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The drive back that night was relaxing, to say the most. No calls came in for additional objectives and thankfully for him, no directives as well waited on the other end of his PDA. Leon was mainly left to his own devices, accompanied by the steady hum of the engine and the faint noise of the radio he didn’t even remember turning on.
It caught his attention halfway through the song. A slow guitar line, followed by words so haunting they basically echoed inside his mind.
Do I wanna know, if this feeling flows both ways.
Leon’s fingers gripped the steering wheel of his Porsche Cayenne a tad bit tighter, his gaze still steady on the road ahead.
There was a time he might’ve turned it off and dismissed it from barely concealed bitterness, which might then prompt a drinking session with his lonesome. After all, while questions like that came far and few in between, when they did, it almost always pertains to situations where she was concerned.
But that was before. When the nights stretched a little longer than they used to and the act as simple as coming home stopped feeling like stepping into a temporary resting space.
Ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few…
The corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smile.
“…Not really an option,” he whispers, more to himself than anything and he instantly felt a little silly.
Leon slowed as he turned into his building, the headlights of his car cutting across the dimly-lit parking lot. The song kept playing until it faded out softly. After which, the question lingered—no longer bouncing around his skull but still there, like a reminder.
Do I wanna know?
His grip on the wheel loosened slightly. He did know. That was perhaps the thing about it.
The car rolled to a stop and he looked ahead at the entrance way.
“…Yeah,” the answer came easy now.
Upon arrival, Leon idled a moment longer than necessary before stepping out of the car. Outside, the silence was deafening. It clung around him—too reminiscent of the space he’d been confined in for the past two days of mandatory quarantine after he had was bitten by an undetected licker in a mission.
He moved slowly and tested his shoulder before he even realized he was doing it. The dull ache answered immediately. It was almost always right after things pass do injuries like this make itself known. He let his arm fall back to his side for now.
Later, he told himself. It can wait. Most things can.
The walk up to his apartment was muscle memory with his mind caught up in fragments rather than steps. His own personal brand of debriefing came in recollections of the past mission littered with the usual flashes of movement, the weight of his gun in his hand and the split-second decisions that afforded no room for hesitation. They faded just as he stood face to face with the door to his apartment.
Only one thought remained. The thought of what was waiting behind the door. Or who, hopefully.
Leon reached for his keys, pausing briefly before sliding one into the lock. The door gave way with a soft click and he stepped inside, closing it behind him instantly out of habit.
The change was immediate in a way that made sense to him now. The air was lighter inside—allowing him to breathe in the faint scent of coffee and another softer note layered underneath. His shoulders eased despite the tension threaded through them.
He was finally home—a sobering thought now, less something he had to convince himself of.
“So they cleared you, after all, huh.”
Her voice reached him from inside, calm and assured like she’d already accounted for the outcome before he even walked through the door. Maybe she did, he thought idly. She was always one step ahead of him.
Leon didn’t answer right away. Instead, he set his keys down on the counter and draped his jacket over the back of a chair. The holster came off next, placed within reach then he rolled his shoulder. The pain flared sharper this time.
“They shouldn’t have cleared you that quickly,” Ada added, as if driving home a point.
Leon huffed and reached for the mug already sitting on the counter. It was lukewarm and so much stronger than he liked making it but he drank it anyway. Ada stepped into view but stayed away for the most part. She just stood near the window with one hand resting against the back of a chair and her laptop open on the table behind her with its screen dimmed.
A glass of wine sat nearby. Must be the Cabernet.
Her gaze moved over him once.
“You’re favoring your left,” she observed.
Leon leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms before immediately feeling the pull along his ribs, “a little sore, I’d say.”
“Leon…”—there was no sharpness in it, but he already knew he said the wrong thing.
“Ada, don’t worry about it.. it was just the usual,” he relented, “banged my shoulder.. and ribs, maybe.”
Ada hummed like her point was just proven, “why is it that you always make things sound smaller than they are?”
To that he didn’t argue. Instead, he just watched her move in fascination with how easily she navigated the space now. The way her fingers brushed the edge of the table as she passed, moving a glass just slightly out of place as if she had memorized by instinct its position without needing to think about it. There was more of her here now—in the smallest details enough to remain.
“You could’ve called me,” she said then.
Leon glanced at her, one brow lifting, and shook his head at a very recent memory.
Ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few…
“…Called, you say?”
Ada met his gaze, faintly amusement flickered there as if she just caught her slip before she gave a small, noncommittal shrug.
“Would’ve saved me the wait, handsome.”
He studied her for a moment, then let out a resigned breath, “you don’t have a number,” he finally pointed out.
“Mhm…,” another shrug, “I guess that does complicate things to a degree.”
In her classic Ada way, she didn’t offer any further elaboration and somehow, that made it more amusing to him.
“…Thanks for waiting anyway,” he gave a safe answer instead.
