Work Text:
Act 1: The Façade of Ada Wong
In the quiet of night, she stares in the ghostly wet reflection of the mirror. The mists obscuring her visage until she unceremoniously wipes it with her hand. She appears like an apparition, lost in the fog.
Her skin is hot, nearly burning with the boiling waters poured onto her naked body. The burning sensation was a gentle reminder; that she was still here.
The aftermath of her daily ritual clouds the rest of the room in a humid air. The smallest breaths of the cool night air slips in as the fiery heat escapes out a tiny cracked open window.
She sees herself and yet she doesn’t. The image of the woman in front of her... isn’t her. The elusive Ada Wong. She’s not really Ada Wong, but she is. It’s her face, her eyes, her lips. She reacts to the name, but she can’t see herself anymore. Her birth name was lost, forgotten so long ago. Her new name imprinted on her and rings in her ears in the sound of his voice.
Water droplets drips from her wet tresses, her dark black hair sticking to her forehead and the sides of her face. She wasn’t naive to her own vanity, using her beauty to her advantage as she saw fit. And yet every little imperfection she saw was a weakness she had to cover, to shield away from the world.
The counter was littered with expensive products. Creams and lotions, toners and acids, all meant to turn back the wheel of time. Detailed filigree on gold covered tubes held reds and pinks; reddish hues that she coated on her lips with gentle dabs of her ring finger. Long tubes filled with a dark midnight black coated her lashes. An eyelash curler was used to bend and open her lashes. The memory of him as he fixated on her almost appeared in the misty mirror. The way he watched with adoration as she painted her lips her favourite red. The way his brow raised in intrigue at each new tool she used. They way he said the curler looked like a “torture device for your lashes.” The ‘intricacies of a woman’s beauty routine,’ he'd never fully understand.
As the rest of her shower fades away and the mirror growing clearer, the facade of Ada Wong appears again. Her sharp sleek black hair combed into a straight cut bob. Flicked out eyeliner that frames her eyes and pierces into anyone’s soul who dared to meet her gaze. Glossy red lips that pout innocently, but smirk into a viciously sly grin.
She swallows, lifting her head up high. Face framing strands of her hair fall against her cheek. Her shoulders drop, her chest falling with a slow exhale.
Ada Wong, the mercenary appears.
Act 2: “Home, or whatever home was meant to be.”
Being on the run had a few benefits. Various safe houses that Ada found refuge in were few and far between and were often tended to by unknowing caretakers that simply assumed she travelled for work. They were mostly correct.
“Caroline,” “Vanessa,” “Jessica,” “Jade,” “Violet,” “Katherine.” All aliases to only be used for those locations. Never anywhere else. She was never “home,” but when she was; her visits were short. Seemingly only a few weeks before she was gone again. She often left her “homes,” in a rush, leaving very little trace of her behind.
The occasional foreclosed home in a small but rich towns was a fun outing for her. The pools were almost always out of order and empty; but the idea of being being in a mansion was always enticing enough. On a rare occasion she’d still find one fully furnished; thankfully with a functional pool as well. They were mansions to the rich that lost their fortunes; and now they were a luxurious escape house for ‘Ada Wong’ the mercenary to take refuge in. They were a breeze to break in, it was almost intuitive for her on where the easiest points of entry were. No one ever suspects you'd be able to slip in from a cracked open bedroom window.
The rich were always excessive. She knew that. Individually picked marble slabs that travelled from across the world were used for bathroom tiles. Heated floors and luxurious spa rooms were common. Large TV screens were in every room but hidden in the walls. The rich weren’t so keen having such gaudy modern devices so easily viewable, but still wanted them to be accessible. Theatres, bar rooms and pool rooms were built into them, bringing all of the entertainment to home. Making it so that the owners rarely had to leave. Which made it all the more of a perfect escape for her.
She’d always pick her favourite window in her favourite room. Which was typically the one that let in the most light. She'd lay there, sprawling out in the warm sun as it touched her skin while she lost herself in one of her favourite books she’d carry around with her during her travels.
Hotels were a close favourite, never needing to clean up her own messes. And easy as they were furnished with everything she needed for a night's rest. The luxury ones often had a spa she’d take pleasure in. The only downside was the constant hotel switching would get tiresome. Going from one to another, occasionally needing to switch names and hair colour with a simple wig. It felt more like work than an escape.
This was the longest she had ever stayed at a single place. A quiet little house shielded by wisteria trees. The soft lilac petals coating the home in a gentle blanket. The shades of foliage changed in the light; a warm inviting pink in the orange of the mornings, and a cool mystical shade of periwinkle in the evenings.
The insides were bare at times, the odd piece of furniture she picked up from some tiny store or estate sale. Occasionally it was filled with all of her favourite little things, knick knacks she had picked up from her travels. Despite constantly losing things and leaving things behind while on the run, she found pleasure in finding treasures and giving them a home. Finding a perfect place for something that didn’t belong, and cherishing forgotten things that were left behind. Over time she found herself returning here. Gathering more treasures and trinkets and creating a home for herself.
It was the most she could make of a home. And that was ‘enough for now,’ she told herself.
The next closest thing to a home.
Was him.
