Chapter Text
In the solitude of the room, a phrase comes to her mind. One she read many years ago, she doesn’t even know where exactly.
Reading is the only pleasure Ada has allowed herself to keep over the years. A relic of more innocent times disguised as comfort. Not that she finds much time to indulge in it, but it happens occasionally. The genre doesn’t matter. She has dwelled in dissertations about the effects of Western colonization as well as cheap mystery novellas that help her pass the time between transfers in those long, dreaded hours trapped in airports. Having accumulated a wealth of knowledge, she remembers tidbits of information about any topic that found itself in paper form between her fingers.
Sometimes an idea, a sentence, a word would stick out and draw her attention. It would burn into her brain. She isn’t sure why this one did, but it sure as hell seems now a foreshadowing of this cold September night, 1998.
Hic sunt dracones. Here be dragons.
The supposed writing you could find in the margins of ancient maps. The phrase itself, as ominous as it sounded, was an anachronism that had, however, become a saying of its own. A warning of unexplored territories, uncharted places where no one had dared to go. Where unknown dangers lingered, waiting to be found.
Ada feels she is trespassing those limits in the margin of a map, staring into the abyss—one that hides a dormant dragon that she’d eventually have to fight to continue her way. Unarmed, unprepared. There’s nothing she hates more than losing control over a situation, over herself.
And it’s happening.
She is losing it by the minute, as the argument with Leon proved. It shouldn’t have stirred her this much—but the truth stings and she’s not usually in the receiving end. His words have stripped her down and Ada has never felt this exposed, not with anyone. Perhaps she is no longer staring down the abyss, but falling into it and whatever has been set in motion can’t be stopped.
All for a pretty boy, she snorts to herself, shaking her head. This is definitely a new low.
A gnawing pressure closes around her throat, while her thigh starts throbbing again. Her hand remains suspended over the cut, halfway through a stitch, the thread hanging between her fingertips and thigh. This is one of the worst parts of the job. Routine has made it bearable; she is used to the sensation of the needle piercing through flesh. Bearable doesn’t mean pleasant, though, and she has to bite her lower lip as she finishes another stitch.
A small drop of blood stains the hem of the oversized boxers she’s wearing, smearing the side of her index finger. Ada takes it to her mouth, licking the blood away, while she grimaces—another cramp runs through her hamstring. All caused by a stupid shard of rusty metal.
Her fingers stop moving. She remains seated, exhausted in every sense of the word. The wound keeps hurting, thread still attached to a half-done stitch. Ada simply glares at it. She shuts her eyes close and rubs the bridge of her nose.
When the knock on the door breaks the silence, Ada wishes she had simply feigned being sound asleep instead of taking the time to sew the wound. Dealing with danger on a daily basis is ordinary at this point in her life, always on the lookout—but this? This is an entirely different juggernaut, one she's not equipped to face. To even acknowledge. It bothers her, admitting it. As much as she can keep doing it, lying to herself makes no sense.
With a sigh, she answers, “Come in.”
The door opens, creaking slightly on its hinges. Leon closes it soon after, and she hears his steps behind the bed. If she raised her head, she could see him walking towards her. She doesn’t, eyes fixed on a tear in the wallpaper. It helps her focus.
“Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to…” His voice catches her off-guard, springing her to glance up.
His face is turned aside, as if he’s trying not to make her uncomfortable.
It’s at that moment that Ada realises she is wearing but the pair of boxers from the waist down. The situation threatens to bring an amused smile to her lips. A quip waits at the tip of her tongue—teasing him now would be so easy. She fights the impulse, still reeling from from their last exchange of words.
Huffing softly, Ada resumes the stitching.
“It’s okay, Leon. I’m almost done,” she states.
“Alright.”
Gaze fixed on her injury, she listens to Leon’s steps as he paces around. Although she isn’t looking directly at him, his steps are hasty, making the wooden floor creak under him whenever he moves. Ada can’t help but give a quick glimpse, unsure whether she’s annoyed or concerned. Her eyes catch the silhouette of his broad shoulders, shadowed by the dim light the floor lamp casts.
He’s shirtless again, a bunch of the rags she made out of the discarded clothes hanging from his hand. Bangading oneself is a difficult task, but Leon doesn’t back down from the challenge. However, Ada notices, he’s doing a poor job of it. A painful moan leaves his lips when he raises his arm, struggling to wrap the makeshift bandage around his shoulder, and Ada restrains herself from just getting up and giving him a hand. Her eyes go back to her own wound, adding a few more stitches with a swift spin of her wrist.
By the time she is done, Leon mumbles another curse under his breath.
“Ugh,” she whispers, rolling her eyes (though a smile tugs at the corner of her lips).
Pulling herself up from the edge of the bed, Ada walks towards him silently, the soles of her feet sliding on the cold floor. She’s getting so, so tired of this seemingly permanent staggering. Standing behind him, Ada pats him lightly on the back.
“Don’t they teach you how to dress a wound in the academy?” she wonders out loud.
