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She didn’t lie.
Funny enough, after all’s been said and done—with Grace safely ushered into a medical facility for a confirmatory rundown that she is well, with Emily rescued and currently recuperating in a separate area and with his debriefing all finished, all lose ends supposedly tied up, the first thing his mind thinks of is the fact that she didn’t lie.
I’ll follow you down ‘til the sound of my voice will haunt you.
Leon lets out something that’s not quite a cough, but more akin to an amused scoff. He raises his balled fist against his mouth to cover the sound, and the glint of the bright lights in his quarantine room against the silver band around his finger reminds him of someone from his past—once an unaccepted phantom, but now a memory of something to live for. He unclenches his fist and his tired eyes scan his hand, now free of the black marks that once crawled across the surface.
In this moment, he lives.
A sigh escapes his lips as he leans back against the chair—his hand falling prone and resting against the table in front of him. He closes his eyes and recalls what could have been his last moments, if it wasn’t for Grace—for Elpis.
I was just resting my eyes.
Those were his words. The same ones she uttered to him, more than a decade ago.
He finds it funny. Through the past year, he foolishly believed that he had made peace with it. The adrenaline, the memories. But it seems like in the back of his mind, she will always linger—a part of him he can’t and apparently won’t let go of. In his dying moments, it was her words that resonated within him, her warm eyes that flashed before the forefront of his brain, her touch that ghosted across the surface of his virus-riddled cheek.
It is never that easy, he guesses. It almost always never was—when it concerns the lady in red. She might be gone for good—but she never leaves.
Leon welcomes the light back in his eyes and sighs for what seemed like the 5th time in a span of 30 minutes. He fingers the silver band absent-mindedly, twisting and turning it, feeling its pull against his healed skin. Somehow, he finds it comforting that upon the realization that she still lives within him after all this time, her remaining memory that he could not get rid of can once again sit on his finger—without the dark shadows of their past corrupting it.
“Ada..,” he whispers to no one in particular.
The name feels strange now but familiar on his tongue. He hadn’t spoken that name since the first signs of dark blotches on his skin appeared, when he slid her memory in a pocket, like how he packaged the idea of her in a corner of his mind and his room. He had an objective and he would see through it without distractions, not that he considers her one—but he must go and find out what he, Sherry and the other Raccoon City survivors had. And perhaps, this would give him closure, something he never had with her when she just… disappeared so suddenly.
And he did exactly that. Find out. Even if it was almost the last thing he did. But he never thought that instead of salvation and respite, it was still her words that would haunt him after. Leon allows himself to drift off to a nap, still favoring the uncomfortable chair over the pristine white bed on one side of the room.
You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you.
In his sleep, he dreams. No, actually it isn’t a dream, but its sweet bitterness almost feels like one. It wasn’t quite a fantasy—just a recollection of times gone by.
If a single tear tracked down his cheek while he was out, there was not one soul there to witness.
----------
Five years passed by since the Lanshiang incident when Leon saw Ada again. She sat on his couch, wine glass in hand and another on the coffee table in front of her. She slowly swirled what seemed like the contents of the lone bottle of Pinot Noir he kept in his mini bar under the kitchen counter.
Leon glanced at the wall clock and noted the time—10:37 PM. His eyes swiveled around the room, spied the curtains swaying softly due to the breeze from the slightly ajar window. He entered fully and made his way to the living room, removing his tie and blazer in the process and placing them on the back of the couch.
The woman in red crossed her legs, the slit of her dress showing a generous amount of skin. She tipped her head in his direction.
“Not even a greeting, huh?”
Picking up the wine bottle and pouring himself a drink, he shook his head softly.
“Well, after five long years...,” he picked up the glass and downs the drink in one go, “To what do I owe this pleasure, Ada?”
He heard more than saw her placing her glass on the table. A soft touch lingered on his cheek, traveling down his chin. Then she tilted his head, made him look at her.
And look, he did. In that moment, Leon couldn’t help but think that she’s still beautiful as ever. The same gleam in those mysterious eyes, the same ghost of a smirk upon her lips. This time, though, her hair is a bit longer, a tad bit wavy, with the ends tickling the exposed skin right on top of her collarbone. He grimaced, and it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Are you angry with me, handsome?” There was the hint of mirth in her voice that never seems to go away whenever she talks to him.
“What do you think?” Leon mirrored her roundabout way of answering.
She smiled, catching the reference.
“Oh Leon… still so cute.”