A fantasy began to manifest in her dreams, becoming more intense each night she dreamt it. Each time she saw him they only grew more visceral, so close she could almost touch him and feel him against her fingers. Which made it all the more devastating each time they parted. The stinging pain of the departure and the numbness she felt afterwards when reality sank in again was a gentle reminder that she never wanted anyone to get close to her. That the reality was-
That she was alone. That the dreams she had was nothing more than that, a fantasy; and she so naively chased it only to throw it away the second it got too close. It's easier this way.
Each time she pushed him away it would only twist at her heart, tying it up in knots and strangling her. She saw the gut wrenching look Leon always had each time she leaves. He’d weakly smile, and hold back the, “when will I see you again?” between tightly closed lips.
Those times were rare; leaving him while he was able to say goodbye. "It was getting easier each time." That's what she told herself.
It was so much easier before. Peaceful. Taking the last minutes she'd have with him by watching him as he slept. His soft rhythmic breathing, his chest raising and falling. Lost in a dream; of what she wasn’t sure. But he always had a soft gentle expression on his face. The corner of his lips occasionally curling upward, his fingers grasping at nothing. Her fingertips traced into his locks, pushing aside that one stubborn strand of hair that always shielded his right eye. He was so handsome like this, so tranquil and serene. So reminiscent of that sweet face she fell in love with all those years ago.
His dark golden hair flecked with light yellows from the early rising sun. And she’d be gone hours before he’d even wake. Leaving him with her sweet lingering scent and the press of her red lips on a simple piece of parchment. Her insignia and some words that would be etched into his heart each time he’d read them. Scarring him with “what ifs” and “in another life.”
It was always easier this way. Not having to deal with goodbyes or his sweet puppy dog eyes. She caved in each time to her own selfish desire not to get hurt. Not wanting to get too close to the fire, never wanting to get burned.
But she was drawn to him, even in moments of weakness. When the lines of reality and fantasy crossed over. The white picket fence in between them that they’d reluctantly jump across over and over again. Never deciding on which side to stand on. She never wanted to need anyone and yet, his face was burned into her brain. His touch, the only comfort she’d felt in years. His smile carved deeply into her heart. The only man she’d known so intimately for so long had forever tied his thread around her and her heart.
Act 3: “Ada Wong would not be defeated by the common cold.”
Moments of weakness.
She hated them more than anything, despised letting people discover her weak spots. Pain in life was unavoidable, but how you managed it defined you. The stinging sensation from a cut of a blade was short, the pain easily subsiding with a coursing rush of adrenaline. Pinching, and numbing soreness in her feet and blood in her heels from running were injuries she’d push away, forcing herself to drag her legs as far as she could carry herself. Aches in her muscles were just an obstacle, as the idea of a safe escape was always more important. Getting out alive, was always more important. But the pain of heartbreak was more terrifying to her than any physical pain that she could ever endure.
But time and time again, her main weakness would make itself known to herself.
It was him.
Despite her chaotic work schedule, she’d make the effort to see him. Half of the time planning it, and the other a surprise. For the past while she’d leave him a letter with a code that only he knew how to read, letting him know possible dates for their schedules to align.
They had a ‘date,’ planned, and she still hadn't shown up.
The ‘common,' cold had taken over her. Causing more mayhem on her body than any possible outbreak. A simple cold that was worse than anything else she had endured. Her body ached in ways she didn’t remember, her head throbbing and fuzzy. Her chest tight and uncomfortable with each deep breath. Her nose stuffy, with each inhale causing more labouring breaths.
She refused to see Leon like this.
But a lingering afterthought was in her head, an oversight she didn’t plan for. She had already gifted him a spare key, one that she forbid him from using unless absolutely necessary.
Ada had been late by a few days. The spare key to her ‘home’, was normally housed in his night stand drawer, along with a little bear with a frayed pastel blue ribbon tied around its neck. It wasn’t uncommon for her to arrive late or early, their lifestyles were much less accommodating than most. Occasionally she’d message him that she wouldn’t be able to make it this time. All of Leon's messages to her were left unread. Phone calls that directly lead to voicemail. It had been too many days without some sort of notice from her, and Leon could sense something was wrong.
The heavy wood of the drawer pulls out, the keys grabbed quickly and held in the palm of his hand. The cold metal ring held the key and dangled from it, a small turtle charm. The little green shell covered its body, the head of it with sewn with an obscenely cute face. It was a gentle reminder of their impromptu trip they had shared together. Even though he had cleaned it, it felt like the tiny grains of sand were never going to disappear from the little crevices of it. A tiny zipper along the shell held a thin strand of paper. That strand of paper tightly rolled up and covered in a tin foiling. Decoding it held coordinates to a house, ones that were not too far from his apartment. With the numbers in hand he headed to his motorcycle, turning the key in the ignition and headed there with the fastest possible route.
Arriving at the coordinates, he double checked the numbers to ensure it was the right place. Having never been there before he couldn’t be sure that this was the house.
The home was tucked into a little cluster of houses and was far away from the city. It was a quiet neighbourhood, sparsely filled with family homes. His motorcycle made a bit of a ruckus as he arrived, and his face responded with a grimace as he quickly turned off the engine. As he reached the fence and opened the little doorway, he let his guard down. Pacing towards the entryway, his fingers grazed along one of the branches that shielded the walkway. His fingertips feeling the softness of the purple petals. Each strand of the flowers hid away another part of the home. The petals of lilac and lavender shades littered the pavement with speckles of the creamy colour. The front door was painted a shade of black that contrasted the faded red brick inlays in the exterior of the building.
