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Leon made one last call before boarding the chopper, making sure that he was far enough out of earshot before punching in her number.
After a few rings, her voice registered. “Hey. Safe?”
“Hey A-Bear,” he said, “We’re safe. HWS is here ‘cept Chris. Think they’re taking us to Walter Reed, ETA looks to be about 4 or 5 hours with the rain.”
She couldn’t stop herself from smiling—there was a warmth that spread deep within her knowing that he was okay, when for so long she could only keep tabs on him through files and records, especially after the calls she’d received from Chris, from Sherry, even feeds from old friends who had access to the cameras in ARK.
“Okay,” she said, “call me when you get there and let me know discharge time.”
“Yes ma’am,” he affirmed before hanging up.
There was still a chance he could die on the chopper. She’d trusted Chris’s medic, though, as much as she could trust a medic. Leon’s condition could easily be beyond what a medic could do, or worse, they could get gunned down.
Only a few more hours, though, and the worst of it was over, she told herself as she went back to her laptop, turning back on her comms. The work in Raccoon was far from done, and Chris was waiting on her.
Leon slept for three hours on the floor of the chopper—clearly, not the first time he’d done so, given the state of his back. He slept next to Grace, who was still wired and shaking and had a panic attack at one point when they’d hit some turbulence, apologizing over and over and saying that it’d just reminded her of being in the air with Zeno earlier.
Leon didn’t mind talking her down, it’d basically been baked into his brain by now. Kept his distance, didn’t touch her unless she touched him, just said it’s okay to her numerous apologies. Eventually, he fell back asleep once she and someone begun talking about some Netflix show and he could no longer hear her heartbeat from a foot away.
By the time he’d gotten an IV bag of saline, two cups of shitty hospital coffee, and a hospital turkey sandwich in him, he felt like a new man.
Grace would be there longer, he figured, at least a few days—she’d been bitten on the arm and had that chest wound, the bandages reminding him of his own shoulder that required a buttload of antibiotics and still froze up in the cold.
He found her in the room next to him—they were, after all, in the same containment unit with not much else going on. Hopefully Emily would be here soon to accompany her.
“They’re dischargin’ me, so I’m headin’ out,” he said quietly after she answered the door, sitting down on the foot of her bed. “You have my number—if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call. We’re like, an hour and change away.”
She didn’t know what to say. She’d never had someone care about her this much before, not since her mom died. It made sense that he looked a little like her, that the corners of his eyes crinkled in the same way when he made a dumb joke. Maybe he was an angel, one that Alyssa had sent for her.
“They got you on Valium?”, he asked, looking at her IV bag.
“Oh yeah. The good stuff.”
“I, uh—can have my wife put together some spare clothes,” Leon started, looking at her hospital gown, “you’re probably about the same size.”
The clothes someone from HWS had dug up for him were a size too small and itchy as hell—he couldn’t just bug Chris to steal the shirt off his back like usual—but they were dry.
“You don’t have to do that,” Grace said. Leon had done so much for her already—he didn’t need to go out of his way to bring her clothes. And yet, he wanted to, and some clean clothes would be really fucking nice.
“It’ll make you feel better. I’ll be in tomorrow to check on ya anyway,” he said, more of a statement than an offer, “and hopefully Emily.”
She smiled a little at that, and it made something settle in his chest.
“You did good, kid,” he said, watching her expression, and she finally really smiled.
He patted the foot of Grace’s hospital bed and headed out, beelining straight for the elevator and a back exit.
Ada was parked at the curb when he came out, which he hadn’t expected. He’d expected a text with an address. Instead there was his truck, and Ada leaning against it, in a pair of jeans and his jacket—the one he’d given to her in Spain, that she’d kept and taken care of all these years. She said nothing as he got in the passenger seat.
He sat quietly. Watched her side-eye him as he dug the Costco-sized container of Tums out of the glovebox, taking four—above everything else, he was set in his ways, down to his refusal to give up black coffee, even with acid reflux that he constantly complained about.
She drove and he watched her, which was something he’d never gotten tired of—it was almost funny, the way she had the seat all the way forward, how she was a small woman but handled his truck, among machine guns and rocket launchers it was nothing. His skin buzzed just looking at her, hands easy on the wheel, eyes focused on the road.
