Chapter Text
Leon S. Kennedy, 34 years old, a top-tier U.S. government agent, the man who survived Raccoon City, single-handedly dismantled a parasite-infested village to rescue the President’s daughter, and stared down countless BOWs, DSO's golden boy. Yet, right now, the legendary survivor was feeling completely out of his element.
He stood a short distance away from his home, just watching it, a weathered little two-story house tucked nearly a two-hour drive from the frantic pulse of Washington D.C. and his office. The previous owner, a petite elderly lady, had handed over the keys with a bittersweet smile, leaving behind the home she and her late husband had shared for half a lifetime to move to Italy.
"My son is going to be a father," she had beamed. "Someone’s got to be there to watch over them and keep the kitchen smelling like fresh cookies, right?"
Leon had taken the keys, politely tuning out her well-meaning motherly fussing about why a handsome man like him wasn’t "settled down" yet. He gave a brief, distracted thanks for the collection of vintage household items she’d left behind. Truth be told, he didn't spend much time here. The commute was a killer, especially when he was buried under mountain-high reports or dragged away on sudden field missions. To Leon, this house was little more than a "safe house", a place to let his wounds heal during his rare, brief moments of leave.
But then, there was her.
She loved this place.
She loved it far more than the fancy luxury hotels that had served as their blurry backdrops during those first, feverish nights of secret rendezvous.
She never said it out loud, but he knew it.
He saw it in the way she’d sprawl lazily across the dated floral sofa, waiting for him to clock out.
The way her fingers would graze the vintage wooden headboard while he lost himself in her.
Or how she’d sift through the old kitchen cabinets, hunting for those specific Chinese tea leaves he’d bought, just in case she decided to drop by.
It feels like home, Leon thought. And for the first time, he felt truly grateful to that kind old lady for leaving all that dusty, ancient furniture behind.
Not that things were ever truly simple. She came when she felt like it, and she could vanish just as easily. Even though he knew every inch of her body, Leon still couldn't grasp the rhythm of her movements. Would she leave just hours after they’d been tangled together in bed? Right after he’d drawn a hot bath, infused with the scent of her favorite bath bomb? Or after a single, rushed sip of morning coffee, leaving a steaming breakfast untouched on the table?
Leon stared blankly at the takeout bag in his hand. Toasted sourdough topped with smoked salmon, creamy avocado slices - no mayo, just a squeeze of lemon and a sprinkle of cracked black pepper, and a side of perfectly poached eggs with yolks still runny. Just the way she liked it. Then he remembered why he was still lingering there, letting the meal grow cold.
He was afraid to go home. Or more accurately, he was afraid of the emptiness waiting for him. He dreaded finding that scrap of paper on the table, marked with a deep crimson lipstick kiss, scribbling some vague excuse for why she had to leave without saying goodbye. He hated the crushing realization that he’d be eating breakfast for two all by himself, waiting indefinitely for their next encounter, when she would whisper sweet, empty reassurances into his ear.
Leon loathed that feeling. But he craved her. He hated these fleeting, unpredictable rendezvous. But he couldn't stomach the thought of a life without her in it.
He let out a long sigh, trying to shake off the sudden daze. Something had shifted. A momentary lapse in focus, like a "white sleep", and suddenly, his surroundings felt… off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but the peeling paint on the phone booth and the maple trees that seemed to have grown a size too large told him something wasn't right.
It was the same neighborhood, yet everything was different.
What’s the worst that could happen? Leon thought, quickening his pace toward the house. The absolute worst-case scenario was that his "Lady in Red", his ghost, his not yet lover, had ditched him again, leaving him to eat his breakfast and spend the rest of his leave in solitude. It wouldn't be the first time.
“Look at that. Our sulky little boy has finally decided to come home.” Her voice was soft, laced with that signature teasing lilt the moment Leon stepped through the door. He shut it behind him, instinctively brushing his messy hair out of his eyes while mentally retracing his steps, wondering if he’d let any of that childish frustration slip before he headed out for breakfast.
“What a tragedy. The ladies over at the DSO would probably burst into tears if they knew their golden boy was being ‘tortured’ like this,” Ada continued, her voice as smooth as silk. She was lounging on the sofa, a morning newspaper spread open before her and a steaming mug of coffee on the side.
Extra milk, no sugar, just how she likes it. His mind instinctively supplied the detail before he could even process the rest.
Her crimson silk robe was draped loosely over her elbows, revealing a black lace camisole and a pair of long, pale legs draped casually over the arm of the sofa. She turned her head slightly to look at him, one eyebrow arched in mock annoyance at his lack of a witty comeback.
And that was when it hit him. The "wrongness" that had been gnawing at him since he was outside.
The Ada standing, or rather, sitting before him looked like she had aged at least ten years. She was still breathtakingly beautiful, just as he remembered her an hour ago, but the faint lines at the corners of her eyes, her steadier, more mature gaze, and a few silver strands peeking through her meticulously styled black hair told a different story.