The key laid in his pocket, then carefully unlocked the front door. The heavy locking mechanism unlatching. The dark coloured door swings open with a heavy gust of wind, his hand reflexly grabbing the edge before it swings too far to make a noise.
He closes and locks the heavy door behind him. The amount of locks on her door aren’t a surprise. Some of them quite rudimentary, some of them complex. He found it odd that none of them are locked though. A security system beeps, one that alerts him that the front door was opened but nothing else happens. The slim white piece of plastic juts out from the wall. Telling him the time and date and that the system is unarmed. He takes a few steps in, calling out her name once as he looks around. His head sharply turns as he hears her voice calling to him.
“Leon?”
Act 4: “I can do it myself.”
She was not going to be defeated by the common cold. Ada Wong doesn’t get snuffed out like that so easily, and yet she’s tied to her bed. Hanging on by a thread on as she gathers her blankets to warm her up only to throw them off moments later in a fit of exhaustion. Her nose is clogged, her eyes puffy, tired and red. She can barely stay awake but she can’t fall asleep either. Whatever she caught had taken over her body in a matter of hours and her meeting with Leon was quickly turned into an afterthought. A day turned to two, and three to four. How many days had passed she wasn’t even sure. At this point she hadn’t even considered sending him a simple text, her brain too scattered to focus.
The quiet of her home was broken with the sound of a motorcycle revving. The engine of it turning off and the rumbling silenced. Steps on the pavement grew louder as the sound came in from the cracked open window of her bedroom. An oversight she thought was ironic.
With what strength she has, she stumbles onto her feet. Pattering towards the window as quickly as she can, but she misses the figure as it makes it towards her front door. Struggling out of her bedroom and reaching the railing of second floor and leaning over it, she hears the front door being unlocked.
Only one person ever has had a spare key to her home.
She’s barely holding herself up, using the wood railing on the stairs to hold her entire weight as she leans against it. The stair beneath her feet creaks as she takes another step, her footing loose on the wooden panel.
Leon steps forwards into the foyer, seeing Ada’s messy head of hair as she makes it down the flight of stairs.
“Ada!” His feet swiftly carries him in a few steps towards her as she reaches the bottom of the stairs.
He’s so warm.
He had never seen her like this. Maybe with sniffles or stifled with a monthly visit. But never so- deathly ill. Her warm face was flushed all along her forehead, her cheeks slightly gaunt. Her body weak, cold and clammy. The way she held onto him was fragile and loose, like her fingers could barely grasp onto him.
He repeats her name, more urgently this time as she burrows her head into the crook of his arm.
“God damn it,” he grunts, lowering to grab underneath her knees and cradling her in his chest. Completely unaware of the layout of her home, his head swivels around. The stairs makes the most sense, returning her to where she came. With heavy steps he gathers her at the top of the stairs again, staring down a hallway and towards the one door that was left ajar.
A sigh of relief leaves his chest as he discovers it to be a bedroom. It was clean and devoid of much furniture. A vanity with a large mirror sat in the corner. Two night tables surround the top of the bed, the surfaces of them decorated with matching lamps and a clutter of medicines and a half empty box of tissues.
The bed is dressed with creamy satin sheets, the pillows encased in the same material. They were much softer than any of the sheets that he had ever slept on. The bed dips with her weight as he lays her back down. His hand reaches for one of the bottles on the nightstand to read the description. Then another and another. They’re all cough and flu related. Pain relievers, fever, headaches, congestion…
He grabs at the blankets, covering her up and feeling her forehead with the back of his hand, then her cheeks.
“Is this why you stood me up?” He asks in a whisper as he brushes her dark hair aside, a sad expression on his face as he tries to gauge how sick she is.
“Ada, why didn’t you tell me?” He continually brushes the stray strands of hair from her face, pressing his knees onto the flooring next to the bed as he leaned in closer.
“You just couldn’t stay out of trouble, could you Leon?” She asks before stifling a cough, her eyes tightly closing as she turns her head away from him.
“Did you really come here to catch whatever I have?” She asks after her coughing fit ends.
His shoulders drop with a sigh, “well, if you told me you were sick, I would’ve brought over soup or something instead of coming over empty handed,” his knee pressed up from the flooring as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.
“You’re not staying,” she shook her head.
“I don’t think you can stop me,” he smirks.
“You’re using my illness against me? How cruel, Mr. Kennedy,” she stifled another cough and sniffled her nose, her nose twitching like a tiny bunny nose.
“Wait here,” he smiles, pressing a kiss onto her forehead.
“Like I have a choice,” she mutters, rolling her eyes and turning away from him.
Leon shakes his head with a exhale and sits up from the bed.
The rest of her home is a mystery to him. Having never spent any time here, he takes a few minutes to explore. Some rooms are more tended to than others. Common areas that are more frequented and cared for and had a gentle touch from her hands. A delicately arranged floral is housed in a glass vase and sits on the dining table. A small metal frame holds a photo of him and Ada and sits on the edge of the antique piano in the study room.
