Warnings: no beta, OOCness, English is not my first language, inconsistent tenses, i am very bad at prepositions, some curse words, some nudity
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
A/N: um. idk what happened with this fic, but imma post it anyway 😂 i blame the 34-degree (93F) heat.
He was about the crack the eggs against the rim of the mixing bowl when he felt a pair of arms encircle his waist.
He smiled, then gingerly put the eggs back on the counter to lay his left hand over the hands on his stomach. The action made the rings on their left ring fingers tinkle gently, and they glinted in the morning sunlight streaming through the windows.
"Hey, babe," he said, craning his head backwards to kiss his wife on her forehead. "Good morning. How many do you want?"
The arms wrapped around him tightened. His wife glanced at the counter before burying her face on his neck. He felt her kiss his jaw. "Two."
He tapped her hand twice. "All right, got it."
He cracked the eggs on the bowl, and added the milk, sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla extract. He mixed the ingredients together until he felt her loosen her hold on him.
"I'm gonna take a shower," she said before leaning upwards to kiss him on the lips.
He had already showered, so after he was done making their breakfast, he took his apron off and proceeded to their bedroom to change into his uniform. Then he returned to the kitchen to the set the table.
By the time his wife stepped out of their bedroom fully dressed for work, two plates filled with two pieces of French toast each were already on the dining table, along with glasses of orange juice, cups of fruits cut into tiny pieces, plates of butter, a bottle of maple syrup, and a can of whipped cream.
"This is too decadent for a weekday breakfast," she said as she sat down.
He sat opposite her. "Just felt like spoiling my wife today."
She cut her toast with the knife and fork. "Don't think this wins you any brownie points."
He pressed a hand to his heart in mock hurt. "You wound me, sweetheart."
When they were done with their meal, they left their apartment unit and headed to the basement parking, where their cars were parked next to each other's. They deposited their bags into the front seats and then turned to each other.
She smoothed imaginary wrinkles on his uniform. Her hands settled on his chest, then she said, "Have a good day at work, darling."
He placed his hands on her waist and drew her closer. "You too." And then he kissed her goodbye like he did every morning before they parted ways—soft, sweet, lingering, with just a little bit of fire that promised something more when they got home later.
"See you later," his wife said, pecking him one last time before getting into her car.
They got into their vehicles and drove towards their respective workplaces. He parked his car in his designated parking spot, and then he entered the station, his cap tucked under his arm and his briefcase held in one hand. He was greeted with a chorus of Morning, Chief and Hey, Chief, and he greeted each and everyone who greeted him.
He strode towards his office and set his briefcase aside.
On his desk, besides various office supplies and stationery, was his desk name plate—Leon S. Kennedy, it said. Chief of Police. There was also a photo of him and his wife on their wedding day. Leon & Ada, October 31, 2004 was engraved on the metal plate at the bottom of the picture frame.
So he and his wife got married eleven years ago on Halloween. Huh.
Why was that news to him? What did his wife do again? Oh, right—Ada was an FBI agent. They met back in 1998 when they were still both rookies in their respective jobs. It was an odd case, that one, something that involved human and animal experiments. It was odd and scandalous enough that the FBI had gotten involved. He would never forget the day that Ada walked into the precinct. Her presence alone demanded everyone's attention, and poor rookie cop Leon spilled coffee on himself because he was too busy staring at the pretty FBI lady.
That was strange. Didn't they meet in the underground parking lot of the police station?
Huh. Maybe he was getting senile. Maybe old age was finally catching up to him. But why was he suddenly becoming unsure of his and his wife's first meeting? Shouldn't that be something he would never be able to forget? Could this be, God forbid, Alzheimer's?
Ah, damn it. He needed to go to the hospital soon.
Or maybe he was just sleepy; he woke up thirty minutes earlier than usual to prepare those French toasts for Ada. He was in dire need of a cup of strong coffee.
