A/N: Thank you for the support on this little story. This is a the fleshed out version of the original. And, as it was mentioned, maybe some of my most mature stuff to date in terms of feelings and even the lemony stuff. Bring on those reviews, don't be shy. I like hearing the good and the bad. If you're too shy to say it in a review, shoot me a PM. What do you like? What do you dislike? Don't worry about things being a little OOC for some of our folks (Ada - with feelings. Wha? It's for the good of the story. I promise.)

Chapter 9: Liberation

"Mired, murdered - she bled and begged. She ached and arched. And waited to feel the cleave of need once more."

New York, February

The spirit of Valentines Day was like a noxious gas. It infected and fed off its own misery causing those who came in contact with it to become ill and begin to perish from the infection. The V-virus was to single people what T had been to Raccoon City. But there was no hope of enforced sterilization.

He put another bullet through the head of the fat cherub that was winking at him from the end of the firing range. Cupid was not a fat baby. Nope. He was a handsome, virile, desperate MAN and he was chasing after Psyche – the beautiful, unattainable, BITCH whom he couldn't ever really have. Cupid was an idiot.

Chris put two more through his smiling face for good measure.

"You got something about cherubic babies with wings?"

He met Barry Burton's solemn face as he pulled off his range muffs and slapped them down on the counter in front of him. "Fat bastard. Where's the joy? Somebody else must be getting it all."

Barry leaned one broad shoulder against the booth, studying him.

"You gonna tell me who's under your skin?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Red, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret," Barry crossed his arms over his chest, "I might be a little older then you."

Chris eyed him drolly.

"And I just might know a thing or two about women."

Barry had been married to the same woman for nearly thirty years. It was probable he knew more then a thing or two about women. Although he was something of a work house, the guy seemed to have a steady marriage. His daughters had some problems with him but what kids loved their parents all the time?

Chris sighed a little and shifted. The range was quiet. Of course it was quiet. Everyone was off at dinner with their respective sweeties. He was the only fool lingering behind at the shooting range at eight o'clock on Valentines Day. Well him..and Barry.

"Shouldn't you be home with that wife of yours?"

"We've been together long enough to realize romance don't need a day." Barry moved with him toward the front room of the range. "This about Jill?"

Surprised, Chris eyed him again. "Why would it be? She's still in Thailand on assignment."

"True. I figured you might be missing her."

"I always miss her when she's gone." What was it with people and him and Jill? They weren't a thing. Hadn't been any kind of a thing in a long time. She was his best friend, true, but that's all it was. At least for him. He hadn't thought of her as more than that in a long, long time.

"You seein somebody else?"

"No." And that was true. "There was someone, briefly. But she tossed me out with the garbage a few months ago."

"Ah." He eyed the boy as they slipped on their coats. "You know where she's at tonight?"

"Probably the gala opening for the Kennedy Foundation."

Leon Kennedy had managed to get his father to back the need for proper funding for terrorist torn countries over seas. A foundation had been resurrected to help with refugees and support allocating resources to provide housing and protection. There was a kick off gala for it happening at the Heisemann Gallery in SoHo.

Everyone who was anyone was there. He was betting Ada was there. Probably not alone. Probably not concerned about where he was. And he wanted to be ok with that. He wasn't mad at her, not really. She'd never pretended to be something other then what she was to him. But it didn't mean he'd been ready to let her go.

He still itched to touch her.

"Well then maybe you should be where she is."

"I don't think she wants me there."

"I'm guessing you won't really know unless you go down there and find out."

Chris decided he just might be right. Screw it. At the very least they'd get some closure from each other. If they could at least face each other without it feeling like the great wide world was going to swallow them whole, it would be a start. She had avoided him for months now.

She took her orders from Inga without ever seeing his face. That's what hurt the most. That she couldn't even look him in the eye. She probably thought he was pathetic. A hopeless, hapless romantic that would beg her to come back to him. He hated thinking she just may be right.

Each mile he drove toward the gallery strengthened his anger. He handed his keys to the valet and alighted. He was under dressed in a pair of jeans and his parka. The valet gave him a snooty look as he took the keys.

"The gallery has a dress code sir."

Chris eyed the skinny little shit with the same disdain. "I give a flying fuck about the dress code."

He pushed through the glass doors into the lobby of the big building. The whole thing was an architectural marvel. It was four stories of glass and steel. There was nothing left to the imagination beyond those spotless walls.

