Happy Sunday! I tried to get this up at the usual time but ended up giving the whole chapter an overhaul. Life things are happening (see end of chapter A/N) and I don't have as much time for revisions anymore so please forgive if the writing/characterization in this one is a little... rough.
First time uploading via the mobile app; hopefully the formatting turns out okay. Also, beware of the tonal departure from the earlier chapters. I tried to keep the humour but things got a bit dark regardless. Happy reading!
Chapter 4 - The Professional Airs His Dirty Laundry
As one of the few buildings in town with any considerable open indoor space, Dundee's recreation center has been set up as a temporary refuge for the survivors of the ongoing B.O.W. crisis. Some two hundred civilians who missed the initial evacuation rounds are sheltered in its gym, their safety guarded by patrolling BSAA agents. It is the destination of the yellow school bus and of all the school group's students except three: Tilda Henriksen, Michael Cornwall, and Carter Lee, the missing boy Tulling found, who was badly slashed by a B.O.W. during their hectic escape. They, along with Leon, Sherry, and Tulling himself, are driven instead to Dundee Hospital, where each has their respective injuries tended to and blood drawn to test for signs of infection.
"I told you you'd make it worse," Sherry chides as Leon returns to the lobby with his arm in a sling. Beside her, Michael is holding her hand while gnawing on a cookie. "Is it bad? How long will you need that?"
"A week," Leon sulks. "No permanent damage, fortunately. I'll be good as new in no time." He flexes his fingers to prove his point.
"Oh my gosh—your hand!" she gasps.
"Hm?" He looks down. He's forgotten that over the course of the doctor's examination, he'd removed his gloves, exposing the semicircles of purplish teeth marks on the base of his left thumb. Despite the layer of protective fabric, the bite had nearly broken his skin, a feat he wouldn't have thought possible from such a tiny kid. "Oh, this. Don't worry about it, the doctor took a look already. I'm fine." She's frowning, obviously skeptical. He changes the subject. "Any updates from FOS on what we're dealing with here?"
Sherry shakes her head. "They're sending in a helicopter to pick up the samples. The sooner we get those to the lab, the sooner we'll get answers. In the meantime, we could go back to the docks and see if we can find anything else. That area seems to be a hotbed for B.O.W. activity." Her voice drops to a whisper. "That fisherman in critical condition, he's here in the ICU. If only he were conscious… we could get a first-hand account of what happened out there."
Leon nods solemnly. "Where's the rest of our party?"
"Tulling and Carter were taken upstairs. They might be here for a while yet, they looked in pretty rough shape. Tilda's in that exam room over there. I think they're just about wrapping up now." Sure enough, the doctor emerges only moments later.
He watches the man in the white coat walk away, steeling himself for the task to come. The pendant lies nestled in his pocket like a lump of hot coal.
"I'll see you in a bit," he tells Sherry.
The door is slightly open. He knocks gently, peeking gingerly through the gap. The girl huddled on the exam table has an almost feral look about her with her long, untamed dark hair spilling every which way around her scrawny frame. Knees drawn to her chest, she stares warily at Leon from the middle of the room. Whatever goodwill was built between them at the cannery has already cooled in their brief time apart, for though there is recognition in her eyes, her expression remains stone cold and guarded. She reminds him of a jackrabbit on the verge of bolting. He swallows uneasily.
"Hi," he says.
Tilda continues regarding him for a long time before she speaks. "Hi," she returns flatly.
"May I come in?"
"I guess," she says.
He enters, leaving the door ajar; he doesn't miss the way she tenses when he makes to close it all the way. Picking up a chair, he seats himself by the wall, allowing a wide berth between them. As much as he's doing it to avoid spooking her, he can't help feeling more than a little apprehensive of her in return. Apprehensive of the item presumed to be hers, and the terrifying implication it carries if her ownership of it proves true.
"Sorry I roughed you up earlier," Leon says, breaking the silence. "It was an emergency. I didn't have time to explain what was going on."
