and slammed down on the pedal, taking off down the street.
This time of night in a commercial area, there's no one around to see us as we drive through the quiet streets of Rogue, a small city in Ireland.
Leo and I don't speak for a little while, the adrenaline of our near miss giving way to frustration at the failure of our mission overall. I can see Leo going over everything in his head, his fingers clenching on the steering wheel, his jaw getting tighter and tighter as the minutes drag on.
Unlike our other missions, this one held a particular kind of significance. We've checked over a dozen OI facilities since Rohan was snatched up. Every single one has been a bust. This was our last shot at being able to find Rohan, based on the information we already possess.
Now we'll be flying blind and clamouring for intel from whatever source we can find. I know Leo had his hopes pinned on this facility being the answer, which is likely why he behaved even more recklessly than usual.
I can understand his frustration. I share it although perhaps not for the same reasons. Of course, I want to get Rohan back. But that's mostly because I’m afraid of what his father might end up forcing him to do. Unless Rohan is willing to die in the name of protecting the world from Ian Stone's machinations, we'll all be fucked to have a man with his intellect working for OI.
Leo seems to believe Rohan wouldn't flip on FISA. But since the man has already flipped once before, it's possible he would do so again. When I pointed this out to Leo, he got indignant and reminded me I also turned on OI to work with FISA. I agreed with him, making no effort to conceal what I meant by the easy acceptance of the parallel between Rohan and me.
After that, Leo got all quiet, like the idea of me betraying FISA never occurred to him, which can't be possible. He's naive in some ways, but Leo isn't a complete idiot. He knows I don't believe in FISA the same way he does, that I've offered them my loyalty now, but it's only because I made a deal with Director Snow to exchange my skills as an assassin and my knowledge of OI in return for their protection and freedom from a British prison cell.
But maybe there's a difference between knowing something in the abstract and having it be expressed out loud in no uncertain terms.
With the aim of removing some of the tension from Leo's broad frame, I settle back in my seat, purposefully relaxing my body in the hopes of getting him to do the same, and attempt to prod him into conversation.
"Think we should go back and blow that OI facility all to shit? Firebomb the fuck out of it, maybe?"
Leo doesn't respond at first, clearly still working through his own low-simmering anger at having failed in our mission to rescue the Stone heir. But after a few seconds tick by, Leo seems to force himself to unclench slightly, loosening his fingers on the steering wheel and relaxing back into his seat a little bit.
There's still a tightness in his expression, but hell, he’s no saintly angel. The man's got a temper on him. That's another thing I've learnt over the last month. Watching Leo go fuckingoffwhen he gets genuinely pissed has become one of my new favourite pastimes. He's stunning when he's in a rage. It's like watching a firework pop off inside a small, dark room: dangerous and exhilarating in the same breath.
"Nah," Leo says, drawing the word out with sardonic slowness. "We'd be better off calling Rogue's local authorities to report the extremely theatric vandalism you committed and compromising the facility's location with a police investigation. OI doesn't officially own that building, remember? It's meant to be abandoned. They'resquatting."
Leo sounds absurdly pleased by that concept, like he's imagining the big bad OI as a load of drifters from a 60s flower-power documentary.
"How is that better?" I ask, making a pinched, annoyed face at him. I don't want to imagine OI as anything other than the behemoth of doom and ruined lives that they are.
Leo doesn't react to my irritation even though I know he's clocked it from the corner of his eye. He makes a low humming sound, which triggers the need in me to smack him in the mouth, and I'm not sorry, because I don't actually do it, so well done to me.
"Not all satisfaction when defeating an enemy has to come from exploding shit," Leo argues.
