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“You don’t know this, Leon, but you’re very handsome, and sometimes, I think I might just give in and punch you in the face.” Ada calmly calls over, facing a closed door. But she won’t because he’s too handsome to scar, but then again, maybe she will, he can take it—it’s all because Leon is hogging the bathroom early in the morning.
Leon slightly hinges the bathroom door open to take a peek at her. There’s a toothbrush hanging off his mouth, his hair is tousled and wet, and there’s the stubble that she says she likes so he refuses to shave it and leaves it exactly the way it is. A white towel is wrapped around his hips.
“Okay, take your shot,” Leon dares, and also as if reminding her: you sat on this face last night.
Ada takes a look behind him, and sternly folds her arms over her chest.
“No?” Leon tries to flash her a lopsided grin, but thin, blue-ish watery-toothpaste drips out from the side of his mouth.
“Don’t do that. Your toothpaste is dripping,” Ada points out-shaking her head, turning away, and waving him off. Not enough time to watch him get embarrassed. Ada knows anyway, he’s hopeless.
Ada walks over to the bed, where they have half-folded clothes and a variety of holsters and a mix of their guns, and resumes packing instead. It’s only 03:30, but they are already both up and preparing to leave the town.
The problem with two skilled operatives, staying together in a quaint cabin in a countryside town in Murcia, sharing a single bed, sharing a four-seater dining table inside a cramped kitchen, and sharing a single bathroom—is what else? the bathroom. How trivial, Ada muses, wiping a silver revolver and putting it on top of her olive pajama silk set inside a trunk. How trivial, and unfamiliar.
Ada glances at the bathroom door, she figures Leon will need about 10 more minutes to rinse off all those chemicals, but that’s if he’s carefully following the instructions at the back of his box-bleach set—this fake summer blonde boy.
Leon and Ada’s countryside vacation in Murcia turned out—
Nothing like this:
Waking up inside a beautiful room full of streaming sunlight, to the smell of vanilla and coffee and raspberry jam, with the windows opening to a garden filled with osmanthus and late-blooming crocus, and to a day full of boat rides and carefree street strolls and then a romantic dinner by the sea.
But a lot like this:
Waking up with back aches and stiff neck—these things don’t take vacations—to a pitch-black bedroom at 01:00. And there’s Leon, facing the ceiling and wide-eyed and heart racing.
Ada understands immediately—these are nightmares.
“These things never leave you,” Ada says softly beside him, half-rising, “Leon.”
“Yeah?” Leon looks at her, not quite startled; people like them don’t really sleep.
Ada shifts beside him, turns to him, and gently moves his face towards her. “You need to figure out how to make them quieter.”
There is only little light outside and she could clearly see the blueness of his eyes.
“Then you better start talking to me so I won’t hear them, Ada.”
Ada shifts again so she is lying beside him, an arm up to support her head, then she puts her palm softly on his chest, “How about you just breathe with me first?”
“Listen to my breathing,” she tells him, “and try to match it with yours.”
Leon turns to her, and carefully watches her face, to the light brown of her eyes, and then to the easy movement of her chest, and slowly matches her. This isn’t something new, he learned all about breathing techniques while under training, but must have forgotten them some five or nine years ago; there is no breathing technique that can calm the guilt of thousands dying after all. But there is something reassuring by the way Ada simply tells him to match hers very simply, to be there, as if it out-values all the other techniques he’s learned—like she’s done this herself a lot. He thinks she must have them, too.
Soon, his breathing calms, the way hers is.
“If it helps, I can kiss you,” Ada kisses him, “like this.” And again, softly.
“You must really like me,” he grins, after, and then closes his eyes. That must have only increased his heart rate, but no matter. He hears Ada chuckle.
They stay like that for a while.
“You didn’t sweep me off my feet,” Ada whispers to him, a little later, a lot like teasing, “Just so we’re clear, don’t let it get to your head, Kennedy.”
Leon’s grin widens, “Too late.”
Their habits are quietly similar.
Leon and Ada both pack light (a black, tactical duffle bag for Leon and an elegant, red-caramel Globe-Trotter trunk for Ada), move fast (10 seconds out the door flat), know what they want (both order toasted brioche and black coffee during a stop at a nearby cafe for breakfast), plan logistical details (“I called. The AVE rail tickets have correct information, and no delays.” and “I did, too, I’m making sure I’m still sitting next to you.”), and make quick decisions (“Tomorrow we’ll go to Madrid, how long do you want to stay there?” and “Let’s try for a year.”).