He turns to her and she sneaks the bandage from his grasp. Slightly gaping, Leon looks like he’d like to protest—he doesn’t, though, settling for staring down at her. Ada ignores it, moving her arms and hands to wrap the cloth around his chest and shoulder. The stitches remain intact, its surrounding skin darkened by the enormous bruise with greenish tones.
His body radiates heat, despite the low temperature of the room.
“They do. But we use actual bandages, not rags.”
“They are still in the kit,” she replies, tipping her chin towards the steel box, which is strikingly white against the pale black of the bed’s duvet.
“I was leaving those for you,” he explains.
Of course he was. Ada rolls her eyes, giving the cloth a soft pull. His breath hitches when she tightens the bandage firmly around the collarbone.
“You’re infuriatingly well-meant, you know that, don’t you?”
Leon answers with a snort, and Ada can almost feel his breath on her cheeks.
“Ha, so I’ve been told. Without the infuriating part, though.”
She focuses on dressing the wound; the closeness is a mistake and she is just tripping over the same stone too many times. Maybe it all started with that first time—with those precious minutes she wasted in the sewers, stopping her pursuit of Annette just to make sure he wouldn’t bleed to death.
Maybe she should have done that—leave him to die there. Leon himself had hurried her to follow the scientist. The thought flashes in her mind like lighting and she despises herself just for entertaining it. It disgusts her and she can’t rationalize why.
(She can, but admitting she is getting soft is a hard truth to swallow at this point.)
A heavy, charged silence surrounds them. It doesn't detract Leon from speaking again moments later, as if he felt the need to cut through the thick tension.
“We tried the phones, but there’s no line,” he announces, as if he were reporting to a fellow colleague. Ada keeps working on the bandage, ensuring it’s not loose. He waits for a reply that never arrives. Clearing his throat, he goes on. “Claire and I have been thinking we should use one of the cars outside to leave in the morning.”
Ada has to wonder if he'd even be able to open the car and hotwire it so the engine starts. The image of a teenage Leon messing around with a car, trying to play the part of a designated bad boy, comes to her mind and she instantly knows that, no, Leon has never tried to steal a car in his whole life. The thought is an amusing idea, if nothing else.
Her reply is a curt nod. Meanwhile, her fingers partly undo the dressing because, apparently, she can’t even get something this simple right in one attempt tonight.
His chest rises and falls, his breathing sounds heavy. Ada guesses he’s expecting an answer out of her—something to avoid the tense silence when there’s barely a few inches of space between them. She is aware, but doesn’t comply, tight-lipped as she continues to fix the dressing.
“Look, I would give you a penny for your thoughts or whatever the saying is, but I’m kind of broke,” he bursts, taking a step back. “Don’t think I’ll get compensated for my first day on the job, so throw me a hand here,” he adds with a shrug, his head lowered.
She tilts her chin up and glares at him, his statement taking her by surprise.
“This was your first day?” she asks, wearily.
God, it makes so much sense, in retrospect. She suspected he was new in the force, just fresh out of the academy. The spark in his eyes, the idealism he pours into every word and action speak of someone who hasn’t been tarnished by the system. But for this to be, quite literally, his first day on the job feels like an entirely different ordeal.
“Great start, uh?” he jokes, not hiding the sadness in his voice.
Ada purses her lips, palm barely touching his chest as she stops wrapping the bandage.
“I… didn’t know. Sorry.”
It’s an honest reply, and she’s relieved she doesn’t even have to think about pretending or hiding this.
He shifts his weight, hand on his hip. Throwing her a dazed look, he flashes a teasing grin. “You’re sorry about that, but not about lying to me?”
At this point, Ada has to fight the urge to either laugh, slap him or kiss him. She might just want all three. In the end, she groans and rolls her eyes.
“God, you’re…”
“What?” he grins smugly, chin tipped up.
“A pain in the ass,” she retorts, patting his chest lightly as if to prove her next point, “which makes for a great cop.”
“Not that I have anything to show for it.”
Leon's voice sounds strained, gaze cast down and shoulders a bit sunken. She doesn't feel like teasing him anymore, even if it's her self-defense mechanism right now.
She gives the rag one last round so it covers his left shoulder and takes a step back. Putting some distance seems like the best course of action, unable to offer him words of encouragement or whatever it’s appropriate to say. Ada knows how to fake regret and concern—but for once in her life, she’d like to sound genuine. No platitudes come to her.
Her feet take a few temptative steps towards the bed. It calls to her desperately, the need to just shut down her brain for a couple of hours and reset herself overcoming any other. Her leg isn’t so keen on the idea of letting her rest, as another wave of pain strikes on her nerves. It’s a like a knot under the surface of the skin, twisting the muscles inside her thigh.
She freezes, clawing her fingers around the injury. Once again she fails to downplay how much it hurts, because she notices Leon rushing to her side immediately. A hand finds its way to the small of her back, tentatively, perhaps afraid of touching her.
“Your turn,” he quips with a little smile.
Out of habit, she rejects it, raising one hand while her eyes look away from him.
