Author's Note: This story is non-canonical. In the original scripts, it was made blatantly clear that Leon and Matilda were lovers (not that the final version didn't subtext this enough...). I simply dream of an alternate reality. Die hard Leon and Matilda canon lover? Don't agree with the context? Better turn back now.

Growing Pain

Chapter 1 – Eternal Sunshine


Why was everything so dirty… and so loud? What is that noise? Not the explosions or gunfire. No… that thumping, that incessant thumping - was it only the harried beating of his wretched heart? It made him go hot and cold all at once. When had he ever felt so alive? Since when had life unexpectedly, surreptitiously slipped into his being? Was it because of this warm bundle at his side? It must have been, because all he knew now, was not to keep calm and cool – a lesson so deeply entrenched in his mind and body from the past twenty years- but to protect her at all costs. Protect Matilda. Save her. Save himself.

He barely registered the pain through his arm when the wall broke underneath his hand – probably shattered a few bones, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the wet bundle of mucus and tears that struggled against him. Why was she struggling? Shit, didn't she know they didn't have much time left? Her hair was dirty and her face streaked with tears. He reached out to wipe it clean, only to add to the grime already there with his dirty, calloused fingers. What? What? She wanted to – no. It's impossible. She has to live. He would make sure of it.

"I know I've put a lot of money with Tony I know I-"

"No! No… you're just saying that to keep me from worrying. I don't want to lose you again, Léon.."

"You're not going to lose me again, Matilda. You've given me… a taste of life. We're going to be happy-" His voice begins to shake, as if it was taking him everything he had to believe in his own words. "…sleep in a bed… have roots…you'll never be alone again, Matilda." He tried to swallow, but it only came out as small gasping breaths.

"Please… go now, baby. Go!"

She looked into his eyes, unable to speak, choking on the tears that would not stop pouring out of her wide, hopeless brown eyes. They were so childlike, in their desperation, and so, so sad. Leon found his voice hoarse, the aching within his own soul drowning out all outside noise, until he could only mouth the words. Go. Go.

"I promise you, Matilda… I promise…" He rubbed her hands with his own large brown fingers, covered in dirt, grime and blood. She was slipping away, and for a moment, he was frightened by the sudden urge to draw her back to him, to draw her close and never let go.

"I love you, Matilda."

It was what he had never been able to say until that day. Looking into her large hazel orbs, so hopeless and desperate, he found courage to put his feeling into words, and to let go.

"I love you too, Leon."

What happened after was all a blur. The moment she slipped through his fingers, his life was no longer his. Shaking like a leaf, the giant of a man stood from his kneel, and without knowing why or how, he howled. It was everything that had been kept inside for so many years – under lock and key. Everything the world had never known about Leone Montana, the cleaner of Little Italy. And then, All he could remember was a loud explosion, flashes of light, lots of black clad men, and …the open door towards freedom to the outside world? He dared not believe it. It could not be this easy. There was a blue taxi on the other side of the street, waiting for him. And Matilda, she would be waiting for him, and his plant and…Norman Stansfield.

Bastard. He was so close to the door, he could see it… the sunshine, taste it, freedom, so sweet and slightly tinged with the scent of summer. Instead, there was only the metallic tang of blood – slowly filling his lungs. And the smug face of that rat bastard Stansfield, with his dirty, greased blond hair, and that smirk of his.

He made sure he wasn't smiling for too long, however. It was the least he could do, for Matilda.

"F..rom…Ma..til..da."

Matilda.

Ignoring the confusion in Stansfield's expression, he closed his eyes.

I'll be waiting for you, my sunshine.

All before the world was drowned in the most brilliant explosion of white.


"-sie!" Streams of light poured through half closed window blinds, illuminating thousands of particles of dust slowly floating through stale air. It was the perfect environment for an afternoon nap. Warm, soft, sunshine. None of that incandescent crap. Real sunshine…

"Elsie!" If he didn't have a legitimate excuse for this, there will be blood.