He headed to the pantry, hoping that there was still some coffee in the pot. There were a few people in the pantry, and they gave him a wide berth once they saw him striding towards the coffee machine with purpose.
The people—officers, according to their uniforms—sat on the chairs and placed their breakfast on the table.
"Morning, Chief," one of them said. Leon greeted back, only to realise that he didn't recognise the officer who had just talked to him. Or the three other officers in the pantry for that matter. Or all those people who had greeted him earlier. How could that be? He was the chief of police. He should know everyone working in this station.
Maybe it was Alzheimer's. Maybe it was sleepiness. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was something else.
"Hey, Chief," another officer, whom Leon called Officer 2, said, "you seen the episode of The Walking Dead last night? Daryl was—"
"The what?" Leon asked, craning his head towards the direction of the officers so fast he might have gotten a whiplash. The walking what? The walking dead? Like—like zombies?
"The Walking Dead," said Officer 2. He took a sip of his coffee before continuing. "Daryl was so damn cool! You know, when he shot those zombies—"
"Walkers," another officer—Officer 3—said, snickering, before taking a bite out of his breakfast burrito. "They call them walkers!"
Thankfully, there was still some coffee left in the pot, just enough to fill his mug. Leon's mug bore the station's logo as well as his name.
Officer 2 rolled his eyes. "Right. Walkers. Because it's not cool for a zombie TV show to call zombies 'zombies.'"
Hold on. A zombie TV show? Why—
"Why would they make a TV show about zombies?" Leon asked, anger seeping into his voice.
The four officers froze. They looked at Leon with frightened and wary eyes, perhaps thinking about what could they have done to make the police chief of all people mad.
"C-Chief," Officer 4 said. Leon hated how scared she looked. "Are you all right?"
All right? Was Leon all right? He had just learned that some doofus had the brilliant idea of making a freaking TV show about zombies, when zombies practically decimated half of the planet's population. Those monsters caused deaths, destroyed properties, and ruined lives—Leon's among them. They were not some fantasy creatures that could be used in TV shows for entertainment.
But the same could be said about terrorists—human terrorists. They too caused deaths, destroyed properties, and ruined lives, but they were still Hollywood staples. What some considered traumatic, others considered entertainment.
Leon wanted to vomit.
He didn't feel like drinking his coffee anymore, but he had already emptied the pot and it would be a shame to throw it all out.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Leon lied. He started brewing another pot of coffee just as the onset of a headache hit him. "Just a bit tired is all. You lot have a good day, all right?"
He left the pantry, feeling the puzzled stares of the officers on his back. He returned to his office, mug of coffee in hand. He locked the door and drew the blinds close, and then placed his mug on a coaster on the desk. He slumped onto his chair, holding his head in between his hands and inwardly groaning.
He let his head fall on his desk, and after a few minutes of suffering an internal crisis, he looked up. His eyes landed on his wedding photo, and he subconsciously fingered the ring he was wearing. He slid the ring out of his finger and read the engraving inside it—Ada, a part of me I can't let go.
He put the ring back on. He had married the love of his life on 2004, the same year that he had rescued Ashley Graham from Spain. Wasn't that the same year that he and Ada reunited six years after Raccoon City? And they got married that soon?
Wait. Ashley Graham? Spain? Raccoon City?
The budding headache now blossomed into a full-fledged migraine. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He grabbed a tablet of ibuprofen from his desk drawer and downed it with the coffee, and then leaned back into his chair while he waited for his migraine to subside.
When he was feeling better, he booted his PC and opened the web browser, looking up a word that was forever seared into his brain—Umbrella.
Search results revealed that Umbrella used to be a pharmaceutical giant based in Raccoon City. However, in 1998, the company was exposed to have conducted illegal human, animal, and even botanical experiments that wouldn't be out of place in a horror movie. But after years of lengthy court battles, Umbrella was finally dismantled, and the people responsible for those atrocious experiments went to prison.
