Part Two: The Bitch in the Red Dress

A dangerous game.

A willing sacrifice.

A moment of reckoning to make a hero.

Washington, D.C.- 2003

The weeping was so loud. It was punctuated by the discernible squeak of bed springs and the thump of wall taking the damage accompanied by the heavy strike of skin on skin. It was a symphony of flesh and fucking that left no secrets behind the closed door that stood between the prying eyes of the world and what waited beyond.

He rolled to the side, slick with sweat and panting. On her back, legs akimbo like a well used whore, the lonely wife of Marlon Sievers was still crying in the aftermath. Her hand slapped to her soaked narrow chest as her mouth made sounds that were somewhere between laughter and surrender.

"Oh my gawd..." Her thick Brooklyn accent was almost nasally, "...where the hell have you been all my life?"

On his back, heaving as if he'd run five miles up a mountain in high humidity, Leon stared at the rotating fan with a kind of stale acceptance. He snapped off the condom on his cock and tossed it into the trash by the bed.

Ada was right.

Sievers wife was lonely, horny, and pretty. He'd gotten himself assigned as a body guard to her detail and gotten her panties off in less than a week. Women, for the most part, were predictable. A little light flirting, some promise of the forbidden, and she'd played like putty right into his hands.

When she'd wavered, he'd slid his hand up her thigh at dinner with her husband right across from them, and fingered her while she squirmed. She'd cum against his stroking thumb while her husband had shared wine with Senators four feet away.

Ballsy.

But brilliant.

After that, he could barely keep her off him. Every time the husband left, she was in his pants and on his dick. After a week and a half of fucking her stupid, the secrets started pouring out. Pillow talk was an incredible aphrodisiac. She'd blathered on and on about Sievers with a scorned wife's typical spite. She'd revealed secrets that might have gotten her killed if she'd been confessing to the wrong person.

She knew things that Leon hadn't expected. Sievers, assuming his wife was dumb, had spoken in front of her and not even realized she was listening. She'd learned more being arm candy than she'd have learned if she'd been something besides a big rack and a pair of perfect dick sucking lips.

Fucking Tonya Sievers had gotten him names and connections to Project Pentacle that he'd have spent years digging up through normal means. Apparently, his pretty face was more lethal than a hacker with a grudge against the government. Pentacle was a cloning initiative in its infancy. They were waiting for a sample of some kind of parasite to perfect the process.

In the mean time, subjects were cryogenically frozen to preserve their integrity. They were kept in stasis to allow the body to remain functional until "implantation". Implantation of what?

Sievers wife had struck up a cigarette as he rose. She gave him limpid lidded eyes, "He won't be back for hours yet. You should stay."

He shrugged and returned, "I got shit to do." Tonya liked to be treated like shit in a way. She wanted him to be cold and almost bored like this.

She yearned for it in that way that some women had when they adored drama. She shivered and gave him a lick of her lips, "Come back later and I'll blow you."

He laughed and headed for the door. Just beyond it, Leon retrieved the phone he'd stuffed into the fern beside the door frame. Not hers, Sievers. The fool had left it right on the nightstand before he'd left for work. By fucking his wife, Leon had fucked him as well.

The last number called on the phone had an international code attached to it. Spain, by the look of the extension. Who in Spain was attached to Project Pentacle? He hit redial and waited. It picked up with a rapid spill of Spanish.

The Madrid Metro Homicide Division? What did that have to do with anything? There was a crunchy piece of something stuck to the number three. So Leon hit that button when it prompted him to enter the extension of his party.

A heavily accented voice greeted him, "Amigo...I warned you not to call me here. What if someone is listening?"

When he was silent, the voice sighed, "Of course...a goddamn butt dial. Hijo de la chingada."

The line went dead. Homicide? What did a potential cloning project in the states have to do with the police in Madrid? It was too wide of a berth in the world of weird to make sense.

The phone beeped, surprising him, as a text message rolled in. The agent knows. Finish him.

Someone knew he was there. Someone knew he was a spy. It was time to take out Sievers, before Leon wound up a victim of his own scheming.

It was the first time he'd killed someone without being eyeball deep in enemies. He slipped atropine into his cocktail and was gone into the night when the first shouts of alarm were raised. The atropine induced a heart attack. A coroners exam would reveal nothing short of a massive coronary.

It was murder in a way that wasn't at all about guns and blood and violence. It was cold, calculating, and controlled. It was the way Ada Wong killed her prey.

Leon leaned on the wall of the safe house as he rode out the fallout to be sure that there was no alarms raised about Sievers death. While he did it, he hacked systems to track the number who'd texted Sievers phone, but it was buried in so many layers that it would take days or weeks even to find the source.

He was still digging when his personal line rang. Shifting his little glasses off his face as he grabbed it, Leon clicked through data and greeted, "Yeah?"