Pencils and paintbrushes are scattered in a wooden tray, a delicate watercolour painting of a vase of flowers sits in an easel on the desk. The painting mirrors a similar vase holding tiny lilies and puffy pink peonies and sits a few feet away from the table. It holds the same flowers although they are wilted and dried. Dulled with the loss of colour with the edges of the petals aging and grazed with the colour of burnt tea.
A tall dark wooden bookshelf is overfilled with books. Some of them spilling out and stacked on top of each other in piles on an antique side table. The spines of the books are shades of muted colours, as if all of them were old and aged. Different styles of writings and names are scrawled inside, as if they were loved by other owners. Some with stamps embossed on the first or last pages, indicating it was from a someone’s personal collection. Leon was quick to notice she had multiple copies of the same books. First editions and rare editions of them. His lips upturned, impressed by Ada’s collection.
Leon’s eyes fall on the book that lays on top of the pile. Several corners of pages had been folded over. While some of them are bookmarked with thin cards in between the pages. His curiosity gets the better of him as his hands pick up the top most book and opens it to a random page. Her delicate lettering was written along some of the verses of the pages, her innermost thoughts and responses to the prose. He smiles briefly, laying the book back down as neatly as he found it.
The more pressing issue came back to the forefront of his head as he looked for the kitchen. His eyes catch what could only be a fruit bowl on a counter, the counter looking only like a kitchen counter. Pacing towards it, he finds the ivory coloured ceramic bowl housing bright pops of a orange citrus.
Discovering that he indeed found the kitchen, he quickly found the fridge. Opening it, he was greeted with a few fruits and vegetables. Some leftovers in glass containers and not much else that was easily accessible. His shoulders fall and reluctantly closes the fridge door. Next to the fridge, he’s greeted by a delicately set up tea station. One that looked like it was lovingly used almost every day. One of the glass jars is set closer to the front, and filled with a loose leaf tea. The brown leaves and stems filled the glass, while a few pale yellow floral blossoms were scattered throughout it.
Luckily a tea kettle is still on the stove. Grabbing it, he fills it to the top with water and closes the lid. Turning on the element and setting it down onto the heat. Leon scans the cupboards, eyeing for the one that made the most sense and opened it. Relief drops his shoulders again as he’s greeted with a selection of glasses and mugs. Not a lot of them match, maybe there was a single set in there. But most of them varied in design. Milky sea glass shades sat in the top shelf. Sturdy white mugs were housed in the middle shelf. And a variety of more delicate tea cups and ornate mugs sat on the bottom shelf. The closest one to the edge is propped up, as if it were a regular mug she had used often. Without thinking much more of it, he grabs it and spoons in a healthy spoonful of the jasmine tea. As it seeps the aroma of the jasmine fills his nose, a familiar scent that reminds him of her. Soft, floral and warm.
His steps aren’t quiet in the home, his walk back towards her bedroom alerting her of his presence. He finds her still tucked into bed, her arms wrapped around one of the pillows as she cradles herself to sleep.
“Come on, up we go,” he ironically says as he sets the cup of tea down first before reaching over to wrap his arms around her. The bed dips with his weight, his arms dragging her into his chest. The warm scent of his leather jacket would have comforted her; if she could smell anything. She frowns, her head pressing into the soft leather.
“I didn’t call you because I didn’t want you to have to take care of me,” she stifles a cough, her throat growing more itchy and scratchy with each exhale she suppressed.
“Don’t you know by now? You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” Leon smiles, his hand raised to brush aside her tangled tresses.
“You know I want to take care of you right?” He whispers, the back of his hand gently pressed on her forehead again to check her temperature. It’s still quite warm, maybe a degree less so than from before. She must have over exerted herself by simply seeing him at the door.
“I know,” she mutters and groans, her body aching too much to react to him as he fawned over her.
The cup of tea is drank graciously. It’s one of her favourites. The fact Leon had choose this one over the obvious choice of chamomile and honey wasn’t lost on her. She would’ve preferred this first. Her fingers comfortable hold it; one of her favourite cups. A thin cream mug with a simple design of red lilies stamped in the centre. Some of the flowers underneath her fingertips had rubbed off with time and use. She drinks all of the tea, along with a tall glass of water Leon rushed to grab afterwards. A simple can of soup is reheated on the stove, and Ada eats it up in a few bites. Her stomach finally feeling better after not been able to do much else than sleep and struggle to sleep for the past few days.
“Feeling any better?” Leon reluctantly asks, knowing that it seemed like her condition wasn't alleviated by much.
“A bit,” she groans, her eyes fluttered closed, her entire body curled up into a ball and tucked into him; very cat like as she drew from his body heat. She felt his warmth as he enveloped her and warmed her from the inside out.
“You shouldn’t stay, you don’t want to get whatever I have,” she manages to get out without getting into a coughing fit. Her words conflicting with her body as she held onto him tightly.
“I’m staying,” Leon chuckles, his hand rests on the back of her head, carding through her hair. His head falling towards hers on the pillow.
“Get some sleep, I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know.”
Act 5: “You up for this?”
