Warnings: OOCness, English is not my first language, inconsistent tenses, i am very bad at prepositions, sort of explicit sexual content, alcohol and alcohol-drinking, a little of bit of coarse language
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
A/N: my idea was "aeon and their firsts." idk wtf this is đđ i've been working on this for eighteen days and i am honestly so tired and i just want to get back to this book i'm reading
i.
She wasn't his first love, not even his first heartbreak. But she was the ghost that haunted him for half of his life, the ghost who rescued him from his nightmares, and the ghost who condemned him into his nightmares.
She was paradise, she was damnation, she was his saviour, she was his tormentor. She was what could have been, what could never be, what could be his boon, but was now his bane. He had clutched her hand, he had let go of her hand, and as she tumbled into the gaping mouth of the darkness below, along with her fell the last bit of his innocence. Along with her fell his hopes that everything would return to a semblance of normalcy.
There was an oasisâin a sewer, of all places. Him, tending to her wounded leg. Her, grabbing his arm as he pulled her up from the ground. He felt like he had gotten through her a little bitâenough to crack whatever front she was putting up, but not enough to completely shatter it. And when she kissed him in that cable car, he felt that ephemeral oasis dry up.
That kiss signalled the end of whatever tender moment they had shared amidst the stench and garbage. Something wasn't right about it. And when he stepped out of that cable car and into the unknown, he knew that he was back into the fray, and the brief respite he had walking alongside her became nothing but a distant memory.
And then he saw her descend into nothingness. The black void swallowed her tiny red form.
Red, the colour of passion. Somehow, anything red reminded him of her.
Passion, meaning, "an intense desire, interest, or emotion." After the events of that fateful September night, he had sought to rid the world of these horrors so no one would have to suffer as much as he didâas much as he was still suffering.
Passion, from the Latin word pati, meaning, "to suffer." Because that was what she wasâhis passion, in all senses of the word. His greatest desire and his greatest sorrow.
And here he was, a thirty-seven-year-old man, still holding on to their fleeting encounters.
I.
October 2004
He had no presidential daughter to rescue or parasite to remove from his body. What he had were questions, and the answers would all come from the woman sitting across from him, should she feel inclined to share her secrets.
She wore a large black sun hat and sunglasses. Together with her black coat, red lips, black nails, and tiny purse, she looked like she belonged in an old Hollywood film.
In contrast, he wore a leather jacket, a blue henley, faded jeans, and boots that have seen better days. He could be cast as Goon Number 2 in a B-list action movie.
She had a plate of empanada and a cup of coffee in front of her. He had an untouched complimentary glass of water. She took her time eating her meal, slicing the pastry with natural grace. If he had one of those empanadas too, he would have eaten it with his hands. No time to eat it in pieces when he could have eaten it in bites.
His arms were crossed and his eyebrows were drawn. She glanced at him once in a while, not minding the fact that she knew that he knew she was deliberately making him wait.
"You could have gotten something to eat too, you know," she said as she signalled a server for her bill. "It's such a waste to not eat authentic empanadas while we're in Spain."
He scowled. "No thanks. I already had plenty of those last time."
When she put her coffee down, he asked, "You now ready to talk, or shall I watch you eat another empanada?"
"You still got that teddy bear keychain?"
That teddy bear keychain had been attached to a jet ski key. He could have thrown that infernal bear away, but instead he kept it. He even attached it to the keyring holding his apartment keys, but of course she didn't need to know that.
"Yeah. You mind telling me what the hell was inside that microchip?"
She smirked over the rim of her coffee cup. "And here I thought US-STRATCOM agents were the best. Don't tell me you haven't cracked the code yet."
"Oh I've cracked it, all right." He found that microchip inside the zippered compartment at the back of that teddy bear keychain. He never turned it over to his superiors, like how he didn't write about her in his report about Spain. Like how he never mentioned her on his report about Raccoon City, or to anyone else for that matter. A phantom inside his mind indeed. "What I can't understandâ"
"Three o'clock," she whispered.
He looked to his right and saw a group occupy the table next to theirs. An al fresco seat in a café really wasn't the best place to trade secrets that could potentially topple governments.
"We should continue this in private," she said. And as if on cue, the server returned with her receipt and credit cardâno doubt a fake oneâand stood up, looking at him. "Come."
The interior of the hotel was as grand as its exterior. Her roomâsuite, ratherâconsisted of a living room and black marble bathroom, among other lavish things. It overlooked the hotel's inner courtyard, and he wondered just who was paying for this. Did she pay for it? Did her fake credit card pay for it? Or was it her employers? He only experienced such luxury whenever he travelled with the president and/or his family. For solo missions, he would get the cheapest room there was. Still in a nice hotel, but not as good as the accommodations for a president. Enough to be low-key, and certainly enough to not be treated as a VIP. Just enough to fly under the radar and do his work unnoticed while not living in squalor.
She hung her coat on a rack, revealing a red dress that clung to her body in all the right places. She put her hat, glasses, and purse on the coffee table, and for the first time that day, he got a good look at her. There wasn't a lot of opportunity to stare at her in that castle and island, but now, he had enough time to take in how muchâor how littleâshe had changed. Her hair was shorter, but she still had that aura of mystery and feeling that she could make anyone do her bidding with a single look.
But not him. He was here for answers. Specifically:
"How about we start this by you telling me how you survived?"
She strode towards the mini bar. "Straight to the point, are we?"
"Unlike you, I don't like beating around the bush. Besides, you're the one who asked me to meet you."
She poured them a glass of vermouth each. When he accepted the glass from her, their fingers briefly touched, and he remembered the last time he held her handânot while he was disarming her in that castle room, not while she was prying his fingers from her neck because of that parasite, but while he clung to her in that underground lab, even though she was the one on the verge of falling. He clung to her for life, just as she clung to his for hers.
Still, she fell down, swallowed by the darkness. And now here she was, standing in a hotel room in Barcelona bathed in incandescent light.
He drank his vermouth. Not his alcohol of choice, but it was good enough to start the evening.
She sat on the couch and crossed her legs. "I just wanted to catch up withâŠan old friend."
"'Old friend'?" He snorted. "Six years, Ada. Six fucking years, andâ" His hands trembled. He placed his glass down on the table, afraid of shattering it. He tried to slow down his racing heart and paced around the room, rubbing his face with his hands. "Six years and you didn't even find a way to tell me you were still alive. All thoseâ" His voice shook, suddenly sounding small. He turned to her and met her eyes. "All those nights I laid awake, beating myself up for failing to save you. I mourned you. I thought a lot about what could have happened had my grip been strong enough. Would we make it out of Raccoon together? And if we would, what would have happened then? Would we be friends?" He was proud of how he made friends sound insulting.
For once, she looked ashamed. The confident Ada Wong, turning her head back from him and letting her hair cover her face.
"You didn't let go," she said, her voice soft. When she looked up at him, there was vulnerability in her expression, although it was gone in an instant. "I did. I let my hand slip. I let myself fall. You didn't fail to save me. You tried everything you could. It wasn't your fault. None of it was."
She strode towards him and reached for his face. All his training and instincts told him to block her hand, but he allowed her to cup his cheeks. He allowed her to get this close to him. "It was never my intention to hurt you."
It didn't matter. That damage had already been done, intentional or not.
"I'm sorry, Leon. I didn'tâŠ"
"Didn't what?"
She turned and stepped away from him. "I didn't think I would matter this much to a man I've only known for a night."
"You made me think you were dead."
"It's for the better."
"It's better for you. What about for me?" He gave a hollow chuckle. "Six years. I have no doubt you know my email or my number. How hard could it be to let me know you were alive?"
A woman with a tiny store somewhere in South America. She said her tarot cards could relay a message from "beyond the veil." Leon politely declined.
A man clad in white from head to toe in Jiangsu, China. He said he could communicate with the spirits of the dead using his guqin. Leon rejected his offer.
A state-appointed therapist in her office at Washington, D.C. She said it could help if he wrote a letter to the deceased. Leon didn't.
He had come across various methods claiming to communicate with someone in the afterlife. Who knew that the only method he needed was a fucking email.
Ada wasn't the only one who haunted him, but she was, by far, the most prevalent ghost and his biggest regret. And now, it seemed that all his mourning was for nothing.
"Who do you think tossed you that rocket launcher when you were facing that Tyrant?"
His eyes widened, and then he scowled. Six years of guilt,m and it was all for nothing. He should be happy because she was alive. Instead he was angry.
"Why does it matter so much to you anyway?" she asked. "You barely know me."
"The therapist called it survivor's guilt." He took a deep breath, willing his rioting emotions to calm down. "Do you have any idea how many times I laid on my bed, thinking about what I could have done differently? Maybe if I was strong enough I could have pulled you up sooner. Maybe if I checked if Annette was still alive she wouldn't have shot you. Maybeâ" He shook his head. Whatever maybes he had were now useless. "I was a cop. I wasâand still amâsupposed to protect people. I couldn't save that city, but I could have saved one person." His voice shook. "I could have saved you."
Something in her expression shifted. He couldn't pinpoint it, but it was like she had just realised something.
"You did," she whispered, then looked to the side. "You saved me, in a way."
She walked towards the coffee table and grabbed her glass of vermouth. She looked at the window, quietly nursing her drink. There were still so many questions hanging in the airâhow did she survive, why didn't she tell him, who was she working for back in Raccoon, was she really working for Wesker, what had she been up to all these years. Did the horrors of that night plagued her as much as it plagued him? Did she think of him as much as he thought of her? Did she fantasise walking out of that city beside him as much as he did? Did she know how he sought pleasure from someone else's touch, trying to see if they would make him feel the same way she did?
What he asked, however, was, "What do you mean by that?"
Instead of answering him, she faced him and said, "You've grown."
True, he didn't know her long enough, but he knew enough that getting straight answers out of her would be harder than getting out of a zombie-infested city.
He walked towards her, stopping just a step in front of her. Now he had the time to take in her featuresâher long eyelashes, plump lips, hair that looked like silkâŠ. "Are you ever going to give me a straight answer?"
She smirked. "Depends on the question."
"Why did you give me that microchip?"
She sipped her drink. "My employer told me to leak the information. I figured I'd just give it to you."
"What would they gain from letting the US government know about Tricell's next moves?"
"That's your job to figure out." And once he did, he would let his employer know about the informationâafter making sure it wouldn't be traced back to her.
He dared to take the glass from her hands and drink from it. "Is that the only reason you asked me to meet you?"
She took her glass back and placed it on the windowsill. "You're not the only one who needs closure."
Closure. Was this closure? After he got answers from her, did it mean he would never see her again? A large chunk of the past six years of his life was spent agonising over someone he couldn't save, and now, that person was here, offering to free him from his shackles. Yet for some reason, he didn't want to be rid of her.
He grabbed the back of her head and slammed his lips against hers. She immediately reciprocated, weaving her fingers in his hair and prodding his mouth open with her tongue.
They should be having a conversation. Instead they were making out. There would be time for answers later, but right now, all he wanted to do was lose himself in the wet heat of her mouth, and, if she was willing, the wet heat of something far more divine.
She wound her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. He supported her thighs, carrying her with ease.
It was long overdue. There wasn't much time in the castle to pin her on the nearby bed, but they had enough time now. They would talk later, but right now he had other plans for his mouth.
He laid her gently on the bed, her dark eyes boring into his. She sat up, her back against the headboard, and said, "Come here."
He crawled towards her. When he kissed her this time, it lacked the frenzy from moments ago. He took it slow and she responded in kind. She tugged the hem of his henley so he quickly removed his coat and shirt, tossing them somewhere on the floor.
Her hand covered the bullet wound on his shoulder. He covered her hand with his.
"Every time I look in the mirror, I see this scar," he said, "and every time I see this scar, I remember you."
She cupped his face, brushing his jaw with her thumbs. "Sorry you had to remember such an awful time."
He laughed lightly and pressed his forehead against hers. "This was the only reminder of you that I have. I'll gladly keep it."
"Why would you want a reminder of someone you barely know?"
He pulled back and met her eyes. Earlier she was giving him the choice to be free of her, and nowâ
"Let me get to know you." He kissed her soundly. "Let me get to know you better."
ânow he was adding another chain to his shackles.
She pushed him down on the bed, straddling and kissing him. His fingers worked to unzip her dress and unclasp her bra while she unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his trousers.
And then she dipped her hand under his boxers and he saw god.
Or goddess, ratherâa goddess slowly making a mess out of him.
"You wanna know me better?" she whispered to his ear. "For starters, I like good boys who know how to obey my commands."
His breath hitched and he felt himself grow harder. He let out a strained laugh. "What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to forget everything for the moment and just focus on me."
And then she swallowed him, his eyes immediately shutting tight, making him forget who he was.
When he woke up at four in the morning, he was alone in the hotel room and his clothes were neatly folded on the bench at the foot of the bed.
He quickly dressed, looking around for her, but she wasn't there anymore. The only signs that she ever was here were the red marks on his body and the scratch marks on his back. Soon, those marks would be gone too, and he would have no evidence of their reunion.
That was when he saw a note at the coffee table, written on the hotel stationery.
I'll call you, it said. There was no signature and no contact detailsâjust her elegant handwriting in black ink and a red kiss mark.
He didn't even get to ask her the rest of his questions. But to be fair to him, how could he ask her when she was relentlessly bouncing up and down his lap? Six years ago, she stopped him from saying too much by kissing him. Now, it seemed like she stopped him from asking too much by fucking him.
He tore the note from the pad and folded it, placing it inside the zippered compartment of that teddy bear keychain. The microchip it once contained was in a safe in his apartment.
Just like their first meeting and subsequent reunion, their encounter this time was just as brief and left him wanting more. He had more questions than answers, and while his grief wasn't fully gone, he felt a different kind of acheâa longing for something existing, as opposed to a longing for something already gone.
Closure, she said. But it felt more like a beginning.
II.