"El-whew! Have you ever heard of vacuuming?! Or air conditioning…What's with all these boxes?" Elsie opened her eyes, and for the first few milliseconds, saw nothing but brilliant white light. Panicking slightly, she lifted her head a few inches from the table upon which she had mindlessly dozed, and looked around. Inconspicuous brown suitcases, half filled, and boxes of all the junk that had slowly accumulated in the past three years. And standing in the midst of the modest but slightly outdated office space stood a thin gangly man with sandy hair and bottle cap glasses that were at least a few centimeters thick, if not an inch.

"What do you want. I'm busy." She grumbled, and lay back down upon the warm tabletop. It would be a long time before she could ever sleep on it- or even see it again, for that matter. She had to make the seconds count.

"Wh-… oh no. Don't tell me…" Elsie heard the realization in his tone, and squeezed her eyes shut again, willing peaceful daydream and slumber to resettle. "That's right, I almost forgot - you've been assigned to scrubbers haven't you." Elsie groaned. Stanley – oblivious, obvious, unnecessary, redundant, standstill, sandy Stanley. She'd forgotten there was a reason they called him that.

"Well… where are you going?"

"Mnewnorg."

"Huh?"

"New York. Friday." There was a pause. "Oh, that's too bad. Because, you know, the Yeminov case –well, I thought you might have wanted to know that he's here. In the quarter, actually. At this instant." Elsie's eyes shot open, and within a second, her head snapped up in response. Even from the distance, Stanley could see her pupils restrict under the sun – normally they were so dark it was hard to distinguish the black of the pupils from the iris, but at that moment, he realized for the first time that they were the color of red wine.

That gaze - of which the meaning was completely lost upon him –left him baffled. What kind of a mutation was that? It must be some pigmentation disorder. Elsie, not having received any positive response to her silent question regarding the veracity of his claim other than a slightly slack jawed and baffled expression, arose and quickly marched to the door. Stan followed briefly, and raced to catch up with her as she sped down the unoccupied corridors.

"Just my luck," She grumbled, scratching her scalp in frustration. "of course, it just had to be that only when I am about to leave, this kind of miracle happens."

"Wait, Elsie- wait! Did you know your eyes are the color of clotted blood under the sun? Have you ever noticed? I think it may be some sort of-"

"Aw shit – forgot my key - What's the authorization code? Quick!"

"Uh, 627-TJL-8390." Beep beep. Good. She marched through their cramped quarters tucked away neatly within the bowls of the building and through the narrow emergency only staircase. Four flights later, they broke through the heavy metallic door toward the glass windowed walkway separating the city investigation bureau to the district police headquarters which on this particular Saturday afternoon was filled with busybodies. Abruptly stopping and peering into a door to the side, she glimpsed her reflection off the pane of glass above the doorknob and jumped slightly. Her disobedient short locks which under normal conditions was at best as knotted and fluffed as a wild lion's mane, now extended in all directions seemingly in direct defiance to the laws of science and gravity.

Recalling a rather embarrassing incident during her intern years, Elsie quickly shook her head, and after a moment's contemplation, licked her palm and smoothed everything back from the hairline. No use. Screw it.

"Hey how's it going – listen do you have a minute I need a report update-"

"MOVE! People! Make room!"

"'scuse me, commin' through…pardon me-"

Growling with impatience, Elsie weaved through the sea of bodies through the hallways, down one end and then around another corner, People were forced against walls and she swore she heard a child crying somewhere. Sweat broke out upon her neck and face, as she led their way. The crowd dimmed and slowly more space was available through the halls as they made their way down to the temporary detainment area.