The voice on the other end said, "Mr. Kennedy? This is Derek Simmons the National Security Advisory...you come highly recommended for your bravery and patriotism. I have an opportunity for you, if you're interested."

Curious, Leon leaned back in his chair and returned, "I am. What's it regarding?"

"...how would you like to be the personal security detail for the newly elected President Graham?"

Surprised, Leon tilted his head, "That's what Secret Service is for, Director Simmons."

"You misunderstand, Mr. Kennedy. I didn't say his guard. I said security. There are threats against his person and interest that are right in your wheel house. Sievers was the first step of a much bigger pyramid. The President needs someone with...your particular skill set to assist him. We can pay you, handsomely, for your time."

Something about that guys voice just rubbed him the wrong way, but Leon found himself intrigued. So he watched the data fly across the screen and found himself answering, "...I would be honored."

He had no idea what he was getting himself into.

Rojo Muerte, Spain - 2004

The muzzle of the gun dug into his back even as the smooth dulcet tones invited, "Put your hands where I can see them."

His left brow arched. His eyes narrowed. After everything he'd done to find this girl, he'd be damned if some smooth talking femme fatale was going to stop him in a dusty old bedroom in a dirty old castle. She had no idea who she was taunting here.

So he told her, "Sorry, sweetheart...but following a lady's lead just isn't my style."

The amusement was rich in her voice as she cooed, "...put them up now."

The hammer clicked on her gun. He turned at the same time. She made a grunt of surprise as he put her arm in a joint lock and made a swipe for her gun. That's when things went a little haywire. She didn't submit, she straight up kicked the gun out of his hand. Her long, long, long leg swept up and over in a clever one handed front cartwheel. The world narrowed to a handful of seconds.

He could see it happen. What he did, it was more than just luck, it was training. He could assess and assimilate the situation in a handful of moments. He could see two potential outcomes faster than he could draw a breath.

One - he stayed where he was and dove for the gun. She'd get it first and likely shoot him.

Two - he could race her for it. She'd still get it, but she'd be at his mercy...because he drew his knife as he ran. The gun hit her palm and was spun out to face him, his left hand caught her wrist to shove it aside and the knife was cocked sideways at the delicate curve of her throat.

For just a brief flicker, he watched the flash of something like admiration across her pretty face, as he told her, "Word of advice, honey, next time try knives...works infinitely better for close encounters."

He divested her of her gun and hit the release to spill the magazine to the floor as he tossed it the opposite direction. Her head tilted as he paced away and she greeted, "...hmm...Leon...long time, no see."

His expression was less than impressed as he turned back to face her. "Ada...I'd say I'm surprised to see you, but I'm not. You're like a cockroach, you turn up anytime things get quiet."

Her lips split in a wry grin. She tugged the glasses off her face and mused, "You don't sound happy to see me."

His blue eyes rolled as he replied, "If you're here, someone's dead or betrayed, probably both and possibly me...so I'm not really ever glad to see you, Ada. What do you want?"

She looked incredible, damn her, in a gorgeous but completely useless red dress. She looked like she should be going to a party instead of battling bad guys in a dirty village. What was she doing here?

Ada tilted her head again, "Maybe I wanted to see you again."

He laughed now, harsh and dry. His voice dripped sarcasm as he said, "Right. You could have popped up at Starbucks to share a latte, but you felt like in the middle of a nuthouse filled with parasitic freaks was a better way to get reacquainted. What's the plan? You wanna fuck over there on that dusty bed? I can just poke it out of my pants and jerk up your skirt."

A curious thing to know she'd missed him. Tracking him was cake, honestly, he was as loud and obvious as a full fledged fart in a church. There was no mistaking he was there to make trouble. He'd torn apart the town and tramped across the countryside like a ham handed savior on the back of a tank. Sneaking wasn't exactly his forte, but in fairness, he wasn't trying to be quiet.

He was trying to save the girl. God knew that Leon Kennedy didn't need to be a gentle toned savior. He was there to fuck up their world and walk away the winner. It was a clever way of keeping the eyes on him so Ada could operate in the shadows for her own reasons.

He was so good at it! She'd kept him alive to be sure he covered her tracks. Of course, her own personal feelings made that part entertaining as well. She'd been impressed with his fervor the last time she'd seen him. He was as good in bed as he was in the field. An impressive creature, he kept her curious about what he'd do next.

She was contemplating the ramifications of becoming his lover. She knew, in one hand, it would make him more her creature. In the other, it would make him closer to her than anyone had been in a long time. She didn't want him getting into her business. She wanted him, in a purely feminine way, but she'd never in her life risked her safety for a piece of ass. She wasn't going to start now.