That was the first night he had spent in her home. The one safe space that she had kept locked away from everyone else, and he had been in it. With time, Ada started to feel better. The aches growing more tolerable, and her head hurting less and less. And as luck would have it; Leon never caught what she had either. He was always lucky, Ada knew that. But she hadn’t expected him to luck out on not catching whatever ailment she had though. She was grateful though, the idea of having to take care of Leon while she was also sick wasn’t a sight she wanted to imagine. Especially considering Leon was, “much more of baby,” than she was when it came to illnesses.
They slept together every night in her bed. Ada sometimes waking up, startled by Leon in her bed. She was familiar with this bed. Familiar with the silk sheets and how she’d wake up alone every night here. And now she had Leon next to her.
Sleeping next to Leon wasn’t an unusual occurrence anymore. Even her early mornings where she’d leave were less and less common.
But here?
It was her safe place. A place that was free from everyone, and yet he was there. His arm still tightly wrapped around her as he slept. His sweet face lost in some sort of dream and a light snore from him with each exhale of his chest.
Leon headed back to his apartment on the second day to grab more of his clothing and returned with a large duffle bag. Packed within it, more medicines along with cough drops for Ada.
A few days had passed, and Leon took an hour or so each day while she was napping to explore the house. Familiarizing himself with the kitchen as he spent a few hours there as well. Cooking what he could for them while ordering take out for the rest. Ada had always had taste when it came to- mostly everything, and her kitchen wasn’t lacking in that department either. Despite not cooking much (from what Leon could tell), she had a large array of spices and seasonings. Even ones that Leon had never seen or even heard of.
Her favourite teas and coffee were always on display and she had a much more sophisticated coffee machine than he did. It was easier to work with as well. Almost instinctively he was able to brew up her favourite latte.
She had grown accustomed to the sounds of Leon in the kitchen in his home. His soft humming and the taps of his feet whenever he had a tune stuck in his head.
Her home was a different story. The random curse he’d let out at a cupboard door slamming randomly was now a daily occurrence. The rolling of the wheels in the drawers were too loud for his liking, and he’d pull on them gently each morning to not wake Ada. But she heard him anyways. She noticed him doing so, hearing him being relieved that he was able to open a drawer so quietly, but would let out a hushed praise for himself. She always smiled, finding it endearing; hearing him as he made his way through the kitchen to make all of her meals for the day while she focused on recovering.
By the fourth or fifth day, he had finally figured out that the door next to the fridge was sticky and almost always needed and extra push for it to close properly. Focused on closing the door, he couldn’t hear Ada’s soft steps as she tiptoed into the kitchen.
“Need a hand?”
Leon turned at the sound of her voice, beaming at the sight of her out of bed in the morning again.
“Morning, beautiful.”
He couldn’t help but smile, he meant it.
He loved her like this. Her skin touched by the glow of the early morning sun, with her dark hair just a bit messy. Her warm pink cheeks and a lazy smile on her face. Her complexion was warmer, and although he was sure she was still a bit tired, she had certainly recovered a lot.
Ada wore one of Leon’s shirts she had stolen from his apartment, and he had a moment of realization as he noticed it and remembered that it had been gone for a few months now.
“I was wondering where that went,” he shook his head with a grin and turned back around and pushed the door again and held it until it snapped closed. The counter was littered with ingredients and extra bowls, the sink filling up as well with used dishes and utensils. The mandarins that were in the bowl were shared between them over the course of a few days, with only one lonely round little citrus fruit remaining. The cast iron skillet sizzled with bacon and eggs, all of it contained with the lid he left it on top to allow it to finish cooking.
“Where ‘what’ went,” she murmured with a coy smile and took a seat on a chair near the island, plucking the last mandarin out from the fruit bowl and began to peel it in between her fingers.
“Should’ve guessed that’s where it went,” he exhaled a laugh through his nose and began putting some of the items away from the counter and back into their respective homes.
“I guess, you’re feeling hungry?” He asked as he watched her finishing up peeling the mandarin and leaned in over the counter to press one of the orange slices against his lips. He takes it, bursting the sweet citrus fruit between his teeth and watches her plop another wedge between her lips as she bit down and relished in the sweet taste with a little smile.
Her favourite latte is being brewed up in the machine. Hissing with the milk and dripping with the espresso. Topped with the frothy milk just like how she liked it. Holding the latte in her favourite mug in between his hands, he gently settles it in front of her on the island. Leon’s smile mirrors hers as soon as he sees the corners of her mouth upturning. Her head nodding with the cup as she presses it against her lips, taking her first sip.
“And you’re feeling better?”
She nods again.
“Do you think you’re up for a walk outside after?”
/
With Leon’s full breakfast sustaining the both of them, they make their way out of Ada’s home. It’s Ada for the first time out in a few days. Leon’s leather jacket is around her shoulders, shielding her from the cool air. It’s late summer, with bits of red and orange grazing the tips of the trees. The hot sun can no longer fight against the soft cool winds. The purples of the wisteria petals scatter the pathway from her home and towards the street. The quiet homes that surround hers are family homes. Some with children that have already grown and left the nest.
The lawns are mostly perfectly manicured and flower bushes are mostly pruned and trimmed to frame each of the houses. The houses are lived in, with a few windows cracked open and letting in the cool breeze. Each house has its own personality to it. One with a colourful fence. One littered with so many trees you can barely see the front of the house. One with beautiful pale white hydrangea bushes that Ada secretly coveted. One with deep green leafy vines that have overtaken the bricks and shields the windows from the bright sun.