January 2005
Self-preservation, to her, was more of an instinct than a conscious choice. It was only natural for her not to tell Leon she was still alive, because what good would that bring? Even if they escaped from Raccoon, she would still part ways with him. She couldn't be saddled with him, not with her employers breathing down her neck. He might try to find her. He might hound her for answers. Or he might try to get her to join the "good side."
But there was no good side. Every organisation, every government, was working for their ulterior motives, and those motives didn't care about how many lives they destroyed. She hated how Leon reminded her that she still had a conscience, and in her line of work, having a conscience meant being one step closer to death.
She was made up of lies, but this was one thing she would admit to herself: six years ago, when she lowered her gun and he gave her that little smile, she had this treacherous thought of escaping from Raccoon with him and maybe leaving this life and job. Maybe her conscience would finally win.
It was all for the better, then, that she decided to keep him in the dark about her survival. She hated how his selfless act of simply trying to helpâhelp her and everyoneâmade her feel so vulnerable, as if she was some pathetic individual starved so long of genuine kindness.
And she was. That was the thing she hated the most about this whole debacleâall it took for her to have hope again was one act of kindness. But hope for what? A better life? A normal life? A way out of her current life?
You saved me, in a wayâthat was what she told him. She hated how true it was. A few years more in this job and she would have lost what little humanity she had left. She wondered if it would have been better if she lost her conscience instead.
Something in the meeting with Leon changed her, and that kind of change was fatal. One moment of weakness and she would die. In fact, she almost did, when she decided to let him go on that bridge, throwing away her chances of escape from that city and from this life. Throwing away her life for a man she had known for mere hoursâbut he was also the first person she felt she could trust. Like she could depend on him and not expect a knife in her back.
Leon took a bullet for her. Had Ada worked with a colleague, she was certain her colleague would turn her into a shield instead of shielding her, maybe even leaving her to die.
She had thought of John Clemens. Like Leon, he had treated her like an actual human being and had genuinely cared for her. Leon wasn't the first person in years to have treated her with kindnessâJohn was. She had known him for far longer than she knew Leon. She thought of him fondly too. They were both good men whom the cruel world didn't deserve. So why then didn't she feel for John the same way she felt for Leon?
John didn't see the real her. But in the bowels of that city headed towards destruction, Leon saw a glimpse of the real her. When she lowered the gun she aimed at him, he smiled, and that smile told her that even if her motives had been less than pure, Leon would still try to save and protect her despite her betrayalâdespite who she really was. He would protect even those he hated, so long as it was right.
And that was what he had done, wasn't it? Leon saw her as someone worth saving despite her lies.
Tossing Leon that rocket launcher was supposed to make things even between them. She had repaid her debt after that. And what was the first thing she did after hearing he was in Spain, trying to rescue the US president's daughter? Save him, of course, even going so far as to disobey the orders of a man playing god.
Her self-preservation instincts became more of a conscious choice whenever Leon was involvedâa conscious choice for self-destruction. All the lessons she learned from years of gruelling training and dangerous missions were wasted because of one pretty boy with a cute smile.
Six years went by fine. She went on mission after mission, some as easy as a walk in the park, others almost taking her life. She banished all thoughts of a certain rookie cop from her head as part of her self-preservationâbut whether by instinct or by conscious choice, she didn't want to know. She could live the rest of her probably short life without encountering him again, but life had other plans for her.
Seeing him again in Spainâtalking to him, being near himâresurrected feelings and thoughts she had long since buried, feelings and thoughts she could do without. What was it they taught to people in her trade? Keep your cool all the time. Be as quick and as invisible as possible. Don't form attachments. You have no identity anymore. You will become who your job will require you to become.
And she failed all of those teachings, the last one worst of all. She was supposed to not have an identity, yet the B.O.W. side of the world came to know her as Ada Wong. Some "elite" spy she was.
She could keep her cool all the time. She could be quick and invisible at will. She wasn't in the habit of forming attachments, so when a ghost from six years past crossed her way, she knew what she had to doâcut all ties with him. She was fond of him, that much she would admit, and that fondness kept on saving him from sure death.
She thought she no longer had unfinished business with him. She had already repaid her debt. This lingering and irrational need of wanting to see him again after Spain was out of character for her, almost making her curious as to why this particular man had such an effect on her. It couldn't just be because she had a soft spot for him, could it? Or because he was easy on the eyes?
This fondness would be the death of her. In fact, it had almost killed her multiple times.
She needed him gone.
So she contacted him, met with him, and fucked him, all in the hopes that whatever this irrational need was would vanish. To scratch an itch, so to say. To satisfy her curiosity. To formally sever ties with him after giving him some answers.
That was what she intended. However, when she left her hotel room just before the crack of dawn, she did the foolish thing of writing I'll call you on a notepad.
Ada didn't always play by the rules. Including her own, it seemed.
Her curiosity wasn't satisfied; she still didn't know why Leon had such a pull on her. And to make matters worse, she wanted more of himâmore of him writhing beneath her, more of his moans and choked sobs echoing in the room, more of those blue eyes turned black looking at her like she was a deity in human skin.
Why? Because he gave her the first real orgasm she has had in years? Because she didn't have to fake it with him? Because she actually enjoyed sex this time?
Or was it because of how his rough and callused hands handled her with the care reserved for the holiest of artefacts, or how he filled the emptiness in the valleys and crevices of her body?
He had spilled on her stomach, some droplets reaching her chest and even her chin and cheeks. She felt an emotion she had only felt six years prior, when she lowered her gun and he smiled at her.
Maybe there was still a chance. But a chance for what?
That was what she sought to find out when she dialled his phone number three months after Spain. If she couldn't sever her ties with him, then she would use himâwhether for sex or informationâand she would let him use her too. And in the process, maybe she would find out what chance she was exactly hoping for.
It was one in the morning where he was. She didn't expect him to pick up, but he did, after five rings.
"Hello?" Leon's tired and apprehensive voice asked.
It wasâŠstrange, hearing him over the phone for the first time. Untraceable emails and text messages were more her style, and while this call was untraceable too, emails and text messages wereâŠimpersonal. Maybe she craved that all too elusive human connection forbidden to people in her trade. Maybe she thought Leon was the one who could give that connection to her. "I wasn't expecting you to pick up."
There was a brief moment of silence followed by a chuckle. "You know, when people say 'I'll call you,' they usually mean within the week, not after three months."
"I was busy." She sat alone on a park bench, her half-eaten sandwich in a paper bag beside her. She scanned her surroundings for any sign of a man in a green coat and red flannel. Five more minutes, according to her watch. "Why are you still awake?"
"I could ask you the same thing." She heard a yawn and a bottle clink against a glass.
"I'm not in the US." She wrapped her arms around herself. London at six in a January morning wasn't exactly the cosiest. "In fact, I'm working right now."
She heard him drink. "Then why are you calling me?"
"I'm almost done here." She took her sandwich out of the bag. "When are you free?"
"Free for what?" He sipped his drink. "You still haven't answered most of my questions."
"Then let's play twenty questions," she took a bite out of her sandwich, "but for each question we refuse to answer, we remove an article of clothing."
He sighed. "That your way of saying you'd rather get naked in front of me instead of answering questions?"
He was right on point. She would rather bare her body than bare her soul. "Well? You up for it?"
"I wouldn't object to itâŠ."
She saw the man in green coat and red flannel enter from the gate. "I gotta go. I'll call you later."
She didn't wait for his reply. She slid her disposable phone in her pocket, finished her sandwich, downed it with coffee, and started working.
She hated how her heart raced at the thought of seeing him again, but she looked forward to their next encounter. Maybe this time she could get answers to her own questions. Maybe this time she could finally rid herself of him.
March 2005
Two months later, in a seedy roadside motel somewhere in Virginia where they checked in under fake names, the receptionist barely glanced at them before tossing to her their room keys.
They sat across each other on the bed. She had expected that by the end of the night, she would be completely naked because of all the questions she wouldn't answer, while Leon would probably be still fully dressed. Whatever. She knew how to make a mess out of even a man who wore a three-piece suit.
By the end of the night, they would get answers to their questions and they could let each other go. Closure, finally.
And so their game began.
His first question, predictably, was, "How did you survive?"
Instead of answering, she took her coat off, letting it fall on the floor. The look on his face suggested that he had expected her answer.
"You're never going to answer that, are you?"
"It's my turn to ask a question, not yours. Why did you want to save me even after I lied?"
He blinked. "You're notâ" He paused, as if grasping the air for the right words. "You're not a bad person."
"You don't know that. I'm working with Wesker."
"So anyone who works with him is automatically bad? You're grey at best. You wouldn't have tossed me that rocket launcher if you're as bad as you say you are."
"I was just repaying a debt."
"You wouldn't feel the need to repay a debt if you're as bad as you say you are." He smirked. All right. Maybe he won this round. "My turn. In Spain, there was this hugeâŠguy. The big cheeâa priest. The village chief. He had me in a chokehold. Were you the one who shot him?"
"Yes."
He seemed surprised. "I didn't think you'd answer that one. I didn't think you'd answer any of my questions at all."
"The village church bell ringing. That was also me."
He furrowed his brows, as if trying to recall the exact moment that church bell rang. Then he nodded slowly, seemingly still processing her revelation. "Anything else I should know about?"
I destroyed a whole warship just to get to you. "You've already asked a question this round."
He shook his head. "Fine. Your turn."
Several questions later, Leon still had all his clothes on while Ada was down to her skirt and undergarments. A skirt, bra, and underwear. Three more questions she didn't want to answer and she would be completely naked.
There was anticipation in Leon's demeanour, especially with the way he was looking at her. That gaze was soâŠintense. Like he was undressing her with just his eyes. She didn't know if he was excited at the thought of her losing all her clothes or him getting answers. Maybe it was the former; her braâif it could still be called oneâwas practically just a scrap of lace and some artfully arranged strings that left very little to the imagination.
Leon got up from the bed and retrieved two cans of beer from the mini bar. She deftly caught the can he tossed to her.
"My next question." She opened her beer and fluttered her eyelashes. "Did you ever think of me while touching yourself?"
Leon choked on his drink, then put the can down on the nightstand and removed his coat. He didn't elaborate and just went straight to his next question. "Your favourite position?"
She stood up and inched towards him. The back of his knees hit the side of the bed, making him sit on the mattress.
She straddled him. "There's just something so alluring about seeing someone's face contorting in pleasure and pain." She put her can of beer next to his and placed her hands on his shoulders, grinding against his lap and slowly bringing him to life. "Knowing I'm the cause of that pleasure and pain." She heard him gasp. "And being in full control. And yours?"
"Hmm." He swallowed and placed his hands on her waist, leaning back and looking up at her. "It's nice having a beautiful half-naked lady on my lap. Do you enjoy being with me?"
"Absolutely. Any fantasies you'd like to fulfil?"
"I fantasise about getting eight hours of sleep every night."
She bit her lip to stifle her laughter. "You and your smart mouth."
He smirked. "You like my smart mouth."
She increased her pace, effectively shutting him up. Damn that smart mouth of his.
His grip on her waist tightened and his forehead fell against her shoulder. She felt him steadily getting harder, so she did that little trick that she knew drove men mad.
He groaned. His hands on her waist might even leave an impression from how tight he held her.
"It's your turn," she said, still grinding against him.
When he looked back at her, the blue of his eyes was almost gone. "Did youâoh godâdid you miss me? Like I missed you?"
The pleading look on his face reminded her of the Leon six years prior. He had looked innocent and too pure for this world. His cheeks were rounder, but those had since been replaced by sharp cheekbones and a chiselled jaw. He now looked weathered, like he had been carrying all the weight of the world, but with that question, he reverted to that twenty-one-year-old rookie cop who still believed in salvation.
She was here to sever ties with, not worsen her attachment. So instead of lying to him (yet again), she chose not to answer, as if that would make her feelings invalid. She got up from the bed. Leon looked like a mess. His neatly pressed button-down was rumpled, he was breathing heavily, and there was a very obvious bulge in his trousers.
She removed her tight black pencil skirt, leaving her standing in only her lace lingerie. Leon eyed him from head to toe. He didn't look all too disappointed at her non-answer.
She asked, "Do you wish you never met me at all?" No betrayal, no failure, no mourning, no nightmares, no unnecessary suffering.
He shook his head. "That's one of the things I don't regret about that night."
"That's very foolish of you." She unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his trousers.
He clamped a hand over hers, looking up at her questioningly. "I answered your question."
"I'm not gonna take these off."
She pulled his boxers down, letting him spring free. She sat back on his lap, stroking him, letting his grunts and moans fill the room.
She reached for the packet of condom on the nightstand and put it on him before sliding down on him. Thank god for crotchless panties. Thank god she didn't need lube because she was just as aroused as he was.
"Jesus Christ," he mumbled before laughing weakly and steadying her by holding her waist. He swallowed. "You feel so damn good."
"In Spain, I had that gun to your head, but you didn't disarm me." She didn't move, she just sat on his lap, warming him and watching him squirm and shudder. "You just handed that sample to me when you could easily take that gun out of my hand. Why?"
"IâŠAre youâAre you going to move? Please."
She arched an eyebrow. "Answer my question, Leon."
"IâŠ" He was breathing heavily. He looked pained from her stillness, but also looked like he was enjoying it. "I really can't think properly with us like this."
She tipped his chin upwards. "Are you going to answer me or am I gonna have to remove your shirt?"
"JustâŠPlease just take my shirt off."
He tried to move his hips but she pulled on his hair. Lightly. Very lightly. Not enough to cause pain but certainly enough to cause pleasure, if his expression was anything to go by.
"Did I tell you to move?"
"N-no, ma'am."
She gave him a small smile. "Good boy."
His shirt fell on the floor. His shoulders were broader, and his chest and abs were firmer. He had more muscle definition compared to six years before. She could easily imagine people going crazy at the sight of his bare torso.
She trailed her fingers over his chest and then to his lips. "Why did you never tell anyone about me?"