Damn, he thought, Elpis really had done something to him. He felt like a horny teenager discovering porn for the first time again.
He put his hand on her thigh without thinking about it, desperate for her touch, her warmth. She said nothing.
He wanted to grab the wheel and make her pull over, drag her into the passenger seat, and fucking ravish her right there. His hair stood up and his cock twitched at the thought.
After merging onto the highway, she finally opened her mouth, keeping her eyes on the road.
“Where’s the Porsche?”, she asked flatly.
He knew she knew. She had AirTags in everything, and probably more advanced trackers in it as well, since it was her car.
“I can go get it first thing tomorrow,” he mewled out quietly.
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’ll make some calls, have it shipped back.”
She glared at him, hard, before refocusing on the road.
“I’ll have one of Chris’s guys drive it back.”
“I’ll be making those calls,” she said, her tone still flat as she turned on the blinker and moved lanes.
He stared at the clouds. He'd left her Porsche in a contaminated city, full of nothing but virus and death and crime and scumbags. He wasn’t going to say that part out loud.
“If it was broken into—”
“Someone tried.” She didn’t look at him. “I already got that notification.”
He didn’t know what else to say—he’d suggest paying for it, but they both knew they shared finances, and that the majority of their money was hers. So, he remained silent, watching her before eyeing the clouds in front of them.
She turned up the radio—NPR, where she was clearly listening for news on the situation. As the reporters droned on about elections and crossword puzzles, he wished it was music—even her terrible, trashy 90s pop. Even Sabrina Carpenter, who she’d taken a liking to against his musical opinions.
The roads became hillier and covered in Kudzu, the vine that seemed to swallow everything, as they approached their house in Virginia, out by Shenandoah. A dusky mist seemed to blanket their little town around them, leaving just the house in sight as she pulled into the gravel driveway.
She unlocked the door and disabled the alarm, and he followed in, slowly, kicking off his slides and immediately heading upstairs. She’d already picked up her phone and gotten back to work, her heels clacking down the hall.
At least he still had a hot shower waiting for him.
As he let it warm up for the usual amount of time, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Damn, he thought, he really did look like a new man, albeit tired and scruffy and in need of a shave and a haircut. He almost didn’t recognize himself without the black blotches, deciding it was time to wash all of this off for good as he stepped under the large rainfall showerhead.
The water was cold. He stepped back, checking to ensure that he’d turned the handle the right way.
“Dammit,” he whined, hand still under the spray. “Ada—”
Of fucking course she turned the hot water off, probably before she left.
He’d wanted to take the edge off, to stroke himself and fuck his hand raw since Ada wasn’t in the mood, but she’d clearly anticipated that, so he just stood there under the water, scrubbing his hair and body quickly as he felt the sting of goosebumps all over his body.
She’d locked herself in the bedroom when he got out—he could hear her pacing back and forth in her heels, talking low on the phone.
He went downstairs, still shivering like a wet cat and wearing only the towel around his waist, found leftovers in the fridge, ate them standing over the sink, a bit like a deranged feral animal.
The bedroom was still locked when he came back up. He knocked lightly.
“I know you’re mad at me,” he exhaled sharply, “but can I please just get clean clothes?”
She opened the door, her dark eyes staring up to meet his.
“I don’t think so,” she said coldly, looking at the silver band on her left hand, inspecting the bruised that trailed up to it as she leaned against the dresser.
“Ada,” he pleaded as her heel came up and traced the bulge tenting his towel with it. “I’m done playing games. Please just let me get some clothes. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I was thinking of buying a chastity cage,” she said mockingly as she leaned into him, ripping the towel from his waist and dropping it onto the floor. “What do you think? A week, two weeks?”
Fuck.
He dropped to his knees, pressing his head against her. He’d do anything, anything just to have her stop being cold like this. They’d played games for too many years, and he’d finally unlocked the soft side of her, just for her to yank it away.
“I’m sorry for taking the Porsche,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “Your Porsche.”
“And?”
“And you were right,” he admitted, “I should’ve taken the truck.”
“I didn’t want you going in the first place,” she said sharply, her words cutting through the air like a bullet.