Tilda appraises him wordlessly. Her eyes are a warm brown reminiscent of a certain someone else's. Eventually, she relaxes, apparently having accepted his apology. "Sorry about your hand," she mumbles.
"Heh. Don't worry about it. You were scared, I get it." He glances at the bite marks. "A bit of advice, though: don't go around putting strange things in your mouth. Not everything's going to be as soft and harmless as me." He winks, and to his satisfaction, the corners of her lips twitch upward in a tiny, fleeting smile.
He reaches into his pocket. "We found something that might belong to you. Do you recognize it?" he queries, holding out the pendant to her. His breath stills in his sternum as he gauges her reaction. He's nervous, nearly as much as he was the day he presented this same piece to its original owner ages ago.
Tilda's eyes go wide. Her hand darts to her collar, feeling for something she expects to be there, and Leon's heart sinks. It's all he can do to continue sitting there without breaking his calm visage as she peers under her sweater and then back to his hand. Even before she speaks, he already knows the answer.
"Yeah! It's mine."
He hopes his fearful anticipation isn't obvious on his face as he stands up to return it to her. She's dismayed by the broken chain, but wastes no time tucking it away in her own pocket. "It's a beautiful pendant," he says, trying to sound nonchalant. "May I ask where you got it?"
"I've had it for as long as I can remember," she answers. "My mom said the other lady gave it to me when I was born. My, um… my birth mother."
He raises an eyebrow. "Your…?"
"Mhm. I was adopted."
Well, shit.
The ambience of the hospital goes mute for one long, gut-wrenching moment. Only the two of them exist in that whitewashed dimension, Tilda with a look of benign curiosity, Leon with—fuck, whatever it is, he prays she doesn't pick up on it, the last thing he needs now is to frighten her back into Stranger Danger mode. He sinks back into the chair; his knees have turned into jelly.
"Any chance I could talk to your mom?" he manages.
He's unprepared for the sadness that fills her big brown eyes. "She went to Heaven," she says. "Her and my dad both. It's just me and my stepdad and stepbrothers now."
"Oh." He blinks. "I'm—I'm sorry to hear—"
"Hello!" A cheery voice interrupts his thoughts. The portly woman at the door grins jovially as their heads swivel to her. "Hope I'm not interrupting! I'm here for Tilda's blood draw?"
An eternity passes before Leon's voice functions again. "R-right, of course," he responds, stepping aside to allow the nurse room to work. "I should get going anyway. Duty calls. Will you be alright on your own, Tilda?" When she confirms so, he nods in encouragement and leaves as gracefully as he can on still shaky legs.
"Bye, Leon," he hears her call softly before the door clicks shut behind him.
He's in the courtyard before he knows it, standing morosely in the shelter of one of its many canopies. The rain has grown heavier since this morning, and now the wind has picked up too, occasionally spattering water across his face whenever it shifts direction. For once, he is impervious to their torture. The weight of his recent discovery has encased him in a numbing cocoon of confusion.
Confusion. That's what's foremost in his thoughts, he supposes. A swirl of indiscernible feelings are churning nauseatingly in his head, and all he can do is be taken along for the ride, a wayward sailor afloat in the turbulent swells of his own mind.
How old is the kid again? He turns back the calendar. Third grade is eight years old—nine, if their birthday is early in the year—which would put her birth in 2012 or 2011. The time between Tall Oaks and that incident in the Eastern Slav Republic. He'd lost contact with Ada for almost a year back then, hadn't he? And when she finally came back to him, she was… different somehow, more reserved, more sensitive… wasn't she? He racks his brain—surely he can figure out more than just that—but the recollections slip right through his grasp like sand between his fingertips.
Why didn't she tell him anything at the time? Work is treacherous enough for her as it is; he can't even begin to imagine how being with child would complicate her livelihood. Sure, he'd been busy with his own assignments at the time, but if he'd known—if she'd just let him know—he would've been more than willing to help her, to arrange to have her under protection, negotiate a deal with the government if he had to—hell, he would've deserted and gone into hiding with her if it came down to it. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her safe, and she knew that, he's sure she did. Did she think so little of him that she chose to leave him in the dark about their baby?