The lobby was decorated in red and silver and black, balloons, arrows, twinkling lights and giant red blooms. The place looked like someone had cut themselves and splashed their blood from floor to ceiling. His boots smooshed rose petals beneath them as he moved across the lobby.

A waiter tried to stop him. "Sir! Sir! This is a formal event! You can't come in here dressed like that sir!"

"He can wear anything he damn well pleases."

Chris turned, smiling. Leon crossed toward him looking like a million dollars in a tuxedo that was likely as expensive as some people made in a month. It was black and the vest beneath a splash of blue. His hair was, as always, perfect and his handshake, smooth.

"Chris Redfield."

"Leon. You look like some woman's idea of James Bond."

"You look like you got lost on your way home from Bass Pro Shop."

They embraced, one armed, as men often do. They were like brothers. Their time spent together in China had bonded them together. The former rookie was a helluva fisherman. And a surprisingly fantastic chef.

"Nice turn out."

"My father will be pleased." Leon waived away the next waiter who attempted to comment on the dress code. "Ignore the staff, they mean well."

"I was planning to."

"What brings you here?" He led Chris away from the central part of the lobby. "I didn't expect you."

"I'm looking for someone actually. I won't stay long. God knows what would happen if the wrong people saw me dressed like this."

Leon gestured to someone over his shoulder. "If you're looking for Claire, I saw her upstairs a little while ago. Should I send her down?"

"Sure. If you don't mind."

"Not at all. Would you be more comfortable waiting in the conference area? It's as private as you'll get. Party guests aren't allowed in there."

"Sure. Great. Thanks."

Chris separated himself and stepped into the conference room. It was glass as well but at least the wall between it and the lobby was solid. He settled into one of the wing back chairs and waited.

At the top of the stairs, Leon gently took Claire's elbow and seperated her from the donor's she was so perfectly courting. There was something soft and lovely about her lately. A contentness that looked good on her smooth skin and firey hair.

The blue gown she wore was flattering and beaded, covered in shimmery cloth, and tastefully low cut. The swell of her pretty cleavage enticed the eye and tantalized the senses. She'd come alone, to his surprise, and was cagey about why.

But he said, softly now, "Your brother is downstairs in the conference area."

Claire glanced at his face in surprise. "Why?"

"Hard to say. He seems anxious. He looks a little ragged, Claire. Even for him, he looks burnt out. Is he alright?"

Leon was asking her if her brother was sick. It was written all over his face. She touched the former rookie's arm to comfort him. "He's fine. Broken hearted. But fine. In fact...I know what he needs. Can you excuse me for a minute?"

"Of course."

"Thank you." She moved through the crowed until she found her target. The bitch in red wasn't in red tonight...but she was still a bitch. Chris wasn't getting over her. Not easily. And the question was why.

What had the woman done to ensnare him? Of course, what did she know really? Leon had been chasing the same bitch forever.

Claire corraled her by the display of Ancient Egyptian texts. They studied each other in the low lighting like rivals, or predators, or enemies. They were, of course, all three. Claire's dislike of her was palpable. And it wasn't hidden.

"My brother is downstairs."

Ada held her look, "I see."

"Fix it. Whatever you've done? Fix it. He's a good man. And you don't love him. So, let him go and stop fucking with his world."

The look held and Ada replied, smoothly, "I have let him go. It's him who keeps holding on."

Claire tilted her head a little, "Really? I saw you, Ada. Lingering outside his office the other night. Why didn't you go in? If you were done with him, it was easy enough to face him and open that door. Have you looked him in the eye once since you dropped him like a sack of garbage?"

Ada shifted where she stood. It was the only sign of discomfort. It was the only sign that she was indeed, guilty as charged.

"Advice on dating, Claire? Really? Where is your date for this evening? I'm assuming you never got him to leave the house."

Claire gave her a narrow look. "Different situations, Ada. Entirely. He's traumatized. He's trying. He didn't cut and run like a coward. But that's your MO, after all, you just run when things don't go your way. Once a bitch, always a bitch. Right? No matter who you hurt in the process. What's best for you and fuck the rest. Right?"

Ada shook her head a little. She quirked her mouth and passed by the redhead, saying quietly, "You don't know what you're talking about, Claire. And you're playing a game where the rules are never quite that simple. Be careful what you wish for here, or you might find yourself related to the bitch you so hatefully stand here taunting."

Claire gave her a murderous look. "What? You'd marry my brother just to spite me?"

Ada smiled slyly and winked, "Not just for that...but it would be such a wonderful bonus. Enjoy your evening, Ms. Redfield. And your lonely turns around the dance floor. I'll go see if your brother would like to dance with me..."