Two three four… two three three… two three two… two three one. Bingo. When they opened the door, they were immediately greeted by four police officers and a nosy intern nearest to the door within the cramped dark hole of a room. Other senior officers and inspectors idly occupied chairs brought in for the highlight of the day, and there was even the scent of stale coffee lingering in the air. They slowly inched toward the front, were the Chief Inspector and Superintendent stood before the black window, murmuring to the officers in charge who Elsie noticed were practically swollen with pride. They settled off to the far side of the wall with other members of their bureau and division, who offered several nods and updates.

"Good Lord, it's hot in here, eh?" Stanley smiled awkwardly, and polished his glasses. His hair was matted upon his forehead, and the crisp blue shirt wrinkled with dirt and sweat from their frenzied excursion.

"Unbelievable, absolutely unbelievable. Ya know where they spotted him? That son of a bitch – he was on the metro at central crossing, hooking up with some sleaze bags. Caught by a patrol officer for illegal activities this early in the day. Didn't realize until later it was Isaac Yeminov." A portly man in his mid-forties grumbled, taking a drag of his quickly diminishing cigarette.

"Can't they turn up the air conditioning in here?" A younger officer complained. Several cheers encouraged his remark, followed by a round of snarky comments from the police department group, who took the opportunity to debase the investigation department for their lack of physical tolerance and endurance.

"Who's conducting the briefing?" Elsie asked, leaning against the blackened one way mirror.

"Eli Westwell. Who else." Aw, shit. Of all the guys it could have been, of course it had to be Eli. At that moment, a hush went around as the lights slowly brightened within the inner room. Elsie narrowed her eyes with a scowl as the people within came into bright contrast.

Elsie felt a rush of excitement. There he was, criminal convict Isaac Yeminov, Serbian underground drug lord and key to the chain of investigations regarding black market smuggling within and around the city and even as far as down the east coast. His eyes were open, and albeit being only narrow slits, she could see a pair of dark brown eyes that hazily rested upon one corner of the room. Stan mumbled to himself beside her, going through the list of offenses they had stacked up for him. Her eyes soaked in his every detail, until a permanent image was imprinted upon her memory. It was only then that she saw, sitting across from him, calm, placid almost amused, detective inspector Eli Westwell.

"I was surprised he's the one doing the briefing." Stanley whispered beside her. "I thought he was busy with the capital case." Elsie stared at the grey shirt collar sticking out of the top of his suited back. Damn it. The excitement turned into a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach. The dope deal was supposed to be hers. It should have been her sitting across from that thin yellow teethed bastard. It should have been her, perfectly at ease, within a conditioned room that smelled nothing like body heat and stale coffee. Instead, she was being sent to scrubbers.

Why couldn't have that bastard Yeminov made his appearance two weeks earlier? Then maybe the extra incentive for her to stay would have kept her at her current position. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Eli Westwell was keeping his cool, even as Yeminov began to clean his fingernails. He got up from his seat, and turned to pour out some water into two waxed cups. "Stop. Wasting. Time." Elsie snarled, seething. The man was graceful enough to smile as he poured out the water slowly. She could have punched him, it was close enough. If only the glass wasn't there to protect his handsome little face.

The briefing lasted a mere hour or so, before a break was ordered. When the suspect was safely led away by armed officers, the door to their conjoined room finally opened, and people began filing out into their respective duties, or else the common area for further discussion of the case – their first break in almost a year of fruitless research. As they made their exit, Stan was quickly caught by a fellow colleague who wanted to discuss forensic evidence. Grinning to him, Elsie quickly slipped away and began heading back toward her office and safety haven. There were a few points Westwell missed, enough perhaps to guarantee her a spot on the team and a chance to stay.

"Holden! Holden- wait – Elsie-" There was only one person aside from the Chief Inspector who dared be so familiar as to refer to her on a first name basis – she quickened her steps hastily, eager to avoid all possible confrontation. Unfortunately, as she turned a sharp corner, a rolling cart from the forensics department blocked her only path to freedom. Left with no alternative, she groaned mentally and turned to find herself face to face with man who had without any unease in conscience, stolen her job.