Leon and Ada settle in Madrid quite quickly.
They have an apartment that takes up a whole floor in a residential building in the Pozuelo area. Ada likes the balconies overlooking the neighborhood, mostly because the windows are huge and she can jump out anytime, and Leon likes that it’s quiet and close to transit areas.
(They later learned they got scammed by a real estate agent—who charged them absurdly high prices, even higher than the average for the already-premium location, but then, they didn’t really check the nitty-gritty of global housing market price fluctuations.)
They did get one huge bedroom for the price of two.
…
One afternoon in July, during a stroll, Leon and Ada pass by people working behind a glass window of a bakery, and people stop to look. So does Leon, and she, too, in time to see a baker knead a dough with such expertise and intensity.
“Are you thinking of slapping my ass like that tonight? That hard?” Ada asks him, in an attempt to ambush him for a little blush.
But Leon has gradually learned to fight back against her witty, little, unexpected sexual remarks, “Why would I even wait for tonight?”
…
Neither holds a particular standard nor an aesthetic when it comes to the kitchen or pantry; Leon is slightly better, Ada is nearing ineptness. Leon can still cobble something okay to eat with a few pantry staples like a loaf and peanut butter on a busy night or morning. Ada, sometimes, would treat applesauce and Gatorade as dinner enough.
“Maybe, we’ll just slowly die from poisoning,” Ada comments, looking at the row of jars with labels and expiration dates, “This is too tedious.”
It’s Sunday, and they camped all morning in the pantry, sorting through groceries, armed with black and red Sharpies.
“I did all the labeling,” Leon says gruffly, putting the last jar labeled with ‘????? nuts’ next to a jar with a label of ‘pine nuts for pesto according to food network’ and another with ‘nuts? with chili? oil?’.
“Yes, and thank you.” Ada says smugly, and thinks he didn’t do a very good job with the labels, which sound like a bewildered survivalist wrote them, but neither would she.
Leon stares at it, and Ada watches him stare at it, before laughing lightly and taking her bright red pointe shoes out of his sight.
“So, you—uhh—have a day job now?”
“I only have one job, Leon,” Ada says calmly, like that explains everything.
Leon is kneeling beside her, looking at the variety of bandaids around her.
Leon found Ada sitting in the middle of the living room, she appeared to be massaging her feet and applying small bandaids in certain spots. And he dropped his bag, and rushed towards her, thinking she might be hurt.
“And it’s nothing serious, Leon, I just use it to prepare,” she says, shrugging and getting up, “And how do you think I maintain my flexibility? Ballet was part of my training, I thought you would have known by now.”
“I didn’t know,” Leon admits, who always thought she was just naturally graceful, someone who’s trained in a ridiculous variety of combat styles, and who can always walk on anything while wearing heels. He stands up and picks up his bag.
Leon himself just got back from his trips, from a mission in the Amazonian rainforest then from D.C. where he was severely chewed out at the DSO for not staying locally in between missions, which he challenged: what are you going to do about it? And then flew back to Madrid anyway.
But Leon is still not over it, and thinks how pleasantly strange it is to still keep discovering things about her-“Are you going to invite me to see you sometime soon?” He yells after her, in good humor, hoping for a good response.
Ada peers back to see the very hopeful look in his eyes, and appears as if she’s considering it, and then comes to a decision, “No.”
…
There is just one area in their entire apartment that is well-stocked, well-curated, and well-maintained all the time—there is no confusion or error in labeling here—it’s the armory, the closest one they have that is similar to a church.
Ada walks in, dressed in a black coat over a black, fitting midi dress and heels, her longer hair pushed back by a red headband; she’s heading to work. But she’s not here to pick out a weapon, she already has them ready and waiting for her at her destination. There are all Leon’s.
This is where he spends time reorganizing and rechecking his inventory, his wide varieties of Austrians and Italians are displayed carefully and competently-maintained.
Many times, he falls asleep here, too. And there he is, sitting on his chair and head slumped on a table, surrounded by papers, layered in the late afternoon sunshine.
Ada sits on the table he is slumped on, and crosses her legs. He doesn’t wake.
She picks up a paper, and another. “Hmn? You can draw, after all?” She muses, looking at the sketches he’s made of knives and guns.
