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Ada is at Leon's apartment when Wesker dies; of course she is, wasn't that exactly the tone of their relationship? Ada's personal device buzzes once, then three more times, then six minutes later Leon gets a phone call. They had just finished a lazy breakfast. Leon is reading the newspaper, Ada thumbing through a secondhand John McGahern. Leon leaves the room. Ada doesn't.
When Leon returns, their quiet morning is gone; the cloudy peace chills to a freeze that pushes them back from man and woman to two assets on opposite sides. He looks at her. She watches him look at her, waiting. She considers speaking simply to break his scrutiny. Though her job demanded a certain silence, many failed to account for the noise it made, the meaning people took from a blank face and a closed mouth. A challenge in the beginning, as the conclusion was a reflection on the other party, and in turn demanded an intimate understanding of human nature and person hood. An interesting ask of those who knew little of a regular existence.
"Albert Wesker," he says.
Ada means to say, Rest in Peace, but that's not true, or good riddance, but the words feel wrong so she just hums and turns back to her book. But there were too many kinds of death, no one's life was very important except to himself or someone else in love with it, it says, so she closes it again.
"Ada," he starts again, but falls silent. He laughs a little, sounding stressed, before softly collapsing back into his seat. "I don't even know what to ask you."
Ada frowns before she can stop herself. "Ask me? About Wesker?"
"Yes." He straightens in his seat. "So how long did you work for him? Or are you still working for him, even now?"
So they were having that discussion again. "That's not what you want to ask me. You want to ask me something you already know, because you don't like the answer."
"I don't know anything about you." A reflex at that point, Ada had heard him say the same phrase dozens of time, sometimes quiet and defensive, sometimes angry, sometimes laughing into her thigh.
"You want to know what I know about him. You want to know if I knew about the things he's done, and aligned myself to him anyway."
"Well?" he asks sharply.
"I have never known Wesker to be a good person."
Ada stands to bring her plate to the sink. Pettily, she does not bring Leon's.
The first time she had met Wesker, he stood towering over her cohorts asking them, through their sweating, shiny-headed translator, what they wanted to fight for, like they were righteous soldiers and not malnourished, dirty-faced kids. He was young then too, at least comparatively, not even a soldier, but still seemed impossibly established. Her cohorts came up with - my country, justice, freedom, my family - but Ada couldn't tell if they were regurgitating borrowed words or if they could somehow still believe in those things. Where would these kids, just like her, have gotten any idea of justice and freedom? Where could a sense of unity have come from? Her own family - eight children, two parents - were half dead at that point, one after the other, like titrating a solution of grief - illnesses, accidents, violence, her youngest sister who had fallen asleep on their mother's lap and never woke, her eldest brother, who taught her to shoot with a stinging bamboo rod against her calf, a single gunshot to the head in their shared bathroom - it had taken her and second sister ages to clean up, and second sister crudely compared it to sitting on the toilet too long when you were menstruating, the sludge combines and stains deep, even in the end they left it to the colour of diluted coffee before they gave up, wasn't it as good as gone. Eldest sister had already moved to the city to work at a brothel at that point, then second sister left the country to gut fish; father fled to an opium den mere weeks after her younger brother was adopted out to a merchant couple a few streets over, smitten with his precocious attitude and in need of an extra hand to hold stock and paperwork. Second brother stayed, got promoted to tagging, sorting, and scoring the bodies at the makeshift crematorium, a wonderful opportunity, he had told her, after years of doing what Ada had barely lasted two months at, while he was peeling off the charred bits of turnip that Ada didn't like, that he loved, gave it flavour, he'd say the same thing of her new job, she just knew it, good opportunity, a practical boy, he always was.
Those recent days spent working with second brother sloughing human fat and melted plastic out of narrow gullies had her slouched from a deep pinch in her neck; pity, she had impeccable posture before, all those mornings begging rides with neighbours to practice gymnastics in the nearest town, a spot she had secured while out with her mother, noticed for her pretty face and long limbs. The best she could come up with was, bread, mumbled in English. The instructor had asked her to repeat it, he couldn't hear, didn't understand, speak up, but Wesker had rolled his eyes at her, clear even behind those pretentious sunglasses. Vaguely, her temper, inherited from her father but long bled out, spiked then, and she considered spitting at them, just for a moment, until Wesker looked at her as if he knew what she was plotting. That was all she knew of him, for so long. In that room of over forty, the two of them were the only ones alive to this day. Well, of course, now it was just her.
"But he paid well, right?"