Their baby?
He sighs.
And therein lies the elephant in the room.
"Hey."
He jumps at the sudden voice beside him, but it's only Sherry. Her eyes flit disapprovingly to his right hand. "Put that away before the staff catch you," she hisses, nodding toward the already half-empty flask in his grip. He doesn't even recall when the whisky first breached his lips; no wonder he couldn't remember for shit. He's in such a sore mood that he has no witty comeback for her, only quiet compliance, and he doesn't even bother to ask her not to tell on him to Helena this time.
"Did something happen?" she inquires.
She guides him to a bench and he sits. His mind is a slurry right now—he hasn't expected her to barge in on his brooding like this—he doesn't even know where to begin. Leon's never felt comfortable discussing her—even thinking of her name right now is painful—with anyone, not even Helena, and she'd been right there with the two of them in Tall Oaks and Lanshiang. Eventually, he just sighs again and rubs his temples. He can feel the beginnings of a migraine throbbing in the fringes of his skull.
"Wow, that bad, huh? Does this have something to do with that woman?"
His head snaps up so fast his neck cricks. "What do you mean?" But he knows as well as she that the only woman she could be referring to is a certain one in red.
"You always get this look whenever you're thinking about her," says Sherry. "And then when someone brings her up you start looking… I dunno, guilty, just like you're doing now." He scoffs and turns away, but she just giggles and elbows him teasingly. "C'mon, Leon. Spill. You know I hate seeing you this way."
Leon looks at his friend's worry-stricken face. He owes it to her; she doesn't deserve to have to fret over him. Plus, she's one of a very tiny handful of people he can trust with this particular matter. Ever since the Lanshiang incident, both she and Helena have been his secret keepers when it comes to his involvement with Ada Wong. So, he explains as much as he can stand to: the pendant he'd gifted to Ada, Tilda's ownership of said pendant, and the fact that the girl's late parents were adoptive. Sherry's mouth falls open in a perfect "o" as he finishes his story.
"So you think Tilda might be yours?" she asks him, after glancing all around them. They are alone; any potential eavesdroppers are either holed up indoors or have already been evacuated.
Leon winces. "You don't have to act so gossipy about it."
"Sorry…"
"Actually, that's what I was just getting to when you came by," he continues. "After what happened in Spain with the Plaga, the treatment I went through to remove the parasite, I didn't think I could still…" The radiation he'd endured on the island certainly hadn't done his swimmers any favors, and neither had the strict regimen of drugs they'd put him on to ensure the Plaga's complete eradication from his system upon his return to the U.S. In fact, the medical examiner at the time had told him in no uncertain terms that he could expect never to father children of his own. A prior incarnation of him might have been devastated at the prospect, but the Leon Kennedy of that time had already witnessed more shit than he could stomach, and simply took the news of his infertility in stride. Nearly eight years would have passed between that revelation and the birth of the little girl carrying Ada's necklace…
Realization dawns for Sherry. "You're afraid she isn't yours," she states. "And if we assume Ada's her mother, then… Oh, Leon…" She takes his hand and he squeezes her tight. He doesn't even care that it's his injured hand; the pain is a welcome distraction from the turmoil in his heart.
Then again, what right does he have to find outrage in this? He knows the sort of men she associates with in her line of work. It isn't hard to imagine what might have happened between two people alone in some secret hideout… and back then he and Ada were just starting to get used to their routine of spending time with one another. He'd stopped seeing other women once she reappeared in his life, and (thinking back on it now) perhaps he'd been an utter fool to assume she'd reserved herself for him in the same way.
He blanches. Could that have been some bioterrorist's illegitimate offspring he spoke to in the exam room?