"You'reâŠ" His tongue darted out of his mouth, licking her thumb before gently sucking on it. "I don't think the government would treat you nicely if they found out about you. I wantâChrist, Ada." His hands trailed down her back, teasing the clasp of her bra. "I don't want closure or whatever you call it. I didn't come here to get closure with you. I came here because I want to keep seeing you."
"Why?" She counted that as her question for her turn.
He slid the straps of her bra down, kissing her shoulders, her collarbones, before latching on to her neck and sucking. "I don't know. Maybe because I still can't believe you're actually alive and I'm constantly needing proof."
"It's not ideal. If my employers sense a pattern, you'll be on their hit list."
"Then tell them I'm your informant."
She flicked his forehead. "Sex really makes people stupid, huh? Do you know what would happen to you if your employers find out, even if you're not actually my informant?" She sighed. "You can't be my fake informant. And I certainly won't be yours."
He laughed lightly. She felt the tremors course through her body, and she suddenly felt the overwhelming need to move, like how she was having the overwhelming need to tell him Yes, we can keep seeing each other. Sex really did make people stupid.
But not her. Sex was just one of the weapons in her arsenal, and something she sometimes used for recreation. It was always a part of a job and never something personal, but with Leon involved, suddenly it was a bit too much.
So if she kept on seeing him as he suggested, wouldn't that be just recreation? It wasn't for work and it wasn't personal, but rather, something to pass the time with in a pleasurable manner.
She thought of her earlier resolve to use him if she couldn't get rid of him. She thought he could give her a chance, but a chance for what she still didn't know. Their first time together didn't reveal that to her. If anything, she wanted more, so here they were in a motel in Virginia, checking in under fake names because they were both horny.
It seemed that even she was not immune to the phenomenon of sex making people stupid. Curse this pretty boy and his pretty blue eyes.
As she had prophesied, Leon would be the death of her.
So what would be this, then? Fuck him enough times and maybe she would discover one of her life's greatest mysteries?
She wasn't going to deny that she was physically attracted to him, but if that was the sole basis, then it would be easy to find someone more attractive to share the bed with. But why did it have to be Leon? She had slept with other people just as good-lookingâif not moreâthan him. She didn't feel any attachment to them.
Maybe it was because she and Leon shared a pastâa past that, no matter how much she tried, no matter how much she knew she shouldâshe couldn't let go.
She began to move, rolling her hips slowly, bouncing up and down, switching from agonisingly slow to tortuously fast. His eyes rolled to the back of his skull, and she released all her pent-up frustration at herself and her stupidity by rocking against him and staring at that beautiful face.
She was buttoning up her coat when she heard him speak.
"I don't think we ever got to the twentieth question," his sleepy voice said.
She looked back at him. The sheets were pooled around his bare waist, his hair was a mess, and red marks littered his neck and chest. Something about him looking thoroughly debauched brought her a sense of pride and satisfaction.
She checked her purse to see if anything was missing. Disposable phone, fake IDs, wallet, keys, makeup, butterfly knifeâŠYes, all there. "Do you have a question in mind?"
He stretched and yawned. "Did you ever think about me in those six years?"
She had just put her clothes on and her cab would arrive soon. No use lying now. Maybe she could give her a morsel of the truth to chew on. "I tried not to."
"But did you?" His voice suddenly sounded alert.
She turned to face him. "I thought of you as a fond memory once in a while. I don't make a habit of dwelling on past things."
"That sounds like you're looking down on us who dwell on past things."
"I didn't mean it like that." She looked away from him. "It's imperative that I don't dwell on the past. The opposite would mean death." She checked the time. Her cab should be here in three minutes. "If anything, I think your feeling guilty about my supposed death is an indication of your big heart. I can't say the same for me. It's easy for me to let things go. Or rather, it should be easy. Not so much now."
"And why is that?"
"If I keep on seeing you, maybe I'll know why."
She turned around, her heels clacking.
III.
August 2005
Leon wasn't a federal agent for nothing. As soon as he entered his apartment, he immediately sensed another's presence. He didn't always carry his government-issued firearmâhe only had it whenever he was deployedâbut he still had a gun or two in his home. He had a licence to carry, and all his firearms were registered. He wasn't some trigger-happy psycho who killed indiscriminately.
He reached for the pistol hidden in his shoe cabinet, only to find it gone.
"Pretty inconvenient for a hiding place, don't you think? It's not easily reachable."
Ada was standing before him, his gun in her right hand and the magazine in the other.
"Whatâ? Whyâ? Howâ?"
He stared at her for a while, trying to process the situation, and when he finally concluded that yes, Ada was indeed in his apartmentâno matter how strange it soundedâhe began to relax. Maybe that wasn't the wisest course of action when in the presence of a woman who always kept him on his toes.
A year ago, he thought she was dead. Now, she had broken into his apartment.
"Your locks are easy to break, you have no CCTV cameras, and you've got a shabby security system. The alarm is so easy to disable." She slid the magazine inside the gun and put it back in its hiding place in his shoe cabinet, which meant she had to step closer to him. "It's pretty sloppy for a federal agent of your reputation, but it's a nice mind exercise."
He gently grabbed her elbow. "I guess that answers the how." He made a mental note to change his locks, install cameras, and upgrade his security system. Never mind that he already had military-grade locks and security system. "Do you mind telling me the what and the why?"
"Apartment inspection," she said, smiling like a little kid who could do nothing wrong. "I came to check your living conditions."
"And?" He let her arm go. "What's the verdict?"
She strode around his living roomâfor show, maybe. He was certain she had already inspected every nook and cranny of his apartment and probably already knew where his other weapons were hidden. "You need decor. More personalisation. A full-length mirror would make the place look larger. An artwork or two on these bare walls would make the place seem more inviting. Maybe a couple of indoor plants too. TheâŠsculpture on your coffee table is a nice touch."
He laughed inwardly at her mention of the "sculpture." "I thought you were an inspector." He walked towards her, stopping only inches in front of her. "Don't tell me you're an interior designer too."
She met his eyes and smirked. "I can be anything you want me to be."
He chuckled. "Very funny. Last time we saw each otherâand I remember that time very clearlyâyou said you couldn't be my informant."
She raised an eyebrow. "What's that got to do with this?"
"Isn't that why you're here? For information? Why else would you be here? You didn't call or send a message."
She stepped back, and for a moment, she lookedâŠpuzzled, like she herself wasn't sure what she was doing in his apartment.
"I wanted to see what kind of place you lived in," she said. "It wasn't what I was expecting."
"What were you expecting?" He gestured for her to sit on his couch, only then noticing a bottle of wine on it beside the "sculpture." It wasn't really a sculpture, but rather, a ceramic figurine of aâŠAshley said it was a duck, but it looked more like a teapot. Maybe it was supposed to be a duck-shaped teapot? He didn't know; Ashley didn't explain.
"Chardonnay," Ada said. "It's customary to bring a gift when visiting someone else's residence for the first time, is it not?"
He shrugged. "I guess."
He poured them both a bottle of wine each. He opened his fridge to see if he could serve any light snacks, but found his fridge empty save for a couple of beer cans.
He handed her a wine glass and sat on the couch, leaving an arm's length between them. "Too bad I don't have any cheese."
"You don't have any food at all." She swirled the wine in her glass. "How do you even survive?"
He placed his glass on the coffee table and leaned back, staring at the water spots in his ceiling. "I only use this place to sleep, bathe, and store things. Sometimes I don't even sleep or bathe here. No use personalising it when I'm always on the field or the office."
She turned her body towards his, propping her elbow on top of the back's frame. "You don't bring girls here?"
He groaned. "Can't remember the last time I went on a date. Too busy." And then he faced her, an amused grin on his face. "Now that I think about it, you're the first woman who's ever stepped foot here."
"I can't tell if I should be honoured or feel sorry for you. When was even the last time you got laid?"
"A couple of weeks ago, in Chicago." He reached for his wine. "Met her at a bar."
"And you didn't call her afterwards?"
The wine was good, but he really wished he had something to eat. "President Graham had that talk at UChicago. I was just visiting. The girl I met was visiting too. We both knew it was just gonna be a one-night stand."
"Huh." She turned her gaze to the ceiling. Maybe she was staring at water spots too. "I thought we were gonna be a one-night stand."
He laughed lightly. "Two nights now."
She put her glass on the table and scooted closer to him, placing a hand over his thigh. "Wanna make it three?"
"Didn't realise we were keeping score."
And then he heard something he had never heard before, something he didn't even know was in the realm of possibilityâAda's laughter. Ada laughed. It wasn't a loud, boisterous laugh, or even a sarcastic laughter; it was softâquiet, evenâher shoulders minutely shaking, her head bending down and gently bumping against his upper arm.
For some reason, he didn't think that Ada was capable of laughing, and now, when confronted with the evidence that she indeed knew how to find joy in things, Leon's mind stopped working; all that he registered was the sound of her laughter, her hand on his thigh, and his heart beating faster than normal. It was a miracle the glass in his hand didn't shatter.
He had the fleeting thought of doing anything and everything he could to make and keep her happy.
"Why do you even remember that?" she asked when her laughter died down. She angled her body towards his, her hand stroking his thigh.
"Hard to forget anything about that night." Hard to forget anything about you. "So that's why you're here, huh?"
"Well at least now you know my motives this early in the night."
"Three-night stand, huh?" He put his glass on the table and remembered what she had said the last time they saw each other. "Can't let me go easily, can you?"
Her hand stopped. "I'm here to find out why."
He grinned. "Are you sure it's not because I'm a good lay?"
She scowled. "You think too highly of yourself, Mr Kennedy."
He held his hands up in surrender, chuckling. "All right, all right. But if it makes you feel betterâŠ" He suddenly looked serious, his earlier jesting tone completely gone. He met her eyes and said, "âŠI find you hard to let go too. I thought I'd be over whatever hang-up I have with you after finding out you're alive, but it seems like you're a part of me I can't let go."
She looked away from him, then retrieved her wine glass from the table. Vulnerability tended to bring people closer together, but Ada hated anything that had something to do with vulnerability.
"If you keep running away when the opportunity to open up or share your feelings presents itself," he said, "you won't get that answer you're looking for."
She took a sip of her wine, crossed her arms, and leaned back in her seat. "Meeting you in Raccoon changed me for the worse. I've begun hoping, and hope is a dangerous thing."
"Hoping for what?"
She shrugged. "Beats me. I was hoping our encounters could tell me."
"And have they?"
"If they did, I wouldn't be here."
"Maybe you already know what you're hoping for, but you just don't want to admit it to yourself."
She glared at him. "You're on thin ice, Leon. Don't test me."
He recalled a time from seven years ago when she pointed her gun at him, then eventually lowered it. Then in Spain, she pointed a gun to his head, but she didn't shoot him. There were so many situations where she could have left him to die but she didn't. Even their very first meeting began with her saving him from infected dogs. A part of him felt like no matter how much Ada threatened him, she wouldn't actually follow up on that threat. For other people she would, but not him, and Leon didn't know why he was so certain of it.
Maybe she just needed time to admit the truth to herself. He could give her that. He could help her with that.
He stood up and stretched. "I know you've already explored the place, but shall I give you a tour?"
Finally, a smile from her. "I'd like that."
Ada stood next to him, wine bottle still in hand.
"Welcome to Casa Kennedy." He stretched his arms out as if to encompass the whole room. "This is the living room." He gestured to the couch. "And that right there is the couch I bought with my first US-STRATCOM paycheque. As you can see, it's very comfortable."
"And this coffee table?"
"We're just getting to that. This coffee table right here," he knocked on the wood as if to show its sturdiness, "is mahogany. A housewarming gift from my friend Adam Benford. Now this little guy here," he picked up the duck figurine, "is a housewarming gift from the presidential daughter Ms Ashley Graham. Ms Graham created this centerpiece during a ceramics class. I know it looks bad, but this was one of her first attempts. She makes better ceramics now."
"What's his name?"
He placed the figurine down. "Who?"
"That duck. You called it a 'little guy'."
He got flustered all of a sudden. "He doesn't have a name."
Ada sipped her wine and stared at him with unblinking eyes.
He sighed, looking embarrassed. "Donald."
"Huh. A duck named Donald." She smiled lightly. "How fitting. Next thing you know, you're gonna have Huey, Dewey, and Louie."
He narrowed his brows. "Now you're just making fun of me."
"I'm not." She patted his cheek. "I think it's very cute. Shall we continue the tour?"
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "This is the kitchen. This fridge was a housewarming gift from President Graham himselfâŠ"
He padded to his kitchen the next morning and saw a note stuck to his fridge: I'll see you soon. On the counter was a bag containing pastries. He recognised the logo; it was from a nearby bakery.
The pastries were still hot. Stop eating microwavable food, her handwriting on the bag said.
A part of him hoped that Ada wouldn't come to a conclusion soon, because he was sure that the result wouldn't be favourable to him, which meant their little encounters would stop. He still wasn't quite ready to let go of these ephemeral visits. So until then, he would stop prodding her and accept only what she was willing to give, and maybe she would also accept what he would give to her.
There were a lot of maybes in their situation. But that was what happened when the individuals involved constantly teetered on line between life and death.
IV.
June 2007
It was disconcerting seeing Ada and being with her in public. All their past encounters, be it during work or play, were always done with no one else around. Maybe there would be an onlooker or two, like Ashley spotting Ada that one time in Spain, or the various customer service workers they have interacted with at fancy hotels and skeevy motels, but being out with her in a fancy restaurant like this? Mind-boggling. Scary. Dangerous. Exciting.
She stared at him from across the table, her chin on her propped-up hand and a tiny smile on her lips. "Something on your mind?"
"Nothing. JustâŠ"
Their server arrived and handed each of them a menu and wine list, Ada saying Grazie as she accepted them. The server placed a candelabra on the table and lit the wick.
"I'll be back shortly," he said with accented but still understandable English.
Ada held the menu up, covering her mouth. Leon still saw her trying to hide her laughter.