They walk in tandem together. Ada’s steps a bit slower as usual but she keeps up. While Leon slows his pace, trying to match hers. Leon’s hands are tucked into his pockets, his eyes counting on the breaks and cracks on the sidewalk as they pass each one.
“Where are you Leon?” she perks up, noticing how lost looking he was. They turn down another street and pass by more homes, one of them littered with brightly coloured plastic toys on the lawn. Pastel drawings of characters and shapes and letters exploded onto the concrete. A simple children’s game was drawn on one of the driveways. Pastel lines drawn into squares with numbers inside of them. The numbers faded with the childrens repeated steps, while tiny chalk pieces scattered on the edges of the pavement in an array of rainbows.
“I’m not anywhere,” he smiled softly.
“We both know, I know you better than that,” she muttered in the same cadence, reaching over to place her hands in the crook of his arm. His arms hooks into her hands, helping her along as they walked. His stride pauses so briefly, but it’s enough to stall their pace.
His arm unwinds from her, and he takes a moment to orient himself as he reaches for her hand. Splaying his fingers out towards hers and waiting for her to wrap her fingers around his.
Holding her hand as they walked.
It was a simple act, one that most couples enjoy on their first dates. But it was a privilege they took for granted. The innocent act of affection of simple hand holding was one they weren’t given, but one they would grow comfortable with time.
“Do you ever think about us?” He asks to the wind, not turning to ask her for her response.
“What do you mean?” She in return responds to the breeze, her head turning as her hair is brushed against her cheek.
It’s a standoffish response, much like he’s been used to. It’s a wall that he’d been chipping away at for years.
“You know what I mean,” he exhales, his hand retracting a bit as he spoke. His hand splayed into hers, his finger pressing into the palm of hers before wrapping his fingers into hers. A calming gesture that he did that Ada had grown used to. The way he held her hand like this was more intimate, he was present with her; and he needed her to know that.
Passing by another house she finally responds.
“You mean, married, house, picket fence, two kids?” She asks, reading his mind like it were the back of her hand. She really didn’t need all the visual reminders as they explored. Each new house they passed had so many signs of life and family. A used car that they imagined the teenage son used. A “driver in training” placard placed in the back window. Another house with a family van with children bikes left unceremoniously on the lawn. No locks, no chains. This was a safe neighbourhood that was filled with families.
And Ada was living there.
Alone in that little house in the corner, covered in the wisteria trees.
Leon’s head remained still, keeping his eyes on the pavement, watching for cracks and leading her away from those steps.
“I think it’s a fantasy normal people dream about, and some of them get to see it become a reality,” she murmured, her hand more tightly gripping his than normal.
“And what do you think we have?” He turns to ask, needing to see her face for her answer. She lowers her head, her gaze lazily on each new house as they continue walking by. Her head finally dips down, her dark lashes covering her warm brown eyes as she looks at the leaves scattered on the grey sidewalk.
She doesn’t reply.
Act 6: “If I could just forget that night.”
They walk together for the rest of the street. Silence between them and hand in hand until they reach back towards Ada’s home. It’s colder, the weather had not been in their favour. Even Leon feels a chill as he shivers, “maybe this was too long of a walk,” he grimaces as he helps Ada back into her home. His hands grip along the leather of his jacket and shucks it off of her and hangs it onto the empty coat rack nearby.
Her home was one of the more intimate places that they had shared. A secret she held for so long. One she had always at some point wanted to share with him, but the time never came. It was always easier for her to show up in his life. She’d never think he would show up like this over a simple cold. She never wanted to rely on him. But he was still there. She’d taken for granted so many things between them, so many firsts that were under less than desirable circumstances.
Ada retired to her bedroom quickly after their walk. Simply giving him a twist of her head upward and towards the bedroom. She was chilled by the walk and headed to the primary bathroom to fill the porcelain tub. Letting it slowly rise with steamy hot water as she sprinkled in a few oils and soaps to create a more luxurious bath.
Leon stood still in the foyer, lost with his thoughts. Her words alway lingered in his mind, always had since Raccoon City. But her silence somehow echoed louder.
His head turned towards the front door, somehow feeling rejected by her lack of a response. But his eyes caught the shades of metal on each of the doors that kept the world locked out of her little sanctuary. Her little home that she had created. A home that she only had ever given him the keys for. His fingertips graze along the metals, feeling how they were antiqued and brushed with age. Like she had purposely found these locks in these conditions and installed them herself.
The water runs in the home, the pipes making the loud announcement by the rushing sounds. Splashes of water grow louder as he makes his steps towards the hallway to the bedroom and the bathroom. He finds Ada as she sits along the edge, her fingers tracing shapes in the hot water as it rises to nearly the tops of the tub before she turns it off. The faucet drips, the water echoing as it spills the last drops.
Ada sees him, standing in the threshold of the door.
The sides of his lips curl upward, “Need a hand?”
/
Ada had years to grow comfortable with the way Leon’s hands touched her. Always gently, and always carefully. Tentatively watching for her reactions. She knew this, knew that he didn’t want to repeat what happened last time.
Night terrors.