"Y'know," Sherry pipes up, once again interrupting his ruminations, "it doesn't make sense to me that she'd leave something you gave her with the child of some other man."
"I wouldn't put it past her. She's used me for far worse before," Leon mopes. Just yesterday, he might have scoffed at the notion of such a betrayal. Now, having gained yet another window into the extent of all the secrets she's been hiding from him—a whole entire kid of almost a decade, really?—it is merely another twist of the knife.
"Well, hold on, I don't think you should go running off to burn her at the stake just like that," she objects.
"I wasn't going to," he grumbles, but he hears her out anyway.
"You two weren't decidedly exclusive yet at the time, right? It's not unreasonable that she could've been with someone else for a while. Or… maybe it—m-maybe it was against her will, and she had no choice but to keep the baby—" she looks imploringly at him, and Leon's expression darkens as the full horror of what she's suggesting hits him, "—and she hid everything from you because it hurts her as much as it's hurting you."
Leon considers her words silently. She does have a point in Ada's reluctance to show any form of weakness or pain. He seethes at the idea of some unknown man having his way with Ada—he would personally see to the reckoning of any monster who dared commit such a deplorable act. But something in Sherry's speculation just doesn't quite add up, and he hopes for Ada's sake (and his own peace of mind) that it remains just that: a speculation.
"Also, Leon, when was the last time you, um, had yourself checked out?"
He looks at her bemusedly. "Checked out for what? I get a physical after every field assignment, as I'm sure you do too," he says.
"Yeah, but my exams don't involve me jerking off into a cup," Sherry retorts.
"That's because you're a wom—oh."
Curse that snarky mouth of his, firing off before his booze-addled brain can catch up.
He fidgets awkwardly. So does she. He has to remind himself she's all grown up now, and has been for many years, before he can bring himself to answer her. "Mine don't either. Spain was the only time I had to, I guess because of the Plaga infection. Wait a minute, you're not implying…?"
"It's not outside the realm of possibilities," Sherry replies. "As they say… 'Life, uh, finds a way'."
Leon slumps forward with a sigh, burying his face in his hand. If he'd had any hope of avoiding that migraine, it's all gone now.
"What do I do?" he murmurs. What does it mean for him, knowing that Ada was pregnant and gave birth? What if Tilda isn't his? What if she is? What role does Ada expect him to play in all this now?
How will he face her when their paths inevitably cross again?
"I don't know," Sherry says gently. "What you'll do with this knowledge, and how you'll go forward with Ada—that's up to you to decide. But if it were me, I'd start by talking to her."
He laughs a strangled yip of a laugh. It sounds more like a dying animal. "If you've ever tried getting a straight answer out of her—"
"I know… I'm sorry. You haven't exactly been dealt a fair hand here."
The more he considers the situation, though, the more he believes she's right. It was Ada who had called him out here, after all, and if the B.O.W. attack is just a coincidence he'll eat his shoes for breakfast. Even if he can't squeeze out the truth about Tilda, a conversation with her could still yield vital intel for their investigation. Now, if only she would show herself so they could actually have one…
He smiles bitterly. Nothing is more vexing than a conundrum where all roads lead to the elusive Ada Wong.
"Thanks for the talk, Sherry. I appreciate it," he says.
She pats his shoulder reassuringly. "Hope you're feeling better. Are you sobering up? We really should head inside." She helps him to his feet. "C'mon, there's still work to be done."
"No rest for the weary," Leon groans as he follows her back into the building, the wind and rain beating mercilessly on him once again.
Thank you for all the positive feedback so far! I'm actually feeling a bit of pressure now to not let you guys down ahahahaha. Next chapter will be in two weeks' time because I just moved to a new place and school started AND I also found out just this week that giant salamanders really do exist and they can get up to 1.8 meters (!) which is both hilarious and unfortunate when it comes to my B-plot. I don't think I'll change too much of what I had planned for this story though.
Also, this thing will be cross-posted to AO3 in the meantime, so if you see it there feel free to drop by and say hi.