"What's so funny?" He didn't know why he felt grouchy.
She put her menu down. "Never thought I'd be having a candlelit dinner with you."
"Hear, hear."
For months he had been wanting to have dinner with someone. He couldn't count the number of times he had been rejected, and if he was being honest, it bruised his ego a little bit. He knew he didn't look badâhell, he would even go as far as to say he was conventionally attractiveâbut why didn't people want to have dinner with him? Even his friends promised only rain checks. What was he doing wrong?
"You're making that face again."
The server returned with a basket of bread and a plate of butter before leaving.
"What?" He reached for the bread, smeared butter on it, and took a bite. These alone would be enough for a meal. He expected no less from a three-star Michelin restaurant in Italy.
"You're pouting." She read the menu. "What do you think of this terrine?"
"I'm not pouting." Really, he wasn't. He was justâŠhurt. What did people have against having dinner with him? "Terrine sounds good."
"Yes you are."
He sighed. "Of all the people I asked to dinner, you're the first one who accepted. And I've been asking people for months."
Ada looked mock-hurt. "Ouch. So I was your last choice? Or were you forced to have dinner with me because I'm the only one who accepted?"
"You were the one who insisted on going to ItalyâŠ." He grabbed another serving of that bread and butter. A few more pieces and he might not have space for the rest of the meal.
"I think I'll go with the summer menu." She read the wine list next. "It's nice to see you outside of hotel rooms for once."
He looked at her, at the way the weak candlelight flickered across her face, at the low neckline of her red dress, that black choker around her neck, her sharp red nails, and her maroon lips. He has had candlelit dinners with other women beforeâthough obviously not in the recent pastâbut sitting here with Ada in a fancy restaurant in Lombardy just felt different.
Maybe because it was the first time they had gone out together. It wasn't a date date, though; they were just having dinner together. LikeâŠfriends. With benefits. No one in this village knew them. No one gave them a second glance. They could stroll the streets side by side, their arms almost brushing, and none would be the wiser. For all the world knew, they were just twoâŠfriends out on a walk.
If only the truth were that simple.
"I like seeing you in hotel rooms," he said, picking up the wine list, "but yeah, this is really nice."
He felt her eyes on him. "Don't you feel freer? Like you're not on a leash?"
He met her eyes. "Are you on a leash?"
She broke eye contact after what seemed like an eternity. "I think I'll have rosé."
When they were playing twenty questions, he should have asked her about her employers. He doubted she would answer back then and she probably wouldn't answer now. If he pushed it, she would most likely leave.
"Riesling for me."
She didn't look at him again until the entrée was served, and she was looking at him with amusement.
"You continue to surprise me, Mr Kennedy," she said, smiling softly as she swirled her wine. "I may have underestimated you in this area. But of course, it makes perfect sense. You're Ms Graham's bodyguard."
He paused from eating his terrine. "What?"
"I wouldn't expect you to know an entrée fork from a dinner fork."
He rolled his eyes. "Please. Do you know how many formal dinners I've been to, standing behind the one-percenters and watching over them as they eat?" He ate his terrine and nodded in approval. "They're so stuffy sometimes. You need to eat soup this way, you must use this knife for only the saladâŠ. Screw all the other plates; if it were up to me, I would eat a full-course meal on just the charger plate."
She chuckled then looked at him. "Dinner with you. I like it. We should do this more often."
God help him but Leon did not blush and his heart definitely didn't skip a beat. Other women have certainly looked at him the same way Ada was looking at him right nowâfondly, like he was an endearing idiotâbut he just couldn't explain why things always felt so different with her. Right from the beginning they had that insane chemistry, and that chemistry kept on producing what kids these days called "spark."
Maybe that was why they couldn't let go of each other. He kept on chasing that spark, that chemical reaction only she could give.
But he had to remind himself that not all sparks and chemicals were good for him.
He had made a vague promise of going diving with someone. This might be a dick move, but he had no intention of following up on that. They both knew it was an empty promise. But with Ada right hereâŠMaybe she was the good kind of spark and chemistry. Maybe.
"We should go diving sometime." The terrine tasted really good. "Positano, maybe. Amalfi too."
"I'd like that." She looked pleased with her food. "Hotels around those areas would be fully booked by now, but maybe sometime in the future we could go."
He would have to go through hell and high water again to get two weeks of vacation approved, but he would go through hell and high water to see Ada again. He had already driven five hours just to see her. What was an earful from his boss compared to the sight of Ada, her eyes shut tight and breaths ragged, writhing beneath him?
The rest of the dinner was a pleasant affair. He didn't know why, but they didn't talk about work. But even if he was enjoying the night, he still kept his senses alert; there might be someone spying on them. (Oh, the irony, when he was having dinner with a spy.)
All their past trysts, save the one in Barcelona, were located in the US. This was the first time since Spain that they had met in another continent for non-work purposes.
She was right. He felt freer. There was no sense of urgency and secrecy. He could walk around town with her during early morning or late nightâor hell, maybe even in broad daylight. Would they be spotted together? Would their employers know?
Knowing of her existence was already dangerous enough. But sharing her bed several times for the past three years, and now, going on vacation with her in a foreign country and having candlelit dinner? That was a whole new can of worms. Funny how some months ago, he threatened to report someone for treason, but here he was, going on what could be misconstrued as a date with a spy whose allegiances would forever remain murky.
She came to see him after that whole Harvardville incident. She came to see him after that whole fiasco with Jason and Secretary Wilson. She always came to see him after every major outbreak he was involved in, saying she was just fishing for information she might have missed.
Leon doubted she did. If anything, he was the one missing information, and whenever he asked her, she would give him the vaguest answers possible. She already said they couldn't be each other's informants. ThisâŠarrangement, it seemed, was strictly for sex.
He could understand Ada's desire for closure. Not only would this arrangement anger several governments and organisations, but his and Ada's lives would be on the line too. Why were they willing to risk so much for sex? Granted, sex made people stupid, but Leon liked to think that he wasn't that stupid.
But not when it came to her. He was, admittedly, a little bit stupider and more foolhardy in all matters concerning Ada Wong.
Or was it more than just sex?
How far would he go to chase that spark he felt only with her? How long did they have before she eventually found the answers she was looking for?
A couple of hours later, in a store a few streets away from the restaurant, Leon ate his gelato, contemplating the pros and cons of continuing to see Ada. On one hand, it would be safer. On the other, he suspected he would be back to that place he was in during the six years he thought Ada was dead. Only this time, he would be more miserable, because this specific part of him was somewhere out there in the world, alive and breathing, but out of his grasp.
What was worseâto not have something because it was forever gone, or not have something within your reach because you simply couldn't?
Ada had mentioned all the things that were forbidden to people like she was. But Leon too had a lot of things forbidden to people like him, and it astounded him how similar their lists were. Keep your cool all the time. Don't form attachments. Don't fraternise with the enemy. You are an extension of the government, and all your actions are the government's will.
They were both on a leash. He just wondered whose leash was longer and looser.
She wiped his chin with a thumb, licking the gelato on it afterwards. The street was mostly empty save for a few stragglers and lovers out on a night walk. He wondered how they looked, standing so close to each other under the awning, their elbows occasionally brushing.
"How does your gelato taste?" she asked.
He held out his cone of gianduia gelato to her. Some got caught in the side of her mouth, so he wiped it with a thumb and licked it clean. He was just following her footsteps.
"Hm. Tastes good," was her judgment. "Here, have some of mine."
And he did, as if feeding each other was common for them. "It's good." He scrunched his nose. "But a bit too sweet for my tastes."
The cool summer breeze swept past them, ruffling his hair. She combed his hair back in place with a free hand, and Leon had the overwhelming urge to kiss her.
But he didn't. They didn't do that. Making out as a part of foreplay, yes, but kissing just for the sake of kissing? That was lovers territory, and they were not lovers. That was a different territory. If Leon gave in to his urge, how would she react? Would she think he was initiating the start of this night's first round of fucking?
But if he kissed her, he bet she would taste better than her dulce de leche gelatoâŠ. Good. Sweet enough for his tastes. Heavenly.
He decided, with great self-restraint, not to wander in this forbidden territory. He would get to kiss her laterâin the proper setting and in the proper situationâbut not right now. Right now, he stood next to her under the gelatoria's awning, trying to preserve this short-lived freedom and yearning for things so close yet so far away.
V.
September 2009
Ada wore the helmet Leon had handed to her. "How many girls have worn this helmet?" She tried to buckle the strap under her chin but it wouldn't close, so Leon buckled it for her. "How many girls have you taken out on a motorbike ride?"
"A couple," he said as he strapped his own helmet. "They said that guys who ride big bikes turned them on."
"Way to make a girl feel special."
She couldn't see his face through his helmet's visor, but she knew he was smirking when he said, "Why, you jealous?"
She scoffed. "In your dreams."
He started the engine and she got on it. She wrapped her arms around his waist and then he zipped on the highway, the five a.m. autumn air biting at her exposed skin.
Few vehicles traversed the road this early in the morning. He could afford to go as fast as he could and she could afford to wrap her hands tighter around him. No one knew who they were and no one gave them a second glance.
They have gone a bit moreâŠdaring in the last two years. They still met up somewhere in North America, but most of their trysts now happened on another continent, usually in a quaint little town where there would be fewer witnesses. They went from meeting solely during nights to meeting at the beginning of the day until she left before the sun had risen the next day. It was always like thatâa day and a night, or just a night, and nothing more. Any longer would be far too risky. They might get found out. She might start feeling things she shouldn't be feeling.
The morning was spent driving to the Tail of the Dragon Road on the Tennessee and North Carolina border. Leon had driven his brand-new Ducati from Washington, D.C. to North Carolina for nine hours, pit stops excluded. He said he wanted to test his new bike, and what better way to do that than to travel along the Tail of the Dragon, a stretch of asphalt famous worldwide for its three hundred and eighteen turns in just eighteen kilometres. With a speed limit of forty-eight kilometres per hour, a one-way trip along the road could be completed in about thirty minutes. It was a very dangerous road, but also very popular.
She had met him at the inn where he had spent the night before, and now they were driving towards the Tail of the Dragon.
They reached their destination a quarter before six in the morning. After stretching their legs for a bit and getting fresh air, they put their helmets back on and readied for the ride.
"Hang on tight," he said, firing up the engine. "This is gonna be dangerous."
She hopped on his bike and wrapped her arms around him. "You're the one who should be careful. Between you and I, you're the worse driver."
"Ha ha ha," he said, not laughing.
"Be careful. I mean it." She hoped she sounded serious. She really was worried for him. She couldn't help it. Leon was a huge trouble magnet.
He tapped her hand resting over his stomach thrice. "I will. You ready?"
"Yeah."
He went slow, testing the road first, before gradually picking up speed. The guard rails were far and few in between, and one wrong move could send people tumbling down cliffs of varying depths. The curves were sharp, so every time he had to turn, she held on tighter or else she would fall. And as a result, she would find herself pressed harder against his back, smelling his aftershave and cologne.
At some point, she spotted a motorbike lying on the ground with a police car nearby. They sped past those vehicles so she didn't know if someone was seriously hurt, but judging by the absence of an ambulance, maybe it wasn't anything fatal. Still, that didn't distract her from how unsafe this road was. She and Leon have been in far more perilous situations. It would be ironic if they met their ends on a twisty highway.
They passed by other vehicles too. Some SUVs, some cars, but mostly other motorcycles, though there weren't many vehicles this early in the morning.
After about half an hour, they reached the other end of the road in Tennessee. They parked in a nearby establishment, stretching their legs once more and getting fresh air.
He took his helmet off and shook his head. His hair was a mess and Ada didn't hesitate in combing it with her hand, then she briefly cupped his stubbled jaw when she was done. He started sporting a stubble sometime in 2006. She said it suited him. He has sported a stubble ever since, and seen him clean-shaven on only a few occasions.
"It was just as Claire said," he said, grinning. "Dangerous, holy hell. Dangerously fun."
"Wanna go for another ride?"
A few minutes later, they were back on the Tail of the Dragon, but whereas their first ride was all about the adrenaline, this time, it was more about the scenery. Leon drove slower compared to their previous ride. They stopped at various pull-out spots, admiring the view of the nearby Smoky Mountains.
Around halfway through their second ride, they stopped at another pull-out spot just in time to see the sun rise. Even though they took their helmets off, they had their backs to the road. Surely no one would recognise them.
She felt the warmth of the sun on her face. With the autumn foliage covering the ground and the sun slowly creeping up on the horizon, she couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of it all. It would be a shame if B.O.W.s destroyed this place. They had already done so much destruction, not just on her life but Leon's as well.
If B.O.W.s didn't exist, would she ever meet Leon? Would she ever have these treacherous thoughts and feel these treacherous emotions? Would she ever break her personal code for anyone else?
She watched the sun's rays dance across his face. His helmet had tousled his hair again so she fixed it. It just was just to fix his hair, and certainly not an excuse to touch him.
She let her hand linger on his cheek far longer than was necessary.
"Your hands are cold," he said, taking both of her hands in his. It was a pity that with his fingerless gloves, they couldn't touch skin to skin. Not like she wanted to hold his hand or anything. The thought surely didn't cross her mind over the past few years.
He took his jacket off and draped it over her shoulders. "Here, wear this."
"I'm not cold," she said, but still wore his jacket anyway. It smelled like him. It sort of felt like a hug. She sort of didn't want to take it off.
Then they got back on the track, and after fifteen minutes, their second ride was over.
He tossed the keys to her, making her raise an eyebrow.
"You're letting me drive your bike?" she said.
He shrugged. "Why not?"
It was quarter to seven. The crowd was getting bigger, along with their chances of being seen together. She was careful now not to touch him unnecessarily. Better safe than sorry. Getting recognised would be far more dangerous than this road full of twists and turns.
"Do you let all your girlfriends drive your bike?" she said as she revved the engine.