There was no mention of zombies or whatever abominations Umbrella had created, and surprisingly, Raccoon City still existed.
Leon wracked his brains and looked up key word after key word. Harvardville. Kijuju. Sejm Island. Eastern Slav. Tall Oaks. Lanshiang.
Those places still existed, and more importantly, no virus outbreaks happened. All the information that was suddenly in Leon's brain—B.O.W.s, types of viruses, even parasites—suddenly looked like the stuff of science fiction, because apparently, bioorganic weapons didn't exist.
Leon wanted to live in a world like that.
And that was when he knew that he was dreaming, because how else would all this happen? B.O.W.s were non-existent, he had a successful career in law enforcement, and he was married to the woman he hoped to spend the rest of his life with. This might seem like a sweet dream to some, but to Leon, it was a nightmare, because how dare the Universe dangle something like this in front of him—something that he deeply desired but would never obtain?
Screw being the police chief and B.O.W.s never existing; he should have known that something was up just from the wedding rings he and Ada wore.
When he opened his eyes, he wasn't in his office at some unnamed police station—he was in his flat somewhere in D.C. The room was dark, so he sat up on his bed and turned the bedside lamp on.
His walls were drab and sterile. He was alone on the bed, and his flat showed no signs that he was living with someone else. He held his finger up and saw no ring on his left finger.
The sight of his bare finger shouldn't have constricted his heart, but it did.
He glanced at the clock. 02:41 a.m., it said, so he turned the light off and lay back down on his bed, one half of him wishing for a dreamless sleep, the other half wishing that he could go back to that dream where there were no B.O.W.s, and where he proudly called himself Ada's husband.
As he entered the office, Leon was greeted by Hey, Leon and Good morning, Agent Kennedy, and he couldn't help but compare that scene from his dream where people called him "Chief." He didn't have an office, but he had a workstation that looked as impersonal as his flat.
He didn't miss the painful absence of a wedding photo on his desk.
He placed his leather messenger bag on his chair just as someone hovered over his station.
"Hey, Leon," Helena said. "You okay? You look a bit pale today."
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit tired."
Helena didn't look like she believed him, but she let it go. "All right. I'm going down for coffee. Wanna come with?"
"Yeah, just wait a sec—"
"Agent Kennedy."
Leon was interrupted by the secretary. He glanced at her, and she handed him a file folder.
"You have a mission briefing in an hour," the secretary said. "Conference Room 2. The director will be coming down from the White House after a meeting with the president."
The secretary left, and Leon looked disbelievingly at the folder he was holding. "I just got back from a mission last week."
"I'm so glad I'm not the DSO's favourite agent," Helena said. "Just sit there, Leon. I'll be back with your coffee."
"Thanks," he said, but Helena was already walking away.
He put his messenger bag on his desk and slumped down on his chair. He stared at the folder, as if staring at it long enough would make it disappear.
He sighed. This was his real life. He wasn't the chief of police of some station, he didn't live in a world where B.O.W.s were only found in sci-fi stories, and he wasn't married to an FBI agent. Instead, he was a federal agent, and he worked for a government agency that aimed to fight against the very real threat that B.O.W.s brought, and he was in love with an elusive spy whose motives and allegiances were as clear as muddy water.
He sighed, and then opened the folder and got to work.
His mission objectives were simple: Stop the trade of the latest virus fresh off the black market, capture the buyer and the seller, and obtain all the samples in their possession. A bit too much for a lone agent, but his superiors had faith in him—too much faith, if you asked him. It wasn't like they were lacking in manpower.
The trade was supposed to occur in an abandoned barn of what used to be a thriving peach orchard in Crawford County, Georgia. There was nothing but dead trees and the barren field for miles and miles, and Leon surmised that the buyer and seller must have parked somewhere far away because he couldn't see any vehicles nearby.
He told as much to Hunnigan, who told him that she would try to locate their vehicles.