She put her mouth to Claire's ear and whispered, "And he can thank you for the pleasure of it. And bringing us back together."

Claire ground her teeth a little as the lithe spy sashayed away. She hated the smugness. She hated, even more, that the woman was right. Chris would take her back, no questions.

And she was right about Piers. He'd stood there half dressed and denied her. After all the gentle prodding. After all the hopeful excitement. He'd denied her.

And they'd had a wicked fight before she'd left to come here. She was still smarting from it.

He'd accused her of wanting to "force him to assimilate with all the normal people."

"Why can't you just accept that I'll never be like you again, Claire!? Why can't you just leave it alone!?"

It broke her heart that he thought she was so callous. That he thought she cared what other people thought. Having him come with her tonight wasn't about the rest of the world. It was about THEM. About her pride in being with him. It was about showing the world that she was proud to have him on her arm.

But his self hatred and panic had defeated him. He was cowering that little house alone again. A back slide she was afraid they might not recover from.

Her brother was downstairs broken hearted, waiting on a woman that would never love him the way he deserved.

His sister was upstairs afraid she was standing here waiting on a man that would never love himself the way he did.

It was a sad day for both of them.

The door opened after a few moments.

"I'm pretty sure the invite said black tie not black jacket."

He rose and turned. And hated how he felt seeing her there.

She was in black this time, regal, elegant and simple. A sheathe of black that hugged her body and showed her long legs to perfection. One shoulder and arm were laid bare, accented only by a gold bangle on her wrist. The other was encased in the same glorious black cloth. Twists of copper, gold, and silver dangled from her ears.

"I left my penguin suit at home."

"What are you doing here Chris?"

He crossed to her and she held her ground, though he could see retreat all over her pretty face.

"Tell me something…" She waited as he circled around her, like a shark scenting blood. "Do you really like this kinda thing? All these yuppies talking politics and foreign policy."

"I'm very good with foreign policy. And very good with people."

He was very close to her now and she could smell the enticing scent of gun powder and lead. He smelled a bit like fireworks. She hadn't laid eyes on him in so long. She found she was hungry for the sight of him. And her heart hurt a little that he'd done what he'd said he'd do, he let his beard grow in.

It was pleasing, dark, with just a suggestion of gray here and there. Much like his hair that was sprinkled in places with salt and pepper. She wanted to touch it and feel it, and rub her fingers over his chin and remember the texture of it.

"Why are you here Chris?"

"Why else? I wanted to see you."

She wished he'd simply made up a lie. Been flippant. Been anything but honest. His boy scout honesty made the ache in her turn to a nearly painful longing. The more she longed for him, the farther she withdrew.

"You broke the rules."

"No, Ada. We broke the rules. At least own up to your part in it."

"Alright. WE broke the rules. I can't be what you want, surely you see that."

"Don't tell me what I see. And don't tell me what I want."

He was getting angry. And that was good. She could handle this anger. Anger was great. It was predictable, in a way, and easily shut down. She turned on the ice to stop the fire. He could all but feel the chill spreading off her in waves.

"There are plenty of women who would love to be in love with you. I'm not one of them. I'm not a girl who sits around pining for a man, Chris. You know that."

"I know what I felt from you that night, Ada. Who are you fooling? That wasn't fucking. Or maybe it was. Maybe it was fucking. Maybe it was you getting fucked."

"We're done here."

He grabbed her arm, stopped her. "Tell me the truth and I'll stop. This will be the end. And I will never ask you for anything again."

"Alright."

"Tell me you don't want me anymore."

Ada met his eyes, held them. "It doesn't matter if I want you. That was never the problem."

"Tell me why the rules matter so much. Because I don't understand."

She gave him a long, silent look. Something warm and hard was building in her chest. It was a feeling she hadn't entertained in a long, long time. It was something soft and needy and real. And she hated it, hated him for putting it there, and hated herself for knowing it would likely never leave her again.

"I don't want to feel anything for you. Ever. And the more you push at me, the more I don't want to feel it. Stop crowding me. Stop smothering me!"

"You can't smother a person, Ada. You smother a pork chop." He tugged her a little toward him. She let him. Her hand slid against the smooth puff of the coat he wore. "It wasn't me groping you like a horny teenager in that elevator, Ada. There were TWO of us doing the smothering."

The fact that he was right was the final straw. She grabbed his jacket and shook him. "You grew your fucking beard out, you idiot."

"You asked me to!" He sounded exasperated.