The silence hung for a minute, as he knelt there feeling her heartbeat.
He inhaled sharply, composing himself. “I know. I’m still sorry for taking the Porsche.”
“I don’t care about the Porsche.”
He looked at her blankly, stark naked, still unsure what this was about, which was far more painful than the guilt of abandoning her quarter-million dollar car.
She waited for a second for him to pick it up, and when he didn’t, she began toying with the Oura ring she bought him, the one that was connected to her phone so she could see his health data. God, he could be so stupid sometimes.
“I got a full report from multiple sources,” she said, her words piercing the air as they came out, “including Chris, who thought you weren’t gonna make it. Do you know how fucking stupid you have to be, to put yourself within an inch of your life that Chris thinks you aren’t gonna make it?”
He didn’t say anything, partially out of fear and partially because she was completely right, he was stupid, and he did have a reckless habit of putting others before himself within an inch of his life. Still, she knew the man she proposed to, knew him since he took a bullet for her 28 years ago.
“I’m better now,” he mewled out, barely audible. “Elpis, it’s an antiviral.”’
“I know that, dumbass,” she snapped, turning around. “Get on the bed.”
The first impact of her hand stung more than usual, partially due to the fact that he was still freezing, he realized, as warmth began to bloom across the red handprint she’d left on his ass.
She continued until both sides of his ass matched the blush on his cheeks and chest, blood running hot through him as he could feel her acrylic nails and her heavy silver band that matched his with every impact, continuing onto his quads and inner thighs, then switching to the wooden paddle they’d kept in the closet so he’d really feel it, which made his cock twitch before she grabbed the lube on the nightstand, grabbing his wrists and placing them behind his back.
He hissed as she entered him with her fingers—she hadn’t warmed the lube between her hands, on purpose probably.
She worked him open slowly, unhurried, which was worse than if she’d been rough about it. He was loud, moaning and whining into the mattress and bucking against it. She didn’t tell him to be quiet, relishing in the sounds he made as he half-humped the mattress like a desperate puppy, greedy and ready for more as she switched from one finger, to two, to three.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction that easily, she thought, as she retrieved the harness from the nightstand.
Leon could hear the hardware clinking as she put it on, could tell the dildo she chose based on how she was adjusting it. Yeah, this was gonna hurt.
He needed it more than anything.
To be useful, to be filled like a desperate slut and fucked like a cheap whore. To forget his place in the world and be of service. To her and only her.
He moved to his knees on the floor, and waited patiently.
“Get it wet,” she said sternly as she grabbed his hair and yanked his head backwards before spitting in his mouth.
He obliged, trying his best to ignore how rock-fucking-hard he was and how he ached for his own cock to be touched as he took her, moaning loudly from his own need as he took it in his mouth to the hilt.
“Flip over,” she ordered, and he obliged as she brought his legs up to his chest. He yelped as she entered him in a single thrust, holding his gaze as she fucked into him, hard and deep and fast, which had him shaking and tearing up and throwing his head back as she stroked his cock to continue torturing him.
It was too much. It was exactly what he needed.
“Ada, please,” he whined, “I’m gonna—“
“Not until I get an apology.”
“I’m sorry,” he hiccuped through the tears streaming down his face now, “I’m sorry for being reckless.”
She only continued fucking him, hard, until he grabbed onto her hips, hard, forcing her to still.
“Please let me fuck you,” he whimpered into the base of her neck. “Please, I feel so much better, I’ll fuck you so good. Please.”
She pulled out of him and unbuckled the harness, slowly. Peeled her tights and underwear off like she had all the time in the world, because she did.
“Show me what you can do with your mouth,” she instructed. “Then maybe, if you’re good.”
He went at her like he was starving; he fucking was. He didn’t waste any time with gentle laps and kisses—he buried his tongue deep inside her, one hand already thumbing her clit the way she liked. With the other, he reached up to grab her breast, to play with a nipple, but before he could, she grabbed his hair, pulling him back, hard.
She slapped him clean across the face, the sting reverberating through his whole body and right down to his cock.
“I don’t think you deserve to touch those.”
He’d reached for the nightstand, for the wand vibrator she’d always had him use. She swatted his hand away.
“No toys. Mouth only.”