The only source of light was the half moon, so Leon had to adjust his torch to the lowest setting so as not to attract attention. He crept towards the barn, torch securely attached to his bulletproof vest, his gun at the ready.
The door was ajar, so he slowly pushed it open, hoping that it wouldn't creak. When there was enough space for him to squeeze himself through the opening, he tiptoed inside, careful not to make any noise. Some windows were boarded up while some were wide open, allowing the draught to come through.
He didn't know what to expect. Maybe the buyer and seller weren't here yet. Maybe Leon would catch them red-handed. Maybe only one of them would be here.
What he didn't expect, however, was to find two silhouettes lying on the floor. The moon was barely visible and his torchlight didn't do much, but Leon was certain that there were two bodies lying motionlessly on the ground.
He adjusted his torch for better illumination and rushed to the bodies, and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt their pulses. He looked at their faces and confirmed that these were indeed the suspected buyer and seller that the files indicated. He arranged the unconscious bodies so that they lay face-up, and was about to inspect them for any signs of virus infection when he noticed something—the briefcase that was reported to have contained the virus samples was nowhere to be found. He glanced around the empty barn, eyes straining to see in the dark.
"Looking for this?"
He quickly spun towards the direction of the voice, his gun aimed. But even before he could turn around, even before he saw this person, he already knew who it was; there was no mistaking that voice.
The person stepped into the dim light, but even in low lighting, Leon would recognise that physique, that posture, that gait, from anywhere.
There was just enough combined light from their torches to see Ada holding aloft a briefcase in one hand, and a gun trained on Leon in the other. The moonlight shone directly on her, giving her face a weak but soft glow that made her radiant. He couldn't tear his eyes away, and half of it was because he was being a good agent who must remain alert, and the other half was because she was just so damn beautiful.
Even when Ada was pointing a gun at him, Leon still wanted to kiss her senseless.
He relaxed his stance just a little and jerked his head towards the unconscious bodies. "This your handiwork?"
She didn't glance at the bodies. "My order this time was to retrieve the samples. I had no order to eliminate them, so I put them to sleep before they could cause any trouble. Consider them a present from me."
"Gee, thanks. I would have had one hell of a hard time if the pretty lady didn't take care of them for me."
"You need this, don't you?" She opened the briefcase, revealing ten ampoules nestled within it. "Unfortunately, so do I." She stowed her gun away and took one ampoule from the briefcase before closing it. "But I'm gonna do you a solid here."
"And why would you do that?"
She carefully placed the ampoule on the floor. "Wouldn't want to get my favourite agent in trouble, would I?" Still facing Leon, she stepped backwards, a smirk etched on her face. She retrieved her hookshot from her holster and aimed it towards a large, open window high up on the wall. "See you around, handsome."
Yes, he wanted to embrace her, kiss her, make love to her, but he wasn't going to let her escape that easily. "Like hell I'm letting you go." Not now, not ever.
Ada's smirk widened as she fired her hookshot, stumbling out of the window and into the night.
Leon cursed and followed her, but doubled back to retrieve the ampoule she left for him. He then dashed out of the barn and attempted to follow her trail, but the moon and his torch could only offer so much light, and he couldn't hear any sound that may or may not be her.
He kicked a pebble out of anger. "God damn it!"
It wasn't that Leon didn't consider the possibility of running into third parties during this mission, but Ada was always a step or ten ahead of him. She most likely knew about this deal long before the DSO did, and maybe it was just her luck that Leon was the agent assigned to this case and not someone else. Had it been any other agent, Leon was certain that a record about an unidentified woman of Asian ancestry would have found its way into the DSO archives.
He ran back to the barn to check on the buyer and the seller, then contacted Hunnigan.
"They were already unconscious when I found them," he said. "I saw no briefcase, but there was an ampoule of what looked to be the virus sample left. Someone must have gotten to them before I did."