“There's no need…”
One short step and her body bends, wincing as the aching prolongs itself just a bit longer. It’s getting increasingly worse: could mean an infection, maybe something worse. She can’t even process it, numb from the crushing and quick wave of pain. Leon’s hands guide her to the bed, and she’s able to sit down slowly.
“Don't,” he warns her when she is about to open her mouth again. “You should have this looked at as soon as we reach a town.”
Ada gulps, taking a deep breath of relief as the sudden ache starts to disappear. It’ll come back, like crushing lightning, as it has done throughout the night—leaving her enough time to catch some air and get comfortable.
Even her own body hates her this much.
“I will, don't you worry,” she says sharply, fingers pressed against the mattress.
For a second, Ada loses sight of him. She hears him grabbing something metallic from the bed and is aware of where this is going. God, he is truly one stubborn ass—all too nice for his own good. In a moment, he is back in front of her, down on his knees. He’s holding the gauze pads along with two rollers of bandages. Finding no way to reject his help again, she settles for a nod and leans back a little, allowing him room to work around her injury.
(Truth is, maybe she doesn’t want to reject him—maybe she is craving for him all over her personal space but she can’t allow herself to go further, oh no.)
The touch of his fingertips is soft and delicate. Extending the bandage around her thigh, he wraps it with meticulous care, watchful. The irony isn’t lost on her—both of them patching up each other’s wounds, the same ones from Raccoon City. His was taken out of devotion to protect people, hers was a mark of vulnerability. It irks her, because it exposes a trait she has fought to remove completely.
Seems it was simply buried under layers of walls—and walls mean nothing to dragons.
“You're angry.” She blinks, puzzled at the sudden sound of his voice. Leon glances up, hands still busy at work. “About what I said,” he clarifies after Ada’s lack of an answer.
She bites her cheek.
“Why would I be?” she says. Her tone shows more defensiveness than intended.
Leon puts a thin piece of tape on the bandage to seal it. He doesn’t get up, his steely eyes fixed on her.
“That's a good question. I don't want to play the high horse card, but if anything, I should be angry. Not you.”
He’s right—about her being angry. She can’t even name the feeling brewing in her insides. Is she angry at him? Only because he has managed to crack her shell. Annoyed would describe it better. She has allowed him, though—it’s not him she’s angry with.
Ada rubs her temple, bending down her head.
“On that we can agree.” She dares to glimpse at Leon again, who hasn’t moved an inch. “Why aren't you, then?”
He blinks a few times, his whole body rigid, before offering her an answer.
“I was… Am.” A coat of doubt shrouds his words, voice anything but firm. “It's not that simple.”
Oh, Ada knows that answer and its intricacies. The resort of someone who would rather not deal with a sensitive issue. A tired smile stretches out across her lips. If she had the power, making him hate her (forget her) would be the appropriate solution to this mess.
“It should be, Leon. For your sake.”
Leon holds her gaze, almost in defiance. A tingle runs through her skin.
“On that we can agree,” he replies, narrowing his eyes. “But I can't change…” he trails off mid-sentence, translating whatever he intended to say in a weak wave of his hand between them.
That's the root of the problem, Ada knows it. His hand gestures at them both when there shouldn't be a them at all. For Ada, this was a job and he a nuisance to overcome turned into someone who could be of use to her. Just a pawn on the board to make things simpler, smoother. If she drummed that into her brain, she might even convince herself it's the whole truth—that his kindness hasn't had any effect on her, that she only sees a somewhat resourceful tool in him, that it doesn’t bother her in the slightest to take advantage of him.
“Leon, there's no us in here,” she says coldly, distancing her own stream of thoughts.
He laughs dismissively, half-smiling. It's not the reaction she expected, which may just prove that, in the end, he can read her better than she can the other way around. Her teeth grit at the idea.
“Seriously, what scares you so much?”
Ada is ready to spin another comeback, one more different reason why she’s no worth his time nor worry. But the question freezes her completely, leaving her throat dry as an endless desert and her lungs empty.
She is not scared. She’s terrified—of the look filled with hope he had at the bridge, of how exposed she’s been left in front of him. She can’t hide from him, even if Leon doesn’t realise it. Ada is afraid that, in a matter of hours, this young, idealistic boy has impacted her so deeply, tearing apart all the layers around her. The mask of Ada Wong she has crafted with blood, sweat and pain—cracked open by a rookie cop in the middle of a nightmare.
His insistence on caring for her, worrying about her, renders Ada vulnerable. More than else, she can’t fall for his bait, trying to force her into a conversation she has no wish to partake in. Worst of all is—he’s been winning since the cable car.
But she’s resilient.
Sliding to the edge of the bed, she moves closer to him, her expression shifting.
Her fingers find his chin and she doesn’t hesitate, tracing his jawline with the tips. Face slightly bowed, she puts on a perfect smirk. The best she can pull.
“I think you’re the one who’s afraid, Leon.”