Leon follows, tight on her heels. Ada almost snaps at him to bring his plate. Somehow she was flattered, that he was still surprised by her lack of humanity. Like somehow she was better than that.
"We're not having this argument again."
"Yeah, we are." Leon didn't even bother trying to market it into 'just a conversation'. "Come on, Ada, can you look at me?"
"What are you trying to gain from this? Do you want to see my pay stubs?"
He frowns. "Stop trying to obfuscate."
"Big word, handsome."
"I'm serious, Ada."
"Do you think I'm joking? I never asked questions. He asked me to do something, and I did it." Naivety was a cowardly excuse, as if lacking knowledge or at best discernment was something to be soothed and not shamed, and she had always lived to be anything but cowardly, so she certainly did not bring forward this reason to free herself of any blame. Rather, the opposite - for all her weapons and violence, look at this cowardly truth.
He stares at her.
"Did you love him?"
"What?" She flinches back nearly half a foot, appalled. "What the hell, Leon?"
"I don't mean like that." He backs off a bit but he's looking at her like he's forming a conclusion, and for once Ada has no clue what that conclusion could possibly be. "But you look…fuck, Ada, you look…"
She can see the word forming in his eyes before he says it, stricken. She wants to deck him across the face.
"I know this must be upsetting for you, but if you want to be alone, you can just ask me to leave instead of-"
"No, no, don't do that." He's becoming agitated, arms moving as if full of lactic acid and not simply unpleasant realities.
"I don't miss him," she attempts to soothe, though she's not sure which of them. "I didn't like him. I don't quite understand what you're getting so worked up over."
"Your face. That's grief," Leon bites out.
"I don't grieve," Ada hisses back, "and I certainly am not grieving Albert Wesker."
He's not listening to her, though. While she tries to swallow her temper, she only watches as his spirals into him, body turning stiff like rigor mortis.
"Chris is my friend. Do you-" he cuts himself off, frustrated, tearing a hand through his hair. His eyes look a little wet and a little red. It's been a while since they argued about this. Ada remembers him handling it better.
Leon slams the door when he leaves, a soft trail of curses following, and Ada stays for once. She leaves when she wants to, or sometimes when she needs to, but she's not going to leave because he's angry with her. Leaving would be admitting defeat.
She goes about clearing the dishes, wiping down the table, scraping the fat and fond off his pans into the trash, filling the sink with scalding water and too much dish soap. He had a dishwasher, which Ada refused to use; it left a stench whenever it was opened, and lingering on the dishes, that Leon never noticed but Ada could taste before the dish even touched her mouth. Dishes get scrubbed, rinsed, and dried. Floor gets swept. The tile around the stove feels sticky with grease so she takes a wet paper towel to it - Leon would not only leave it, but deny the existence. It's all in your head, Madame, drumming his fingers between her eyes, and Ada would think this is your home, treat it with respect, if it were mine- before stopping herself because she did not have a home, and if it was something she wanted she should have fought for it instead of lingering out of empty lofts and four week old luxury consignment. Besides, it was not a home worth Leon's respect, since he was more a long-term guest than a habitant. It was government furnished, for God's sake; he had never even bought his own sheets. The ritual of home care, of a place that wasn't either of theirs. She showers afterward, exfoliates until she's pink and raw, then slathers herself with so much moisturizer and body oil that she leaves imprints on her towel.
She had planned for Wesker's death, of course, yet somehow feels uncomfortably unprepared. He seemed to her a distant, omniscient figure, always around but rarely present. She considers, briefly, who might succeed him, who's contingency plans would be launching imminently, what her tomorrow might look like, before her body heat has her feeling lightheaded and she has to sit down.
She peers into the mirror, pulls at her cheek a little. Stricken? Was Leon so desperate to humanize her, to justify her existence and in turn his own choices, that he was turning to delusions? Or, was he so good at seeing her, he found things that even she couldn't.
Of course she had no love for Wesker, and certainly no affection.
He did have the the dubious honour of starring in her first wet dream, even though at the time she had only seen him twice, impersonally. It was such a novelty in itself that the other party was almost completely inconsequential, but the second and subsequent ones had left her hateful and desperately ajar. Of course it made sense to her later; he was older, with power, a passport, and a face and body that was objectively handsome, and later on Ada learned there was something appealing about poor judgment, but at the time it felt completely shameful. Yet, it ended up being a valuable lesson, hadn't it? Just as the mind could be a safe haven, it could be an enemy - why else would it confuse desire and distaste and leak it into her body? Hours and days and weeks spent in solitary confinement, Ada let her fears and hates and loathings wash over her as static, just like the phantom press of a grown man's body, just like the pulse of her own. If the body wasn't pure, and neither was the mind, no one repugnant thought or want could taint it.