That was her only remark, shortly before closing the distance between them, her soft lips pressing against his. He almost closed his eyes, but the moment quickly passed before he could consider.
Okay, maybe he drunk too much this time.
“You’re not really here… yeah?” he sighed, dejectedly.
The phantom in front of him smirked fully then. Her slender fingers found purchase on the dark strands of his hair, pushing it back to reveal his eye. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, and he thought that maybe he looked pathetic enough, even to this figment of his imagination.
“We make quite the pair now, don’t we?” she said, obviously a comment directed at the fact that he dyed his hair black.
And it was then that he was suddenly hit by sobriety. He realized that maybe, just maybe, this was real. His eyes darted back to the clock, the curtain, the wine bottle. He straightened his back and closed his hand around her wrist, pulling her closer to him.
She really is here.
“Were you there? In the gala, I mean?” he asks, referring to the event he was forced to attend earlier that night.
“Mhm, sure…”
Leon opened his mouth to speak but she placed a finger against his lips, cutting him off.
“It wasn’t for anything nefarious, handsome… Don’t worry about it.”
He turned his head away from her, “How could I not when it’s you?”
“Don’t you trust me?”
He automatically scoffed, couldn’t decide fully whether it was due to the irony of her statement or the fact that he does, actually. Despite all odds. Despite the constant betrayal. Despite the lingering pain of all the times she left without a proper word of goodbye.
“You were brooding the entire time there, Leon,” Ada stood up, walking towards the forgotten disc player that sat on the TV cabinet, undisturbed for the longest time, “such a shame you couldn’t enjoy a dance or two.”
He watched her fiddle with it, until the soft tunes of piano pierced the silence in the room. Ada made her way back to him, offering a hand which he took after a little contemplation.
“Humor me, won’t you?”
Leon stood up, utterly bewitched by the lady in red. She guided his hands to her waist, before placing her arms around his neck.
“You know this isn’t really a song to dance to, right?” he commented.
She just shrugged and rested her head against his chest. For a moment, he almost moved away—in fear that she would hear the confused beating of his heart. But the melody continued on, and he settled, allowing the mellow voice in the background to do all the talking—they swayed side to side, slightly off beat. All the unspoken words between them remain unaddressed, questions unanswered. Like a well-rehearsed dance of avoidance that they partake in every single time they meet.
Times casts a spell on you…
“But you won’t forget me…” she murmured so softly that Leon thought that she really didn’t.
I know I could have loved you…
“But you would not let me,” he answered, almost breathless—a sharp pain seemingly from nowhere emanated from within him.
Ada looked up at him, and he returned her gaze. There was something behind those depths that he could not quite place. The song still played, but he felt like he was far away, perhaps drowning, with only the warmth of her hands and proximity tethering him to that instance of time.
It was nothing but confusing. Leon knew that the idea of them had always been fickle—something unattainable. But right then, it felt like they could be. Was it love? He did not know. It felt like a concept far too human for either of them.
So, to understand, he pretended. That he was just Leon S. Kennedy—just another man, and she was Ada Wong—just another woman. He briefly entertained an idea from a borrowed life time—they were dancing in a bungalow—surrounded outside by a white picket fence. They were celebrating something, just the two of them.
He chuckled. Too domestic. The woman in his arms tilted her head slightly to the side, amused. He just shook his head, banished the thoughts and lived in that moment.
One of Ada’s hands trailed down his shoulder, a finger seemingly mapping out its expanse. It stops by a place all too familiar—by the bullet scar that never quite faded throughout the years. It was curious how she could pinpoint exactly its place, despite the fabric separating his skin from hers.
The music picked up in intensity, but their dance stayed the same tempo. Unchanging—like he was, according to her. They swayed slowly, way too off beat now, but they couldn’t care less.
I’ll follow you down ‘til the sound of my voice will haunt you.
She resumed her position against his chest, breaking their eye contact.
You’ll never get away from the sound…
“Of the woman that loves you…”
Time slowed to a stop. Leon almost regretted the fact that he indulged too much in liquor prior to this. He became much too aware of her weight against him, the beating of his heart pounding somehow in his ears. It was spoken so quietly, but with a tone that he hadn’t heard from her in all the years he’d known her.
It almost felt like a confession, somehow. Maybe the closest he’d ever get.
The song stuttered to a stop but Ada did not.
“For the record, I prefer Cabernet Sauvignon, handsome.”
Just like that, hope bloomed in his chest that maybe, this isn’t another goodbye—but maybe the start of that something.