"I know…I know! And I hate you for it." She turned into him as he jerked her into his arms. Hers came up to loop around his neck. The parka rushed smooth and soft between them. She felt his beard beneath her fingers, felt the brush of the sock hat he wore.

She studied him from inches away. The hard planes of his face. The soft spill of his lashes. How to explain it? How to make him see it? Finally, she tilted him down to her and whispered, "What will it take to show you? What?"

He wanted to feel her. Just a little. He unzipped the parka to pull the lithe line of her into the heat of it and against his body. They both shivered with the joy of it. What would it take, he wondered, to make him not want her anymore?

His hands slid down her back and over the curve of her bottom. He tugged her into him to rub against her and watched her face flush with the feeling of it. She hadn't let go of his face.

She finally breathed, "Ok. I'll show you. This. This is why we can't."

"What is?"

It was a bit like a deer in the headlights. He, literally, froze as she nudged his nose with hers. The soft press of her lips to his nearly killed him. The flutter of expectation trembled between them and he made a little sound.

She nuzzled again, waiting.

And it was enough waiting.

His hands shifted to take her tightly to him and his mouth plunged. She opened, surging to meet him, and they both made little hungry noises as they engaged in the greatest battle of tongues, lips, teeth, and taking that two people had ever waged.

He stole her breath with the kiss. They merged together, his thumbs bracketing her face, the dangle of her earrings cool against his hands.

It went on for several seconds before she drew away. They locked eyes for a long, tense moment. "This is why we can't. Do you understand?"

"I understand I can't really breathe without wanting you…Ada…tell me you don't feel the same." He nipped her swollen lips after he spoke, ensnaring her in a tangled web of want for him.

"I don't want to want you, Chris. Why can't you understand that?"

They kissed again, wet, smooth, needy. It was nearly desperate.

"I have to say goodbye. I have to."

"Ok. Ok. In a minute…Just…" He lifted her, set her down on the table; his hands scooped her hair back from her face. His mouth and hers fused, retreated, fused again. Both of their eyes stayed locked. "What scares you the most here, Ada?"

"That you'll make me crave something that I know I don't want. I'm not the type who falls in love and gets married and raises babies, Chris. You know that."

"You think I am?"

"Yes. I think you are. I think you are indeed. I think you are desperate for it. I can't be that for you, Chris. I'm sorry."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"Fine...I won't be. It's not who I am. This kind of love affair? It's not what I want."

It should have sounded crazy but it made sense. He didn't want this either. Not this. This was obsession or something worse. It was a Harlequin romance novel. It was endless nights spent lost in each other. It was something too…full. And both of them had just been seeking something empty.

"I don't care about any of that right now. Come home with me." She hated the raw need that spilled through her body and coveted it. It had been so long since a man had burned her up like this. Part of her hungered for that. Not the emotion of it but the raw, painful, nearly mindless greed of sheer lust.

"Ada…come home with me."

His hands slid under the dress, over the thigh highs, over her hips. "Say yes."

"Chris…"

"Say yes."

Her hands skimmed his beard. The beard he'd grown for her. "Yes."

It was the wrong move here. Wrong. She was never a woman given to wrong moves. But she wanted to go home with him.

She just didn't know what it would mean when she did.

The door wasn't even locked when Claire came home.

He was sitting in the kitchen with a bottle of vodka on the table. No glass. Just the bottle.

She leaned on the frame of the kitchen door and watched him. "What are you doing, Piers?"

He glanced up from the table, "Isn't it obvious? I'm drowning my sorrows."

They held eyes in the dark. "What sorrows?"

The silence dragged out after her question. Somewhere in the little house, the clock gonged the hour. Claire jumped from the sound. Piers didn't.

But he did answer her, "The ones that come from knowing I'll never be what you want."

"Don't be stupid, Piers. You're just not ready. Don't be stupid here."

"Too late. Already stupid. It was stupid to think this would work right? Right? You need a guy who can take you to a fancy party, Claire. I can't."

Claire turned away to get a bottle of water from the fridge. Her heart was galloping in fear of this conversation. She had to be soooo careful here. He was in a delicate place.

"You mean you won't, Piers. Not can't. WON'T."

"...fine. Won't. Why would I? People would cringe if they saw us together. People would judge. You think I can stand there beside a woman like you and ever compare? I'm not good enough for you. I'm a fucking disgrace. Pitiful. A wreck. I'm trapped in this house like a fucking monster...you just have to deal with it."

She turned back to face him. The moonlight spilled silver over his ravaged face. He looked so broken. How did she fix this? It was handling a bomb with kid gloves. Every word mattered here.