Hunnigan sighed. "Investigate what you can, Leon, and contact me immediately after. I found a 2010 Honda Civic three kilometres west of the farm. We're still on the lookout for one more vehicle, possibly more. I'll send a med team to your location."
"All right. I'll get in touch."
Whenever Leon chased Ada during work, he was only doing so half-heartedly; he wanted to catch her not because he planned on giving her up to the authorities, but because he wanted answers. And because he wanted to get to her before anyone could, so he could protect her.
He wondered how long could he—they—keep on doing this.
He wondered how long would he continue lying to protect Ada, how long would he continue to omit her out of his reports before he was discovered. He wondered if there was any purpose to this all, if they would continue this cat and mouse game well into their sixties.
Maybe he should have stayed in that dream. At least he got to call her his wife there. Leon suspected that not even the complete annihilation of bioorganic weapons and their developers would make Ada consider settling down with him.
His heart felt heavy, so he crouched and inspected the unconscious bodies for whatever information he could find. It would be thirty minutes at most before the medics arrive, and the least he could do was focus on his job.
Pipe dreams plagued his thoughts on his flight from Georgia to D.C., so when he got back to his flat, Leon was exhausted both from his recently concluded mission and most recent encounter with Ada. Their meeting didn't even last for more than five minutes, but those were five minutes too long to spend with a spy with ambiguous morals, and five minutes too short to spend with his favourite person.
After taking a quick shower, he resolved to fall face-first onto his bed and be unconscious for at least twelve hours, but when he stepped out his en suite bathroom clad in only a towel slung around his waist, he found Ada on his bed, sitting primly beside what looked like a dossier.
"What are you doing here?" He didn't question when did she get in, how didn't he hear her, or whether she was just sitting on his bed, waiting for him. It wasn't the first time that Ada went into his flat uninvited, and it wouldn't be the last. Leon hoped that one day, Ada wouldn't need to be invited or to break into his flat, because they would be sharing a home.
Ha.
"Got some information that might be of use to you." She tapped the dossier beside her.
Leon turned to his closet, his back facing her. He let the towel fall to the floor, completely shameless about letting Ada see his backside. Why would he be ashamed? They have seen each other naked plenty of times before. Besides, there was nothing remotely sexual about fishing for pyjamas in his closet.
(Okay. Maybe he was trying to seduce her. A bit.)
He dressed in a fresh pair of boxer shorts and a ratty old T-shirt before walking towards his bed.
Ada handed him the dossier. "I have it on good authority that something is about to go down in Chicago."
Leon scanned the documents and noted key terms, places, and dates. He would study the dossier in detail later, but for now, he had to deal with the woman sitting on his bed.
"And why are you doing this?" he asked.
"I told you, I don't want to get you into trouble. Consider this a thank-you for letting me escape earlier."
He snorted. "Letting you escape? I didn't let you escape. You were gone before I could even try to prevent you."
She stood up. "And what will do you once you catch me? Once you're done asking me questions?"
She was met with his silence.
"I don't think you'll ever have it in you to apprehend me," she said, "unless I do something heinous."
"Which you never will." He didn't wait for a heartbeat to pass before answering, and he replied without a second thought and with such conviction that Ada looked somewhat surprised. "You're not that kind of person."
She scoffed. "You think too highly of me. I literally just handed virus samples to my employers so they could fulfil their nefarious schemes."
"But you also handed one to me, so in a way, you want to stop or mitigate what's about to happen. Wouldn't that get you in trouble?"
She shook her head. "How many times have you kept me out of your reports? You're already in hot water as it is. I don't want your career destroyed because of me."
And this was why Leon couldn't let her go, because no matter how dodgy of a character Ada was, she always tried to help him one way or another, and by extension, the unsuspecting civilians that Leon swore to protect. And she always, always protected him, and Leon wouldn't even know that he needed protection in the first place.
That was why he always protected her, because she was always protecting him too.
Leon did it because he loved her. If only he could say the same about Ada.