Fine. If that’s how she wanted it, he’d oblige.
He kissed up her stomach, her ribs, her collarbone. Everywhere he could reach.
He took his time eating her out properly. Gentle laps, soft kisses, sucking on her clit until her thighs were shaking and soft little moans escaped and broke through her cold facade, rubbing a lazy thumb on her inner thigh.
He kept going, lips and tongue only, hands flat on her thighs where she could see them. Gentle laps, slow circles on her clit, soft suction. He was genuinely scared to reach up again, desperate to please her how she wanted. She noticed, and let him stay scared as she grinded herself against his face, grabbing his hair and fucking his mouth until she was coming apart right on his lips and he drank it all up obediently.
“Please,” he whispered against her pussy, still throbbing, “Please, can I—”
“Slowly.”
He tried that too. Buried himself in her and tried to go slow, which was genuinely the hardest thing she’d ever asked of him. She had one hand in his hair, grasping at the nape of his neck, and she used it. He whimpered into her neck. Kept the pace she set. Barely.
He was losing his mind. Every instinct told him to flip her over and just go, hard and fast, take what he needed. But, he was a good dog, and he’d heel if she wanted him to. He could manage.
He kept the pace. Grinding into her in long, slow rolls that were going to kill him. His jaw was tight. His whole body was. He kept going anyway.
She stilled beneath him, and he could feel it — the way her breath changed, how she held it for a second too long. He felt the chill of the ceiling fan give him goosebumps as he stopped.
“You know what happens when you don’t come home?,” she started.
Stopped.
Her jaw tightened. She looked somewhere past his shoulder, not at him.
He waited.
But he already knew the answer.
He’d noticed it in the car. The bruising crept up the side of her neck the way kudzu took fences out here, slow and inevitable.
“I’m not finishing either,” she said quietly, “until you mean it.”
He was grinding into her, his pubic bone against her clit, trying to give her something while she held him back from what he needed. He was completely gone for her.
“I’ll take better care of myself”, he finally panted out, half-choked into her neck as he rolled his hips again. “I’ll stop being reckless.”
“You’ll call for backup when you need it?”
“Yes,” he mewled, fully burying his face into the crook of her neck now, holding onto her sides tighter, tighter as he tried not to let it all go a moment too soon.
She didn’t say anything, laying still like a stone.
“Yes ma’am,” Leon repeated, bringing his face up to the shell of her ear to say it, barely more than a whimper.
She finally let go of his hair.
He took the signal, and he kissed her, lapping into her mouth with his tongue, drinking her up like a man in the desert as he fucked her, hard, one hand thumbing her clit as the other reached up to brush over a nipple.
It didn’t take long—after all these years of mostly sex and nothing else, at least he knew exactly how to undo her, exactly what she needed to make her tremble under him and pulse around him.
His face was wet. He didn't know when that had started, how long he’d been crying for now. He didn't care.
“Ada,” he whimpered between sobs, “Ada, Ada, Ada—“
He came chanting her name under his breath, thrusting into her erratically as he trembled and exploded and she milked him dry for everything he was worth, continuing to buck his hips involuntarily until long after the aftershocks had passed, finally collapsing on top of her chest.
There was a shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you somewhere in there, he recalled as the room came back into focus, steadying himself with the sound of her breath, still inside her.
“Thank you,” he whispered, “for everything. And I’m sorry for being reckless with my life. And for worrying you.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she hummed back, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
He remained on top of her for a long few minutes, still drinking in the feeling of her warmth, their sex, their shared sweat, listening to the slowing of her erratic heartbeat as well as his own. At some point, he’d have to pull out of her, but they were safe now, unhurried, didn’t have to worry about the impending threat of the sound of shots being fired, among other things. They’d struggled with fertility, maybe had been too late for the life they’d wanted, but at least it allowed for more moments like this.
When the ache in his bones started to return, he rolled off of her, and she promptly got up to tread into the master bathroom.
She returned from the bathroom with an armful of products, laying them out gently on the bed as she handed him a warm damp washcloth.
He took it without a word.
As she sat back down beside him, sharp fingernails made their way across his scalp, massaging at the base of his neck. She paused to put some kind of oil on her fingertips before resuming at where she pulled earlier, on his hairline, running it through the ends, probably taking note of how he needed a haircut.