After all, she didn't even like him. He certainly didn't like her. He liked strong-shouldered soldiers, with their heads held high and direct eye contact, not glassy-eyed girls like herself who peered up through their lashes like they were waiting to see what you would do. It wasn't just her - she and the other girls like her, with their gentle wrists and loose hair, flocked to each other, sat picking at their meals, quietly waiting for the catch. Ada doesn't remember any of their names, just glimpses of their faces and their hair, the wide brow of the eldest at fifteen, who held her skirt and underpants aside to show them the crooked, tight stitch scars from the baby she birthed four months prior, telling a gruesome tale of shitting blood, being stretched and screaming. They had fluttered around her like they were children around a campfire, disgusted and endlessly fascinated by her ghost story. She had had the strongest stomach of them all, even Ada, but like the other girls she had clear weaknesses. Not Ada though - she excelled at all of it - scrawling out different alphabets, targeting pain points, pushing through sleep deprivation - she was the best. He hated it; she was supposed to be another kid marched out to die, but instead demanded the investment and attention that he believed wasteful on such a disloyal, irreverent girl. His passing remarks, some girls are better suited as someones mistress or gogo dancers - oh so they wished, if those were options don't you think we would have chosen that instead, or please Mr Wesker take a liking to me so maybe I don't have to die in this godforsaken place? Even if it wasn't what Ada herself wished for, she wasn't a stupid girl; if you have a shot, you take it. Opposingly, he doled out strict and plain praise to the other girls and boys. Ada used to watch the room ripple with it, kids with envy, kids with pride, kids who were bored of the whole thing. Whenever Ada came out on top, he refused to say anything at all; this too, did not go unnoticed by the room. One of Wesker's favourites had asked her one time, can't you just let me win, he doesn't even like you, so Ada had thrown the match so obviously that no one was happy in the end.
(Meanwhile, second anatomy trainer singled her out in front of everyone and said, hand cupping the juncture between her neck and shoulder, and later on, lower, and worse, this one is pretty. Wesker had stared at him like he was a squashed bug under his shoe, then at Ada like he had never seen her before in his life. They really were strangers, even in the end. Even though he knew almost everything there was to know about her - he didn't care so it was good as not knowing.)
Admittedly, she was not prepared for Raccoon City; the fall had her splintered and raw, such that she was comforted to hide behind Wesker and lick her wounds. For all her fear and his disappointment, he was familiar to her, and in that way (and in that way only, she was adamant) he was safe. A mouse finding refuge in a snake, or perhaps a mouse cowering from a cat behind a snake. Raccoon City was just another horrible evening in a long list of horrible evenings that made up her life, but for some reason it had sunk itself deep into her skin. It was embarrassing how much it seemed to affect her. All those nights spent up thinking of Leon's face when she told him it wasn't worth it, like that was the worst betrayal of all.
It doesn't take long before Leon returns. He had been drinking, clearly, something cheap and sharp, complimenting the cheaper perfume brushed up against his right arm. My ingenious boy, finding such a place at this time of day, she almost coos.
Neither of them speak while Leon shuts the door, takes off his coat, and-starts fixing himself another drink. Figures. "Albert fucking Wesker?"
Ada shrugs. "He was familiar."
Leon scoffs. Sip after sip, Ada watches him drain his glass. He pours another, but instead of drinking it, he places in front of her as if offering peace. Ada supposes she should take it, given it seemed to be his favourite thing in the world. Who needs an olive branch, she grimaces, when you have completely undrinkable American bourbon and an empty stomach?
"Leon." Ada starts, voice low and placating. "Have I misrepresented myself to you, even once, since Raccoon City? Have I led you to believe I was altruistic and not simply selfish? If so, I'm sorry. But I don't think it's fair for you to play ignorant when you knew from the start-"
Leon waves her off, pacing before her. "No, Ada, listen. I knew then, fine. Fine! I've always known you were a bad decision. But you were really hot, and I couldn't stop thinking about you, so I didn't care. But you also helped us constantly, and then you cut ties with Albert Wesker, so you can't blame me for hoping. And if I want better now, it's because…."
He rushes forward suddenly, and covers her eyes with his hand, bringing his other hand to the back of her head to limit her struggling.