"I already gave you what I could give, so I'm gonna go." She walked towards his window, and Leon should really upgrade his security before someone who wasn't Ada broke into his flat.
"You're leaving already?"
"I already did what I came here for."
"Stay." It wasn't a command or a plea, but rather, an invitation. "It's late. Spend the night here." With me.
All these trysts would surely come bite them in the ass someday. They might get caught. He might be suffering from an unrequited love. She might disappear without warning, and his heart would not have any broken pieces left to piece together. They were risking too much just to see each other—not only the ire of their employers, but also, quite possibly, the safety of the entire world. Besides, if Ada really didn't care about him, then she wouldn't give him that sample or that dossier, but she did.
She smiled softly. "All right."
He smirked. "You didn't need much convincing this time."
She didn't answer; instead, she walked towards Leon's closet. She removed her clothing, underwear included, and grabbed the first T-shirt she saw, and then shrugged it on. She climbed onto Leon's bed, slid under the duvet, and tapped the space beside her. "Get in."
He didn't need to be told twice.
Leon was about the crack the eggs against the rim of the mixing bowl when he felt a pair of arms encircle his waist.
"Hey," he said, craning his head backwards to kiss Ada on her forehead. "Good afternoon. How many do you want?"
The arms wrapped around him tightened. Ada glanced at the counter before burying her face on his neck. He felt her kiss his jaw. "Two."
He tapped her hand twice. "All right, got it."
He cracked the eggs on the bowl, and added the milk, sugar, cinnamon, and vanilla extract.
He mixed the ingredients together. "You know, this feels like déjà vu. I had a dream just yesterday almost exactly like this one."
"What do you mean?"
"Me, making French toast. You, hugging me from behind." And I was chief of police and you were my wife. "But it was early morning instead of early afternoon."
She hummed. "Strange. I had a similar dream too."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. Only that you were making pancakes," her voice lowered, almost a whisper, "our two-year-old daughter was sitting on her high chair." He thought he felt her tremble.
His hands stilled, and suddenly he felt hot tears well up in his eyes. His dream about being married to Ada almost broke him, but now…this? Her dream where they had a daughter? If Leon was the one who dreamt of that, he wasn't sure if he would be able to be the same person he once was before the dream.
He had hoped, fantasised, dreamed, wished, and yearned for so many times about living with Ada in domestic bliss—hoped, fantasised, dreamed, wished, and yearned for a life with her away from all the monsters and mutations, from all the subterfuge and deceptions, from all the secrets and omitted truths. But a daughter? A daughter? How would he—they—raise a child in this messed up world? How would they raise a child with the kind of jobs they had? How would they raise a child when Leon couldn't even call Ada his?
He looked upwards to stop his tears from falling. He set the mixing bowl aside and laid his hands over Ada's.
"We have—" He swallowed, his throat feeling tight. "We have a daughter?" It felt strange saying that, but mostly, it felt heartbreaking.
"Yeah."
"What was her name?" His voice broke when he said "her name," and he found it hard to breathe with all the emotions choking him.
It took a long time before Ada said anything, and when she did, her voice was so soft Leon thought he was hearing things. "Death."
"W-What?"
She laughed lightly. "Our daughter's name was Death. I called her 'my little Death.'"
Despite the emotions running wild within him, he was able to huff a laugh. "We named our daughter Death? What kind of parents were we?"
"Normal ones. There were no B.O.W.s, and you were the chief of police. I was an FBI agent."
Leon took a deep breath, tried to calm himself, and willed his heartbeat to return to normal. What were the odds that he and Ada would have almost identical dreams? It was like the Universe was playing a cruel joke on him—on them.
He rubbed his eyes with the balls of his wrists. "Tiny death on legs, huh? Just like mummy."
"Yeah." She chuckled. He felt her laughter reverberate through his back, and that was more effective in calming him than breathing techniques. "That was why I gave her that name."