Right now she knew if there was anyone in this god forsaken shit hole that could get her the sample she wanted and take down all the enemies in the in between, it was him. She just needed to keep him alive to do it for her.

So she tilted her head again, "Would that make you fight harder, I wonder? And would you really say no if I offered?"

He rolled his eyes again and turned away from her. "Don't flatter yourself, Ada. I'm here doing my job. I don't have time to play footsie with you."

"And yet you offered. You suggested it." She tried her hand and was delighted to see he let her. He let her touch the inside of his forearm and rub with two fingers down to his tactical glove. He didn't touch her back, but he didn't lean away either. Tough guy or not, his body wanted her. They were both aware of it. "...have you missed me, Leon?"

He finally stepped back, and to her delight? He didn't answer her. "So it's true what I hear."

"...which part?"

"You- workin with Wesker."

Oh. That part. She grinned. "I've been known to work with the enemy when it suits my purposes."

"And what purpose is that?"

She winked at him and tossed her glasses on the floor. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Fruistrated, he gave her an angry expression, "What are you doing here, Ada? And why show yourself to me?"

She tilted her head again, "Really? Take a minute and think about that. You went down in that cabin...who do you think protected you while you slept? And do you think that just anyone was dangling outside that window to lure away the enormous bulk of that bastard Mendez? You do have a penchant for courting your own demise, Leon, I'd suggest you think about who your guardian angel has been all this time."

Shit. Shit. His brows shot up. She sighed and shrugged, "That's right, handsome, me. I'm on your side. When are you going to get that?"

"I don't even know what that means, Ada. Whose side is mine?"

"A good question." She watched the timer on the glasses flash a warning and added, "Be careful, Leon. There's much more at play here than you think. Remember what I told you about Project Pentacle. I'll do what I can to help you. Hurry."

The glasses flashed, throwing the world in light, and she rolled away to grab her gun and escape off the balcony while he called after her.

She tracked him while she played the game with Wesker that would ultimately end with one of them dead. Her agenda was her own, it always had been, and the puppet in this story hadn't ever been Leon, not really, it was Wesker. Wesker was her puppet, even if he thought she was his. Leon wasn't her play thing, he was her weapon.

He did her dirty work like an unwitting golem. The question of whether or not she was the good guy or the bad guy would haunt him forever, she was sure of that. The sad news? He wasn't the good guy either.

He was a puppet after all, but not hers. Simmons. The strings above his head made the handsome hero dance in ways he couldn't even begin to guess at. Not yet. Not until he was ready to open his eyes and see how deeply tethered he was to his masters.

The time would come for him to cut those strings and free himself, but it wasn't today. Today, he was the guy in need of a hero himself. Too stupid, too brave, too selfless to turn back and save himself. She had to give it to him, he was determined to rescue a single girl in the clutches of a terrorist cult.

Even Wesker was impressed with his fortitude. And Wesker was never impressed.

As Ada waited beneath the crumbling tower where he battled the mutated Salazar, Wesker wondered across the communicator in her palm, "Can he be compelled to switch sides?"

She considered this. Even if he could be, would she want him to? He was useful to her on the "right" side. In the dark, if they both dwelled there, he'd become another liability. She shook her head, "He's too righteous. He believes what he's doing makes a difference."

Wesker sighed, "Another Redfield. Maybe worse than him as Redfield is still a dog on a leash. This one...he seems to be the type to snap the leash when it suits him."

Ada considered that as well. He was right. Leon did march to his own drum when it suited him. She'd heard he'd seduced Sievers wife to get intel. It was a bold move, a dangerous one, and one she'd done herself when necessary. It stunk of spy instead of agent. He could, it seemed, dip a toe or a dick into the dark when it suited him. He wasn't above using his pretty face and his virile body to reach his own end.

It intrigued her. It added a layer of potential double cross that compelled her to remember he was, in a word, a genius. Though she might suspect he was a good natured hero, maybe he was really as convoluted as she was. Maybe...Leon Kennedy had his own agenda all along.

She tapped her toe of her heel while she dwelled on that. What if he was playing against her? What if he was more than a pretty face with an altruistic soul? Could she look down the barrel of her gun and end him? Or had she over played her own game to the point she was invested in him?

She heard the skitter of boots and the heavy jerk of a round chambered. Her brows lifted as she turned her head to find him starring down the barrel of his own at her. Her mouth turned up, "Hiya, handsome. Fancy a lift?"

The cave trembled. The walls shook. The tower was coming down. His best bet was in that boat.

Without a word, he took it. He leaped in beside her as she hit the throttle and raced out into the dark.

His gaze drifted over her profile as she rushed across the cold water. The night curled around them, chilly and tempest tossed, the sky grumbled and a spatter of rain hit his skin as the ocean tossed foam up from its disturbed depths. The boat sliced through the inky water while he watched her. Why was she always there when things turned bleak and hopeless?