Leon pushed off the counter and closed the distance separating them. His gaze drifted past her to take in the apartment with a different kind of attention. There was a mug by the sink, a book left open on the coffee table and a trench coat draped over his couch in his immediate line of sight.
“I noticed you've been here more,” he said.
Ada’s eyes flicked back to him, “did you now?”
“Yeah...”
For a quick while, no one said anything more. They let silence to fill in what was left unspoken with that remark. Then, she stepped closer, lifting a hand to his shoulder.
”Sit down,” her command came out soft.
He easily obliged and made his way to the couch, where she followed. Leon lowered himself to sit and breathed out his relief as the cushions gave beneath him, a brief reprieve the past few days hadn’t permitted.
“Take off your shirt,” she said.
He gave her a look, “…don’t enjoy this too much.”
“Is it obvious?” the tone of light-hearted mockery didn’t escape him.
He scoffed but reached for the hem anyway, pulling it up and over his head with a slight wince halfway through. He tossed the fabric aside.
Ada, on her end, didn’t sit immediately. She stood in front of him and followed his every move with her watchful gaze before her steady fingers reached out to press against the skin of his shoulder. Another sharp inhale escaped his lips, prompting her to adjust her touch instantly. She took her time, mapping out the tension with her skin gliding against his and tracing the scars of the past. Her fingers moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, pressing into the tight muscle there, working it slowly.
“No visible wounds this time, at least,” she noted.
Leon tipped his head back slightly.
“You know, you’ve gotten better at this,” he murmured.
Ada glanced at him, “at what? Tending to you? Being like your personal doctor and bodyguard?”
“No..” he replied and paused before continuing, “staying.”
Her movements stopped and he contemplated whether he said the wrong thing again. Then she continued, as if it was nothing.
“You’re holding more tension than usual,” she offered instead, “that’s new.”
Leon gestured in the air, “occupational hazard, i’m sure you understand.”
“Mhm..,” her fingers pressed a little deeper, enough to make him feel it, “quick word of warning, you’re not twenty-seven anymore.”
It was said lightly, almost absent-mindedly but he understood what she meant. He opened his eyes and turned his head slightly toward her.
“…I know,” he reminded faintly, something more than the meaning of the word weighing upon it.
Ada’s lips curved upwards a little, “then act like you do, perhaps?” she added.
He let out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh, reaching up to catch her wrist to stop it in its track.
“Being careful’s never really been my style, you know that,” he replied.
“I have noticed,” she deadpanned, “but it doesn’t hurt to remind, no?”
There was now a subtle tone in her voice—faint and almost hidden beneath the layers of masks she always seemed to put on. Like him, he knows she meant something else they didn't dare name. He didn’t press it further however.
Instead, his thumb brushed lightly against her wrist before his hand slid upward, his fingers caressing her jaw. Ada stilled at first before meeting his eyes and leaning.
The kiss began soft. Almost tentative. His lips brushed against hers slow enough that he felt the warmth before anything else, the familiarity of it settling into place within and making the ache in his bones melt away.
Ada closed in more. Her breath ghosted against his skin as she deepened the kiss just enough into controlled territory but still somewhat untamed. Leon’s hand slid to her waist and her fingers curled briefly against his shoulder, then eased, resting there. Her body moved accordingly and slotted into place against his.
There was no urgency in the way they interlapped—no need to take more than what was being given. And when she pulled back, it was gradual, still close enough that he could feel her.
“You should get some rest,” she reminded softly.
He sighed under his breath—his forehead dropping against her chest, “is that an order?”
“Your personal doctor’s order,” she replied, “one you’re going to ignore.”
“Probably.”
She smiled. Then she sat down, beside him this time—her shoulder brushing against his.
Leon glanced toward the window out of habit. It was slightly open but more so for air. He looked back at her.
“You’re staying the night..” it wasn’t a question.
“I usually do these days.”
Leon nodded, his hand finding hers where it rested between them.
“…Yeah,” he murmurs, “you do.”
Their fingers intertwined. The rings touched.
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Crawling back to you… Ever thought of calling when you’ve had a few…
Maybe I’m too… busy being yours to fall for somebody new..
Now I’ve thought it through.
The song that echoed initially in his mind is different from the one playing from the disc player. Nonetheless, it reminds him of certain times after missions when he stood at the same spot, knowing with certainty that she’d be inside somewhere.
That is an expectation he tried to stamp down in the past year.
Yet now, he figures he doesn’t have to—pretend she isn't there, that is. Because she is, somehow.
Ada stands just before the edge of the couch. The lights passing through the window paint the room in fractured lines, catching the barely-there silver strands in her hair. The familiar melody they once danced to vibrates within four walls to fill the space with melancholy.