----------
It was, indeed, "something". But nothing concrete—will never be concrete, he surmised. That was just the nature of them.
Though after that fateful night, Ada kept appearing in his apartment. Always leaving the window open whenever she left, maybe as a hint that she was there at some point. The drawer by his bed that housed his collection of her through the years gained a few more residents inside. A lipstick, a random nail file and a bottle of perfume that smelled like a mix of jasmine, black currant with a hint of something a little woody he couldn’t quite put a finger on. His closet housed a few more designer items than it ever did before.
Somehow, some way, the line where he began and where she ended got blurred enough that they became intertwined. No longer the parallels that they used to be—but just one.
They didn’t put a label on what they had. And the world turned around on its axis like usual. His missions continued, and he noted how she almost always appeared in most of them. But this time around, without taking anything with her. She would just appear, help him when no one’s around, then disappear. Almost as if she was truly a phantom.
It took him a year or two to understand that she’s trying to act dead, and that she was perhaps running from the shadows of her past, from BSAA, from the dangers that once lured her into being the center of tragedies. He asked one time, but as always, she sidestepped the question and answered with a vague, “Worried now, aren’t you? As I said, don’t think too hard, Leon.”
He paid no mind because at the end of her own missions, she comes home in one piece. Leon rolled the unfamiliar word around his tongue.
Home, huh.
A year ago, he stopped drinking heavily and started buying groceries instead of instant food here and there. The mini bar under his counter held only a few bottles now, but never ever out of at least one Cabernet Sauvignon.
For the first time, he felt… satisfied with what he had.
You could be my silver spring.
Almost as if reminded by his disc player, Leon felt the burning weight of another silver key in his pocket as he sat on his couch. Behind him, he heard the telltale slide of the window, the soft thump of shoes against hardwood floor.
“Leon.”
Warmth flooded his veins. She’s home.
“Ada.” he answers.
They did not kiss like lovers who missed each other. They didn’t even hug. Instead, he stood up and made his way to the kitchen, pulled items from the fridge and started on dinner, while she entered his bedroom. The familiarity in their routine comfortable enough for both of them.
When she returned, the silver key still sat in his pocket as they ate, mostly in silence, with just the whispers of melody from the player in the living room.
It was Ada who spoke first.
“Leon, I have something for you.”
She slid a nondescript square black box on the table, towards him. He paused, looked up at her and spied a silver ring on her finger.
Is it…
“Ada… is this?” he trailed off.
“The idea’s not wrong this time around, handsome,” she alluded to that time back in Lanshiang.
The world stopped turning in its axis—the music long drowned out by the roaring in his ears. If the sound of his fork dropping on his plate was loud, he couldn’t tell. His eyes desperately searched hers for any hint of deceit and when he sees nothing but honesty in those warm depths—something he was proud to admit that he saw more often than not these days, he crumbled and opened the box to reveal a simple band.
“I… I have something for you too..” he whispers.
He fished out the key in his pocket and scrambled to get a hold of her hands—the heaviness of the silver thing no longer present. He placed it on her palm and closed her fingers around it, before bringing it up to his lips, kissing her knuckles with eyes closed, reverently.
Like a prayer answered.
Because for all the years of no labels between them, there is one constant thing between their dance. And that’s devotion. To each other, to what they had.
“Don’t ever forget me, Leon,” he hears her solemn wish.
That, Leon thought, was enough.
----------
The year was 2025. Almost four years since silver rings sat on his finger and hers. Since she started using the front door of his apartment.
Oddly enough, nothing much changed. They didn’t marry. It wasn’t plausible in their case—with one of them a valuable agent of the government and another essentially being a dead woman walking. Their routine stayed the same.
At work, he never lied whenever someone asked about the simple band. He said that it was just a promise. And it was. Still is. A promise to keep being devoted to each other. They never asked him again about it.
Ada stayed at home mostly, typing away at her laptop. She’d been working more on intelligence gathering than physical jobs, she told him at some point. Though she sometimes left, it wouldn’t be for long. A few days, at most. In the rare times when she’d be away for a while, she disturbed something in the apartment, left a trace for him to know that she at least dropped by.
So, he found it odd when three weeks passed and she never came back home at least once. Despite the maturity that he honed through the years, Leon couldn’t help but feel that now unfamiliar dread from years back.
A realization hit him.
He must have grown too comfortable with their set-up, with her presence lingering around him, that he did not have any way to contact her if it was her needing him. Somehow, he grew careless enough and thought that if she could always find him whenever he was out, he could do the same.