"Hell no." He wrapped his arms around her waist. "I never let anyone else drive my bike. Except you."
"Do you say that all the girls?"
"Nope. Just you."
She shook her head. "Gee, I'm flattered."
She drove as fast as the speed limit allowed. Driving through the Tail of the Dragon was different from travelling through it as a passenger; it was more hazardous yet more exhilarating, the adrenaline coursing through her body giving her more thrill when she turned at the curves, bending so low their knees almost touched the ground. She wasn't a motorbike enthusiast like Leon, although she could see the appeal.
When they got through to the other end of the road, she tossed the keys back to Leon.
"I could use some breakfast." She didn't take her helmet off and neither did he; the number of people was steadily increasing. "Where's the inn that you booked?"
"On the other end. Which means it's time for one last ride."
So they did, and when they reached their inn, she made him check in first. It wouldn't be a problem if this was during the night at an inn at Bumfuck, Nowhere, but this was at a tourist spot during the day. They didn't know who might be watching.
She got them breakfast; they couldn't eat anywhere besides their room or they might be spotted together. Were they in another continent, it might be less risky, but not here in North Carolina.
After half an hour, she met him in their room.
"With how careful we're being," he said as stirred his coffee, "people would think we're having an affair."
She sat on the dining chair. "We are having an affair. You're married to your job and I'm married to mine. There would be hell when our 'spouses' find out about this."
He sat across from her and reached for a croissant in the bag she had brought. "Can't believe I drove nine hours to hook up with my affair partner."
She smeared cream cheese on her bagel. "You said you wanted to test out your new bike."
"That too." He tore a piece of his croissant and popped it into his mouth. "But it was more because I wanted to see you."
"Sweet talker." She cut her bagel with a knife. "Flattery will get you nowhere."
He grinned. He always grinned like that whenever he was about to say something he thought was clever but was actually the exact opposite. "Not even in your pants?"
She frowned. "Gross. I'm eating breakfast, Leon. Do you mind?"
He chuckled, his laughter echoing throughout the room. She liked it when he laughed like that. It sometimes made her forget that she put Leon through six years of anguish.
He glanced at his wristwatch. "So. It is eight twenty-three in the morning and checkout isn't until ten a.m. tomorrow. The Cherohala Skyway is nearby. Wanna go?"
She ate more of her bagel l. "Well, we're here to test your bike."
"Great." He rubbed his hands together, grinning. He looked like a little boy on the night before his field trip. "It's forty-three miles long and would take about an hour to cross, but of course we're not gonna go there just for the drive. We're also gonna see some sights."
She reached for more cream cheese, careful not to spread too much on her remaining bagel. "You came prepared, didn't you?"
He looked away from her, rubbing his nape. "I wanted you to have fun."
She bit her lower lip. He could be so darn cute sometimes.
She speared a tiny piece of her bagel with her fork then held it out to him. "I am having fun."
He ate her proffered bagel. She could see a faint blush on his cheeks. "Then let's refill our gas and get some food."
She had given him his jacket back before setting off to their next destination. While she liked wearing it, it looked better on him.
It took them three hours to reach the other end of the Cherohala Skyway, and then another three to make it back to the inn. They stopped plenty along the way, taking in the lovely orange foliage of the forests the road was named after, the Appalachian Mountains, the Indian Boundary Lake, the Bald River Falls, and so much more. She would have taken photos but neither of them brought cameras; it could be used as evidence against them. They also made sure not to linger too long at any place and didn't really interact with other people.
On the drive back to North Carolina, Leon once again let Ada drive. Unlike the sharp twists and turns of the Tail of the Dragon, Cherohala Skyway offered a more relaxed drive. They had lunch at the picnic area and were out of the skyway thirty minutes before it closed at five p.m.
They stopped for a quick dinner first, and after getting back to their room at half past six, Ada quickly headed to the bathroom to take a shower. Being on the road for the entire day put so much dirt on her skin. She mentally checked her calendar for a free day so she could go to a spa. Maybe she could take Leon with her.
She changed into a loose shirt and loose shortsâno underwear; she already knew what would happen laterâwhile Leon got into the shower. She laid on the bed, thankful to finally lie on something soft after a whole day of sitting on a motorcycle.
And then she felt the other side of the bed dip.
Leon slung an arm over her stomach and pressed against her. His hand snuck under her shirt, splaying his palm over her abdomen as he rained kisses on the side of her neck.
He was clad in nothing but boxers. He was already half-hard; he must haveâŠprepared while still in the shower.
"You're not gonna let me rest even for a bit, are you?" she said, tilting her neck to give him more of what he wanted.
"Nope." He loomed over her, one hand on the bed supporting him, the other under her shirt, fondling her breasts. "I'm gonna tire you out."
She trailed a finger down his arm. "More than I already am?"
He didn't answer. He just took her shirt off and slipped his hand under the waistband of her shorts.
She hummed in contentment when he took her shorts off. What was the point of getting dressed earlier when he would eventually undress her?
She parted her legs, then he slowly and gently stroked her. She had expected him to kiss her while he busied himself, but no; he just looked straight into her eyes as his finger prodded her open.
Somehow, that felt hotter. Looking into his eyes as he fingered her was something they have done before, but she felt more aroused this time. She didn't know why. Maybe it was because of the adrenaline.
He added another finger and she barely suppressed a moan. He wanted to take the lead tonight? Fine, she would let him have it. She would let him have his way with her, something she hated doing because she hated relinquishing control. Sex, as a weapon, made her physically vulnerable, and she didn't let her guard down, especially not during sex.
But here she was, letting Leon take full control. In fact, she had already let him take control several times in the past, even letting him manhandle her even though she usually didn't like it rough. With other people, Ada made them think they were in control when she was actually the one holding the reins the entire timeâsometimes even literal reins. But with Leon, as always, she bent and broke her personal rules just to keep him safeâjust to keep him satisfied.
And she hated it. She hated how she always found excuses to touch him unnecessarily, how she feed him food like she was his fucking girlfriend. She hated how much she wanted to reach for his hand, how much she wanted to sink into his arms, how much she wanted to go to his apartment and never leave. She hated how her impeccable control always slipped whenever he was involved, and she hated, hated, hated how she couldn't stop herself from wishing and wanting and hoping.
These thoughts and the feelings she was beginning to develop for him were far more dangerous than the potential of their employers finding out about them.
She wanted to find out why she couldn't let him go, why she was so fond of him, why she would risk her life for him. She wanted to know what she was hoping for.
Leon was right. She knew it all along. She just didn't want to admit it to herself, because doing so meant failure as a spy and Ada Wong did not fail. No, she wouldn't admit anything to herself. There was nothing to admit.
Of all her personal rules she broke for him, letting her heart rule her instead of her head would bring the most devastation.
But it wasn't too late. She could still stop this. Closure? What closure? That ship had already sailed when she left him that note during their first time together. The more times they saw each other, the further she got away from that closure and the nearer she got to the point of no return.
It was her fault in the first place for letting this arrangement persist. She could have cut ties with him during their first time in Spain, or even their second time together, but letting it go on for five years? It was amazing they were still alive.
For one, she wanted to keep Leon safe. No matter how many lies she told herself, keeping him safe would always be one of her top priorities. Secondly, she would rather rip this weakness away from her herself rather than let other people do it for her. She wouldn't let anyone exploit her one and only weakness when said weakness came in the form of a man who looked at her as if she was the sole source of happiness on earth.
This time, her sense of self-preservation needed to become more of a conscious choice than an instinct.
He would be alive. She would be alive. No one would hunt them down, and she wouldn't have to admit undesirable truths to herself. If she distanced herself, she was certain that whatever she was beginning to feel for him would fade away. She had already done so in those six years between Raccoon and Spain. She could do it again this time.
There was no space for feelings and hopes and dreams in this kind of job and in this kind of world. One moment of weakness and she would be gone.
Leon was breathing heavily above her. His eyes were dark and didn't conceal his desire for herâa desire that was evident by the hardness between his legs. She was already wet too, especially when he added that third finger in. Just moments ago she had resolved to stop whatever arrangement they were having, and now she was spreading her legs wider and telling him to put a condom on.
Sex made people stupid. She already knew that. She was a living example of that. In the past, she thought she could carry on with their fuck buddies situation, but why the hell did she have to develop feelings for someone she wasn't allowed to have? Screw that, she wasn't even allowed to have feelings in the first place. Wasn't that why she almost died in Raccoon? And now she was going to make the same mistake again?
This wasn't her.
Before this lust and affection for him turned into something more, they needed to stop. She needed to stop seeing him. It would only be a matter of time before their employers find out.
Or at least, that was one of the many excuses she told herself.
"Stop," she said, clutching Leon's bicep. "I forgot I have to make a call."
He had just torn the condom wrapper when he said, "Really? Right now? Right fucking now?"
"It's for a job," she lied.
Leon looked at her for more explanation but she offered none.
"Christ," he said, sitting down on the bed while Ada took her phone out of her duffel bag.
She pretended to read a message while Leon sat impatiently on the bed. She rehearsed the things she was going to say and convinced herself with more excuses. If she tried hard enough, maybe she could trick herself into thinking she did not have burgeoning feelings for him.
What was she thinking, that this arrangement could last forever? Sooner or later they would have to stop. All she was doing now was nipping an overgrown bud.
She looked at Leon over her shoulder. "Sorry, handsome. It's an emergency."
"Really?" he said incredulously. "Really, Ada? Right now? Can't you wait for five more minutes?"
"Sorry, but it's urgent. But don't worry," she zipped her bag up, "the next time we meet, we'll continue right where we left off."
She hoped that next time they met, she wouldn't feel things for him anymore.
She cleaned herself up in the bathroom then got dressed, feeling Leon's disbelieving stare on her back.
Before she left, she patted his cheek. "I'll see you later, okay?"
"What am I gonna do about this?"
"I'm sure you can do something about that."
The look on his face made her not want to leave, but she reminded herself about her conscious choice for self-preservation.
"Sorry about the blue balls," she said as she closed the door and left in a hurry, not daring to look back.
Let it be known that Ada Wong, a survivor of multiple B.O.W. outbreaks and a sought-after spy, was a fucking coward.
VI.
February 2011
She knew she couldn't just show up at his apartment unannounced like she used to, and she knew that should they cross paths again at work, he wouldn't be as tolerant of her as he used to.
Fourteen months. Fourteen months without contacting or seeing him since her embarrassing departure at that inn in North Carolina, and here she was, filming footage of a dead licker and posting it online anonymously for the US government to see. They had that shiny new organisation called the Division of Security Operations, and Leon, as a founding member, was its golden boy.
One of the very first operations of the newly established DSO was Project Oz, which was created to investigate the rumours of B.O.W. use in the Eastern Slav civil war. She was already in its capital, Holifgrad, doing recon when she filmed that licker and posted it. She was certain that the US government would test the DSO for this case, maybe even send their favourite anti-B.O.W. agent.
And true to her predictions, she had encountered him in that parking lot. They pointed their guns at each other, reminiscent of their first meeting in a now non-existent city.
She had expected him to be angrier, grouchier, or even downright rude. Instead, he wasâŠflirty. Obnoxiously so.
So you missed me, huh?
Well if that wasn't subtle dig at her. Did she miss him so much that she came up with this elaborate plan of luring him to Eastern Slav instead of just showing up unannounced at his doorstep? Maybe. Maybe she did.
To be fair, they were both working. Personal matters must be dealt with later. Despite all theirâŠraging urges, they were both consummate professionals. He was right. That wasn't the time to carry on from where they left off that night.
But maybe tonight was.
It was already half past one on a weekday morning so there weren't a lot of people in the bar. Still, she glanced around, looking for signs of anyone who might be following, listening to, or watching her. When she found none, she started looking for Leon.
She found him at the counter sitting by himself.
"Two shots of whisky neat and a glass of water, please," she heard him say as she sat to his right, leaving an empty stool between them.
The bartender asked her for her drink and she replied, "Gin and tonic, please. Thank you." She turned to Leon. "Just got here?"
"You can't keep doing this to me, you know." He didn't look at her; his eyes remained fixed on the shelf behind the counter, looking at nothing and everything. "Leave. Appear. Leave again. Appear again. No word in between. What, you think I'll welcome you back each time with open arms and open legs?"
Ah, there it was. The anger. The grouchiness. The rudeness.
The bartender returned with their drinks. They sipped their drinks, and she waited for a little while before saying, "I'm a coward, Leon."
That finally got him to look at her.
"You're angry with me. You have every right to. If I'm not lying to myself, I'm making excuses or pushing things to the back of my mind," she continued, and when he didn't reply, she added, "You were right. I knew what I wanted all along. I knew what I was hoping for. I'm just too afraid to admit it to myself."
"Why?" he finally said.
"The same reason I didn't let you know I was still alive." She swirled the drink in her glass. "I can't afford attachments. Attachments are weaknesses."
"And what, I'm your weakness?"
She sighed. "Please don't put it that way." Admitting it to herself was one thing, but hearing it from another? "I'm already embarrassed enough as it is."
"We all have our weaknesses." He drank his whisky. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. Yes, some people would use it against you, but there could be times when your weakness could become your strength."
"Other people could afford that. Not me." She took a long sip of her drink. "Not us."
"Which are you more afraid of, your employers or your feelings?"
She met his eyes, and she knew right then and there that she didn't need to say anything for him to know the answer.
She looked away. She couldn't take another second of looking at those eyes that seemed to tear down every barrier she had created.
He added a few drops of water into his whisky, then swirled it before drinking. "I used to hope that you wouldn't reach your conclusions. I knew that if you did, you'd stop seeing me. And I didn't want that to happen. So I stopped asking about what you wanted to find out and let you decide about what you wanted to happen to us."
"I thought if I had control, things would be easier for me. Like cutting you out of my life."
He laughed lightly. "We both know how that turned out." He took another sip. "And did you find what you wanted and what you hoped for?"