Leon feels gravity closing in on him and he leans against the doorway with its sudden weight and for a long moment, he simply looks at her. The world outside, the music inside, neither can disturb the singularity of seeing her there—alive.
He had just walked through and survived every nightmare that had clawed at Raccoon City’s ruins, without her this time, an act that was a little too symbolic on his part. Yet this… this is something entirely different.
She looks just about the same at first pass, but upon closer look, she seems changed in a way. The lines around her eyes are sharper, her posture still poised but carries more heaviness, her gaze guarded with a vigilance that is far too common with people like them. But most importantly, she is here.
Leon takes a step forward, then another. He closed the space between them slowly, as if afraid that what he’s seeing isn’t real and one wrong move will scare her ghost away. She sits down—he doesn’t. At least not immediately.
He opens his mouth to speak—anything to break the standstill, but his words fail him so he shuts his mouth and lets his actions to do the talking for now. His eyes trace her carefully, noting the tightness in her shoulders and the faint tremor of her fingers resting on her knee.
The silver band there catches on the soft light in the living room and he swallows. This must be real.
“Ada, you… you came back,” he says finally, so low it’s almost lost beneath the music.
Ada lifts her gaze to meet his. For the first time, the faintest vulnerability flickers in her eyes—no doubt a trace of fatigue from having fought through an ordeal that might be too heavy to name.
“I did, Leon..” she says softly, no hint of pretentiousness anywhere.
Leon’s chest tightens. He wants to reach out but he pauses—the urge to ask questions he knew wouldn’t be answered anyway like he used to do when he was young threatens to consume him whole.
He fights it. He doesn’t need her to explain her presence now and why she disappeared for a year and made him believe she was gone. Somehow, he already knows in their language of survival that whatever had kept her away, it must not have been by her choice. The tight set of her jaw, the unusual control in her movements and the fleeting shadows in her eyes—all of it told him she had fought, and that her fight led her back here.
“I…” he weighs the words on his tongue, “don’t know what happened to you.”
The quiet ensues, so he continues on.
“I don’t know why you left… why you didn’t come back,” his hand betrays him and hovers near hers, “but I do know this—you’re here. And… I won’t question that.”
Ada’s usual composure stutters, enough for him to see that acknowledgment of understanding. She brings herself marginally closer, quite like a moth drawn to his flame.
“Leon…” her voice caught slightly, “I…” she stops, inhales, and lets the rest hang unspoken.
He reaches out then, placing a hand against her knee to let his warmth seep through and anchor her to the moment. She doesn’t recoil, thankfully. Ada allows herself to be tethered.
“I don’t need to know everything,” he insists, “Just… that you’re here. That’s enough.. That’s all I need.”
Ada’s fingers twitch briefly, almost against her will, before she places her hand atop his in acquiescence.
They sit like that side by side with the music playing in the background. Leon’s eyes linger on her face, noting the subtle signs of wear. Very much like he did, she must have faced horrors, yet here she is. Alive. Whole enough to return.
“I feel like I do owe you an explanation, at least,” Ada speaks.
Leon detects the hesitation in her tone.
“I won’t ask for it… at least not now…” he whispered—half measuring his approach before continuing, “… whatever kept you away, I’ll understand. But if you ever feel like sharing, I’m just here…”
Ada doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she exhales slowly like gathering the strength left in her. She lets her head tilt slightly to rest near his shoulder without touching him fully.
“It wasn’t easy,” she admits, voice tight, “And I wasn’t… clean.”
The words burrow somewhere in his chest in a manner that almost feels suffocating. His mind drifts away from her and back to the warm lights of The ARK and the crawling dark webs beneath his skin that almost consumed him fully.
We’re running out of time, Sherry said it as well.
He could’ve ended there from the infection of a virus he dedicated more than half of his life fighting against if it wasn’t for Elpis.
Then it hit him. Sherry’s words. A missing vial. Ada—here. Alive. The conclusion comes to him almost hauntingly.
“…Elpis,” he says.
Her gaze wavers and that’s all the confirmation he needs. For a while, neither of them speaks. Leon knows that she must be observing him for his reaction. And he knows objectively that he should feel a certain way about that discovery rather than… this. He knows that there should be a part of him—trained and conditioned like the agent he is, that should note the implications without effort. A stolen vial. Unauthorized use. But that side of him doesn’t register. Rather, he doesn’t allow it because the rest of it comes faster.
I wasn’t clean, she said. He knows what that means.
Knows what it feels like when your body stops being yours—when the virus starts writing itself into your blood, bones and your very being and your vision blurs enough to blind you into thinking that anything would be better than this.
He gives her a once-over, taking in the way she holds herself still a degree more than usual, the tension that hasn’t fully left her stance, the control in every breath. She didn’t come out of that untouched. He doesn’t give her further time to doubt for he now truly understands.
“You found it,” he says, softer this time.
If she felt any relief at his accepting tone, she didn’t show.