"Detective Westwell, what a surprise." She couldn't help the sarcasm in her voice, and it seemed as if he heard it for the briefest of smiles twitched his lips.

"What's with the rush? Haven't finished packing yet or something?" Elsie stared into his blue eyes, searching for any trace of taunting or ill will which she could use as an excuse to break his nose. They held their invisible contest for a few moments more, before she sighed, and turned away. Even though she was quite tall, he was almost six feet two, which meant excessive neck pain to glare for prolonged periods of time. It wasn't worth it.

"What do you want, Westwell." She grumbled, resuming her walk at a normal pace toward their collective department. He walked in sync beside her easily. "Well, first, I want you to call me Inspector Westwell – since we are equal ranks at the moment." At the moment. She snorted, knowing exactly what he meant.

"Actually, I wanted to ask you about the case. You were a pivotal member of the team first assigned the case, and seeing as such a valuable resource will soon be out of reach, I thought it wise to take advantage of the little time you have to consult you on the best approach."

Elsie stopped, and turned to seethe at him. "The little time I have left, I won't care to waste on such useless attempts." She snarled, satisfied to note that he looked a little shocked. They continued to march through the corridors and walkways, this time at a faster pace. Eli ran a hand through his loose locks, rubbed the back of his head, and looked at her sideways.

"I didn't ask to take your case – you don't have to get so defensive." She sighed. He was sly, this one. Playing the guilt card even like this? Well so what if she felt jealous and hurt and angry?

"I'm being deployed to scrubbers, Westwell. There's a reason they call it that – I'm going to fucking scrub up some dirty orphans and volunteer my time to the little jackasses. Give them hope or something by setting a good example. What could you possibly want to gain from me?"

This time, he intercepted their pace, and stopped her. "Just a chance to talk. I know there's more to this than what we've scratched at the surface. And you know it better than anyone. Will you help me? For the sake of the common well-being. Come on, Elsie. Have dinner with me. Tonight, I'll arrange everything."

"I'm busy tonight."

"Tomorrow then. Your flight's on Friday – you can't possibly have scheduled something the night before." She hesitated at this reasoning, and he smiled, knowing he'd won. "Thank you. I'll pick you up at eight. Don't forget."


Elsie sighed, looking about her in dismay. Her apartment, which had sustained her for the past seven long years, now looked forlorn, cold and empty. Most of her things had already been sent off in preparation for the flight next day, all except her most personal possessions which were portable enough to remain in suitcases. She looked at her wrist watch – eight ten. Waste of her time, bastard.

However, just as that thought flew through her mind, the doorbells rang, loud and clear in the otherwise quiet suite. She contemplated feigning her own absence, but the persistent rings which came now more frequently demanded her attention.

"You're late." She grumbled half-heartedly, closing the door behind her.

"Traffic." They took the elevator down and out of the complex, across the street to where his car, a sleek black sedan was parked. A few minutes of silence ensued as they drove towards their destination, before she remembered that he hadn't informed her of its exact location.

"Where are we going?"

"The Lux Grande." Elsie looked at his calm countenance warily, and noticed for the first time that evening that he had taken deliberate consideration to his appearance. Silk shirt, black suit, hairs smoothed back, yet purposely limp against the sides of his face. And then, she saw the toothpaste stain slightly to the left of her crotch. Decrepit grey sweater, old jacket, and sneakers. That bastard. She was sure he did it deliberately, so she would be embarrassed one last time before leaving town. Well, screw him. He was paying- at one of the most expensive restaurants in the area, at that and she would make sure to make the most of the meal at least.

When they arrived within the restaurant, Elsie realized how much she had overestimated her own bravado. Scowling, she quickly sat down at stared at the menu in feigned ignorance of the obvious stares from those around them. Elegance and posh simply didn't come naturally to her.

Eli raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter, doesn't suit your taste?" She ignored him, and ordered the most expensive item on the menu. Giving him a smug look, she was surprised that he had the grace to look so poised and unfazed even as the waiter hesitated uncertainly when the words left her mouth. Bastard. She turned away sullenly.