It’s a whisper in his ear and her magic kind of works, as she expected. Leon’s breath hitches, and he steps back enough to wobble a little on his knees. Youthfulness and naiveté emanate from every sound and gesture, although that’s part of the trap he represents. The rookie exterior hides a sharp mind she has underestimated, especially in the cable car. She had ruined her cover back then, granting him the upper hand.
As she pats his dimple playfully with the tip of her thumb, she hopes this is enough to scare him away this time.
“That’s what I thought,” she adds, echoing his words.
His breathing hastens, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously. Maybe this is all for nothing, because seeing him like this doesn't change the fact that she herself is softening around him. The silver lining is that, at least, she’s giving him the same hard time he has inflicted on her.
Ada is ready to call it a win, moving her hand away. Then it backfires. Spectacularly.
His fingers grip her wrist unexpectedly, a defiant look in his eyes. With a tug, Leon makes her lose balance, causing her to tumble forward. In a matter of seconds, Ada finds herself thrown over him, pushing him back onto the floor in the process and almost landing on his lap. They are impossibly near, activating all of her alarms.
Time stops for her, and though she realises how cliche that thought is, she'd still like to indulge in the moment. Just for once.
If she tipped her jaw just barely, she would find his full lips. They are twitched up at the corners cockily, hinting a smile that doesn't really take off, tempting her to kiss them once more. It’s incredible how much she wants and doesn’t want to do it—because, if she allows this concession, there is no turning back.
“I know what you’re doing and it’s not gonna work,” he chimes in, faking a confidence that his slightly trembling voice betrays.
“Are you sure?” Ada leans in lower, head slightly cocked to the side.
He gulps, but doesn’t back down.
If she kissed him this time, she wouldn't do to it to shut him up (though, God, she really wants to shut him up right about now), nor to manipulate him into doing something like when she had been in a hurry and fear of failing drove her to act foolishly. No, she'd kiss him because Leon is the nicest thing she's ever crossed paths with, because he shows genuine concern for her when he has every reason not to, because it's his nature to be caring.
He burns like a blinding light in the shadows she has inhabited for so long—and Ada is at a loss, unsure of what to do, how to face this dragon that pushes her into depths she has never explored.
Like a moth, she is inexplicably drawn to that light. It will be her undoing, she knows that.
The choice is taken from her, as Leon finally leans in and presses his mouth against hers with a softness that feels foreign to her. The kiss washes away every argument she has formed up in her mind on what to do—and she is almost thankful for him taking the initiative this time.
Because this feels so, so good, and warm, and a shiver runs through her spine. Leon cups the side of her face and Ada feels her skin heating up, melting at the simple touch. His fingers thread through her hair, tucking a wild strand behind her ear, kissing her with increasing eagerness.
Ada sighs deeply inside his mouth. In her mind, it’s a warning but tonight she is all about ignoring her own constraints. She stops fighting the built up need, going in for it—all in, no restraint for once in her life. She sips at his lips, a little chapped but sweet nonetheless, and Leon hums inside her mouth in response. When his palm circles around the back of her head, he drags his fingers leisurely down until they rest on her nape, sending sparks across her nerves down to her toes. His skin is impossibly warm, even if the room's temperature keeps dropping, and Ada feels it's kind of appropriate since this boy has managed to thaw parts of her she had locked away.
Leon kisses her with care but hurriedly, as if he thought she could vanish any moment. She can't blame him, truly—stopping right now would be the sensible thing to do.
After everything that’s happened, though, tonight is not about making the right decision.
Ignoring her doubts, she keeps kissing him back and forgets about everything that's not his hands over her skin and the feel of his body so tantalizingly near, limbs entangled and breath becoming more urgent each time their lips meet in the middle. He tastes a bit of toothpaste, minty and fresh, and his hair, just like hers, smells of cheap motel shampoo and God, she could drown in it, a Pavlovian reminder she will treasure for the rest of her life.
Ada feels a light breeze when he leaves her neck exposed, his hand running down her back and stopping at her waist as he digs his fingers there, his touch scorching even against the two layers of fabric she’s wearing.
They kiss like they flirt and fight: no holding back, somehow knowing what buttons to push by pure instinct. She starts trailing down her fingers across his stomach, his grasp on her tightening in reaction, then pushing her forward with a startling show of strength.
(She thinks, amusedly, that he is prone to those, remembering how he had carried and pulled her onto a moving train.)
In return, Ada tangles her left hand in his hair, now soft and washed, and moves her right one up his side, her nails dancing over his gashes and bruises. She treads carefully over the bandage, tracing the ridges of his chest. To say he’s enthusiast about it is falling short—he moans and drags her forward until she’s sitting on his lap, their bodies completely pressed together. He’s so touch-starved it’s like he’s begging her, and his let me carry you comes back to her mind, putting a smile in the corners of her mouth.
He’s been coming up with all these little excuses to touch her, to be touched by her, since they met. She’s more than happy to oblige, and her hands sneak around his back.
Eventually, they have to break for air and she finds herself gasping. She takes a quick glimpse at him with half lidded eyes , and he's slightly panting, leaned backwards, cheeks flushed red and lips swollen. He clears his throat, still trying to catch his breath, and steals a look behind her. She turns her face slightly, though she knows he means the bed.