“You could make a career out of this,” she comments, and she is also something of an expert in the matter.
“It's bad timing, isn't it?” She tells his sleeping form. But it has always been like this, their work always bleeds into everything else in their life.
Ada leaves her perch, goes out the room, and comes back with a glass of water, a headache med, and a note saying, Rabat—just two days with a kiss mark.
“Don’t miss me too much, Leon.”
In the parking lot of a helicopter aerodrome facility in Coimbra, inside a black SUV, Ada tells Leon that she can finger herself just fine without him.
“If I wanted to be fingered, I can just do it myself,” Ada tells Leon, against his mouth. Her arms are around him. “I don’t need you.”
They are mid-foreplay, about to fuck, but Ada is just slightly more impatient than Leon.
Leon is sitting on the passenger seat, with his belt unbuckled, pants down, and the front of his shirt is open. Ada is straddling him, the skirt of her dress is hiked up to her waist, her panties pushed to the side; Leon has two fingers deeply inside her and a thumb over her clit that he's been playing with for a good few minutes, making her very wet.
It’s a public parking lot. It’s fine. The SUV's glass and windshield are tinted, except for the sun roof but nobody is looking that way.
“Oh?” Leon feigns confusion, “Then I guess I’ll have to make myself useful to you.”
Ada flashes him a smile, “That’s a good boy.” And then she kisses his cheek softly.
(In here, Leon and Ada were direct and harshly affectionate—their eyes met and both understood it, and the moment Ada put the car on Park, they reached for each other and kissed.
“Come fuck me?” Ada said on his lips.
“No, you fuck me.” He said.)
In the passenger seat, Leon takes most of the space—he’s huge, after all, and tall. Everything gets in the way: it’s heavily cramped, the seatbelt buckle, the center console, and lack of headroom. Somehow, Ada still manages to fit herself on his lap, wrap her arms around him, grind on him, and make it work.
And instead of pulling out, Leon doubles down on fingering her, which earns him a drawn-out moan from Ada followed by a sharp glare, which he finds amusing.
“Just a little more patience, Ada,” he pleads, kissing her forehead and thumbing her clit even harder. He needs her to be ready for him.
“—You.”
Leon catches her lips instead, and gently nibbles on her bottom lip, “Just a little more, I promise.” And then he catches her hand and kisses it, too, like one of those medieval, chivalrous knights.
Ada holds on to him, and until he moves to spread her legs further, and readjusts beneath her. Ada’s nails are digging on his back as she brings herself to take him in, his entire length and girth.
Leon leans back, transfixed on her face, only keeping his hands on her waist, and entirely content on watching her start to rock against him; lean hard on him, press her breast against his bare chest, drag her body forward and backward, and feel her draw satisfaction from him.
Ada pulls his face up to press messy, wet kisses on the corner of his mouth, which he returns in kind.
“Leon,” she keeps saying, and it always does something to him.
He nibbles on the side of her neck, to her collarbone, then to her breasts, while encouraging her to go faster on him by meeting her with more forceful thrusts of his own, despite the restrictions of the space. She comes sooner than him, and it doesn’t take long for him to follow; comes inside her.
Ada crashes on the side of his neck. Spent, but happy.
When they are finished, Ada reaches for the tissue box and carefully wipes the lipstick stains from his face, while he snaps her panties properly back into place and then smooths her dress back down. Then he wipes himself and pulls up his pants. Ada, in turn, goes to button his shirt.
“Well?” Leon asks, a bit light-headed but fully aware.
“I’m thirsty." Ada says, propping herself up against him and still lightly panting. She kisses his cheek again. A light blush on her cheeks, she looks so beautiful.
“Yeah, me, too.” Leon says, not hiding a grin—the closest he is to being outwardly cheerful.
“You seemed very pleased with yourself, Kennedy.”
“I am.” He says, so in love, so in love.
…
Ada drove them here, past the border because Leon is about to get picked up on another mission and he would rather not reveal his—their—real location.
“It will be a long walk for you, Leon, you better get a move on.”
“Wha—t?”
Ada opens the passenger car door, gets off him, and pushes him outside. Then she throws his black jacket at him. Somewhere near, is the familiar rhythmic sound of helicopter blades.
Leon looks above, and sees his ride attempting to land not very far ahead. “Ah, it’s time.”