He nuzzled into her chest again, and she let him for a minute, the pads of her slender fingers working over his neck, his shoulder blades, unscrewing the cap of the thick lotion she always smelled like now before going over his back.
Using her thumb to hook the hair tie on her wrist, she gathered the longer strands of his hair at the top of his head, tying them into a little half-ponytail.
Great, we’re doing this.
He was just happy to be touched.
“See? You’re so cute when you listen,” she teased as she tapped a finger to the tip of his nose. Half-grinning, he held back the idea of forming a snarky response.
Her hands worked to open some bottle, soaking a little cotton pad in the liquid inside before swiping it all over his face, gently. He sat still as she applied her series of toners and serums and creams with gentle fingers, almost clinical in their precision, but there was something about the way her palm cradled his jaw that told him it wasn’t.
She moved back to the rest of his body, opening a small jar of the balm she’d started to stockpile as he often stole it from her—warming it between her hands before rubbing it into his bad shoulder, then the other, using her thumb to massage deep into the scar tissue from long ago, the herniated disc between his shoulder blades.
As she worked upwards, she stopped and hovered over the spot on his neck and jaw where the black bruising from dying tissue used to be, now only marked by a singular cut, a needle stick, some salt-and-pepper stubble.
Smiling softly to herself, she rubbed the remainder of the balm into her own bruised and aching hands.
As she shifted to lay beside him for the night, he turned into her, running the hair on the sides of her head through his fingers with a firmness that forced her to look at him.
He tried his best to imitate her motions as he worked through the same routine—massaging her scalp with the oil, brushing her hair out of the way before moving to her face. She had a fluffy pink headband somewhere that he’d made fun of before, but this time he went into the bathroom to retrieve it, gently pulling it down over her head before pushing it back with her hair.
As he moved towards opening the first bottle of whatever it was—toner, she stopped him, putting the next one in his hand.
“I bought that one for you,” she murmured, half-dozed off. “For your ingrown hairs when you shave.”
God, he’d never noticed, he thought as he did the rest of her skincare routine in what was absolutely the wrong order. She’d probably put it on his side of the vanity and he’d just assumed she misplaced it or ran out of room for her own things, and then put it away when she realized he wasn’t using it.
He truly would be a lost man without her, in ways he didn’t even know.
He moved onto her lotion-cream-whatever it was—the container said body butter but it smelled like coconuts—massaging it slowly into her toned thighs, her stomach, taking an extra few seconds to linger on her shoulders, especially the one where the scar tissue from Annette still stood.
After finishing off with the minty, herbal, resin-y balm—which they’d both unintentionally made their signature scent by now, due to frequent use—on her bruises, her shoulder scar, he shifted on top of her and settled into her chest, wrapping his arms around her and placing his head on her sternum so he could hear the rise and fall of her breath.
She took one of his wrists from her side, pulling up the hand and inspecting it, looking for bruises, cuts, remnants, finding nothing but his usual callouses and the ring.
Her slim fingers toyed with it, moving it up and down his finger, similar in a way to how he liked her to stroke his cock, before placing it back where it went, retaining her hold on it.
“I better fucking see eight hours tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, pausing for a second to listen to her heartbeat, her breath. “You should sleep in, too.”
“I’ve got Pilates,” she said flatly.
“Mm,” he hummed into her chest, drifting further into sleep with each second. “We’ll get you some Elpis. Then you’ll be the queen of fuckin’ Pilates.”
Ada chuckled as she ran a hand through his hair, floating away from consciousness a bit herself, though not as quickly as Leon.
“I love you,” she whispered into his hair, barely audible as she took in the scent of his shampoo, her hair oil, their sex still lingering in the air.
It took him by surprise—it always did, as she never said it out loud, the first time hadn’t even been until after they were married. Something about how Chinese immigrants didn’t say I love you but they brought you cut fruit and picked you up from the hospital in your truck and massaged your shitty arthritic shoulders with Tiger Balm.
“I love you more,” he murmured as he moved his face to the side a bit, pressing a lazy kiss onto her collarbone. “Elpis. First thing tomorrow.”