She tapped the side of her glass for lack of anything to do. "Back then, I really wanted to escape with you. Escape from everything. There were reasons why I couldn't, and now there are even more reasons why I still couldn't. I was hopingâŠ" Leon once told her that knives were better for close encounters. That running away from opportunities to open up or share her feelings wouldn't get her that answer she was looking for. So here she was, willingly opening up when every instinct she had honed told her to run away. Her alarm bells were blaring and she wanted to get up and leave, but if she did, this would be it. Whatever she and Leon had would truly be over. The point of no return, but not in the path she secretly wanted. "I was hoping you'd be there waiting for me when I can finally escape."
He occupied the empty stool between them, so now they sat beside each other, their arms almost touching. It reminded her of that time when they were in Italy, standing beside each other under a gelatoria's awning. Things were so much simpler back then. She could still ignore her feelings and pretend she didn't care.
"I'd be here if you decided to get out now."
She shook her head. "I can't. There are still too many unknown variables. If I'm going to leave, I need a foolproof plan."
"I can help you."
She had the urge to cup his face and brush his stubble just to wipe that beseeching look off his face. "Not on this one. This is something I must do alone."
"YouâŠ" He sighed. "Right from the beginning, you've always been like that. You do know you can depend on me, right?"
"Not if I want to live." She sipped her drink. "Depending on someone elseâ"
"âMeans death," he finished for her. "Developing attachment and affections for someone means death. Wanting happiness means death. What kind of life is that?" He looked at her. "Are you a robot?"
"I wish I was." The answer was out of her mouth before she could even think about it. But it was the truth. If she were an emotionless robot incapable of feeling anything, then her job would be a lot easier. Reaching her lifelong objective would be easier. She wouldn't have to constantly remind herself that her liking someone would be a death sentence for both of them.
"But you're not. You'reâŠ" He sighed again. "You're not a robot. You shouldn't stop yourself from feeling things."
"I'd be less efficient that way."
"Less happier too. Aren't you miserable?"
The truth was, she was miserable. Her career was flourishing, but at what cost? The death of her soul? She may not be dead, but if she kept this up, it wouldn't be too long before mental exhaustion took its toll. It wouldn't be too long before she became the monster some people believed her to be.
He reached for his wallet and called the bartender, then paid for both of their drinks. "Come."
He softly grabbed her wrist and led her out of the bar and into the cold Polish winter night. It was two in the morningâthe streets were practically desertedâso he let his hand slide from her wrist to her palm, lacing their fingers together.
She was not a teenager, and her heart did not speed up.
Forget about gloves. His hand was much warmer.
He chuckled. "Do you know how long I've been wanting to do this?"
"Do what?"
They stopped under a streetlamp, so she could clearly see how his eyes shone when he said, "This. Hold your hand. And not just during sex, but hold your hand out in the streets. Do you know how many times I've wanted to reach for your hand but didn't because I was scared you might leave?"
It sounded like such a mundane problem, but for people like them, the mundane became the extraordinary. Problems like wanting to hold someone's hand was considered a luxury.
"For what it's worth, I wanted to hold your hand too. So many times." She brushed the hair away from his face. "And when I did that? Most of the time it was just an excuse to touch you."
He laughed. "I knew it." He pressed their foreheads together, still lightly laughing. "I knew it."
She pulled away slightly, just enough to look into his eyes and reach for his other hand. "I think this is the closure that I've wanted. Only now we get to start again."
"So what, we're back to square one?"
"Only if you want to."
He let her hands go, but only so he could cup her face and kiss her slowly, sweetly, deeply. There was no need to hurry; they weren't kissing for the purpose of arousing each other, but rather, they were kissing just for the heck of it. Because it felt natural. Because it would be more unnatural no to.
"You need to take me out to dinner first," he said, eyes gleaming, "and then maybe I'll say yes."
She couldn't prevent the smile that crept up on her lips. "I know of a nice restaurant in Lombardy."
"Lovely. When are we going?"
She couldn't answer; she was too busy kissing him.
Later, he led her by the hand to his hotel room, and then they wasted no time in carrying on from where they left off that night.
So this was what happened when she stopped denying herself things that made her happyâabsolute bliss. Something better than sex. It became less about the motions and more about the feelings. Casual sex, while good for the short-term, couldn't possibly compete with what she felt when it was Leon who was inside her as opposed to her mark for the job or some random guy. It felt more intense and more pleasurable with Leon.
When your fuck buddy starts to develop feelings for you, the energy will change. You will both feel it. But for her and Leon, the energy between them constantly changed, yet amazingly, they were always on the same wavelength.
Where did sexual gratification end, and where did emotional gratification begin? She knew how to separate sex from her emotions, but lines became blurred when it was Leon who took her clothes off.
She wouldn't let just anyone push her on the bed, then hover above her and stare into her eyes, hands clasping hers, as they pushed deep inside her. Not anyone. Just Leon with his nimble fingers and wicked tongue.
And this was the downside to their new arrangement: it was harder for her to tear herself away from Leon, and much, much harder to leave him.
She wondered if this momentary bliss would be worth the increasing number of dangers they now faced.
VII.
July 2011
They walked into the concert hall, her arm in his, none of the other concertgoers paying them attention. Most of the public didn't really pay them attention no matter the country they were in, but it still paid to be careful. This time, they were in Germany, about to listen to the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra.
The orchestra was just tuning but already Leon's eyes were glazing.
"Don't tell me you've never seen a live orchestra before," she said, scanning the programme leaflet. First was Tchaikovsky, then Shostakovich, and finally, Beethoven.
"I've seen a couple of them when I was still Ashley's bodyguard." He yawned. "It was a challenge to keep my eyes open, but I had a job to do. Can't say the same this time."
She smiled fondly at him. "You heathen."
"Hey, at least I know not to clap in between movements." He looked away from her then turned his gaze to the stage. "Ashley warned me plenty."
A few moments later, the soloist entered the stage, the conductor following. The audience and the orchestra clapped while the soloist and conductor bowed. The soloist gestured at the concertmasterâa sign of respectâbefore the conductor motioned for the orchestra to stand up and take a little bow. They sat back in their seats and the conductor waited for the applause to settle down. When it was quiet once more, the conductor went up to the podium and exchanged glances with the soloist, as if to say Ready when you are. He raised his baton, the orchestra readied their instruments, and music filled the concert hall.
Not even five minutes in and Leon was already nodding off. Classical musicians had this joke where if the listener fell asleep while listening to their music, it was actually because the music was good and being appreciated; bad music would keep the listener awake because of all the glaring errors. Ada doubted that Leon could tell the difference between good or bad playingâunless it was really obviousâbut he was tired. They had spent the entire day walking around Berlin, and what a better lullaby than a violin concerto performed by one of the world's best orchestras.
A shame, really. Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D Major was one of the most popular violin concertos ever written, and its main theme was often regarded as one of the composer's most beautiful themes.
She felt Leon's head fall on her shoulder. Neither of them let their guards down easily in public, especially when they were together, but his presence brought her this feeling of security.
For so long she had depended on only herself. In Raccoon, Leon showed her that it was all right to depend on others tooâso long as you trusted the right person. And Leon was the right person. She knew that right from the beginning but she didn't want to risk anything. She just hoped trusting him would be worth it.
But then again, she already knew that Leon would be worth it all.
She intertwined their fingers together, Leon's head still on her shoulder. He looked so cute. Much cuter than that teddy bear keychain he amazingly still had.
Around ten minutes into the performance and what could possibly be one of the most exciting things to happen during a classical music concert happened: the soloist's string broke.
The soloist didn't break composure. As per protocol, he exchanged his violin with the concertmaster's so he could continue to play. The concertmaster then handed the soloist's violin to the second-chair violinist, who then handed it to the fourth chair, to get the string replaced. The soloist looked at the conductor and began playing where he left off, resuming the performance as if nothing had happened. When a pause in his part came, the soloist handed the extra E-string in his pocket to the fourth-chair violinist.
The audience broke an unwritten rule and applauded the masterful solution to the unforeseen problem.
The rest of the first movement happened without a hitch. Even though it was heavily frowned upon to clap in between movements, the audience couldn't help but give all the musicians onstage a boisterous applause for how they handled an incident that happened infrequentlyâand without loss to the quality of music. The soloist used the concertmaster's violin as if it were his own.
Leon suddenly stirred. He looked around, confused.
"WhaâWhat happened?" The audience was still clapping. "Is it over?"
The soloist gestured to the concertmaster, the conductor, the second-chair and fourth-chair violinists, and the orchestra, then bowed.
"The first movement is over," she said, clapping lightly.
"Then why are people clapping?"
"The soloist's string broke and they carried on like nothing happened. You should have seen it. It was wonderful." They could learn a thing or two from those musicians. When an unforeseen problem happened, one must always be calm. Remember the rules. Be resourceful. Persevere.
"Well I had a wonderful nap on my wonderful pillow, soâŠ"
She sighed.
The applause died down and the performers got ready for the second movement. The soloist and concertmaster had their own violins back, and the second movement began.
Now this was where Ada fully expected Leon to fall asleep, because the second movement was slow and sombre.
And she was right. Leon slept right through the second and third movements and didn't wake up until the entire auditorium was giving the performers a standing ovation.
"Sorry," he said during the intermission. He stretched, yawned, and added, "I'll try to keep awake this time."
To his credit, Leon really did try to stay awake during Shostakovich's Cello Concerto No. 1 and Beethoven's Symphony No. 7, but he just kept nodding off and sleeping on Ada's shoulder. Maybe he was really tired. He had just gotten back from an outbreak in Atlanta before flying to Berlin, and he didn't get much rest after landing.
"That was fun," he said while they stood near the concert hall's entrance, waiting for a cab. "You're right. I need to 'experience more culture.'"
She gave him a look. "You were asleep the entire time."
"I caught bits and pieces."
She felt his arm around her waist, his hand resting over her hip. She leaned into him and he placed a kiss on the top of her head.
She liked how they could do this now, these casual touches and occasional kisses. Who knew that such tiny gestures could make her feel so many things she thought she would never feel in this lifetime.
Their cab arrived. Leon opened the door for her, and then they got in and drove towards their hotel.
He had just gotten out of the shower and changed into sleepwear when he found Ada at the balcony, looking over the Berlin nighttime cityscape. He had low-key expected her to wear that lingerie he liked, but unfortunately, she was wearing shorts and a tank top.
She would be gone again before the sun rose. Leon found it harder to cope with each time they parted. Even if he asked her to stay, she couldn't. They couldn't. It was already risky enough being with her like this and engaging in a bit of public display of affection here and there. Nothing too showy, nothing too inappropriate, but enough to be solid evidence used against them should they, god forbid, be photographed. Or worse, get caught.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he said as he stood beside her, the summer nighttime air hitting his face.
"I was just thinking about Tchaikovsky's music. Are you familiar with his works?"
"There was one time when I went to see Swan Lake with the former first family. What, are you a fan?"
"Not exactly. I just find his music nice."
"Can't say I remember it well."
She chuckled. "That's because you were asleep the whole time."
"Wanna remind me how it sounds?"
She shook her head in exasperation. "It goes like thisâŠ"
She hummed and then put both her hands on his shoulders, swaying lightly. He placed his hands on her waist and swayed along with her, dancing slowly to the music she was humming. It wasn't even a danceâreally, they were just swaying together, her hands now encircling his neck, his arms now wrapped around her.
From what little he could remember of Swan Lake, Tchaikovsky was supposed to be one of greatest composers of the Romantic periodâRomantic with a capital R. Not that he knew the difference between Romantic and romantic. It had been so long ago, but judging by the music Ada was humming, the music could be romantic too.
At some point, she stopped humming, but they were still swaying, their eyes locked on each other's. Their music was now the sound of Berlin at nearly twelve in the morningâthe distant honking, the laughter, the chatter, and even a muted song.
He pulled her closer to him until there was no more space between them. His arms encircled her waist while her arms wrapped around his neck, her chin resting over his shoulder.
They stopped swaying. They just stood there on the balcony, clinging to each other as if letting go meant certain death.
He had never embraced her before. Spooning and cuddling in bed or on the couch, yes, and the occasional arm slung across her waist, but never an embrace like this just for the sake of embracing, of needing her so much closer. But no matter how close he held her, it would never, ever be enough.
The world was constantly on the verge of destruction. His line of work was made up of broken people who had seen too muchâboth the worst and the best of humanity. They were constantly being torn down, sent to the frontlines of the war against bioterrorism, where a little bit of rest and recreation was currency more valuable than gold.
They were filled with cracks, and they filled these cracks with something stronger. In his case, his moments with Ada.
He clung to these short-lived moments of normalcy. Ada was anything but normal, but he suspected that she clung to him for the same reasonâbecause they grounded each other, and reminded each other that there was a reason they chose keep breathing each day: that at the end of the day and of every outbreak, there would always be a chance that they would see each other again.
He didn't know that it was possible to feel this much for one person, but here he was, coming to hate the sunrise because it meant her departure.
He once told her that casting her emotions away was no way to live. But so was their current arrangementâconstantly looking around, making sure no one was surveilling them, or travelling to another continent just so he could hold her hand on the streets. Constantly being on edge while they were out in public, making sure he wouldn't be lulled into a false sense of security even though no one appeared to have recognised them.
The secrecy worked for now. He wondered if it would in the long run. He knew how tortuous it was to keep a secret alone and to suffer alone; for six years, he had never told anyone of their encounter in Raccoon. Even now, none of the people in his life knew about her.
But at least he had her now. They shared this secretâand this sufferingâtogether. He would never get to call her his, but for now, having her in his arms was more than he could ask for.
He would never feel this way for anyone else. Who was he kidding? All those people he had slept with when he thought she was dead, and all those people he had dated when she had essentially ghosted him, what had they taught him? That he could try and try to fill the chasm in his heart her departure created with something or someone else, but nothing and no one would fit when that chasm was in the exact shape of her soul.