"There's no comparison. And the only shame would be yours. I'm proud of you. I'm thrilled to be with you. I love you."

He jerked, shaking his head.

"Yeah. I love you, Piers. I do. So..." She took her water bottle and moved toward the hallway, "That's just how it is. And that's something that YOU just have to deal it. Come to bed when you're done pouting. And don't forget to lock up."

He sat in the dark and watched her until she was lost to the shadows.

And he was desperately afraid of the truth that waited in that bedroom.

Because he'd loved her from the moment she'd stepped into that gym.

And he was terrified that he would never be the kind of man she deserved. And that she'd always wonder what she might have had...if she hadn't settled for the cripple that had saved her brother.

He picked up the bottle of vodka...and took a long pull.

Leon Kennedy sat alone in his loft, swirling a highball filled with scotch.

Damnit.

Double damnit.

Why hadn't he seen that coming with Sherry? Why hadn't he known? Of course it all made sense now. And the last thirteen years replayed in his head like a movie. Of course she'd idolize him. Why not? He'd rescued her, helped her, and been there while she turned from girl to woman. She simply saw him through rose colored glasses.

She didn't really want him. He was far too old for her. Far too…

And he paused, considering. Was she right after all? Was he stupid? She'd come to him and bared her soul and he'd…what? Pushed her away?

Why?

Logically, yes, he was older. But it wasn't obscene. It wasn't even obscure. Not even a decade. And she was a beautiful woman. Why had he never looked at her before and seen that? Would she forever be twelve years old in his mind? Would she always be little Sherry Birkin who'd crawled through the ducts of the RPD and managed to keep herself alive?

Leon studied the skyline and the ample bosom of the night beyond. The bedroom was huge and over looked by a skylight. It was one wide open area with a bathroom off to one side. He'd designed it that way…in case he needed to confront an enemy in it. There were no places for someone to hide where he couldn't kill them.

He divested himself of his clothes and climbed into the claw foot tab in the bathroom. He pulled the curtain and washed the party from his body. He had come straight here from the fundraiser. He was tired of being polite, taxed out on platitudes, and angry at himself.

How had he been so blind?

Maybe he could talk to her about it at dinner. Maybe he could explain. Maybe if they just laid it all out there she'd realize that he wasn't for her. He was too…damaged. Too used up. He was old and broken and had spent most of his life pining for a woman who didn't even realize he was alive. So was he stupid? Yeah, he kinda was.

It was something he shared with Redfield, it seemed.

Because he'd seen them in conference room. At first, nothing to really pull the eye...and then? The arguing. Animated. Shouting. Ada showing more emotion than he'd ever seen from her.

And Redfield?

Redfield had put his arms around her and kissed her.

In the whole of his life, Leon figured there was a handful of things that shocked him. The first zombie he'd ever seen. The first time a woman had put her mouth on his dick. The first time he'd killed a man in cold blood.

And Ada Wong locked in a heated embrace with Chris Redfield.

He wasn't sure how he felt about it, honestly.

He waited for the pain. But he was surprisingly passe about it.

He was not, however, passe about his anger at Sherry. At Sherry? Or FOR Sherry?

An interesting conundrum.

He climbed from the shower and toweled off his hair, draping the towel around his hips as he moved over to swipe a hand over the foggy mirror and look at himself. He hadn't shaved in weeks and still had only the finest amount of a shadow of stubble on his face. He couldn't grow a beard. Not a full one. Never had been able to. He pushed his wet hair back until it appeared short and cropped close to his head. Wet, the blonde was very dark.

His body was disciplined, well honed. He had a washboard stomach and well defined arms and shoulders. He was lean, wirey. It was a runners build. A boxer. A swimmer. He was bred for agility and speed. His chest was smooth and hairless and had always been. He supposed he could see what a woman might want in him. He was classically handsome.

And he was, to Ada Wong, apparently what Sherry had been to him.

He was so busy looking in another direction he'd failed to see what was right there in front of him. Had she loved him all this time? Surely it was puppy love. A little girl to the boy who'd rescued her. Surely.

He stepped from the bathroom and there she was. Shock froze him on the spot.

"Sherry."

Good, she thought, he was already naked. That would make this easier. And she nearly swallowed her tongue at the sight of him there naked but for that towel and beaded with droplets of water. If she started touching him, she wondered if she'd ever stop.

"I decided I like stupid."

His pulse sped up.

And Sherry Birkin became the first person in history to "get the drop" on Leon Kennedy.