"What are you-"
"-don't say anything," Leon pleads, "but I really like you. I really, really like you. And every time I see you I can't help but like you more. Please don't be upset with me. You're too smart to think things would just stay the same forever. Of course our relationship has changed. And, yeah. I think you have too."
Ada doesn't breathe. His hands are sticky against her, and impossibly large. How often these days does he hold her face tenderly, with these very hands, awkward and clammy against her now, like he was a child refusing to acknowledge he was seen? How often these days does she allow him to? "Okay," she says finally. "Okay."
He looks like a kicked puppy, generally, but his eyes are so bright Ada has to look down again for a moment, just for a break. He takes her hands in his.
"I don't like that he has a hold on you," he says. "Any hold."
"Leon, I don't-"
"Even if it's a bad one. I don't like thinking of you with him. It's not jealousy, I promise, and I know you can take care of yourself, better than I can." He shrugs. "I don't know. It just makes me sad."
She hadn't known anyone as long as she had known Wesker. How do you say that to someone? And how do you convey the exact gravity of it, relative to the vastness that was lost around the two, how intensely culpable they were for that loss, and how little that loss meant to them? Emphasize the relative distance between, a strange algebraic formula from the time? And do you say that to someone who cares about you? You don't, not really. Now that he was gone there was another string of her past that she was entirely untethered from. Maybe if she survives another year she won't remember any of it.
"How long have you known him?" Leon starts again.
"A long time."
Leon throws his hands up. "I can't do this."
"Sit back down," she says calmly. "He saved me. Three times, at least." Then, "I'm here, with you, because you saved me."
He sits down slowly, as if he hasn't committed to the decision.
"When I first met him, he was wearing those stupid glasses. He looked - well, he looked like a movie star to us."
Leon laughs at that, as if taken off guard. "A movie star?"
"We had never seen an American before, except on posters. A friend drew him - " she stops, tracing a blocky outline with her finger. Friend wasn't the right word; after all, Ada can't remember her face. Of course she died, but Ada can't remember how - only a few deaths were of note, there was that flashy bombing that took out nearly a dozen of them, but even then Ada couldn't connect the faces to the names to the deaths. She almost never thinks of them, they barely knew each other; not that it would be any use to her, considering they weren't her stories to tell.
Leon catches it as she trails to silence. "A friend?" He's being gentle now, and she hates it. Where did his anger go? "What happened to them?"
She kisses him lightly, instead, as if to say, I am the one who is still here. He doesn't close his eyes.
"When we first met, you were wearing sunglasses too," Leon offers when she doesn't continue. "I thought they looked ridiculous on you. You were so tiny, but those glasses were huge. I thought you were so much older until you took them off."
Ada narrows her eyes at him. "Watch it. I gave up my trench coat for you."
Leon laughs at her. "Don't pout. I realized later, I really should have brought that back for you. But in my defence, how was I supposed to know you were only wearing a tube top?"
"Leon...I was not wearing a tube top. Do you even know what that is?"
Wesker was disgusted by her choice in outfits, just as he was disgusted by her body, her skin, her breasts, and her indifference to using them. Of course, the hypocrite was perfectly happy to reap the benefits her body got, both in aesthetics and ability to please whoever desired pleasure. She wanted to rub it into his face. She wanted...not to be wanted by him, God no. But to be the best at every test he gave, while breaking every rule he valued? To be repulsive to him, but for him to need her anyway? He was disgusted with her, privately, but practically preened when using her as currency with other men, pushing her forward by her hip to draw their attention to it. What are you, her father, or her boyfriend, some Family member snarked when Wesker blocked him from slapping her ass. Wesker looked so affronted that she nearly slept with the man solely to thank him for the entertainment. I am the only one you have left to rely on, a superficial, disobedient slut. And now, I have outlived even you.
Leaving him had been a relief. It was liberating to become a ghost, nearly a year spent bleeding and hopping cities daily, almost entirely just to know that she could do it. She had spent too long clutching onto Wesker's sleeve like a child. Freeing himself from his constant threats and repulsion had settled her stomach acid; she hadn't realized how on edge he had her. What a bizarre safety she had chosen.
"I guess I didn't really expect him to die," Ada admits. "It caught me off guard."
"You really thought Albert Wesker was invincible?"
"No." She blinks. "It caught me off guard that…that I was caught off guard. I should have been ready for him to die from the start."
"Like you said, you knew him a long time. How could you have been ready for that?"
"You should always be ready," she says slowly. "It should always be the expectation."
"You're serious."