“Leon?” Then he hears Ada call him, and he circles back to her, to the driver side with the window down. He thinks he could get one more kiss from her before heading off, it’s a very hard thing to resist.
He leans down on her and then she grabs his collar.
“—Your cum is still dripping down inside my panties, it’s like I can still feel you in me,” She tells him before quickly pushing him off her, letting the window roll up fast, and quickly reversing before turning right and driving off—speeding back to the border. He catches a split-second sight of her putting her sunglasses on and looking pointedly at him from the side mirror, as if, you’ll think of me, won’t you?
Leon stays there, grappling with the brutal image she leaves him with, very much like a verbal hit-and-run victim.
“What the fuck…?”
And yet, Leon still has to go to San Francisco, only now he has to walk to the helipad with a hard cock.
(He isn’t vindictive but he’ll find a way to get back at her.)
…
Inside the aircraft, Leon sorts through the care package the DSO has sent him: handguns, ammo, tactical vest, and radio, and there’s also a note from Hunnigan, saying: That bike you love will be sent to your destination. I’ll brief you when you get there. Be careful, Leon. Leon appreciates that; he should bring Hunnigan something the next time he swings by FOS, maybe a roast chicken or a chess set.
Then Leon puts the headset on and talks to the pilot. “Hey, will you be waiting for me? Or you need to go somewhere else while I go my way.”
“FOS instructed me to be available. I’ll be ready once an extraction order or support is called,” the pilot answers, “We have two refueling trips before landing to your destination. Do you have a specific request?”
“Not really, just be there when I’m done.” Leon says, looking out the window, at the fast disappearing roads and skyline of Coimbra and wondering if he’ll spot a speeding black SUV. “I just need to get back here fast. Thanks.”
The pilot looks behind his shoulder, at him, and Leon could see one suspiciously raised eyebrow at him, as if checking to see if it’s really Leon S. Kennedy that he’s got in his aircraft and not a random chatty bystander he accidentally picked up from the aerodrome, before turning his attention back to the flight deck.
The pilot asks, “a date?”
Leon readjusts the glove on his left hand, and pauses before simply saying, “Wife.”
At 23:15 on a Tuesday in April, Leon and Ada sit at a fast food chain along Gran Via in Madrid. Today, particularly, they are both tired, post-mission, and jet-lag ridden.
There are cheeseburgers, fries, and paper coffee cups in front of them, neither has the energy to do anything. Ada accidentally ordered from the kids meal menu which came with a small plush bear toy.
“I’m free for three weeks,” Ada tells him, struggling to look at the flicking lights above them. “That’s the longest I will ever have. Do you have somewhere else to go?”
“No,” Leon answers, remembering how there are newer and younger recruits at the DSO picking up increasingly difficult missions and succeeding, and what that tells him—which sounds a lot like the start of his retirement planning, “I think I’ll stay here.”
Ada nods, and looks out—the night sky is very dark and very empty, blocked out by city lights. They will always return here. She says, “Okay,” and then, “You’re invited to come see me.”
“Hmm?” Leon looks up, opening a cheeseburger wrapper.
Ada rolls her eyes at him, a little disappointed, “Don’t make me take it back.”
Leon blinks at her twice before realizing it, “Finally. What worked? Which of my charms?”
It’s the ballet.
“Please. Only one rehearsal, and you stay back, far back, no actual performance,” Ada explains, “Don’t even talk to me. I’m more of a—background, and I’m in disguise—I’m wearing a blonde wig, Leon.”
Ada thinks this is good, they are able to make quiet, little tiny future plans.
In October, Leon unexpectedly runs into Ada during a mission in Taichung.
He spots her walking along a small, cramped night market. He knows she’s seen him, too. He quickly removes his DSO-issued mic and covert earpiece, and approaches her. He grabs her hand, then gently leads her to an empty pocket side street, away from the noise and crowd. It’s festival season in the city.
“I was watching you, I wonder if you’ll see me.” Ada admits when they reach a dark corner.
When Leon turns to Ada, he is serious. He wastes no time asking, “We’re not headed to the same place, are we? I need to know.”
Ada chooses this moment to be deliberately coy, “Maybe.”
Leon pushes, “Are you going to a laboratory disguised as a demolition site at the city outskirts?”
Ada crosses her arms, not giving an inch, “I don’t recall a detail like that.”