“I had to.”
Leon watches her a while longer before speaking, “… and it worked,” the unspoken you made it slips through.
Ada’s lips part like she might say something—but whatever it is doesn’t come. Her gaze drops for the briefest moment, an unreadable expression passing through her face before it’s gone.
“You know could’ve come to me,” Leon adds after a pause.
The small hitch in Ada’s breath doesn’t go unnoticed.
“I couldn’t and even so…” her pause says a lot more than any words, “not like… that, Leon..”
The words were simple but the implication lands heaviest than anything she had said so far. Leon doesn’t—couldn't—ask her to explain further. In the end, he doesn’t need to because whatever she had been fighting—she didn’t want him to see it.
So, he doesn’t push nor argue. Doesn’t tell her she still should have.
Because in the grand scheme of things, maybe she is right. Maybe if their roles had been reversed, he wouldn’t have gone to her either. He probably would have kept it hidden, very much like he did before Sherry exhibited symptoms as well.
His hand moves reassuringly across her back to hold her shoulder steady and to pull her closer. He feels her there beneath his fingers—warm, real and still human.
“That’s alright.. what’s important to me is that you made it back,” he says with finality.
In his voice, there is no trace of the agent left, only the man who had already mourned her thrice now—a man who isn’t about to do it again.
“Thank you… for always understanding,” she says.
Leon’s other hand moves to brush her fingers and trace a line along her knuckles gently. She returned, she is here, and for now, that is everything to him. His hand cups her cheek, and she indulges in the feeling of the steady warmth from someone who had never and will never abandon her.
And then, she takes initiative to close the gap. Their lips meet in recognition of the rekindled intimacy of two people who had endured worlds apart and were now finding each other again.
The kiss was patient—a short and sweet press of presence and reassurance. Leon pulls back just slightly, forehead resting against hers. His eyes glisten faintly and hold hers.
“I still can’t believe you’re here,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion he doesn’t attempt to disguise.
“I made it back,” she says, “because you are worth it, Leon.”
He basks in the way her words made him feel. He satisfies himself in the shared knowledge that both of them must have faced the worst to date yet they emerged alive with stubborn insistence that left them scarred and tempered, but alive.
Ada shifts and looks around the room. The apartment feels like home as it usually did before, but it also exudes a different feel, akin to when it all started.
Ah. Unbidden, her expression changes.
“I noticed you redecorated,” she comments, almost to herself.
There is a small melancholy in the observation, a subtle ache hidden within her words that made Leon freeze. Right.
The apartment feels cleaner now without the traces she used to leave behind—the ones that blurred the line between her presence and absence. It had been a deliberate decision on his part, loath as he is to admit.
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He sees no point in denying it. He has always been honest with her and he wouldn’t start lying now when it matters the most.
“You cleared me out.”
It isn’t an accusation, he knows. It was just a statement, but somehow that makes it worse.
“I thought you were really gone this time,” he says subdued.
There is no defensiveness on his part as he continues, “I tried to… move on,” his jaw tightens slightly, “well as you can probably tell, I didn’t get very far.”
Ada watches him with barely concealed trepidation.
“I didn’t throw anything,” he adds, “I just… put them away temporarily where I didn’t have to see every time.”
“You don’t ha—”
“I hated it,” he cuts her off, his words spill out the moment he started, “I hated that it felt like I was erasing you—like if I let things the way they were, I’d just… stay stuck there.”
She doesn’t interrupt this time, letting him grieve in his own way.
“I didn’t want to forget you,” his voice breaks but he continues, “thought that I just… needed to survive it somehow.”
Ada absorbs his confession for what it is. It is a natural endpoint when a person believes the other is gone—and for a while, even she thought she was. So regardless of what it made her feel then, she accepts him.
Her eyes survey once more across the apartment. Then back to him.
“It is certainly different.”
Leon nods, “yeah… but we can fix it.”
Ada’s brow lifts slightly, “fix it?”
His eyes softened. The suggestion felt deeper than what they really mean. It isn’t a grand gesture but the meaning resonated. His fingers find hers again, squeezing lightly.
“Change it again,” he offers a small smile, “together this time.”
“Together,” she echoes.
Leon’s arm wrapped around her in a physical promise that he is here, and that for now, the horrors of the past, the absences, the pain—they don’t matter. She is here, and though the place changed, it remains open to her and what they share.
The night covers outside. The music permeates inside. In that moment, they know they are home. Not to a place, but to each other.
The clock turns again. For the first time in a long while, Ada allows herself to think about the future. For the first time in a long while, Leon lets himself feel relief without guilt. And for the first time in a long while, they allow themselves to simply be scarred, older and alive, together.
They can finally breathe. Maybe this time, they can return to that fragile, tentative, yet beautiful routine they built out of the space between them. Together.
Now I’ve thought it through… crawling back to you.