But that was not the case. He was never as adept in technology as she was, and he couldn’t really enlist the help of Hunnigan, his trusted Field Operations Support, without disclosing the fact that THE Ada Wong was alive. And that she was even living right under the BSAA’s nose—in the home of DSO’s top agent, even. Not to mention, Hunnigan was being careful in her assists in his last few missions, since she planned on retiring soon from service.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he opened Ada’s drawer beside their bed.
The scent of her perfume permeated the air. He took a deep breath.
Leon believed that after all he went through, his ability to cry had been taken away from him—like how the government took his will in its giant maw. But this time, he felt the prickling sensation of what could be tears behind his closed eyes. His fingers reached out towards the silver band around one.
She wouldn’t, would she?
He almost berated himself for doubting her. For reverting back to his old ways.
No, she definitely wouldn’t. Not like this.
He stood up, decided that he would risk it this time. For her. He would ask Hunnigan, or maybe Sherry—she was now FOS, after all. Despite it being his supposed time off, he went to work with renewed purpose.
Upon arrival, he immediately made his way to Hunnigan’s office first. She was not around at the moment but it was clear that she was working on clearances of multiple reports by other field agents. Needing the distraction, he scrolled through each. Most were small time operations but there was one marked urgent and high priority. His boredom, and perhaps curiosity that he was not assigned this particular case, took over.
He opened the file.
And then he saw her.
Ada Wong, initially reported killed in action (KIA) by BSAA, spotted in Pennsylvania.
Leon stumbled, falling on Hunnigan’s chair. No.
His mouth suddenly felt too dry and his fingers trembled as he scrolled through the document. BOW involvement not yet confirmed. The words swam across his vision in a haze. For once, he almost couldn’t understand the thing he was scanning. “The Connections” suspected.
He couldn’t breathe. He reached the end of the last page.
Now confirmed dead.
Leon’s grip tightened around the edge of the desk—once, twice—until the wood creaked under the pressure.
No. It can’t be. Not her.
His eyes flicked back to the name again—like it might change if he stared long enough.
Ada Wong.
A breath hitched somewhere in his chest—but it never quite made it out. Time didn’t stop that moment—it just stopped mattering. He fell through.
“Leon?!”
“Kennedy! What are you doing?!”
----------
The day passed in a whirlwind, without taking into consideration what Leon thought. What he felt. What he went through in a span of 12 hours.
Hunnigan was apparently called upon by their Chief and when they saw him in her office upon their return, accessing a high priority file, chaos ensued. Questions were thrown, suspicions arose, but Leon could not process anything. He went through his answers methodically, as if on autopilot.
For the first time in years, he denied her. And it was almost scary how he managed to do it with half a mind, with two truths and a lie.
No, I did not know her whereabouts—which was arguably true at that moment. No, it was purely out of curiosity that I opened the file—another truth. No, I am not compromised. Can’t be.—a lie.
At the end of the day, Sherry was assigned as his temporary FOS and he was reprimanded for his actions. He took it all in stride. He briefly saw the confusion mixed with what seemed to be pity in the eyes of Hunnigan. He hung his head low and excused himself without another word.
Drove home. Still unfeeling.
The despair came rushing back the moment he stepped foot inside his apartment. Their home. He walked towards the disc player in his living room. Turned it on. Pressed play.
He didn’t process a single thing as he sat down on his couch, still quiet. Leon waited for any sound from the door—even from the window, anything.
But all that he heard was the soft tune of the song that he once danced to with the phantom who took his heart.
So I’ll begin not to love you. Turn around, see me running. I’ll sa—
The record jumped a line and repeated something over and over again.
Forget me. Forget me. Forget me.
You won’t forget me.
For the first time in years, Leon S. Kennedy allowed himself to cry.
----------
Seventy-two hours of quarantine is not easy when one had nothing to do but relive nightmares—both from Raccoon City and from the onslaught of memories. Her memory.
Leon recalls the way he went about the year as he gears up for his release, collecting the few things he was allowed to bring with him and stuffing them into his duffel bag.
He thinks about the empty dresser by his bed. The mini bar below his counter—no wine in sight. The half-empty closet in his bedroom. He cleared them all of her presence when it became clear to him after a few months that the report that changed his world yet again might be true, after all.
At first, Leon briefly entertained the thought that she might appear again—further remembering the six years between Raccoon City Police Department and Spain. They were never normal, to begin with. This might just be another one of her stunts. But the emptiness and the radio silence that greeted him whenever he opened the door to his apartment begged to differ.