"And I was okay with that?"
She snorted. "You got to pick her middle name."
"Which was...?"
"Matilda."
In spite of the tears pricking his eyes, he laughed. "You named her Death, and then I named her after my handgun?"
"Dreams are weird."
Leon knew that all too well, although their imaginary daughter's name wasn't the weird thing—it was that they were a happy and normal family in the first place. Would the real Leon and Ada ever get to that situation?
He doubted it.
(But he wished, and wished, and wished for it.)
"You tell me," he said. "In my dream, we got married on October 31st."
"You didn't say anything about being married."
"Well, I'm saying it now."
She nuzzled his neck. "Death and Halloween, huh?" she mused out loud. "'Death' was just her nickname, though."
"What was her full name?"
A pause, and then, "Odette Matilda Kennedy."
He let the tears fall from his eyes, let them stream down to his cheeks. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, and his shoulders shook with quiet agony. Ada turned him around and tucked his face into her neck. He wrapped his arms around her, and her hands ran up and down his back. He was mourning for a child that could have been but would never be, a child that never was.
He felt Ada's fingers running through his hair, and his tears stopped flowing.
"I woke up crying after that dream," she said, "and then I went on job after job without rest. Anything to erase that dream from my mind."
"Was that why I didn't see you for three months last year?"
"Yes. But as you can see, I still think about it."
He wasn't the only one mourning the loss of their imaginary daughter. Ada had been there first, but she most likely didn't have anyone to comfort her after that bittersweet dream. She most likely didn't have anyone who held her as sobs wracked her body, the same way she was holding Leon now.
He held her tighter, hoping that the gesture could convey how grateful he was for her.
Her hands stilled. "She had my hair and your eyes."
He looked up, and she brushed the tears away from his eyes.
"Death, huh?" he said. Despite everything, he found himself smiling. "O Death."
Her hands locked behind his neck. "Our little Death."
So he wasn't the only one yearning for domestic bliss. All this time, he thought that he was the only one who dreamt of getting married to her, of maybe having a family with her, of being a normal person in a normal world. He knew that all these dreams wouldn't be possible with their lines of work and in the kind of world that they lived in, and it shouldn't bring him comfort, but it did, because she too wanted to have these impossible things with him. His feelings were reciprocated, it seemed.
Her thumbs brushed the drying tears on his cheeks. "Someday, Leon."
"Yeah?"
Her eyes, bright with unshed tears, met his. "I promise. I'm working on it." She cupped his face. "Please wait for me."
For someone who didn't usually stay, someone who left as fast as she had arrived, this promise of building something permanent with him, something irrevocable, something seemingly impossible...He knew that she wouldn't back down from such a vow.
He leaned forward and said against her lips, "You know I'll always wait for you."
She closed the gap between them, and when they parted, she stroked his nape. "Can I help you make breakfast?"
He released her and pushed the loaves of bread towards her. "Start dipping."
Leon imagined that in Ada's dreams, Death must have been playing with her toys while she sat on her high chair, with Leon and Ada making breakfast nearby. In this world, there was an empty space in his kitchen where he visualised her high chair to be, and his left hand felt somehow lighter with the absence of a wedding band. But there was nothing that he could do right now but wait. He had always been ready to be with her, but she was always shying away from him.
But today, she made a declaration.
Someday, Leon. I promise.
He started pre-heating the frying pan, and when he glanced at her, the early afternoon sun bathed her in a wan light that made the bright gleam in her eyes stand out.
She looked so beautiful in that moment that it would be remiss of him to not kiss her.
"What was that for?" she murmured when they broke away.
"A promise."
She dipped a piece of a thick loaf of bread into the mixture. "Really?"
He greased the pan with butter. "I'm gonna wait for you, and we're gonna get married, and we're gonna have little Death."
She smiled, and they sealed their promises with more kisses.
A/N: one day i will write full-on aeon angst... one day... 😤 hopefully 😂