“Maybe we should…”
“Yeah,” she replies hastily.
He gets up as graciously as he can (which isn’t much), and she follows him, her leg faltering in the process. His hands catch her instantly, surrounding her hips, and she pulls him down for another kiss. Between scattered kisses, they trip to the bed. Leon locks his arm around her and pushes her gently onto the mattress until they’re lying down, her lips crested over his chin, then he traps them between his teeth, letting out a loud gasp that’s half-way through a grunt. Ada has to shush him against his mouth, almost chuckling herself, as a reminder to lower his voice. A soft laugh escapes his lips and he mutters a coy sorry as he moves down, nipping at her jaw and throat.
If she has ever felt like a carefree teenager, it must be this.
His hand covers her left thigh, splayed all over, pulling her up slightly, while he sinks his head at the crook of her neck. The fingers grasping her thigh caress her diligently, finding a soft spot at the back of her knee and then travelling up to her waist again. He takes the time to touch the patch of skin between her boxers and top, lifting the last up just barely, and Ada feels herself spinning more and more out of control. She moves, hands upwards, and brings his face again to her lips, flicking her tongue inside his mouth.
He’s all the way propped up on his healthy arm, hovering over her—bigger than she ever thought he could feel. His shoulders are broad and he can take up the width of her thigh and calf in one hand, and she feels so small with him draped all over her. Last time this happened, it was John above her; and the imbalance irked her, even if she allowed him to keep him happy. For once, it doesn’t bother her because this is real and not part of the job.
She realises, however, that he position will take a toll on his wound. With a light pat on his chest, Ada pushes him until he gets the hint and rolls onto his back. He winces briefly as his left shoulder accommodates, while she passes her right leg carefully over him until she’s straddling his hips. She feels a cramp building up in her leg; maybe another warning she should pay attention to.
She doesn’t, diving down to steal another kiss from Leon’s mouth.
He places his hands firmly on each side of her, thumbs sinking and grazing her hip bones that peek out of the boxers. Breaking the kiss, Ada straightens up and rolls her shirt over her shoulders, discarding the offending piece of clothing. She pairs the gesture with a little smirk that tugs at the corners of her mouth. Leon gulps visibly, grabbing her like she’s his gravity center, and his eyes shine with anticipation.
Staring down at him, Ada wonders if this is what she needs to do to put an end to the turmoil growing inside her. She has been the spy, the mercenary for so long, that thinking about being just her without the masks and disguises is an intimidating prospect.
But perhaps all her troubles are reduced to this, in the end—that she is turned on by this rookie cop of all things with his handsome face and pretty lips. And maybe, just maybe, all she needs to work out her untimely identity crisis is so basic as fucking him senselessly. Then that would be all—then she’d be over her irrational attachment to him, she’d be able to let go, finally.
Since every theory needs evidence, she thinks it best to continue and prove it right.
Bending down, she laps at his lips and kisses him, feeling his hand shoot up her waist cautiously. She smiles against his mouth and covers his hands with hers, encouraging him. He takes it painfully slow (perhaps to play with her as well). Fingers under the tank top, he touches her without breaking the kiss. His thumbs caress the side of her breasts, giving her goosebumps all over. She lets out a soft moan, and it sends him forward rushedly, making her lean back as he gets up and yanks her closer by the waist.
The hem of her tank top is twisted between his fingers, and Ada raises her arms to let him remove it completely. When he pulls up shakily, his whole face turns sour and shuts his left arm down, the other hand grabbing the aching shoulder automatically.
“Shit,” he mutters, biting his cheeks and waiting for the pain to pass over.
Still panting lightly, Ada looks at him and she can feel it again—that she is worried about him.
“Worse than it looks, right?”
He chuckles and nods.
“Yeah. I think I moved way too fast.”
“You did.”
She takes his free hand and weaves their fingers together. And she knows it at that moment, staring at him under the dim light of the room, that this is not just about sex. That she won’t forget him if this goes on, won’t be able to take him out of her head. That he has left a mark on her and she will have to learn again how be herself with this new piece of the puzzle.
This whole thing has gone too far, too quickly. It’s likely a mistake, to let herself indulge in it when she’s positive their ways lie far from each other. This might be the perfect time to stop—use his injury as an excuse of sorts and make the right decision.
The spy would have kept her head cool and collected. But now she is just her, a woman, and nothing more.
“You ok?” she asks, planting a quick peck on his lips.
“Kinda forgot about that.”
He chuckles, tilting his head to the shoulder. Ada lifts up one eyebrow in amusement.
“Really? I wonder why.”
She casts a shrewd look down his crotch, the beginning of a grin hanging in her lips, and he replies with a soft laugh. The lack of proper light partially conceals the creeping blush on his cheeks, although Ada can practically feel it in his skin, in the light twitch of his fingers around her hips.