He kissed her forehead. They had the perfect height difference for forehead kisses. He looked at her eyes, and for one moment, he was so overcome with what he felt that he almost said something, but he swallowed his words. He wasn't ready to say it to her, nor was she ready to hear it. She would run away again, and he wasn't sure if he could take it this time, not when he could finally hold her hand and kiss and embrace her whenever he wanted. Not when there was still so much at stake, and one wrong move would upset whatever precarious balance they have been tirelessly maintaining.
What he said instead was, "You're so beautiful."
She laughed lightly, turning her head away. She might have even been blushing. "You don't look so bad yourself." She brushed his hair, keeping his bangs out of his eyes. "Weren't you sleepy? Let's go to bed."
But of course, when did they simply "go to bed" when they were with each other? All their nights spent together always ended up with their bodies tangled together or bent one way or another.
This night wouldn't be different, he thought, but then she told him for the first time to ditch the condom and come inside her. And then a second time. And then a third.
Needless to say, he was a very happy man that night.
But perhaps what was most surprising was when he woke up the next day, he wasn't alone on the bed. She was still there, her bare back plastered against his bare chest, his arm around her waist.
He felt her stir. She turned around, burying her face in his chest, her arm loosely slung around him. He lay there unmoving, not knowing what to do upon finding out that she had stayed for the first time.
For a while all he could do was stare at the top of her head, and then the curtained windows, and then the ceiling. He stroked her back lightly, ran his fingertips across it, and even prodded here and there, just to see if he really woke up next to her or if he was just dreaming. He felt each breath she took, and if he listened closely, he could hear each of her heartbeats. He could hear each of his heartbeats. His heart was hammering against his chest.
Okay. He wasn't dreaming. What was he supposed to do now? WhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo?
Did he need to get up and prepare breakfast? Did heâOh god, he had morning breath, he needed to brush his teeth, what if Ada smelled it and decided to leave him for good?
What was it that he did again whenever he stayed over at his exes' places? Breakfast. Right. His exes always seemed to like it whenever they woke up to him making breakfast. Maybe he should do thatâgo to the restaurant downstairs or the nearby bakery and get them food.
But first things firstâhe needed to brush his teeth. He would not have Ada leaving him because of his morning breath.
With great difficulty, he extricated himself from Ada's (loose) embrace, then picked up his boxers on the floor and hurried to the bathroom.
He brushed his teeth and gargled mouthwash, and when he exited the bathroom, he came face to face with Ada, her hair tousled.
She was also wearing his shirt.
They stood there for a moment just staring at each other, eyes wide, looking somewhat embarrassed. Her smaller frame was dwarfed by his ratty blue shirt, its hem coming down to just the right place.
Was she even wearing anything underneath that? Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. ThisâThis was infinitely hotter than her wearing lingerie and he didn't know why.
He swallowed, willing his blood to rush to his brain and not downwards.
"H-Hey. Good morning," he said, his hand still on the doorknob. He prayed that the toothpaste and mouthwash did their jobs.
"Hey. I was gonna brush my teeth," she said, a small if somewhat shy smile on her lips.
"Right. Right." He stepped out of the way, wondering what to do next.
This was unknown territory for them. She never stayed. Whenever he woke up in the morning, she was always either already gone or just about to leave. What were they supposed to do now, get breakfast?
A few minutes later, he heard the bathroom door open and her voice saying, "Why are you standing in front of the bathroom?"
"Oh. Uh. I was just. Thinking."
"Thinking?" She raised an eyebrow. "About what?"
"Breakfast. Would you like to get some breakfast? We should get breakfast. I'm starving."
For fuck's sake, he wasn't some high school kid who had just gotten his first kiss. He was a grown-ass man in his mid-thirties who has dated a number of people over the past years. Why was he suddenly flustered at Ada staying and wearing his shirt?
"Are you okay? You look a little red." She stepped towards him and placed her hand on her forehead. "Hm. You're not that warm."
He couldn't help it. His arms just automatically wound around her, and he couldn't help pressing his face against her neck and breathing in her scent.
"You're still here," he murmured. "You stayed."
"IâŠ" Her arms wrapped around him too. Right. They did hugs now. They could hug each whenever they wanted. "I don't know why I stayed. But I know that I sleep better when you're here. I fall asleep faster and deeper, and I don't feel the need to sleep with one of my eyes open wide when you're beside me." Her arms tightened and her voice got softer. "You make me feel safe and at peace. I've never felt safe anywhere before, only when I'm with you."
"You know I'll do everything to keep you safe, right?"
"I know." She kissed him, caressed his cheek and that faded scar there, brushed the hair out of his eyes, and kissed him again. "Darling, I know."
Three words threatened to spill out of his mouth so he clamped his mouth shut. Now was not the time for that. He wasn't sure if there would ever be a time for that.
And then he froze upon realising something. Did she justâŠ
"Wait, whatâWhat did you just call me?" He couldn't help the grin that formed on his face. "Can you say it again? I didn't hear it properly."
"Nothing." She suddenly looked mortified, like she wasn't aware that she had just said such a thing. She stepped out of his arms and turned her back on him, then headed back to the bedroom.
"It started with a D and ended with a G." He called as he followed her. "But I'm not sure."
"It was nothing. You were just imagining things."
He laughed, plopping on the bed next to her. "I know all your tricks. You can't gaslight me." He hovered over her, placing his arms on either side of her head. "Can you say it again? Please? One more time for me?"
"Normally I love it when you beg, but not in this situation."
"What would it take for you to say it again?"
She smiled. "Just one kiss."
So he gave her that kiss and was relieved when Ada didn't pull away. Thank you, Colgate. Thank you, Listerine.
When they parted, she looked up at him, eyes twinkling. "Good morning, darling."
One more time of her calling him darling and he would die right on the spot.
But all it would take for him to be resurrected was a kiss from her.
"Good morning," he said, sitting up and offering her a small smile. "Shall we get some breakfast?"
She nodded.
They were going to have breakfast together for the first time. He wondered what he had to do to have breakfast with her until the rest of his life.
A miracle, most likely. There were still collars wrapped around their necks.
VIII.
September 2013
Finding that tape at the laboratory under the Tall Oaks Cathedral gave Leon this fear that even after all these years with Ada, even after all these years that they bared their bodies and souls to each other, Ada might not be whoâor whatâshe said she was.
She wouldn't lie to him again, would she? She would keep secrets, yes, but lie to him again? After everything?
She wouldn't do thatâŠwould she?
More than the anger, disappointment, and sadness this would-be betrayal would give him, he was more afraid that even after everythingâthe kisses in dark alleyways, conversations at three in the morning, embraces under the covers, holding hands while walking along the nighttime streetsâAda never trusted him, that she never saw him as someone to trust. Someone to protect and care for, yes, but someone to trust?
But then again, betrayal never came from someone you didn't trust, did it? And even after all his thoughts spiralling out of control, even after the prospect of her lies and betrayal, he still couldn't find it in himself to stop what he felt for her.
Six years of her being "dead" didn't. Fourteen months of no contact with her didn't. One videotape suggesting that she might be a B.O.W. certainly wouldn't.
So it was a huge relief when, two months after that whole C-Virus fiasco, they met up in Shibuya and she told him, There's no way I could have been born from a chrysalis. You fell for it. And then she told him about her doppelgÀnger and about that whole man-turned-mutation obsessed with her, about the job she had just concluded, and about what she must now do next.
It was a huge relief knowing that she had nothing to do with all of that mess, that she had just been caught up in it as well. That she didn't betray Leon and she didn't lie to him.
Now, on a bullet train to Osaka, with Ada's head on his shoulder and her hands wrapped around his arm, he read the English translation of the omikuji he had gotten from a shrine earlier.
Middle blessing, it said, along with his fortunes for the near future. He focused on the things that caught his attention: Wish: It will come true, but not yet. Person being waited for: They will come, but not yet. Love: Soon. Marriage proposal: Uncertain.
Superstition dictated that should one get bad luck, one should tie their omikuji to a pine tree so the bad luck would wait. But Leon didn't consider this to be bad luck; if anything, it was auspicious, so he kept it in his wallet for good luck.
He felt her stir, and moments later, she asked, "What fortune did you get?"
He wanted to kiss the top of her head, but they were in Japan. Kissing in public was highly frowned upon. He didn't even know if he should let Ada lay her head on his shoulder.
He settled on squeezing her hand and saying, "It's between me and the gods."
"All right, then, keep your secrets," she said, laughing lightly. She sat up straight and stared at the window. "Leon, I have to tell you something."
Suddenly he was alert. "Hm? What?" He hoped his voice didn't reveal his nerves.
She looked back at him, her face serious. "We're not going to see each other for a while. A couple of months, probably. A year. More than a year. I don't know."
That knocked the wind right out of him. "Why?"
She brushed his cheeks briefly before pulling back; they were still in public after all. "Remember when you told me you'd wait until my feelings caught up to yours?"
He nodded. He blinked, and then felt his eyes water. If he didn't like what she was going to say nextâŠ
"Darling, don't cry." She wiped his cheeks with a thumb then held his hand. "WellâŠMy feelings are all caught up nowâ"
His breath hitched.
"âand I think they've been caught up for a while, but I just didn't want to admit to myself. So if we're going to do this, I need to make sure no one would go after us. I can't keep walking away from you anymore. I don't want to."
"What do you mean?"
"I've got some bridges to burn. I've gotta make sure no one can cross over from hell and drag me back in." She sighed. "Just because nothing's happened to us yet doesn't mean they don't know. Maybe they already know where I am, who I'm with, what I'm doingâŠand I'm tired of constantly watching my back."
"And it's gonna take long?"
"Most likely."
"I can't come with you?" His voice was small, like a child who didn't understand how the world worked. Where did the sun go when day turned to night? How did the sky change colours? What did ants do when they encountered other ants? Why couldn't he come with Ada?
"This is my battle to fight. After everything that has happened, everything I have done, maybe I deserve some kind reward. Maybe I'm not beyond sympathy after all. Maybe I'm not beyond humanity." She shrugged. "Maybe I deserve you."
"You're notâI told you before, you're not a bad person. Right from the beginning, I saw who you were underneath all that emotionless facade. I saw the real you and I liked what I saw."
"Sometimes I'm afraid I might not be the person you think I am."
"I see you. All of you. The good and the bad. And I love what I see."
She smiled slowly, her grip on his hand tightening.
He once thought that he would do anything and everything to make her happy, and he still felt the same. Their encounters might be short-lived, but his feelings for her wouldn't fade away in this lifetime, possibly not even until eternity ended.
Their ride came to a stop. They exited the train, their suitcases rolling behind them, and rode a cab to their hotel to store their suitcases.
After resting for a bit, they walked around Osaka, the streets still bustling with the night-time crowd, until they ended up at a park.
He grabbed two bottles of green tea from the vending machine before going back to the bench where she was sitting.
"What did your fortune say?" he asked as he opened his bottle.
"It's between me and the gods."
He chuckled. "Right. Okay." He drank his green tea. "Do you have any plans?"
"For dinner?"
"NoâŠyour otherâŠactivity."
She nodded. "I'm gonna start by looking at the mess Simmons left. And then I'll see where it goes." She looked down, her fingers fiddling with the bottle cap. "I don't know how long it's gonna take. You're free to pursue anyone you'd like. Maybe you'll find someone who suits you better."
"Ada," he said, aghast. "Hey. Baby, look at me." He gently tilted her chin up, forcing her eyes to meet his. "I'm not gonna be happy with anyone else. It has to be you. There's no other option for me."
"Why do you want me so?"
"Why wouldn't I?" It was beginning to get dark and they were in a secluded part of the park, so he took her hands and kissed each of her knuckles. "I deserve a reward too, don't you think?"
"Will you wait for me?"
He brushed the hair away from her face. Under the streetlamp, her eyes looked watery.
Wish: It will come true, but not yet. Person being waited for: They will come, but not yet. Love: Soon.
He kissed her forehead. "You know I always will."
"What if you don't feel the same for me by then?"
He chuckled. "Look. For one second I thought you were a B.O.W. because of that tape. Even then my feelings didn't change. What's a couple of months or years apart?"
She furrowed her brows. "âŠYou're taking this awfully well."
"After you leave, I'm going to drink my bodyweight in vodka, then I'll curl into a foetal position and cry myself to sleep. But until then, I'm going to be happy."
She brushed his cheek. "You shouldn't drink too much."
"We're almost at the end. If all I have to do is wait, then wait I will. You deal with your collar and I'll deal with mine."
She nodded, then leaned forward to capture his lips in a searing kiss. His hands found her waist and he drew her closer, not intent on saying goodbye just yet.
Afternoon the next day, a few hours before they parted at the airport, they found a photo booth near their hotel and got their photos taken. Four pictures on each sheet with no filter or comical effects. The first was of Ada kissing his cheek, the second was of him kissing her cheek, the third was of them kissing, and the fourth was of them looking at the camera, smiling.
Those were their first photos together. Solid evidence that could be used against them, but also a solid and tangible proof that whatever ephemera they shared was real.
And Leon, now sitting on the plane back to the United States, stared at the photos before putting it away, afraid to cry in public because of how much his heart swelled and broke.
When he got back home, he would put that photo strip and omikuji in his safe, which also contained a certain compact case, along with all the gifts and trinkets Ada had given to him.
There would be a time when he could put those out on display, and that time might come sooner than he thought. He just had to wait.
IX.
May 2014
In his defence, he was going through a lot.
It had been three months since he had last heard from Ada. Communication with her was sparse during these last few months, but she never failed to send a message every week letting him know she was still alive and unhurt. But suddenly the messages stopped coming. He didn't hear from her on Christmas, New Year, and Valentine's Day.
To deal with the anxiety, he drank himself to sleep.