"Elsie? Why on earth are you ignoring me? This dinner was supposed to be conversational in nature, remember?" She glared at him angrily, and then sighed.

"Fine. Let's just get this over with. What do you need to know?" He paused, and then sighed as well.

"Alright, well if that's what you want. Let me see... okay first of all, why did Yeminov let himself get caught? I'm supposing he was thrown out of the circle, but even then, it makes no sense that he would just surrender like that."

"Most likely he was forced – you know how tightly the mafia are linked to the drug trade."

"Names?" She looked at him in irritation. Did he know how long and by what measure it took her to get them? Like hell she was telling him.

"Was it the Boris group?" She blinked. Boris group was a new addition to their list of possible connections to the case. How the hell did he know anything about them? "I think there's still something missing in this equation." Eli continued unfazed, scratching his chin slightly.

"No…Boris group was only the first affiliation traced, but the story goes beyond that. Beyond Boston; wherever the drug trade goes the mafia follows. The Serbians do business like that – and then usually the Italians respond with forces. It's a win-win situation for both parties, as you know."

"But that would mean the origins of this came elsewhere. A third party involved." Eli responded. Elsie leaned forward intensely, for the moment oblivious to her envy and irritation towards the man sitting across from her.

"Listen. Whenever I try to backtrack on the system, no matter where I start – whether with Yeminov or Boris or their associates, I always end up at the same place. A void, a nameless void somewhere, who does the business transactions from one end to another, from one hand to another. He's stashed countless years' worth of goods for himself – and it seems everyone goes to him for business, but nobody know exactly where he is. Then, about nine months ago, he disappeared. Do you remember the September riots? That had to do with this, I think. It seems that when this unknown force disappeared, several parties who had collaborations underground were left hanging – without the middleman; they couldn't even see the other side. In such confusion conflicts arose – akin to the Yeminov case. People had to be discharged, somebody to take the blame and-"

Elsie suddenly stopped, looking blankly at Eli who had a smile on his face. Shit. She gave too much away.

"If I'd known you knew so much, I would have asked you out to dinner earlier. I had no idea- and just took a gamble today because, well, quite honestly, I didn't know what else to do." He grinned, and swallowed some wine.

Too horrified and outraged at herself for such stupidity, Elsie could only splutter indignantly. "You-took-you what?!" How could he-!

Eli laughed at her expression, and gently swirled his cup. "-of course, there was a personal benefit that was more or less the core of things, but really I didn't expect you to really have had insider information on the case."

"Wait." She took a deep breath. "You said that you wanted to exploit me before I left since I was a pivotal member of the investigative team."

"Well, I may have exaggerated it a bit." Elsie groaned. Eli watched her stab at her meal sullenly.

"You really think I'm a sleazy bastard who's shallow enough to use others just to get ahead, don't you. You really always thought that…?" She glared at him, and then resumed her vegetable mutilation. "What, you're not? That's what you'd say of course." She replied sarcastically.

Eli blinked, and then sighed. "I just wanted to have dinner with you before you leave." He paused. "The stuff about the case – well, it was supplementary, I guess, but really, I don't want you to think of me as a louse when you're in New York. I only said this was for business because I knew you wouldn't have accepted if it was for pleasure."

Elsie stared at him, and then narrowed her eyes. "So you didn't want to talk business. You didn't even think I had anything worth offering you in this matter anyway." She took a deep breath. "So why the hell are we here!? So that you could clear your terrible track record in my memory before I leave? So I can broadcast your greatness and virtue in New York to my colleagues?! What's the reason? This is not your idea of a pleasurable evening."