Leon wastes no time in a verbal answer, heading in to kiss her again—this time slower, less frantic, and they savour the quiet turn of pace. His hands run up and down her sides, under the top. It might have driven her mad in another time, this languidness. But, apparently, Leon has shaken up that as well. He finally changes his course, his hands travelling down her back up to her buttocks, and Ada can’t help but chuckle lightly inside the kiss.
“Didn’t take you for an ass guy.”
“I’m partial to both,” he adds cheekily, and Ada feels the grin on his lips widen.
Her left hand is busy roaming over his chest and stomach, the right one buried on his hair. She finds the trail of hair that disappears under his pants and toys with the elastic band, bopping her head to one side and kissing along his throat. Leon huffs expectantly, stroking her thighs in and out, throwing his head back.
It’s at that point that the cramp hits her, making her twist slightly and leaning back away from Leon. Her legs feel suddenly very numb, strained from straddling him. She bites her lower lip to contain the growl, eyes shut closed as the ache passes by like a wave. Leon lifts up his hand from her injured thigh immediately; when she opens up her eyes again, he’s looking at her with concern.
“Are you alright?”
She flashes a dim smile.
“I kinda forgot about this one too.”
“What a pair, huh?”
Ada sighs deeply. All of a sudden, she feels like brought back to reality—like waking up from a vivid dream covered in sweat, not knowing where the dream ends and reality begins. It’s like a hidden part of her has been grasping desperately for something good in her life. Something nice and comforting. Something like what Leon offered.
Or simply someone like him.
But reality is a thick mantle and it falls upon her with a heaviness she can no longer ignore, as much as his kisses have distracted her. Pain is always a good reminder.
“This might not be the best idea,” she says, finally, and the sentence hurts in her mouth.
“You think?” He smiles, but his eyes look as disappointed as she is.
She wants this, but then again her wishes have never been a priority.
“If things were different…”
He nods and lets out a sigh, understanding.
She gives him a chaste, last kiss on the lips, before untangling herself from him carefully, sinking down her left knee on the mattress as she raises the other one carefully. He aids her, catching her by the waist—still drawn to her like a magnet. It’s impossible to avoid the awkwardness, the ghost of his kisses and his hands still lingering in her skin, her legs straddling him, their bodies still too close and warm.
The cold embraces her in a matter seconds and she hugs herself, rubbing her arms to find some warmth away from Leon. It doesn’t change the fact that her body (and her) already misses the contact.
Ada cozies up on the right side of the bed, giving him some needed space, though she can’t avert her eyes from his back. He slides to the edge of the bed and holds his breath, eyes closed and hands on his knees, legs stretched.
He’s inhaling and exhaling consciously, then his breathing goes back to normal, eyelids open and lips tightly pressed.
“We should probably catch some sleep,” he says after a moment, turning to look at her. “I’ll take the armchair.”
She saw the suggestion coming, to be honest. Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head.
“Don’t be ridiculous. The whole point of staying here was to rest well, and the bed is big enough for both.”
He seems hesitant at first, cheeks still red and hair disheveled. In the end, exhaustion wins over everything else and he gives in with a tired sigh and a nod.
They take a moment to recover their borrowed clothes, him putting on his t-shirt and she her cotton pants. She lets him choose, and he takes the left side, lying down on his back. The mattress sinks dow a bit, followed by her own weight on the opposite side. She curls up to her left, facing him inevitably. Maybe she's just being masochistic.
Leon reaches for the light switch, turning it off in one click. The room plunges into darkness, though his silhouette is still visible.
“Wake me if anything comes up.” He's looking at her from the corner of his eye, one arm draped over his stomach.
“Just get some rest, Leon.”
He turns on his side, wearing a grin she can distinguish in the dark.
“Yes, ma'am,” he snickers and she instinctively gives him a soft shove on the chest.
Leon traps her hand between his, and she stupidly thinks she will long for his touch— that she will not forget it. Ever. Ada doesn't claim her hand back. Fingers intertwined, their hands lie together occupying the space between them.
When she finally closes her eyes, her head spins, overwhelmed and oversensitive.
The only saving grace of this mess is that she, at least, is more convinced of what to do next.
-
Sleeping was never her intention, though she realises she would have found it impossible even if she had wanted to get some shut-eye. As she sees their hands clasped together, something squirms in her stomach. Not even Leon’s breathing lulls her into sleep, but she finds herself appreciating it. It soothes her, somehow.
Once he is sound asleep, Ada takes her hand away and sprints up from the bed cautiously. She collects the shirt and rummages through the duffel bag until she chooses something warmer. Settling for a denim jacket and a couple more shirts, she moves to the wardrobe. It’s almost empty, with only one small safe and some tattered blankets. In a quick inspection, she finds what she needs—one flimsy coat hanger made of wire. One of the scarce streaks of luck she has enjoyed these past hours.
When she secures everything, her feet take her to the door. She stops there, throwing Leon a glance. The last one, if she gets it her way. Her eyes linger on his figure more than she should, and it’s like a blade stuck between her ribs, refusing to let her breathe.