He learned that it was infinitely harder to pretend that he was okay after getting a taste of what he would dub as normalcy. No matter how dysfunctional their relationship had been, what he and Ada shared was something uniquely them.
Leon had to do it—had to put her in a box tucked away so he can at least function day to day. Even the silver ring he wore religiously was put away in the box it came in with.
When the pain no longer felt like a bullet through his heart, he picked the ring back up.
It was not something he could part with definitely. He thought, that even with her gone, he must continue on and for him to do just that, he must hold on to his devotion. His promise. His lifeline.
But then the black marks slowly made itself known, threatening to crawl over the pure silver band, threatening to consume what was left of him. So, he did what he must—protect it.
Leon shakes his head and carries the duffel bag outside the room and through the sterilizing chamber. The DSO-employed doctor in the lobby hands him his clearances and other belongings in a Ziploc bag—his Porsche Cayenne already waiting for him right outside the facility, and his PDA already beeping with a directive to head back to office once he’s cleared. He steps inside and makes his way to DSO.
No more time for recollections for now.
Sherry was the first to greet him by the door to his office.
“Leon, welcome back,” she gives him a warm hug—and he notes that she no longer wears the gloves she favored last time he saw her.
Good. That’s good.
He takes a look around and noted that a couple of high-ranked agents are not around. Sherry notices his gaze.
“Ah, about that, I was about to say…”
“What happened? Are Grace and Emily okay?” he asks, suspicious.
“Don’t worry. You can already visit them later. Uhm… the thing with the agents though..” she hesitates.
“Go on, tell me.”
Sherry adjusts her collar and sighs. She leads him inside his office and closes the door before sitting on the chair across his desk. Leon sits down as well and opens his desktop.
“One of the remaining two vials of Elpis went missing. Just last night, I heard. They… didn’t want us involved in the case this time due to conflict of interest,” she runs a hand through her hair, “But the Chief wants you to finish up your report as soon as possible so they can finalize the chain of custody on the end of DSO and have Elpis’ background documented fast.”
Leon hums, contemplating who now between Tricell, remnants of Umbrella, and The Connections must be behind the action.
“What about Grace’s report?”, he asks, already typing away at his keyboard.
“They already had Grace’s statements, but they need you as the DSO representative as well—you know the FBI’s going to get involved with Grace,” Sherry answered.
“Guess I better finish this fast, then.”
He rubs the point between his eyebrows and the ring shines under the light of his office.
“You’re wearing it again, I’m glad,” Sherry whispers softly.
“You never did take yours off.”
“Me? Never,” she smiles.
Leon briefly remembers the time she noticed his ring and asked about it. Unlike his other co-workers, she was a bit more adamant about its origin and meaning, noting that he was not one for jewelry. Expensive watches, personal weapon and cars? Sure. But jewelry? Sherry was not convinced at all. He soon resigned and elaborated that it was a symbol of a promise to someone from Raccoon City—a promise that he will stay devoted to them. Sherry loved the idea and purchased her own, kind of a testament to her own tenacity as well.
He didn’t really mind. She is, after all, almost like a young sister to him, if not a daughter.
----------
Only after a brief visit to Grace, who is already by Emily’s side, did Leon remember the task he intends to do upon his return to his apartment. He closes his PDA with a brief reminder to Sherry to keep track of the investigation about the missing Elpis vial.
With his Porsche Cayenne parked, he makes his way up to his place slowly. He hums. It’s time. He rubs the silver band on his finger, a habit he missed doing when he opted not to wear it anymore when he started showing signs of infection.
Just like how he welcomes the thought of the lady in red in his dying moments, he will also welcome her memories back in his life. He knows that it will still hurt to think of her, but with more clarity than he ever had in the past year, he recognizes that it will still be her at the end of the day.
His devotion.
He smiles ruefully as he accepts that fact. He will never be able to love someone this much again, and somehow, he’s okay with that.
So, he will remember her fondly. Through the things she left behind, through the wine she loved to drink, through the song she used to dance to.
Leon reaches his door, opens it— then shuts it just as quickly, his hand already flying to his Requiem.
“Show yourself,” he mutters, heart beating rapidly with the realization that it was her song that was playing softly from the disc player in his living room.
You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you.
His mouth dries up like it did that time he saw the file on Hunnigan’s desk about a year ago. His grip tightens on his gun—then falters.
“You didn’t forget me, did you, Leon?”