"We're here because I took a chance today, for personal benefit. This is my idea of a pleasurable evening- or it ought to have been, in my mind at least." Eli paused, and lightly traced his thumb tip against the stem of his wineglass. "In my mind, having dinner with you is exactly what I would call a wonderful evening spent." Elsie stared at the man sitting across from her, looking at his wineglass as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen. Eli Westwell, standing at six feet two, was a sight to be beheld. It wasn't by chance that whenever the criminal investigation department was scheduled for a press conference, he was the one chosen to represent. At thirty seven years old, he was at his prime. Broad shouldered with a slim waist that was rare to find within their department, there had once been a rumor spread more likely than not by bitter rivals that the only reason he wasn't married nor interested in pursuing a relationship was that he was gay – a rumor squashed almost immediately by his squad of female admirers. In light of these facts, it was a well-known fact that they did not get along together, were people of different species entirely.

Elsie prepared to snort at his blatant lie. However, before she could Eli finally raised his eyes from the wineglass, and looked at her calmly. She flinched at his cool steel grey eyes that held hers. She had been one of those who wholeheartedly supported the 'homosexual Westwell' theory, so why was she so damn nervous?

"Ack. I wouldn't be able to hack this apart with a chainsaw. Imagine the damage it'll do to one's digestion – where are the waiters in this place? I thought this was a four star restaurant-"

"Elsie." Shit. "do you still think I'm a louse?" She nervously looked back at him. He had reason to be confident of himself – it didn't matter what she thought anyway.

"Why the hell are you suddenly curious about what I think of you? What does it matter what I think anyway – it doesn't matter." She repeated firmly. He frowned at her response.

"Why do you think that?"

She sighed in frustration. "Because – well, because you're Eli bloody Westwell our paragon of excellence, damn it! We hate each other, remember? Look – look at me and then at this background, into which you so easily amalgamate. I'm an odd piece of the puzzle. We're two different people who do not associate for pleasure. Or even business."

Eli sighed, and ran a hand through his soft brown hair, which immediately fell back smoothly. "See?! See?! There's a reason we don't get along-" Elsie ran her own hand through her hair which immediately stuck in its new bizarre position.

"What?! Because my hair is smoother than yours? Oh, Elsie, you've got to be kidding me-"

"-we're different people that should not mix for anything." She paused. "This, let's call an exception. I was hoodwinked, kudos to you."

Eli sighed, but this time there was an angry fire to his eyes that wasn't there before. "I wish I'd gotten to this bottom to this earlier. I regret being so hesitant before. Why do you always retract back into your shell and never confront the issue as it stands before you? You know what you remind me of sometimes? A coward." He suddenly leaned in, and grabbed her hand. Elsie froze in horror, the knife with which she had been spearing peas randomly still within her grasp, which was now within his.

"W-what do you want, Westwell- " Eli looked at her closely.

"I want you to stop assuming things that aren't true." She looked at him uncertainly.

"Like – the fact that I want to crush you so I can move forward. Or that I'm gay." She stiffened at the last part, and looked away guiltily. Eli raised an eyebrow, and let go of her hand "You really did think that?" He asked incredulously.

"A lot of people did." She grunted. "Your own damn fault for never having a girl around, even though there were plenty for you to choose. You just never seemed interested – it was a logical assumption."

"I never had a girl around because I already had one in mind. I never seemed interested because I was already interested. It's just that she's incredibly insecure, self-defeating – overall dense, never seems to respond to me, and in fact seems to hate me with her guts. No, in fact, she's told me she hates me deeply."

Elsie spluttered indignantly. "Dense? Now you're calling me dense?" Eli raised an eyebrow and smiled. "I wasn't aware you knew who I was talking about." She stalled, appalled at the words that had so carelessly left her mouth.

"I'm greatly disappointed that the day you finally realize the truth is the last day I'll see you."

"It's better this way – you can realize your insanity sooner." Elsie muttered.

Eli laughed. "Promise to keep in touch, Elsie. And at least let me try to get closer to you." She opened her mouth to retort, but he stopped her. "In return, I'll keep you updated on the case."