Closing her eyes, she turns the knob and exits the bedroom quietly. The scraping noise of the door reverberates in the corridor, but no one comes out, so Ada simply keeps going. The air is certainly chillier out here in the hall, despite the new layers she’s wearing. Ada notices a chair stuck under the doorknob of the main entrance, as well as a small cabinet that has been dragged from behind the desk. Leon and Claire’s work, most likely, in an attempt to keep anything from coming inside.
Ada doesn’t hesitate and starts dissamblening the makeshift barricade, until she has access to the door itself. After opening it, a cold breeze sneaks inside, freezing her to the bone.
“Shit,” she mutters, adjusting the jacket around her.
Fortunately, the power is still on and the street lamps provide enough light. She walks hastily to the parking area. Out of the four cars, three are regular sedans and one is an old, dirty van. Without giving it much thought, she rushes to the emerald green Pontiac and starts working. Unraveling the coat hanger, she turns it into a crude rendition of a slim jim. The wire slides between the door and the window car as smoothly as you’d expect—which is, not much. But after some minutes of pulling and rotating, the door clicks and Ada is able to pry it open.
She tosses the untangled hanger inside the car, before getting into it. It smells of air freshener and dust. A thin layer of dirt covers the front window, which means these cars have been abandoned recently. Ada doesn’t know how yet, but this and the motel’s state have to be connected somehow to what has happened in Raccoon City, even if the outbreak hasn’t reached this far—for now.
After checking the car has a half-filled tank, she bends her body down slightly to start hotwiring the engine, then her hands suddenly stop and don’t move. A thought nags at the back of her mind, scratching at her consciousness annoyingly.
Turning her head, she looks at the other cars and thinks about the three survivors quietly sleeping inside the building. She thinks about Leon, who was all over her not even two hours ago.
Biting her lip, her head hits the steering wheel and she has to contain a grunt of frustration—all addressed to herself. It’d be so easy to get the car running now and simply leave, driving away until the motel was but a tiny spot on the rear mirror.
Taking the right choices seems like an enormous task—and this is why she has avoided attachments. They feed you a sense of guilt, of owing someone else, she could do without. Begrudgingly, Ada exits the car, closing the door behind her, and walks to the vehicle parked beside her newly acquired Pontiac. It’s blue and it’s all so appropriate it makes her almost sick.
Wire slim jim in hand, she starts working on the lock.
-
When she returns upstairs, the door to the bedroom is ajar, just as she had left it. The wood scrapes against the floor when she pushes it gently. Checking rapidly, she sees Leon lying on his side on the bed, asleep. She has to hold back a sigh at the sight of him.
This is how sentimental she has become in a matter of hours, it seems. But she can’t help it—feeling relief at just seeing him again momentarily, even if she knows now it will be the last time. She has made up her mind, though.
There’s a crumpled piece of paper in her fist—a straightforward note pointing him to the blue sedan he, Claire and Sherry can use to drive away in the morning. A parting gift of sorts.
She approaches the dresser, ready to place the note on its surface and retrace her steps.
That’s when she hears him behind her.
“Going somewhere?”
She perks up, pulls her shoulders back, chin tipped up. The piece of paper vanishes quickly into one of her pockets. Her entire body feels tense—but there’s no avoiding a confrontation, so Ada turns and swallows.
“Thought you were asleep.”
“You thought wrong.” Leon folds his arms, shifting his weight. Even if he hasn’t switched the lights on, she can see his brows knitted together. “What’s going on, Ada?”
She shrugs, waving dismissively.
“I couldn’t sleep, so I was going downstairs to stretch my legs a bit.”
Leon takes a step forward. Ada thinks about doing the opposite, but she’d only bump into the dresser. Looking up, she holds his gaze.
“That’s bullshit and we both know it,” he blurts. He squints at her, as if trying to discern her. “Why are you in such a hurry?”
Ada could spin another lie, another excuse. It would not work, and she knows this as well as she knows how to incapacitate a person in a few movements. If there’s any point in dodging more of his questions, when she has been caught, she doesn’t find it.
Letting out a quiet sigh, Ada looks aside and leans back, resting her hands on the dresser’s surface.
“I was supposed to call my employers for extraction after retrieving the virus. The deadline is in a few hours. If they don’t hear about me, they’ll send someone. If I can’t provide the sample, they’ll send someone. I’m not about to wait for them. ”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere. How the hell are they going to find you?”
She wants to laugh, but only produces a muffled snort.
“Believe me, they will.”
“These people are criminals,” Leon rushes to add, and his expression softens a bit, eyes fixed on her. She’s averting his gaze, but senses it all over her. “When we reach the next city or town, we’ll go to the authorities. They won’t catch you.”
“You realise I’m one of those criminals, right?” Her voice is snippy, half-intentionally.
“Yeah, but…” he stutters, running a hand through his hair.
Ada shakes her head with a smirk.
“But I’m pretty and I kissed you? Is that it, Leon?”
She’s so desperate to snuff out that spark of hope he holds lit. That he might still do good for Raccoon City in the process. That, despite the deception, this might end with them walking down the sunset together again.
