Work Text:
Leon stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom, his heart pounding against his ribs. Around him, the shadows in his rooms flickered into strange shapes out of the corners of his eyes. He took in a deep breath, clenching his hands into fists, and turning to glance at his alarm clock. 2:36 A.M. Again?!
He couldn’t sleep. The nightmare had been so real and so vivid. He had been losing control… losing control of his own limbs, his own actions, and his own mind… succumbing to the parasite within. Stop thinking about it! He threw the blankets and sheets off of himself, rolling out of bed and stumbling towards the bathroom. He flicked on the light, leaning over the sink and turning on the water, splashing his face, trying to just breathe…. In and out… in and out.
The past was in the past… Spain was months ago. So why was he still having awful nightmares about what he had experienced there? Don’t think about it… He breathed through nausea rising from his middle, and when he felt a little better he moved back into his dimly lit bedroom, reaching for the lightswitch and flicking on the old ceiling lamp.
In the drawer of his bedside table, he found the little drawing pad and pencils. He propped up one of his pillows, and leaned back against the headboard of his bed, knees drawn up, and large paper pad set against his thighs. For a moment he didn’t move, staring out the windows on the other end of his room, through the splattering rain at the warped lights of the city. After Spain, it had been straight back to work for him, and he had tried to forget everything, tried to drown out the conflicting emotions and nightmares by overworking himself. He thought that it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, he had gone through all that after Raccoon City, he would be fine this time around. Right? Wrong.
He had found himself drawing again like he used to before he joined the force. Drawing from memory was something he excelled at, and the careful act made him feel calm. Sometimes he drew his nightmares… Birkin, the Tyrant, Salazar, Saddler… Putting the monsters down on paper made them feel less commanding, less frightening, less like monsters and more like the dreams they really were. Pencil, on fragile paper. It put Leon in control. If he wanted, he could tear the paper of his sketchbook to shreds, and the monsters would be nothing more than a memory. But, more often, he found himself drawing happier things, as reminders of the good he had experienced much more than the bad.
Leon took a deep breath, selecting a pencil from his stack, and began to sketch, not knowing where his drawing was taking him. Time passed. With each soft movement of the pencil against paper, he relaxed more, and the sketch became more and more clear: short-cropped dark hair, the familiar tilt of her head, the soft curve of her smile, her warm eyes… Ada. Again. He sighed, staring at his handiwork. Why did he so often find himself drawing her? He flipped through the sketchbook. Ada, Ada, Ada, Ada… For some reason, thinking about her made him calm.
He stared at the sketch for a moment longer. Maybe because it felt like she was the only constant in his crazy life. When everything seemed so fragile and out of control he could always expect to see her again, offering him her open embrace, and a teasing smile. Most days… well, most days it felt like he was just graphite on fragile paper—tossed in the wind, waiting to be torn to pieces, or burned to ash, or dissolved by rain. But she was there, like the haven from a storm. He was allowed to be fragile, if he broke she would slowly piece him back together again. I miss you.
He set aside his sketchbook and lay back down again, staring at the ceiling a moment longer. Then, his fingertips stained with graphite, he reached out and grasped his phone, punching in a single number and lifting it to his ear. You have no new messages. Last saved message :
“Leon, I guess I missed you. I can’t stay long. I’ve left you a note on your bedside stand. I know I don’t usually call…” She trailed off, clearing her throat. “Until next time.” End of Message. Delete, press 7— Leon hung up, setting his phone on the stand by his bed and closing his eyes. She had told him, after she left that message, that she knew he wouldn’t answer, but was just glad to hear his voice in his recorded prompt: “Leon, here. Leave a message.” He smiled. He wondered when he’d see her again. And there was a spark of hope in his heart, soon I hope , just before he drifted off to sleep.
Ada slipped into Leon’s apartment in the early morning, slipping the key he had given her into her pocket and crossing the living area to his bedroom. He was fast asleep as she carefully stepped inside, the lights were still on. What time had he passed out? She smiled a little at how peaceful he looked, and she moved across the room to sit on the other side of the bed beside him. His sketchbook lay open on the blankets.
She had seen a few pages before. Leon was a good artist, even from memory. She had seen sketches of his dreams, of monsters they’d both encountered before, of people they both knew. This sketch was of her, though, and it made her cheeks warm. He had drawn her smiling, with a soft pencil flush to her cheeks. His attention to detail seemed even more evident in this piece, as if he was dedicated more than ever to doing justice with each stroke of the graphite.
He had told her once that he drew when he had nightmares, when he couldn’t get the nasty memories and thoughts out of his head. Had he had a bad dream? She reached out and picked up the sketchbook, flipping through the pages. It was almost full . The date at the front was only from a month ago. Her heart skipped a beat. It’s this bad? He had this many awful dreams? This many intrusive thoughts? She sucked in a breath and then set the sketchbook aside, turning to the man sleeping soundly behind her. She thought about waking him, about asking him if he needed to talk about it—all the awful dreams he’d experienced. But, then… he looked so peaceful. Maybe it was best to let him rest while he was having good dreams.
Ada sighed, cupping the man’s cheek and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Then she curled up beside him, resting her head against his shoulder, and draping her arm across his chest in a loose hug. He was sound asleep and warm. I have time to stay… just for a little bit . She closed her eyes, feeling more comfortable than ever in Leon’s arms. When we wake, I’ll ask him if he wants to talk . She thought about the detailed drawing of herself, and nuzzled closer. Maybe I’ll try not to be gone quite as much . And then she drifted off to sleep.