“Ada?” Leon blurted out.
“Leon?” And it seemed that "Ada" had just realized something was very, very wrong too.
—---
“So… thirty-four, yes?” Ada asked softly, her hands deftly unpacking the breakfast items from the paper bag. The calm composure on her sharp, elegant features only added to Leon’s growing sense of displacement.
It’s like she’s already seen everything the world has to throw at her, Leon thought. It was the only way to explain how she could remain so unfazed by a younger version of her lover popping up out of thin air, choosing instead to focus her hunger on a half-cold breakfast.
“I… I don’t know what happened. Just a momentary daze, and then this. It’s not some bio-terror plot or a new strain of the virus, is it?” Leon fidgeted, nervously pressing his thumb into the edge of the sofa. It was a new one, still featuring the same tacky, old-fashioned patterns from decades ago, but brighter and less faded. It seemed his hunch was right: Ada really did have a soft spot for this vintage furniture.
“Oh,” she replied simply, slowly tossing the salad in its disposable bowl. “And now that you’re here, I have to wonder.”
“Where the other Leon went,” he finished quickly, feeling like a schoolboy stumbling through a recital. “Maybe we swapped places. Like in those sci-fi movies, you know… I-I’m not really sure.”
Ada let out a soft giggle. Leon felt like he could die a thousand times just to hear that sound every day. She stepped away from the kitchen counter, placing the reheated toast and the salad bowl on the coffee table.
He had never seen Ada look this comfortable in his home. It wasn’t that she always vanished after their nights together, he reminded himself, she stayed, sometimes for a few hours, maybe half a day. But he had never felt this level of belonging from her.
She lives here, Leon realized. This is her home.
His heart was still hammering against his ribs, and it only intensified as he caught the glint of a simple silver band on her left ring finger. The woman he’d carried in his heart for eight years was wearing a wedding ring.
As Ada began to eat, she was still the same woman he remembered. But despite the loss of that youthful softness in her cheeks or the sharpened, world-weary look in her eyes, there was something mellower about her. A certain grace that caused his frantic heart to settle.
A thousand questions swirled in his head, but he didn't have the nerve to ask the woman who was always three steps ahead of him.
“So… how old are you now?” The question slipped out before he could catch it.
Ada paused, a piece of smoked salmon halfway to her mouth. Leon instantly regretted his big mouth.
“Leon,” Ada said, dabbing her lips with a silk napkin. “Asking a woman about her age or weight is incredibly rude, gentleman.”
“I-I’m sorry,” Leon stammered, his hand gripping the sofa tighter. “I was just trying to… get a handle on the situation.”
“I get it,” she hummed, rising slowly and walking over to where he sat. “Force of habit for a top agent, hmm?”
“Yeah, yeah, exactly,” Leon nodded. “Could you…”
The words died in his throat as two slender, pale arms draped over his shoulders. That familiar scent flooded his senses, and Leon had to grit his teeth to keep from burying his face in the crook of her neck. His body gradually relaxed. This was Ada. His Ada.
“No need to be so tense, handsome.” Ada sat close beside him, gently tucking a stray lock of his hair back into place. Her voice was incredibly tender, like she was soothing a restless, homesick Golden Retriever. “Just know that we’re at peace with each other, okay?”
Leon nodded, finally daring to look directly into her honey-sweet eyes. The woman he had craved for years while they played their game of cat-and-mouse. His gaze traced her face, the sharp jawline, her delicate nose, her healthy, rosy lips, and stopped at those amber eyes. They were so familiar, yet so foreign. He wondered if the emotion swirling in those eyes was love.
In his future, would they really reach this point? Was he the one who put that silver ring on her finger?
He would have traded his life for the answer, but he held back. They were together. That was all that mattered. Ada said so.
Ada was watching him too, but in a more relaxed, almost nostalgic way. Her affectionate gaze swept over his youthful face, and whatever she was thinking made her bite her lip and flash a satisfied smile.
Leon turned bright red instantly.
“I… I’m hungry too,” he blurted out.
“Oh?” Ada shrugged, her soft arms leaving him, a loss he regretted immediately. She leaned forward to pull the plates toward them, sliding the spare set of silver cutlery his way. “Already know my taste, don't you?,” she murmured.
Leon tried to shake off the awkwardness of being a stranger in his own house. You’re a grown man, he told himself. This is your house. She’s not going to eat you… right?
“Ah,” the woman sipping her salad suddenly exclaimed. “You owe me.”
“Huh?” Leon nearly dropped a piece of egg from his fork.
“‘My’ Leon owes me a date,” Ada explained. “But since he’s gone and you’re here, you’re the one who has to settle the debt.”
“Right, right,” Leon nodded obediently. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”
“Good boy.” Ada smiled, turning back to her newspaper.