"What?"
"Ada." He looks at her, grabs her face. "Ada."
"What." She hisses at him, wrenching herself away.
"Come here."
"No."
"Come-" he flops down against her instead, pressing his head between her breasts. Astonished, she places her hands on his shoulders.
"I'm not just talking about me," she says. "I think you-" she stops then. She wants to ease his burden of loss, just a little, but it feels naive to think she could offer any comfort. And she's sick of talking about herself.
"You think I'm an idiot."
"No. I think you…you're struggling with the balance. Just a bit. I don't think it hurts to brace yourself a little, handsome."
"So what? I'm just supposed to go into every relationship waiting for them to die?"
"That's not what I'm saying, Leon. Either you go in blindly - doesn't matter which way, ignoring them or binding yourself - and you punish yourself when they die, or you go in prepared. It's not that the outcome will change, but you need to decide how you're going to live."
"I don't agree with you at all," he says fondly. "I think you have a messed up view on life."
She shrugs, feeling him relax into her as she soothes her hand over his hair. "Maybe. But drinking is not a solution for most of us."
He snorts, but leans in further. "Ouch."
”I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” she says gently.
”I know,” he replies. “I know.”
They sit there for a while, just holding each other. They both ignore her personal device buzzing, even though Leon’s back probably hurts for angling himself down.
She's not sure why she keeps talking but- "I used to be worse."
He smiles at that, catching her meaning. "I'm a bad influence, huh."
"The worst."
"I'm always running into things headfirst, can't help it if I end up dragging someone along with me."
She swallows. "I suppose not."
Of course, it was her fault for holding on as well. But Ada couldn't quite brace herself for losing Leon yet.
…
How long ago was it now? She had overheard eldest brother tell eldest sister, sharply, stay here and die then, the two of them were known to be fighting all the time, it wasn't strange at all. Ada was quietly combing gum out of third sister's hair - there was an incident with a boy, but she didn't want to talk about it, and had gone to Ada because she knew she wouldn't press. Years ago, before third sister was even born, their father had beat eldest brother for an anguished five minutes when he found a lump of gum in the trash, but the years and the children had taken the vigour and discipline out of their parents, after all eldest brother came home most days spitting tobacco into the kitchen sink with only a mild swat from their mother. There's a point where the screaming stops, how could you do this to us!, then the talking, then all that's left is the distinct silence of when feeling is abruptly lost. Yes, eldest sister and eldest brother were barely speaking by the time she left. When eldest brother died, Ada was tasked with writing eldest sister's message to burn; she thought of writing 'i wish you left too', but in the end she left the slip of paper blank just like her own. Second brother could tell when he went to collect them, but he didn't comment.
Ada doesn't return to Leon for six months afterward, partly to punish him, maybe, but mostly as a test. It wasn't abnormal, for her to test him - of course she still played games with Leon, created and tore down boundaries frivolously just to see his response - don't come on my face, because it's unpleasant, not even just the mess but those three heartbeats you spend bracing for it, retracted because it felt silly to deny him sexually when that was the main premise of their relationship, then implemented again because she was too old to be getting pink eye from some guy and anyway he only liked things if he thought she liked them (plus whenever asked he'd always choose to come inside of her) - but also to test herself, check if her sudden sentimentality warned of a tumorous reliance on the man. She found that she could survive just fine without him, but she still wanted him anyway.
"I've grown too attached," she admits to him, later, bare cheek pressed sticky against his sternum. "I don't know what I'll do when I lose you."
Leon laughs straight at her - he got stupid after sex sometimes. "Who said you're going to lose me? I'm the one who's always losing you. Where in the world is Ada Wong? I should buy you a big red hat."
Unfortunately, Ada is charmed by him. She presses a kiss to his skin, then a second, then a third. She crawls up his body leaving a trail of him leaking out like a slug until her lips align perfectly with his, seam to seam. His hands move away from her hair and the base of her neck, predictably settling on her ass.
He presses up to meet her lips. "Wanna go again?" he breathes.
"No," she lifts her head to relieve some pressure from her teeth, "I want to stay like this for a while." She really means to say this can't go on forever, silly boy but she figures it could wait until next time. A snake curling itself around a mouse. Besides, she should just be doing a little at a time. Just get him used to the idea, at first. Titrating a solution of disappointment. Next time she'll say it. His hands return to her head, holding her there to kiss her properly, and she kisses back, I really, really like you. Next time, for sure. Next time, next time, next time, there did not exist words that could not become a curse, and this would be hers.