“Okay, then—”
“And it isn’t a demolition site, Leon, but an abandoned housing project, you should properly listen to what your mission coordinator is saying,” Ada corrects him.
“Ada!” Leon steps closer, a lot tense.
But she is already dismissing him, “Oh, I’m just passing through, I just happen to know what you’re talking about. The entrance is through a tanker near the collapsed garage. That’s a free tip for you, so don’t be mad.”
Leon looks at his wife a few more seconds, then sighs, and finally relaxes. “You better be passing through because we’ll fight it out like a true married couple.”
But Ada, of course, teases, “Are we going to make up like a true married couple, too?”
“Yeah,” Leon agrees, and against himself, starts grinning, “We don’t want to go to bed angry.”
“That would depend on how much you piss me off.”
“Do I get the couch?” Leon steps closer.
“No, no, you don’t even get to be near me.” Answers Ada, aware of how close her husband is.
He frowns, voice lower, “I don’t want that.”
Some meters from them, the street continues to move with distinctive life, the music grows louder and the light becomes brighter. Here, Leon is closing the distance between them and Ada is letting him.
“Ada, I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m happy to see you,” Leon says, like a schoolboy.
“Aren’t you panicking about me being here a few minutes ago—”
“Do you have time?”
“Aren’t you on a mission right now?” Ada chuckles, she already knows where this is going, still, she offers, “I’ll leave in 20.”
“Alright, that’s more than enough.” Leon gently pushes her back against a concrete wall, and tips her head up for a kiss. His body is so close to her. Ada puts her hands on his shoulders while he kisses her lips for a long time. Ada is enjoying their little pace, and she is responding very well but then he abruptly pulls away—
“I think I’ll eat you out,” he tells her immediately.
“A little ambitious, don’t you think?”
“Well, I’ve always been an over-achiever,” he shrugs, then smiles at her, that kind that’s boyish and pure and does something to her heart.
“You’ll have to hurry.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ada has seen that little, roguish expression before. He pushes her further back against the wall before kneeling down in front of her. He spans her waist and kisses her stomach, before pushing the hem of her skirt up, which isn’t easy because she’s wearing a tight pencil dress. He pushes her panties down, leaves her sheer suspender stockings in place, then lifts one leg over his shoulder, and angles her more comfortably towards his mouth.
“Leon,” Ada warns, holding a fistful of his hair, as the broad pad of his tongue takes long, repetitive, and particularly slow drags across her pussy before settling on her clit, sucking gently and maintaining that rhythm and pressure.
One of Leon’s hands reaches up to palm her breast, Ada guides him to it.
“Greedy,” she breathes, before throwing her head back and suppressing a moan as Leon shifts to a stronger suction on her clit, sustains it, and then uses his tongue to increase the pressure on her clit, pausing only briefly before returning to it again.
She did tell him to hurry. Leon is just following orders.
Leon keeps hold of her leg, secures it against his shoulder now that she’s starting to thrash beneath
Unrelenting suction. Then he slips two fingers inside her and immediately curls them, like a hook, to further push her to the edge and higher—
“Leon!” Ada is feeling the unbearable tightness, then comes a sharp release; she comes in his mouth intensely. Then it disperses everywhere, making her legs soft and her breathing harsh.
Leon catches her easily and keeps her upright.
Ada catches a glimpse of him licking his mouth while looking absolutely proud of himself.
Leon did promise he’s going to get back at her for that little stunt in a parking lot in Coimbra.
“Are you okay?” Leon whispers in her ear, “I’m going back now.”
“You should, yes.” She says, still panting and recovering.
Leon keeps a hold on her, while helping her push her skirt down. Tentatively, he asks, “I’ll see you at home?”
Ada closes her eyes, and nods lightly.
“Alright, I’ll see you.”
Leon reluctantly pulls away, realigns his clothes, and immediately puts his earpiece back on, and just as quickly, a mission coordinator shouts at him with something of an escalating anxiety, "Leon! Are you there? Leon!” And a quieter, “I need eyes on Kennedy.”
“I’m here.” Leon says, a little raspy, before somebody starts looking for him and causing trouble for Ada.
“Finally! You need to go, we’re losing our window! What were you doing, Leon!?”
Leon turns to Ada, and makes sure she’s looking at him when he answers his mission coordinator, “Sorry, I just had dinner.”
Oh, Ada’s eyes narrow at him. You—