A thousand times worse than your typical nightmare. Darkness always creeped into the edges of her peripheral. Her body paralyzed in fear. But it wasn’t death she feared. She feared the pain of suffocating. Countless times had she been drowning in a sea of bodies and thick gooey dark liquid. Her lifeless body sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss. Ghastly faces met her gaze in the dark waters, almost touching her with their disgusting limbs. Her arms and legs were unable to move, unable to propel her back up towards the surface. Each gasp of air was stolen from her as water leaked into her mouth and filled her lungs. All the memories of when she was child were dredged up in her night terrors. Being abandoned, being lost and tossed away like she was nothing. Fiery cities burning and lost to the chaos of the world she lived in. All of her horrors of her life culminating until-
She’d wake in a panic. Sitting up with tears streaming down her face and still shaking with fear. Her chest in pain and filling with air so quickly but she can’t feel it. Suffocating on nothing as she tightly pressed her hand to her heart. Feeling her rapidly speeding heartbeat and her heaving labouring breaths. Her eyes snapping shut, forcing herself to slow her breathing and begin counting down,
"10,
9,
8,
7,
-"
“Ada?”
Her head violently twisted towards the sound. Leon sat next to her in his bed. It was his soft linen sheets. His window that let in the moonlight every night. This was his bed. His bedroom. Leon’s hands tightly pressed into fists. Eager to grasp her in his embrace, but she had just woken from her nightmare. Her breath doesn’t stabilize, still rapid, her body still twitching from the fear. All of it not real. All of it in her head. But it felt real. Like her lungs were burning, choking her of air.
“You have them too,” he frowned. Naively hoping that she didn’t suffer from the same horrors he did. Ada had seen his nightmares, they were frequent but had slowed in recent years. He was surprised in all the years he spent sharing a bed with her, he hadn’t seen one of hers.
“Night terrors,” she mumbled, her hand in her chest raising to wipe her tears with the back of her hand.
Leon finally reached over for her. His hand raised to rest on her back, something comforting that he’d known she was used to. But her reaction draws his hand back immediately.
She flinches.
Like a terrified animal, she violently crawls away from him, desperately trying to get away from him. Not from him. New hot tears brim at her lashes. Her chest heaving with her cries.
“I’m sorry,” he panics, his breath short. His brows furrowed together tightly, already angry at himself for not realizing it.
“No, I’m sorry,” she cries, unable to stop herself from shedding new tears.
He’d never want to see her like that ever again.
Moments pass. Neither of them sure of how long until her breathing settles. The tears on her cheeks dried. She doesn’t need to explain her night terrors to him, he already knew. His hand laid next to her on the bed, waiting for her to react to him. Waiting for her to meet him in the middle. Leon perks up at the feeling of her hand on his. Gently prying his fingers away from the sheets and pressed into the palm of his hand. Mirroring the same comforting gesture. Waiting to slowly envelope each other fingers. He waits for her, his other hand ghosting along her arm to bring her closer to him. She nods, slowly moving closer until she’s finally settled against his chest.
He can feel her tensing and relaxing. Her body running on fear and adrenaline and slowly crashing. Losing the fight as she finds refuge in his embrace. Her eyes slowly growing tired, her frame getting more and more relaxed in his hold. Waiting until she finally slips back to sleep. He holds her, repeating the same comforting gesture as she sleeps.
Leon doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night. The moonlight fading away until the sun peeks along the horizon.
Act 7: "The more things change, the more they stay the same."
He helped her strip down to nothing, his warm hands ghosting along her body as he helped pull over his shirt she wore. His knees pressed into the cold tile, taking time to press a kiss on each of her thighs as he dragged her panties down her hips. He watches her from where he kneels, waiting for her as he dragged her panties off from her ankles. Her fingers expertly unclasped the metal of his buckle and unthreads the leather of his belt. The tiny buttons of his dress shirt are pierced out of their holes, his chest exposed inch by inch. He’s groans noticing his jeans were getting soaked with the water that spilled out, and then whines at the realization that he had little clothing at her home.
“I think I only brought one pair of pants,” he pouted.
“I guess you’ll just have to walk around in your birthday suit, Mr. Kennedy,” she teases, her attitude returning as she shucks off the rest of his clothing and sets them on a nearby stool.
The water almost overflows as they sink into the tub. The almost too hot water hugging the both of them. Light bubbles skim the surface, the scent of lavender and roses filling the air.
Ada reminisces on memories, his touch. How he’d always be so careful since that night. Never pushing her too far with what they were doing. They held hands under the water, wrapping his arms around hers as she sat in between his legs. With her pressing her back into his chest, letting her feel his steady heart beat and his relaxing breath. His lips pressed lightly on her neck, waiting for her reaction. The gentle tilt of her head exposes more of her skin, encouraging him as he lays another. He’s always been waiting, reacting only when she did. His thumb rubs her hand in a simple circle before slowly releasing, his fingertips grazing under the water and surfacing towards her shoulder and bushing the short black tendrils of her hair out of the way. Her vision blurs as she closes her eyes, her body reacting to his touch.
Each kiss is carefully placed, never unexpected. Always where she knew it was going to be. Trailing up her neck and caressing her jawline and finishing with a press of his lips on hers. Their kisses were often sensual, slow and reactive to each other.