What did she want from him?

His gaze trailed over her narrow waist. It lingered for a moment at the press of her nipples against the red cloth of her dress. She was cold. It was freezing on the open water, so it was no surprise, but there was the old trickle of a want to lower her top and put his mouth to her begging breasts. That was simple, it was as old as time, it was sheer physical attraction a beautiful woman.

He'd probably always want her. A simple biological urge to fuck propelled him to do that. His gaze traveled down to her exposed thigh in that heavy slit. The holster held her gun, but the wound above it gave him pause. It trickled blood down her porcelain skin to the velcro strap.

When he something cut her?

She was flawless save for that one wound.

Testing the limits of it, his hand shifted over. She let him touch her thigh. His thumb swept along the bloody mark, his fingers curled under the toned bottom of that smooth thigh. She arched a brow at him as the boat zipped toward the cliffs. "...like what you see?"

Without a word, he pressed his thumb against the wound - hard. She gasped. Her hands jerked the wheel and the boat spun out, smacking its side into the craggy cliff. He grunted and Ada gripped his throat to shove him back against his seat. She flashed a wolfish grin at him, "...little bastard. Like hurting me?"

He had the strangest urge to kiss her. An odd feeling given that he'd just jabbed her wounded leg to fuck with her. He murmured, "...depends."

"On?"

"On what you want from me, Ada. Stop fucking with me and just tell me."

She leaned toward him. Their noses brushed. His gaze flicked to her mouth, and she was aware of it. Her dark eyes sparkled as she told him, "Yeah. We both want that, don't we? Sadly...I don't fuck the infected. Save yourself, you fool, and stop being a hero."

He licked his lips and the corner turned up, "Sorry, kid. I yam, what I yam."

Amused, Ada laughed and the whoosh of her grapple gun was loud in the rustling night. She shook her head at him, "Noble bastard...you'll die being a hero."

"...better than living a liar."

Ah. Her eyes flashed. She curled her nails against his throat and had his answering them. They flashed with warning and...what? Want. Yeah. That was a trigger for her too. Danger. It was their bread and butter here.

She told him, "...see ya later, handsome. Try not to die on me...I still need you."

The gun whooshed. Her hand slid off his throat. He watched her body shoot upward and the boat spun out, throwing him sideways as he grabbed for the wheel to steady it. It bumped the cliff and had him sighing, "...women."

There was no one else in the world quite like that one.

Her heels clanged as she ran. She'd been stupid. She'd under estimated that idiot Krauser. She was on borrowed time. She could hear them struggle. She knew it was a fifty-fifty shot that Leon wouldn't even need her help here.

She couldn't take the risk.

She heard him shout. She heard the whoosh of war. She heard the strike of steel. Out of time. Out of luck. She reached the edge of heavy metal platform and heard Leon shout in rage...from the bottom. He was down. He was done. All the skill in the world wouldn't stop monster strength. Jack was fucking with him. Jack could rip his head from his shoulders and be done with it.

Jack wasn't Jack anymore. Not really.

The knife nicked the hollow of Leon's throat and spilled blood. His roar of anger echoed around the room. Impressed that he wouldn't die begging, Ada lifted her gun and shot the goddamn knife right out of the hands of his attacker.

It shot off and stuck in the grated steel with a clang. Jack took a kick to the chest at the same moment from his erstwhile captive. He was thrown backward into a flip as Leon gained his feet.

As he made his angry exit, he cursed, "I will enjoy watching you die...comrade."

Ada leaped down as Jack fled. She tilted her head at Leon as he tugged the knife free from the steel grated floor and mused, "Old friends?"

"...not exactly. You're my big hero today, Ada. Ready to start telling me why?"

As he turned, she gripped a hand into his vest. He froze, watching her face, as she lifted the other to swipe at the blood on his cheek, "An inch above and he'd have taken your eye."

She said it softly. He answered that tone with his own quiet one, "...I know."

"...a waste of a perfectly good eye." She moved her thumb from his cheek and he mused, "You got my blood on your hand."

She felt her mouth tilt into a smile, "Seems that way." She tucked the pad her thumb in his mouth and he sucked it clean of the blood, no thinking. Something in her groin tightened. She liked it. She like his eagerness to please her.

Obedient. Somehow, he was without even trying. His face didn't say that. His face was irritated. He didn't like doing it. He liked even less that it had be instinctive. The coppery taste of his own blood was lost after a brief flash.

Through gritted teeth, he hissed, "...stop fucking with me, god damnit, and tell me why you're here."

Ada winked at him and swirled away when he moved to take her arm. "...some of other time maybe."

She heard him curse as she leaped to the floor below.

He got the impression he'd be playing this game with her for the rest of his life. For better or worse, she was a part of him he couldn't let go of.