To top it off, he had led a squad for an operation, but a bomb had gone off and killed everyone except him. And just like that, he was back to his old thought patterns he thought he already had cast awayâwhy did they have to die while he survived? Everything was his fault. If only he had been better at his job, if only he had been more alert, if only he had more information, then no one in his team would have died. He wasn't cut out to be a leader. He was at his best working alone or in a small team. He had been in this line of work since he was twenty-one and he was thirty-seven now. Everyone thought he was the best, but as it turned out, he was just one big sack of failure. Was everything he had been doing for nothing?
To deal with the guilt, instead of seeing a shrink, he drank himself to sleep.
But what took the cake was when the president vetoed his early retirement. Initially Leon thought that the president was punishing him for letting his squad die, but his commander-in-chief assured him that it wasn't that; the fight against bioterrorism was far from over, and they needed every limb they could have. You're still young, Leon, the president had told him. You can still save many more lives.
Yes, he could save many more livesâand lose many more of them. Just as how he was slowly losing his, going on mission after mission just to keep his mind off from Ada's absence, and to prevent his failures from haunting him. Anything to keep his mind occupied, anything to make him feel numb, subsisting on a diet of alcohol and more alcohol.
Now, it has been six months since Ada's last message, three since the A-Virus incident, and one since the president rejected his resignation. He promised himself that he would never let himself fall on the deep end againâlike secluding himself in a resort hotel in Colorado drinking his days away. But this past year had him constantly standing on a precipice, teetering between despair and hope.
So maybe he couldn't be blamed when, one night after stepping out of a bar with his colleagues, he tumbled to the ground, vomiting. According to Helena, he had been "deathly pale and cold" and was "having a seizure."
The doctor had said it was alcohol poisoning. Leon had been given a mandatory psych eval after he had been released from the hospital, which recommended that he take some time off from work. He was disappointed he wasn't recommended an honourable discharge instead. He would take even a dishonourable dischargeâanything that could get him out of his cage.
"I still feel guilty for inviting you to the bar that night," Helena said during his last day of work before his long vacation. She was standing over his workstation, looking at his bare desk.
Unlike his coworkers, Leon had no decorations or mementos on his desk. Not even one of those ugly figurines Ada got for him from a souvenir shop; they might contain her fingerprints. He had only folders and stacks of paper on his station, and the occasional Post-It note from Sherry telling him to loosen up, or from Hunnigan telling him to behave.
His apartment was the opposite, though. It now had a "woman's touch." Ada had her own space in his closet, her own toothbrush, and even her own side of the bed. His place now looked more lived-in instead of a showroom.
But it was more of a messy showroom these days. He just didn't have the motivation to get out of bed, let alone clean.
"It wasn't your fault," he told Helena as he shut his PC off. Funny how it was so easy for him to say that to his friends yet still be unable to stop blaming himself. "IâŠI've been drinking way more than usual these past six months."
"Is it because of your squad?"
He pushed his chair under his desk. "It's more than that, but yes, it's a contributing factor."
"Is itâ" She looked around, then seemingly realising that the office was still full of their colleagues, she stopped. Then she said, "You know how to reach me."
"This isn't goodbye," he chuckled hollowly. "My retirement got denied, remember?"
"You can always apply again."
"I'll see about that." He clapped Helena on her shoulder. "See you in three months, partner."
After he said his temporary goodbyes to Sherry and Hunnigan, he drove to his apartment and, for the first time in six months, went to sleep without a bottle of alcohol in his hand.
He couldn't go on the deep end again. He promised Ada he would be there waiting for her no matter how long it took.
October 2014
She sighed as she unlocked his window.
His apartment was, as always, too easy to break into. When would he learn?
It was dark and she couldn't sense anyone in the apartment. She closed his windowâTell him to get his locks replacedâthen used her phone's flashlight to navigate towards the light switch.
The lights came on, and immediately she felt like she was home.
She was surprised to see things neat and orderly. There was a few days' worth of dust on surfaces, but his apartment was clean. His fridge was fullâwith dairy and fresh produce tooâand thankfully had no alcohol.
Oh yes, she heard about his little stay in the hospital. She checked up on him as soon as she wrapped up her affairs, and almost had a heart attack upon learning of his alcohol poisoning. That had been five months ago. She had been gone thirteen months too long.
She wouldn't be surprised if he had already moved on.
Moments ago she was so excited, and now she was deflated. Even if Leon promised her he would wait for her, what if he didn't? What if he realised just how rotten she was and moved on with someone who wouldn't smear his reputation?
She dragged her feet to his bedroom, dreading what she would see. Still, these thirteen months of work wouldn't be wasted; Ada was still free and they wouldn't go after him or her, but without him as her rewardâŠ
The exhaustion from thirteen months of scheming, spying, undercover work, gunfights, vehicle chases, threats, near-death situations, and almost-assassinations finally caught up on her.
All that work and the one thing she wanted the most wasn't there anymoreâŠ
She should leave. Instead, she roamed around his bedroom, taking note of the minute changesâhis new clothes, new sheets, new knickknacksâŠThere didn't seem to be anyone else besides him living in his apartment. All her clothes were still in his closet.
But she couldn't help but expect the worst. She fell asleep on his bed, his covers pulled up to her chin, wondering if someone new occupied her side on his bed.
She normally wasn't like this. She wasn't an overthinker. But if there was something she had learned in the sixteen years of knowing him, it was that for each one of her rules, Leon would find a way to be the sole exception.
And she would break each one of them for him.
Ada woke up to see Leon staring at her, his cheeks wet with tears, and her first instinct was to reach out and wipe the tears away from his handsome face.
God. She missed his face so much.
He still wouldn't stop crying. He sat there on his bedroom floor, wordlessly staring at Ada with his teary eyes. She sat up on the bed and he immediately scooted over towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his face to her stomach.
She felt her shirt grow wet with his tears, and in an instant, she knew that Leon didn't have anyone else but her, especially not with how tight he was clutching her.
She suddenly remembered the omikuji she got in Japan thirteen months ago: Small blessing. Wish: It will only come true if you put in the ffort. Person being waited for: They are waiting for you too. Love: On the horizon. Marriage proposal: Uncertain.
There was no reason to doubt him. There were still so many things she was unsure of, but the one thing she was certain about was him.
For a while they didn't say anything. He laid his head on her lap and she played with his hair, then she looked at his face and hands, cataloguing all the new scars he had sustained in the last thirteen months. He kissed her palms, wrists, knuckles, the back of her hands, before encircling her waist again and giving a happy and contented sigh.
Finally, Leon stood up to stretch his arms and legs.
"I didn't know you were coming over," he said, smiling softly. "Are you hungry? I can make dinner if you'd like."
Dinner? What time is it?
She glanced at his bedside clock. 19:04, it said.
She shook her head, then crossed her arms and adopted a stern expression. "I'd rather catch up with you, starting with your hospitalisation."
"OhâŠthatâŠ" He rubbed his nape, suddenly looking embarrassed. "That was just things piling up. Not hearing from you since December, people dying because of me, being denied retirementâŠ" He shrugged. "Nothing seemed to go right with my life." He looked her in the eyes. "Until now."
She sighed. "Leon, I told you not to drink too much."
"You weren't there." That look of hurt on his face made her feel guilty for being gone for too long. "You weren't there. I didn't know where you were, what you were doing, if you were still aliveâŠ" He sniffled. "I wasn't in a good place mentally. I thought I lost you back in Raccoon. I thought I lost you back in Lanshiang. And I was beginning to think I was losing you again." He took a deep breath. "Then people under my command died. Then I got denied retirement when I promised you I'd work on getting out. We've been building up to this moment when we could finally be free, but suddenly everything got snatched out of my hands. I felt like I was losing control, not just of things but also of myself."
"I'm sorry." Mere words wouldn't cut it. No apology or explanation would be enough. "It was really dangerous. I couldn't risk contact. The further I went, the more dangerous it got. You know I didn't meanâ"
"Yeah, I know you didn't mean to make me worried." He was tearing up again. "Didn't mean I wasn't."
This was all her fault. Again. How much more would he suffer because of her? If she left, would he be happier?
I'm not gonna be happy with anyone else. It has to be you. There's no other option for me.
She walked towards him and gathered him in an embrace, his hands wounding around her so tightly. She felt him tremble, and when she leaned back to look at him, he was crying again.
"I'm so sorry, Leon." She wiped his tears away. "It's all right, darling. I'm here now. I'm going to make everything better."
She needed this tooâthe comfort physical contact with him bought, and the safety and peace she felt only within his arms. He was her shelter from strife, her respite from the storm, her oasis in the desert. She needed him as much as he needed her.
He pressed his forehead against hers. "I don't want to be apart from you ever again."
"Can't promise, but I'll try."
She cupped his face and brought their lips together, greedily taking in what was now hers.
They would change the sheets tomorrow, but right now, she was content in kissing him, their bare, sweaty bodies tangled together. She kissed him slowly, lazily, because they now had all the time in the world. She didn't need to hurry to catch a plane or meet with her employers. She didn't need to leave. She didn't need to be away from him again.
"Just so you know," he said, his fingers trailing down her back, "I don't intend on letting you go this time."
She snuggled closer to him, tracing aimless patterns on his chest, and gave a contented sigh. "I'm not planning on going anywhere." She leaned up to kiss him. "I thought you've moved on from me."
"Me? Move on from you?" He laughed lightly. "In what universe?"
They still had so many things to talk about, so many new wounds that needed to be addressed and tended to. They would get to that later. Right now, she would lie in the safest, kindest, and most peaceful place in the worldâLeon's arms.
"I'm sorry for making you wait," she said, exhaustion slowly taking over her. But the good kind of exhaustion; not the exhaustion from a physically, mentally, and emotionally draining fight for her life, but the exhaustion from a physically, mentally, and emotionally rewarding sustenance for her life. "I'm sorry it took me so long."
He kissed her forehead. "It only took us sixteen years, but we're here now." He kissed her cheek. "I can't wait to wake up next to you every day."
"Maybe if I wasn't so emotionally stunted we would have gotten here sooner."
"Maybe. But we're on the same page now, and that's all that matters to me." He kissed the side of her neck and she felt him smile. "Told you you couldn't get rid of me that easy."
"I'm stuck with you to the end, aren't I?"
He loomed over her, grinning. "Uh-huh. No take-backs. It's a done deal. No return, no exchange, no refunds, no cancellations. You are not allowed to raise a dispute or file a motion for reconsideration."
Her eyes felt droopy. "Sounds like a dodgy business to me." She encircled his neck with her arms. "But deal."
She dragged him down, their lips crashing against each other's, and when they parted, she didn't say good night; instead, she said, "See you tomorrow, hon."
"See you tomorrow."
The last thing she saw before falling asleep was Leon's face looking at her with so much tenderness that she didn't deserve.
She banished that thought away from her head. After suffering through the turmoil of her past, she deserved that tenderness. She deserved his morning kisses, his smiles that put the sun to shame, his warm embraces, his dumb jokes, his pretty face, his eyes that looked at her with so much adoration, his hands that held her with unmatched devotion, and his unbashed declarations that secretly made her melt. Fuck it, she deserved him.
He wasn't the only one waiting. She was waiting for him too. And now, they were done waiting.
Transience had a certain odd sense of beauty to it, but what was infinitely more beautiful was the permanence of things she would love to keep forever, namely: them.
ii.
She didn't want redemption. She didn't think she needed it. She wasn't faultless and she wasn't absolved from guilt and all her crimes, but unlike what many might have been believing, she wasn't the cause of it all. She played a part, yes, but she wasn't the evil mastermind people made her out to be.
And he wasn't completely innocent either. For not reporting her involvement in various outbreaks, he was complicit in her crimes. But he shouldn't be faulted for not fully stating the reason for his retirement. He had given half of his life for the world. It was now time for him to devote the rest of his time to his world. She had spent practically her entire life denying herself of things she longed to have, not only because of her job, but also because of her misguided self-preservation instincts declaring that if she didn't allow herself to be vulnerable in front of anyoneâif she didn't allow herself to feel anything for anyoneâthen she wouldn't be hurt. But he taught her that it was all right to feel and have the things she desired, just as she taught him that there would be people he cannot save no matter how much he tried.
They were slowly learning how to compensate for each other's shortcomings, but changing one's mindset could be a lifelong process. Thankfully they had the rest of their lives with each other, secluded in a small cottage in Norway and far away from other people.
Their distant neighbours knew them as Roy and Riza. They didn't know much about them, only that they kept to themselves but were amiable when spoken to.
Their connection was something they always hid, but there wasn't a need to hide now nor was there any need to flaunt it. They were content with just being, finding solace in each other's arms and carrying each other's sins in their hearts, tending to each other's wounded souls with sutures made of an invisible and unbreaking red ligature.
They were hidden from the rest of the world, but if the rest of the world found them, then they would deal with it. Until then, they would live in their little cottage with their little plants and little chickens, cocooned in their transient bubble of eternity.
A/N:
1. "She's like a part of me I can't let go" in JP sub is ăäżșăźćżăźäžă«ăăćč»ćœ±ăăăȘâŠă, which, when translated into English, means "She's like a phantom inside my mind." (Translation by me. Also, I know only kindergartner-level Japanese đ )
2. the soloist's string breaking was totally from when ray chen broke his string during tchaikovsky
3. "You're really confused by all this, aren't you, Leon? It's kind of fun to watch." in JP sub is ăç§ăă”ăăźăăçăŸăăăŻăăȘăă§ăăïŒă§ă⊠éąçœăăă ăăźăŸăŸă§ă㊠ă (I couldn't have been born from a chrysalis, could I? But... it's amusing, so just stay the way you are.) In JP dub, it's ăç§ăă”ăăźăȘăăăăçăŸăăăăăăȘăăéšăăăĄăăŁăŠăă (There's no way I could have been born from a chrysalis. You fell for it.) Again, piss-poor translations by me.
4. References to Mo Dao Zu Shi, The Stormlight Archive, and Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood have been made. (And even Mistborn and Downton Abbey if you squint.)
posting this fic while i still feel good about it in a couple of days my self-loathing would take over so i will 100% delete this, but until then, i hope you liked this one đ