/
It was whenever they were intimate. Whenever she let him take control. His touches transcended into more than just that. It became second nature to him. He would wait for her. He instinctively knew how to touch her, but he still waited. Waited for any cue from her. A gentle press of his thumb against her bottom lip, watching her eyes dilate into a deep dark black as she silently urged him for more.
She felt his fingers spread her legs, waiting for his hands to touch along her inner thighs, parting her folds with a tentative touch. One that awaited for her to leak onto his fingertips. Waiting for her to grasp onto him, begging him for more before he’d react. His touch on the palm of her hand, readying her as he splayed out her fingers, his thighs pressing her flush against the bed before entering her warm heat.
His lips chased hers. His eyes fixated on her every expression. Her brows knitting together in pleasure, her fluttering lashes as she struggled to keep her eyes on him, her pink lips falling open as he stretched her open. Waiting for her to move him along as she hugged every inch of him. His forehead pressed against hers, his eyes snapping shut, his body electrified with pleasure as held himself back. His cock throbbing inside of her, feeling every twitching hug of her walls. Her calls for him were heavenly, opening the doorway for him as he’d draw his hips back before easing back in. His hands remained in hers, keeping her close to him. Holding her as she fell apart around him, thrashing and curling into him. Losing herself to him.
/
“Where are you in your beautiful head?” His voice is warm against her ear. Soft and sweet. The ends of his hair are wet, dragging lines of water on the top of her shoulders.
“Is this enough for you?” She whispers, her lips barely moving with her words.
Unsure of her own question, unsure of Leon’s answer; she eyes the water droplets as they sink down the ivory of the tub, watching them fall into the abyss. She doesn’t want to hear his answer, interrupting any chance for words with her hands cupping the water to spill onto their shoulders.
He doesn’t answer, pressing his chin into her shoulder, sinking into the bath. He doesn’t know the answer. He never has. Never asked if what they had could be more. Time was slipping away from them. It had been ever since Raccoon City. Time was a privilege he wasn’t granted. Time taken away. Taken away from him, taken away from her.
“You’re enough for me,” he smiles.
“You always have had a way with words, haven’t you?”
“Learned from the best,” his smile reaches his eyes.
Even if it wasn’t what their fantasy could be, reality was what they had. And they couldn’t ask for more even if they wanted to. It was enough for her also. Knowing she’d let in the one person that deserved it all.
Act 8: "The ties that bind."
In the following few days Ada had finally recovered and was things were returning back to normal. No longer was she weak and frail, she was finally perky, alert and ready to go back to work. But when she finally receives the call, she hesitates on taking the mission. Her fingers wrapped around the burner phone, the screen highlighting the new task along with the compensation for the job. Ada Wong, the mercenary wouldn’t take hold of her today; the cold, calculated character she needed to portray to get her work done wouldn't appear in her reflection. Today was just for her- her and the man that so easily made his way into her heart.
They fell back into their routine, tangled in her sheets. Waking in the early morning sun with gentle grazes against each other’s faces. A press of the lips to be shared as their first acts of affection for the day. Mingled with the countless caresses and lazy trailing of fingers on warmed naked skin. Her fingers traced the dots and lines on his arms, pressing kisses against the tense muscle and laid another lingering kiss on his scar. He would do the same, holding her tenderly against his naked chest. His larger hands held hers, pressing them in between their chests as he leaned in close. Peppering fields of kisses on her decollete and against her right shoulder. His kisses are loud, his lips chasing hers, wanting more with a simple nudge of his nose against hers.
A smile grows on his face, mirroring the one on hers. The bed falls, redistributing their weight as he lay above her, taking his time with her. Loving her in ways he deserved to give her. It was enough for now. His silent pleas were answered in the form of desperate kisses and the simple call of his name.
/
Her fingers held a pastel lilac book. The edges of it frayed, the pages yellowed. It was one of her favourites, a simple poetry book filled with lovers poems to each other and lines of longing and desire.
Her life was mimicked in the very pages- of his sweet smile that she chased. The ocean blues she found escape in and was lost in were his. The laughter she heard of was his. Her name she only heard in his voice. The prose typed in the pages were meant to hold your heart tenderly, but also squeezed too tightly with simple lines of separate ways. She’d find herself rereading a particular poem, reciting the words to relive it. A red string of fate that binds two lovers. Her voice was softly singing the words, having the lines almost memorized. Her quiet tone lulling Leon as he laid with his head in her lap. Her free hand threaded through his locks to tease if he were still listening. His quiet, “-m still listening,” response is also his hand reaching for hers, splaying out her fingers and wrapping hers into his. She held him carefully, carrying him with her always.
Even when they part, as they always did. She’d remember the words in the poem, reciting the lines and remembering him as he laid in her lap. His hand in hers, sitting on her couch in the little home she made, surrounded by the books she’s collected over the years and with the trinkets she’d save. With all of of the flowers she’d picked and displayed. With a small white shell from that trip they shared that Leon had plucked from the sand and given her. With a framed photo of them in which they shared a tender private kiss.
A safe haven made only for her. And he had done the one thing she never thought she’d see a reality. That she’d let him into her life and that he had her wrapped around his finger.
That no matter what parts them, he’s tied to her.
And in return, she’d be tied to him forever.