“You know that’s not what I meant,” he retorts defensively, huffing. “I’m serious, Ada. It’s not too late to bring these people to justice, along with Umbrella. This could be your way out.” She gulps, and he takes her hand and glances up to her, his voice almost quivering. “I’m just a rookie, but… I’ll help you, ok?”
The knot in her throat tightens. She feels his warm fingers around, his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand. Summoning all her resolve, she moves her hand away.
“I appreciate the concern, Leon, but there’s no need. This is my life, I’ll handle it my way.”
She can almost see him rolling his eyes at her, head shaking lightly. Probably disappointed, but unsurprised by her answer. But he just doesn't give up, which seems to be a natural talent for him.
"So, what are you going to do now? You'll keep running until the end of time?" He takes a step forward and pauses to catch his breath, brushing impatiently a lock of hair away from his eyes. Then continues talking, unrelenting. "The way you talk about your... employers, it seems they'll have no problem catching up with you. Do you have a plan? Or are you just gonna let that happen?"
Ada looks at him, arms crossed over her chest and head cocked to the side, and smiles.
"It's almost cute, you worrying like that." She moves, without thinking, and grabs him by the front of his shirt, squinting at him, her smile widening. And decides to toy with him, just a little, to give him something to think about. "Come with me, then, I could definitely use the back-up. We can steal a car and make a name for ourselves, like Bonnie and Clyde... without the being gunned down to death part, though."
She is bold enough to voice the suggestion, because she already knows the answer.
He laughs then, his whole face lighting up, his body vibrating with his efforts to keep silent. Then his right arm sneaks around her waist and pulls her closer, but not enough to stop her from getting away if she wants to.
(She doesn't).
"From rookie cop to wanted criminal. I'm gonna pass, thank you; I don't think that's what I want from life." He grows suddenly serious and raises his hand up, barely touching her face with the tips of his fingers. "Looks like you have already crafted yourself an escape plan, so I guess this is goodbye, then."
He shrugs, as if trying to downplay his disappointment, but Ada can see it clearly in his face, that hint of sadness he doesn't quite manage to hide.
“I guess so,” she concedes. Then she gives his arm a light squeeze, accompanied by a smile— one that tries to be comforting. “Don’t get hung up on this.”
Leon's lips twist in a little grin, the shadow of a playful glint in his eyes.
“And you better get out of trouble. If we ever meet again, I might have to arrest you for good.”
It sounds like a warning and a promise—and both thrill her, even if she knows they should not.
“I’d look forward to that,” she chuckles. And because this is goodbye and it's hitting her it’s her last chance, she stands a bit on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on his lips. “Take care of yourself, Leon.”
-
“We better ransack the kitchen,” Claire says, inspecting the empty backpack she has procured. “No idea when we’ll find the nearest city. A map would be nice, too.”
Leon looks again at the racks in the hall. They are filled only with discount coupons for diners and road restaurants, while a few other brochures show tourist information about the landmarks of Raccoon City—which makes pretty difficult to pinpoint exactly where they are, or where they should drive to.
“Good thinking,” he nods. “I’ll check the cars, see which one we can use. Maybe there’s a map somewhere.”
“Ok, I’ll go to the kitchen.” Claire walks quietly to the couch, where Sherry is dozing off, and pats her shoulder gently.
Leon suspects the girl has barely got any sleep. Not that he has had any. An hour, tops; but it has reinvigorated him, even if it’s just for the prospect of getting as far from this no man’s land of endless desert and solitary roads. Turning his back to them, he darts to the main entrance.
It crosses his field of view like a blur, as he lifts his head before opening the door.
A wrinkled yellow note.
It’s taped to the glass where the words Welcome are written in chipped painted letters. Leon takes it, only to find a cryptic message in perfect penmanship. Blue sedan to the right.
The corner of his lips turns up in a grin, and Leon takes no time to push the door open and walk outside. The sunlight almost blinds him. He covers his face with his arm, striding towards the cars parked on the right. His view adjusts to the outside light in a matter seconds and then he can see perfectly well the blue car the note indicates. He also notices the empty space next to it.
Leon finds himself in front of the driver’s door, smiling. He is not surprised when the door opens with ease, or when he checks the fuel gauge and it shows it has enough gas for approximately a three-hour trip.
The perfect choice for three survivors.
He knows she is long gone by now. Explaining her absence has required some imagination, but luckily Claire hasn’t brought it up again. Leon is thankful for that: he is not sure he’d be able to explain Ada Wong to anyone.
And maybe he likes it that way: that she remains a private detail, something he doesn’t have to share. It’s complicated, after all. Have they parted as friends? As enemies? Maybe it’s a little bit of both. But whatever they shared, it’s theirs to remember, and only theirs—and no matter her allegiances or criminal record, they don’t seem to stop her from lending him one last hand before disappearing.
He has learnt that she is a walking mystery, one that can’t be solved. He can’t help but smirk at the thought, patting the hood of the blue car—a farewell gift.
“I can’t believe I actually miss her.”