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“So… Baby Kennedy—would he have your eyes or mine?”
The year was 2023. The month was April. The day was Sunday and the time was 09:17 AM when the question came swinging out of nowhere from the woman lounging on the kitchen counter with her coffee in hand, legs swinging light enough to not disturb the air.
Leon, who was sitting peacefully by the coffee table and in the middle of doing maintenance on his new and highly-favored gun—Requiem, he called it, froze mid-wipe, his eyes immediately flicking up.
The sun was already way out, its rays peeking in from the half-open blinds and casting warm stripes across Ada on the counter. She was perched on it so casually, as if she just commented on the weather. So, so calm, he thought he heard her wrong.
“Pardon?”
“Our baby's eyes,” she repeated, “…do you think it will be like yours or mine?”
Ada took a sip from her steaming mug. Leon blinked, obviously still trying to register the question.
He didn’t answer for a while, prompting her to lift an eyebrow in intrigue, “well?”
With his pulse suddenly kicking up at the realization and a faint flush creeping into his cheeks after further weighing the words in his mind, he managed to stammer out a response of some sort.
“Wait… Are you.. y’know..,” he weakly whispered the last part, “pregnant?”
Ada giggled under her breath—giggled, really! She hopped down the counter and turned away from him, reaching for the coffee pot.
He watched, still in a daze, trying to figure out what she was playing at this time.
“No, not really. It’s just hypothetical, Leon…,” she finally offered.
Leon let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He dropped his gun on the table and gripped the edge instead to anchor and gather his composure for a little bit.
“…Right. Hypothetical, of course,” he said.
He mulled it over again, giving it some thought.
Obviously, it was not impossible. But, it wouldn’t be easy either. After all, they were not young anymore—Ada, especially. And with everything they put their bodies through over decades of missions, injuries and all those bits of trying to survive? Who knows if they were still capable. He had never bothered enough to check with his doctor because… well, he didn’t exactly have the time to think about building a family when he was busy chasing after bioterrorists and… navigating this fairly new ground that he and Ada found themselves on.
That was the other thing too.
She was Ada Wong—that, more than anything, should tell him that this wasn’t really a question she asked lightly.
“You really think about things like that?” he averted his eyes and stood up with an air of feigned indifference, except the rigid gait he had betrayed him.
She just hummed and went back to sipping coffee from her now filled-to-the-brim mug.
Leon leaned against the counter and observed her.
While that was indeed the case to date, it wasn’t that he hadn’t given it some thought a few years back. The idea might be alien now but there was a time when he had hoped for something warm, familial and normal. With her.
“Not often…,” he heard the smirk more than seeing it, “but now, you’re also thinking about it, aren’t you?”
Ada placed the mug down and turned to face him, arms crossed under her chest. They now stood across each other in the kitchen.
“Well… I can’t say I’m not,” he paused, “it’s just weird, imagining.”
“Imagining isn’t bad, handsome,” she commented, a certain twinkle in her eyes that was usually there whenever she played her mental games with him.
He exhaled audibly.
“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”
“You’re cute when you’re caught off-guard.”
Ada moved again and opened the cupboard above her. Next, the fridge. Leon just watched and waited as she pulled out ingredients and placed them on the island.
“Alright, stop that,” he said, sidling up to her.
“Stop what?” she teased.
Her hair fell down her cheek and he reached out to tuck the strands behind her ear.
“Ada, you don’t cook,” Leon deadpanned.
She snatched the knife that he picked up from the side.
“I can learn. I pick up things fast.”
“That’s not exactly a nine in the morning decision.”
Leon knew that Ada caught the double meaning behind his words.
“I’ve handled worse,” she claimed.
“You’ve blown up a lot of things, but not my kitchen,” Leon chose his next words carefully, “—yet. I’d like to keep it that way.”
Ada hummed and her shoulder brushed against his as she moved to allow Leon to take over her with practiced ease. He glanced at her briefly, noting the flash of something more in her eyes.
“So… the baby?”
He scoffed, an amused tone coloring the sound underneath.
“You’re not letting that go, are you?”
She didn’t answer, apparently no longer satisfied with his questioning ways.
He sighed before murmuring low, almost under his breath, “your eyes, I think. Kid would see everything coming before it even happens.”
“Okay, that’s useful,” she clapped once.
“Terrifying, you mean?” Leon corrected, without any hint of complaint in it.
“You’d manage,” she mused, “he’d probably be so cute and stubborn like his father.”
Leon turned on the stove and placed a pot of water on top. Two can play that game.
“Stubborn, maybe,” he agreed. Then after a quick once-over at her frame, he added, “but I bet he’d be cute-sized like his mother.”
“Excuse me?”
“Small build,” he clarified, smirking this time, “you can call me that when you’re not… y’know, cute-sized.”
Ada blinked, then laughed—a sharp little sound that made him grin lightly in return.
“…Oh, that’s rich.”
Leon shook his head, his focus divided equally between engaging with her and blending together yolks, lemon juice and other things, “so now what, a mini-you running around, copying my stubbornness and your penchant for mischief?”
She curiously stepped back to his side, coffee mug back in hand.
“They’d probably take over the world before they were even five,” her lips twitched in barely concealed amusement, “what are you making?”
Her eyes tracked the way he slipped eggs into the gently boiling water.
“Eggs, Ada,” Leon glanced at her, “the kind you don’t make.”
That earned him a sharp look.
“Alright, alright,” he relented, “just Eggs Benedict.”
“Well, is that safe for hypothetical babies?”
“Ada…”
She didn’t answer but her gaze followed his hands—the precise way he handled the last of his ingredients, as if it was something he did routinely.
“I didn’t realize you’ve become quite the chef,” Ada commented.
“Between us two, someone had to be, right?”
That had the intended effect of making her pause.
“Maybe next time… I’ll try.”
Leon slid the food onto a plate then glanced at her sideways, “when we get the time, I’ll be here to supervise.”
“Ensuring the safety of your kitchen, I suppose?”
“Sure, if you think it that way.”
Ada picked up the finished plates and carried them to the table, picking up forks on her way. She poured Leon a cup of coffee and sat down. He followed.
They ate their breakfast in companionable silence, posture relaxed in a way that was unfamiliar to both of them—at least not too much, until recent years.
“It’s good,” she remarked without looking up at him.
“Gee, thanks.”
She shot him a brief, measured look over the rim of her coffee.
“Aside from stubbornness,” she then sliced the egg cleanly, “what else would they get from you?”
Leon paused, drumming his fingers against the wood of the table, considering the thought more than he probably expected to.
“Patience,” he pondered, “…they’d need it.”
The conversation stilled—settling into something less like hypotheticals but more like a space between two people understanding their circumstances and choosing to still imagine the what-ifs.
“Do you… like it?” she asked.
Leon looked at her, and found her eyes on him again. He knew then that it was everything other than the food or their hypothetical son.
“Yeah,” he said finally, “…I like it. A lot.”
She smiled—something soft, gentle and rare.
In that small but powerful moment, the world felt pure and safe. Miles away from bioterrorism, from chaos and unpredictability.
Just… something uniquely theirs.